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ETIQUETTE IN SOCIETY, IN BUSINESS, IN POLITICS AND AT HOME
BY EMILY POST
(MRS. PRICE POST)
Author of "Purple and Fine Linen," "The Title Market," "Woven in the
Tapestry," "The Flight of a Moth," "Letters of a Worldly
Godmother," etc., etc.
ILLUSTRATED WITH PRIVATE PHOTOGRAPHS
AND FACSIMILES OF SOCIAL FORMS
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1922
By
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
[Printed in the United States of America]
First Edition published in July 1922
Second Edition published in September, 1922
August 11, 1910.
TO YOU MY FRIENDS
WHOSE IDENTITY IN THESE PAGES
IS VEILED IN FICTIONAL DISGUISE
IT IS BUT FITTING THAT
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
INTRODUCTION
I. WHAT IS BEST SOCIETY?
II. INTRODUCTIONS
III. GREETINGS
IV. SALUTATIONS OF COURTESY
V. ON THE STREET AND IN PUBLIC
VI. AT PUBLIC GATHERINGS
VII. CONVERSATION
VIII. WORDS, PHRASES AND PRONUNCIATION
IX. ONE'S POSITION IN THE COMMUNITY
X. CARDS AND VISITS
XI. INVITATIONS, ACCEPTANCES AND REGRETS
XII. THE WELL-APPOINTED HOUSE
XIII. TEAS AND OTHER AFTERNOON PARTIES
XIV. FORMAL DINNERS
XV. DINNER-GIVING WITH LIMITED EQUIPMENT
XVI. LUNCHEONS, BREAKFASTS AND SUPPERS
XVII. BALLS AND DANCES
XVIII. THE DEBUTANTE
XIX. THE CHAPERON AND OTHER CONVENTIONS
XX. ENGAGEMENTS
XXI. FIRST PREPARATIONS BEFORE A WEDDING
XXII. THE DAY OF THE WEDDING
XXIII. CHRISTENINGS
XXIV. FUNERALS
XXV. THE COUNTRY HOUSE AND ITS HOSPITALITY
XXVI. THE HOUSE PARTY IN CAMP
XXVII. NOTES AND SHORTER LETTERS
XXVIII. LONGER LETTERS
XXIX. THE FUNDAMENTALS OF GOOD BEHAVIOR
XXX. CLUBS AND CLUB ETIQUETTE
XXXI. GAMES AND SPORTS
XXXII. ETIQUETTE IN BUSINESS AND POLITICS
XXXIII. DRESS
XXXIV. THE CLOTHES OF A GENTLEMAN
XXXV. THE KINDERGARTEN OF ETIQUETTE
XXXVI. EVERY-DAY MANNERS AT HOME
XXXVII. TRAVELING AT HOME AND ABROAD
XXXVIII. THE GROWTH OF GOOD TASTE IN AMERICA
PHOTOGRAPHIC ILLUSTRATIONS
A BRIDE'S BOUQUET
A GEM OF A HOUSE
THE PERSONALITY OF A HOUSE
CONSIDERATION FOR SERVANTS
THE AFTERNOON TEA-TABLE
A FORMAL DINNER
DETAIL OF PLACE AT A FORMAL DINNER
A DINNER SERVICE WITHOUT SILVER
THE MOST ELABORATE DINNER DANCE EVER GIVEN IN NEW YORK
A CHURCH WEDDING
A HOUSE WEDDING
THE IDEAL GUEST ROOM
A BREAKFAST TRAY
THE CHILD AT TABLE
INTRODUCTION
MANNERS AND MORALS
By
Richard Duffy
Many who scoff at a book of etiquette would be shocked to hear the least
expression of levity touching the Ten Commandments. But the Commandments
do not always prevent such virtuous scoffers from dealings with their
neighbor of which no gentleman could be capable and retain his claim to
the title. Though it may require ingenuity to reconcile their actions with
the Decalogue--the ingenuity is always forthcoming. There is no intention
in this remark to intimate that there is any higher rule of life than the
Ten Commandments; only it is illuminating as showing the relationship
between manners and morals, which is too often overlooked. The polished
gentleman of sentimental fiction has so long served as the type of smooth
and conscienceless depravity that urbanity of demeanor inspires distrust
in ruder minds. On the other hand, the blunt, unpolished hero of melodrama
and romantic fiction has lifted brusqueness and pushfulness to a pedestal
not wholly merited. Consequently, the kinship between conduct that keeps
us within the law and conduct that makes civilized life worthy to be
called such, deserves to be noted with emphasis. The Chinese sage,
Confucius, could not tolerate the suggestion that virtue is in itself
enough without politeness, for he viewed them as inseparable and "saw
courtesies as coming from the heart," maintaining that "when they are
practised with all the heart, a moral elevation ensues."
People who ridicule etiquette as a mass of trivial and arbitrary
conventions, "extremely troublesome to those who practise them and
insupportable to everybody else," seem to forget the long, slow progress
of social intercourse in the upward climb of man from the primeval state.
Conventions were established from the first to regulate the rights of the
individual and the tribe. They were and are the rules of the game of life
and must be followed if we would "play the game." Ages before man felt the
need of indigestion remedies, he ate his food solitary and furtive in some
corner, hoping he would not be espied by any stronger and hungrier fellow.
It was a long, long time before the habit of eating in common was
acquired; and it is obvious that the practise could not have been taken up
with safety until the individuals of the race knew enough about one
another and about the food resources to be sure that there was food
sufficient for all. When eating in common became the vogue, table manners
made their appearance and they have been waging an uphill struggle ever
since. The custom of raising the hat when meeting an acquaintance derives
from the old rule that friendly knights in accosting each other should
raise the visor for mutual recognition in amity. In the knightly years, it
must be remembered, it was important to know whether one was meeting
friend or foe. Meeting a foe meant fighting on the spot. Thus, it is
evident that the conventions of courtesy not only tend to make the wheels
of life run more smoothly, but also act as safeguards in human
relationship. Imagine the Paris Peace Conference, or any of the later
conferences in Europe, without the protective armor of diplomatic
etiquette!
Nevertheless, to some the very word etiquette is an irritant. It implies a
great pother about trifles, these conscientious objectors assure us, and
trifles are unimportant. Trifles are unimportant, it is true, but then
life is made up of trifles. To those who dislike the word, it suggests all
that is finical and superfluous. It means a garish embroidery on the big
scheme of life; a clog on the forward march of a strong and courageous
nation. To such as these, the words etiquette and politeness connote
weakness and timidity. Their notion of a really polite man is a dancing
master or a man milliner. They were always willing to admit that the
French were the politest nation in Europe and equally ready to assert that
the French were the weakest and least valorous, until the war opened their
eyes in amazement. Yet, that manners and fighting can go hand in hand
appears in the following anecdote:
In the midst of the war, some French soldiers and some non-French of the
Allied forces were receiving their rations in a village back of the lines.
The non-French fighters belonged to an Army that supplied rations
plentifully. They grabbed their allotments and stood about while hastily
eating, uninterrupted by conversation or other concern. The French
soldiers took their very meager portions of food, improvised a kind of
table on the top of a flat rock, and having laid out the rations,
including the small quantity of wine that formed part of the repast, sat
down in comfort and began their meal amid a chatter of talk. One of the
non-French soldiers, all of whom had finished their large supply of food
before the French had begun eating, asked sardonically: "Why do you
fellows make such a lot of fuss over the little bit of grub they give you
to eat?" The Frenchman replied: "Well, we are making war for civilization,
are we not? Very well, we are. Therefore, we eat in a civilized way."
To the French we owe the word etiquette, and it is amusing to discover its
origin in the commonplace familiar warning--"Keep off the grass." It
happened in the reign of Louis XIV, when the gardens of Versailles were
being laid out, that the master gardener, an old Scotsman, was sorely
tried because his newly seeded lawns were being continually
trampled upon. To keep trespassers off, he put up warning signs or
tickets--_etiquettes_--on which was indicated the path along which to
pass. But the courtiers paid no attention to these directions and so the
determined Scot complained to the King in such convincing manner that His
Majesty issued an edict commanding everyone at Court to "keep within the
_etiquettes_." Gradually the term came to cover all the rules for correct
demeanor and deportment in court circles; and thus through the centuries
it has grown into use to describe the conventions sanctioned for the
purpose of smoothing personal contacts and developing tact and good
manners in social intercourse. With the decline of feudal courts and the
rise of empires of industry, much of the ceremony of life was discarded
for plain and less formal dealing. Trousers and coats supplanted doublets
and hose, and the change in costume was not more extreme than the change
in social ideas. The court ceased to be the arbiter of manners, though the
aristocracy of the land remained the high exemplar of good breeding.
Yet, even so courtly and materialistic a mind as Lord Chesterfield's
acknowledged a connection between manners and morality, of which latter
the courts of Europe seemed so sparing. In one of the famous "Letters to
His Son" he writes: "Moral virtues are the foundation of society in
general, and of friendship in particular; but attentions, manners, and
graces, both adorn and strengthen them." Again he says: "Great merit, or
great failings, will make you respected or despised; but trifles, little
attentions, mere nothings, either done or reflected, will make you either
liked or disliked, in the general run of the world." For all the wisdom
and brilliancy of his worldly knowledge, perhaps no other writer has done
so much to bring disrepute on the "manners and graces" as Lord
Chesterfield, and this, it is charged, because he debased them so heavily
by considering them merely as the machinery of a successful career. To the
moralists, the fact that the moral standards of society in Lord
Chesterfield's day were very different from those of the present era
rather adds to the odium that has become associated with his attitude. His
severest critics, however, do concede that he is candid and outspoken, and
many admit that his social strategy is widely practised even in these
days.
But the aims of the world in which he moved were routed by the onrush of
the ideals of democratic equality, fraternity, and liberty. With the
prosperity of the newer shibboleths, the old-time notion of aristocracy,
gentility, and high breeding became more and more a curio to be framed
suitably in gold and kept in the glass case of an art museum. The crashing
advance of the industrial age of gold thrust all courts and their sinuous
graces aside for the unmistakable ledger balance of the counting-house.
This new order of things had been a long time in process, when, in the
first year of this century, a distinguished English social historian, the
late The Right Honorable G.W.E. Russell, wrote: "Probably in all ages of
history men have liked money, but a hundred years ago they did not talk
about it in society.... Birth, breeding, rank, accomplishments, eminence
in literature, eminence in art, eminence in public service--all these
things still count for something in society. But when combined they are
only as the dust of the balance when weighed against the all-prevalent
power of money. The worship of the Golden Calf is the characteristic cult
of modern society." In the Elizabethan Age of mighty glory, three hundred
years before this was said, Ben Jonson had railed against money as "a thin
membrane of honor," groaning: "How hath all true reputation fallen since
money began to have any!" Now the very fact that the debasing effect of
money on the social organism has been so constantly reprehended, from
Scriptural days onward, proves the instinctive yearning of mankind for a
system of life regulated by good taste, high intelligence and sound
affections. But, it remains true that, in the succession of great
commercial epochs, coincident with the progress of modern science and
invention, _almost_ everything can be bought and sold, and so _almost_
everything is rated by the standard of money.
Yet, this standard is precisely not the ultimate test of the Christianity
on which we have been pluming ourselves through the centuries. Still, no
one can get along without money; and few of us get along very well with
what we have. At least we think so--because everybody else seems to think
that way. We Americans are members of the nation which, materially, is
the richest, most prosperous and most promising in the world. This idea is
dinned into our heads continually by foreign observers, and publicly we
"own the soft impeachment." Privately, each individual American seems
driven with the decision that he must live up to the general conception of
the nation as a whole. And he does, but in less strenuous moments he might
profitably ponder the counsel of Gladstone to his countrymen: "Let us
respect the ancient manners and recollect that, if the true soul of
chivalry has died among us, with it all that is good in society has died.
Let us cherish a sober mind; take for granted that in our best
performances there are latent many errors which in their own time will
come to light."
America, too, has her ancient manners to remember and respect; but, in the
rapid assimilation of new peoples into her economic and social organism,
more pressing concerns take up nearly all her time. The perfection of
manners by intensive cultivation of good taste, some believe, would be the
greatest aid possible to the moralists who are alarmed over the decadence
of the younger generation. Good taste may not make men or women really
virtuous, but it will often save them from what theologians call
"occasions of sin." We may note, too, that grossness in manners forms a
large proportion of the offenses that fanatical reformers foam about.
Besides grossness, there is also the meaner selfishness. Selfishness is at
the polar remove from the worldly manners of the old school, according to
which, as Dr. Pusey wrote, others were preferred to self, pain was given
to no one, no one was neglected, deference was shown to the weak and the
aged, and unconscious courtesy extended to all inferiors. Such was the
"beauty" of the old manners, which he felt consisted in "acting upon
Christian principle, and if in any case it became soulless, as apart from
Christianity, the beautiful form was there, into which the real life might
re-enter."
As a study of all that is admirable in American manners, and as a guide to
behavior in the simplest as well as the most complex requirements of life
day by day, whether we are at home or away from it, there can be no
happier choice than the present volume. It is conceived in the belief that
etiquette in its broader sense means the technique of human conduct under
all circumstances in life. Yet all minutiae of correct manners are included
and no detail is too small to be explained, from the selection of a
visiting card to the mystery of eating corn on the cob. Matters of clothes
for men and women are treated with the same fullness of information and
accuracy of taste as are questions of the furnishing of their houses and
the training of their minds to social intercourse. But there is no
exaggeration of the minor details at the expense of the more important
spirit of personal conduct and attitude of mind. To dwell on formal
trivialities, the author holds, is like "measuring the letters of the
sign-boards by the roadside instead of profiting by the directions they
offer." She would have us know also that "it is not the people who make
small technical mistakes or even blunders, who are barred from the paths
of good society, but those of sham and pretense whose veneered vulgarity
at every step tramples the flowers in the gardens of cultivation." To her
mind the structure of etiquette is comparable to that of a house, of which
the foundation is ethics and the rest good taste, correct speech, quiet,
unassuming behavior, and a proper pride of dignity.
To such as entertain the mistaken notion that politeness implies all give
and little or no return, it is well to recall Coleridge's definition of a
gentleman: "We feel the gentlemanly character present with us," he said,
"whenever, under all circumstances of social intercourse, the trivial, not
less than the important, through the whole detail of his manners and
deportment, and with the ease of a habit, a person shows respect to others
in such a way as at the same time implies, in his own feelings, and
habitually, an assured anticipation of reciprocal respect from them to
himself. In short, the gentlemanly character arises out of the feeling of
equality acting as a habit, yet flexible to the varieties of rank, and
modified without being disturbed or superseded by them." Definitions of a
gentleman are numerous, and some of them famous; but we do not find such
copiousness for choice in definitions of a lady. Perhaps it has been
understood all along that the admirable and just characteristics of a
gentleman should of necessity be those also of a lady, with the charm of
womanhood combined. And, in these days, with the added responsibility of
the vote.
Besides the significance of this volume as an indubitable authority on
manners, it should be pointed out that as a social document, it is without
precedent in American literature. In order that we may better realize the
behavior and environment of well-bred people, the distinguished author has
introduced actual persons and places in fictional guise. They are the
persons and the places of her own world; and whether we can or can not
penetrate the incognito of the Worldlys, the Gildings, the Kindharts, the
Oldnames, and the others, is of no importance. Fictionally, they are real
enough for us to be interested and instructed in their way of living. That
they happen to move in what is known as Society is incidental, for, as the
author declares at the very outset: "Best Society is not a fellowship of
the wealthy, nor does it seek to exclude those who are not of exalted
birth; but it is an association of gentlefolk, of which good form in
speech, charm of manner, knowledge of the social amenities, and
instinctive consideration for the feelings of others, are the credentials
by which society the world over recognizes its chosen members."
The immediate fact is that the characters of this book are thoroughbred
Americans, representative of various sections of the country and free from
the slightest tinge of snobbery. Not all of them are even well-to-do, in
the postwar sense; and their devices of economy in household outlay, dress
and entertainment are a revelation in the science of ways and means. There
are parents, children, relatives and friends all passing before us in the
pageant of life from the cradle to the grave. No circumstance, from an
introduction to a wedding, is overlooked in this panorama and the
spectator has beside him a cicerone in the person of the author who clears
every doubt and answers every question. In course, the conviction grows
upon him that etiquette is no flummery of poseurs "aping the manners of
their betters," nor a code of snobs, who divide their time between licking
the boots of those above them and kicking at those below, but a system of
rules of conduct based on respect of self coupled with respect of others.
Meanwhile, to guard against conceit in his new knowledge, he may at odd
moments recall Ben Jonson's lines:
"Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy, and mere borrowed thing,
From dead men's dust, and bones: And none of yours
Except you make, or hold it."
=ETIQUETTE=
CHAPTER I
WHAT IS BEST SOCIETY?
"Society" is an ambiguous term; it may mean much or nothing. Every human
being--unless dwelling alone in a cave--is a member of society of one sort
or another, and therefore it is well to define what is to be understood by
the term "Best Society" and why its authority is recognized. Best Society
abroad is always the oldest aristocracy; composed not so much of persons
of title, which may be new, as of those families and communities which
have for the longest period of time known highest cultivation. Our own
Best Society is represented by social groups which have had, since this is
America, widest rather than longest association with old world
cultivation. Cultivation is always the basic attribute of Best Society,
much as we hear in this country of an "Aristocracy of wealth."
To the general public a long purse is synonymous with high position--a
theory dear to the heart of the "yellow" press and eagerly fostered in the
preposterous social functions of screen drama. It is true that Best
Society is comparatively rich; it is true that the hostess of great
wealth, who constantly and lavishly entertains, will shine, at least to
the readers of the press, more brilliantly than her less affluent sister.
Yet the latter, through her quality of birth, her poise, her inimitable
distinction, is often the jewel of deeper water in the social crown of her
time.
The most advertised commodity is not always intrinsically the best, but is
sometimes merely the product of a company with plenty of money to spend on
advertising. In the same way, money brings certain people before the
public--sometimes they are persons of "quality," quite as often the
so-called "society leaders" featured in the public press do not belong to
good society at all, in spite of their many published photographs and the
energies of their press-agents. Or possibly they do belong to "smart"
society; but if too much advertised, instead of being the "queens" they
seem, they might more accurately be classified as the court jesters of
to-day.
=THE IMITATION AND THE GENUINE=
New York, more than any city in the world, unless it be Paris, loves to be
amused, thrilled and surprised all at the same time; and will accept with
outstretched hand any one who can perform this astounding feat. Do not
underestimate the ability that can achieve it: a scintillating wit, an
arresting originality, a talent for entertaining that amounts to genius,
and gold poured literally like rain, are the least requirements.
Puritan America on the other hand demanding, as a ticket of admission to
her Best Society, the qualifications of birth, manners and cultivation,
clasps her hands tight across her slim trim waist and announces severely
that New York's "Best" is, in her opinion, very "bad" indeed. But this is
because Puritan America, as well as the general public, mistakes the
jester for the queen.
As a matter of fact, Best Society is not at all like a court with an
especial queen or king, nor is it confined to any one place or group, but
might better be described as an unlimited brotherhood which spreads over
the entire surface of the globe, the members of which are invariably
people of cultivation and worldly knowledge, who have not only perfect
manners but a perfect manner. Manners are made up of trivialities of
deportment which can be easily learned if one does not happen to know
them; manner is personality--the outward manifestation of one's innate
character and attitude toward life. A gentleman, for instance, will never
be ostentatious or overbearing any more than he will ever be servile,
because these attributes never animate the impulses of a well-bred person.
A man whose manners suggest the grotesque is invariably a person of
imitation rather than of real position.
Etiquette must, if it is to be of more than trifling use, include ethics
as well as manners. Certainly what one is, is of far greater importance
than what one appears to be. A knowledge of etiquette is of course
essential to one's decent behavior, just as clothing is essential to one's
decent appearance; and precisely as one wears the latter without being
self-conscious of having on shoes and perhaps gloves, one who has good
manners is equally unself-conscious in the observance of etiquette, the
precepts of which must be so thoroughly absorbed as to make their
observance a matter of instinct rather than of conscious obedience.
Thus Best Society is not a fellowship of the wealthy, nor does it seek to
exclude those who are not of exalted birth; but it _is_ an association of
gentle-folk, of which good form in speech, charm of manner, knowledge of
the social amenities, and instinctive consideration for the feelings of
others, are the credentials by which society the world over recognizes its
chosen members.
CHAPTER II
INTRODUCTIONS
=THE CORRECT FORM=
The word "present" is preferable on formal occasions to the word
"introduce." On informal occasions neither word is expressed, though
understood, as will be shown below. The correct formal introduction is:
"Mrs. Jones, may I present Mr. Smith?"
or,
"Mr. Distinguished, may I present Mr. Young?"
The younger person is always presented to the older or more distinguished,
but a gentleman is always presented to a lady, even though he is an old
gentleman of great distinction and the lady a mere slip of a girl.
No lady is ever, except to the President of the United States, a cardinal,
or a reigning sovereign, presented to a man. The correct introduction of
either a man or woman:
To the President,
is,
"Mr. President, I have the honor to present Mrs. Jones, of
Chicago."
To a Cardinal,
is,
"Your Eminence, may I present Mrs. Jones?"
To a King:
Much formality of presenting names on lists is gone through beforehand; at
the actual presentation an "accepted" name is repeated from functionary to
equerry and nothing is said to the King or Queen except: "Mrs. Jones."
But a Foreign Ambassador is presented, "Mr. Ambassador, may I present you
to Mrs. Jones."
Very few people in polite society are introduced by their formal titles. A
hostess says, "Mrs. Jones, may I present the Duke of Overthere?" or "Lord
Blank?"; never "his Grace" or "his Lordship." The Honorable is merely Mr.
Lordson, or Mr. Holdoffice. A doctor, a judge, a bishop, are addressed and
introduced by their titles. The clergy are usually Mister unless they
formally hold the title of Doctor, or Dean, or Canon. A Catholic priest is
"Father Kelly." A senator is always introduced as Senator, whether he is
still in office or not. But the President of the United States, once he is
out of office, is merely "Mr." and not "Ex-president."
=THE PREVAILING INTRODUCTION AND INFLECTION=
In the briefer form of introduction commonly used,
"Mrs. Worldly, Mrs. Norman,"
if the two names are said in the same tone of voice it is not apparent who
is introduced to whom; but by accentuating the more important person's
name, it can be made as clear as though the words "May I present" had been
used.
The more important name is said with a slightly rising inflection, the
secondary as a mere statement of fact. For instance, suppose you say, "Are
you there?" and then "It is raining!" Use the same inflection exactly and
say, "Mrs. Worldly?"--"Mrs. Younger!"
Are you there?--It is raining!
Mrs. Worldly?--Mrs. Younger!
The unmarried lady is presented to the married one, unless the latter is
very much the younger. As a matter of fact, in introducing two ladies to
each other or one gentleman to another, no distinction is made. "Mrs.
Smith; Mrs. Norman." "Mr. Brown; Mr. Green."
The inflection is:
I think--it's going to rain!
Mrs. Smith--Mrs. Norman!
A man is also often introduced, "Mrs. Worldly? Mr. Norman!" But to a very
distinguished man, a mother would say:
"Mr. Edison--My daughter, Mary!"
To a young man, however, she should say, "Mr. Struthers, have you met my
daughter?" If the daughter is married, she should have added, "My
daughter, Mrs. Smartlington." The daughter's name is omitted because it is
extremely bad taste (except in the South) to call her daughter "Miss Mary"
to any one but a servant, and on the other hand she should not present a
young man to "Mary." The young man can easily find out her name afterward.
=OTHER FORMS OF INTRODUCTION=
Other permissible forms of introduction are:
"Mrs. Jones, do you know Mrs. Norman?"
or,
"Mrs. Jones, you know Mrs. Robinson, don't you?" (on no account say "Do
you not?" Best Society always says "don't you?")
or,
"Mrs. Robinson, have you met Mrs. Jones?"
or,
"Mrs. Jones, do you know my mother?"
or,
"This is my daughter Ellen, Mrs. Jones."
These are all good form, whether gentlemen are introduced to ladies,
ladies to ladies, or gentlemen to gentlemen. In introducing a gentleman to
a lady, you may ask Mr. Smith if he has met Mrs. Jones, but you must not
ask Mrs. Jones if she has met Mr. Smith!
=FORMS OF INTRODUCTIONS TO AVOID=
Do not say: "Mr. Jones, shake hands with Mr. Smith," or "Mrs. Jones, I
want to make you acquainted with Mrs. Smith." Never say: "make you
acquainted with" and do not, in introducing one person to another, call
one of them "my friend." You can say "my aunt," or "my sister," or "my
cousin"--but to pick out a particular person as "my friend" is not only
bad style but, unless you have only one friend, bad manners--as it implies
Mrs. Smith is "my friend" and you are a stranger.
You may very properly say to Mr. Smith "I want you to meet Mrs. Jones,"
but this is not a form of introduction, nor is it to be said in Mrs.
Jones' hearing. Upon leading Mr. Smith up to Mrs. Jones, you say "Mrs.
Jones may I present Mr. Smith" or "Mrs. Jones; Mr. Smith." Under no
circumstances whatsoever say "Mr. Smith meet Mrs. Jones," or "Mrs. Jones
meet Mr. Smith." Either wording is equally preposterous.
Do not repeat "Mrs. Jones? Mrs. Smith! Mrs. Smith? Mrs. Jones!" To say
each name once is quite enough.
Most people of good taste very much dislike being asked their names. To
say "What is your name?" is always abrupt and unflattering. If you want to
know with whom you have been talking, you can generally find a third
person later and ask "Who was the lady with the grey feather in her hat?"
The next time you see her you can say "How do you do, Mrs. ----" (calling
her by name).
=WHEN TO SHAKE HANDS=
When gentlemen are introduced to each other they always shake hands.
When a gentleman is introduced to a lady, she sometimes puts out her
hand--especially if he is some one she has long heard about from friends
in common, but to an entire stranger she generally merely bows her head
slightly and says: "How do you do!" Strictly speaking, it is always her
place to offer her hand or not as she chooses, but if he puts out his
hand, it is rude on her part to ignore it. Nothing could be more ill-bred
than to treat curtly any overture made in spontaneous friendliness. No
thoroughbred lady would ever refuse to shake any hand that is honorable,
not even the hand of a coal heaver at the risk of her fresh white glove.
Those who have been drawn into a conversation do not usually shake hands
on parting. But there is no fixed rule. A lady sometimes shakes hands
after talking with a casual stranger; at other times she does not offer
her hand on parting from one who has been punctiliously presented to her.
She may find the former sympathetic and the latter very much the contrary.
Very few rules of etiquette are inelastic and none more so than the
acceptance or rejection of the strangers you meet.
There is a wide distance between rudeness and reserve. You can be
courteously polite and at the same time extremely aloof to a stranger who
does not appeal to you, or you can be welcomingly friendly to another whom
you like on sight. Individual temperament has also to be taken into
consideration: one person is naturally austere, another genial. The latter
shakes hands far more often than the former. As already said, it is
unforgivably rude to refuse a proffered hand, but it is rarely necessary
to offer your hand if you prefer not to.
=WHAT TO SAY WHEN INTRODUCED=
Best Society has only one phrase in acknowledgment of an introduction:
"How do you do?" It literally accepts no other. When Mr. Bachelor says,
"Mrs. Worldly, may I present Mr. Struthers?" Mrs. Worldly says, "How do
you do?" Struthers bows, and says nothing. To sweetly echo "Mr.
Struthers?" with a rising inflection on "--thers?" is not good form.
Saccharine chirpings should be classed with crooked little fingers, high
hand-shaking and other affectations. All affectations are bad form.
Persons of position do not say: "Charmed," or "Pleased to meet you," etc.,
but often the first remark is the beginning of a conversation. For
instance,
Young Struthers is presented to Mrs. Worldly. She smiles and perhaps says,
"I hear that you are going to be in New York all winter?" Struthers
answers, "Yes, I am at the Columbia Law School," etc., or since he is much
younger than she, he might answer, "Yes, Mrs. Worldly," especially if his
answer would otherwise be a curt yes or no. Otherwise he does not continue
repeating her name.
TAKING LEAVE OF ONE YOU HAVE JUST MET
After an introduction, when you have talked for some time to a stranger
whom you have found agreeable, and you then take leave, you say, "Good-by,
I am very glad to have met you," or "Good-by, I hope I shall see you again
soon"--or "some time." The other person answers, "Thank you," or perhaps
adds, "I hope so, too." Usually "Thank you" is all that is necessary.
In taking leave of a group of strangers--it makes no difference whether
you have been introduced to them or merely included in their
conversation--you bow "good-by" to any who happen to be looking at you,
but you do not attempt to attract the attention of those who are unaware
that you are turning away.
=INTRODUCING ONE PERSON TO A GROUP=
This is never done on formal occasions when a great many persons are
present. At a small luncheon, for instance, a hostess always introduces
her guests to one another.
Let us suppose you are the hostess: your position is not necessarily near,
but it is toward the door. Mrs. King is sitting quite close to you, Mrs.
Lawrence also near. Miss Robinson and Miss Brown are much farther away.
Mrs. Jones enters. You go a few steps forward and shake hands with her,
then stand aside as it were, for a second only, to see if Mrs. Jones goes
to speak to any one. If she apparently knows no one, you say,
"Mrs. King, do you know Mrs. Jones?" Mrs. King being close at hand
(usually but not necessarily) rises, shakes hands with Mrs. Jones and sits
down again. If Mrs. King is an elderly lady, and Mrs. Jones a young one,
Mrs. King merely extends her hand and does not rise. Having said "Mrs.
Jones" once, you do not repeat it immediately, but turning to the other
lady sitting near you, you say, "Mrs. Lawrence," then you look across the
room and continue, "Miss Robinson, Miss Brown--Mrs. Jones!" Mrs. Lawrence,
if she is young, rises and shakes hands with Mrs. Jones, and the other two
bow but do not rise.
At a very big luncheon you would introduce Mrs. Jones to Mrs. King and
possibly to Mrs. Lawrence, so that Mrs. Jones might have some one to talk
to. But if other guests come in at this moment, Mrs. Jones finds a place
for herself and after a pause, falls naturally into conversation with
those she is next to, without giving her name or asking theirs.
A friend's roof is supposed to be an introduction to those it shelters. In
Best Society this is always recognized if the gathering is intimate, such
as at a luncheon, dinner or house party; but it is not accepted at a ball
or reception, or any "general" entertainment. People always talk to their
neighbors at table whether introduced or not. It would be a breach of
etiquette not to! But if Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Norman merely spoke to each
other for a few moments, in the drawing-room, it is not necessary that
they recognize each other afterwards.
=NEW YORK'S BAD MANNERS=
New York's bad manners are often condemned and often very deservedly. Even
though the cause is carelessness rather than intentional indifference, the
indifference is no less actual and the rudeness inexcusable.
It is by no means unheard of that after sitting at table next to the guest
of honor, a New Yorker will meet her the next day with utter
unrecognition. Not because the New Yorker means to "cut" the stranger or
feels the slightest unwillingness to continue the acquaintance, but
because few New Yorkers possess enthusiasm enough to make an effort to
remember all the new faces they come in contact with, but allow all those
who are not especially "fixed" in their attention, to drift easily out of
mind and recognition. It is mortifyingly true; no one is so ignorantly
indifferent to everything outside his or her own personal concern as the
socially fashionable New Yorker, unless it is the Londoner! The late
Theodore Roosevelt was a brilliantly shining exception. And, of course,
and happily, there are other men and women like him in this. But there are
also enough of the snail-in-shell variety to give color to the very just
resentment that those from other and more gracious cities hold against New
Yorkers.
Everywhere else in the world (except London), the impulse of
self-cultivation, if not the more generous ones of consideration and
hospitality, induces people of good breeding to try and make the effort to
find out what manner of mind, or experience, or talent, a stranger has;
and to remember, at least out of courtesy, anyone for whose benefit a
friend of theirs gave a dinner or luncheon. To fashionable New York,
however, luncheon was at one-thirty; at three there is something else
occupying the moment--that is all.
Nearly all people of the Atlantic Coast dislike general introductions, and
present people to each other as little as possible. In the West, however,
people do not feel comfortable in a room full of strangers. Whether or not
to introduce people therefore becomes not merely a question of propriety,
but of consideration for local custom.
=NEVER INTRODUCE UNNECESSARILY=
The question as to when introductions should be made, or not made, is one
of the most elusive points in the entire range of social knowledge.
"Whenever necessary to bridge an awkward situation," is a definition that
is exact enough, but not very helpful or clear. The hostess who allows a
guest to stand, awkward and unknown, in the middle of her drawing-room is
no worse than she who pounces on every chance acquaintance and drags
unwilling victims into forced recognition of each other, everywhere and on
all occasions. The fundamental rule never to introduce unnecessarily
brings up the question:
=WHICH ARE THE NECESSARY OCCASIONS?=
First, in order of importance, is the presentation of everyone to guests
of honor, whether the "guests" are distinguished strangers for whom a
dinner is given, or a bride and groom, or a debutante being introduced to
society. It is the height of rudeness for anyone to go to an entertainment
given in honor of some one and fail to "meet" him. (Even though one's
memory is too feeble to remember him afterward!)
=INTRODUCTIONS AT A DINNER=
The host must always see that every gentleman either knows or is presented
to the lady he is to "take in" to dinner, and also, if possible, to the
one who is to sit at the other side of him. If the latter introduction is
overlooked, people sitting next each other at table nearly always
introduce themselves. A gentleman says, "How do you do, Mrs. Jones. I am
Arthur Robinson." Or showing her his place card, "I have to introduce
myself, this is my name." Or the lady says first, "I am Mrs. Hunter
Jones." And the man answers, "How do you do, Mrs. Jones, my name is
Titherington Smith."
It is not unusual, in New York, for those placed next each other to talk
without introducing themselves--particularly if each can read the name of
the other on the place cards.
=OTHER NECESSARY INTRODUCTIONS=
Even in New York's most introductionless circles, people always introduce:
A small group of people who are to sit together anywhere.
Partners at dinner.
The guests at a house party.
Everyone at a small dinner or luncheon.
The four who are at the same bridge table.
Partners or fellow-players in any game.
At a dance, when an invitation has been asked for a stranger, the friend
who vouched for him should personally present him to the hostess. "Mrs.
Worldly, this is Mr. Robinson, whom you said I might bring." The hostess
shakes hands and smiles and says: "I am very glad to see you, Mr.
Robinson."
A guest in a box at the opera always introduces any gentleman who comes to
speak to her, to her hostess, unless the latter is engrossed in
conversation with a visitor of her own, or unless other people block the
distance between so that an introduction would be forced and awkward.
A newly arriving visitor in a lady's drawing-room is not introduced to
another who is taking leave. Nor is an animated conversation between two
persons interrupted to introduce a third. Nor is any one ever led around a
room and introduced right and left.
If two ladies or young girls are walking together and they meet a third
who stops to speak to one of them, the other walks slowly on and does not
stand awkwardly by and wait for an introduction. If the third is asked by
the one she knows, to join them, the sauntering friend is overtaken and an
introduction always made. The third, however, must not join them unless
invited to do so.
At a very large dinner, people (excepting the gentlemen and ladies who are
to sit next to each other at table) are not collectively introduced. After
dinner, men in the smoking room or left at table always talk to their
neighbors whether they have been introduced or not, and ladies in the
drawing-room do the same. But unless they meet soon again, or have found
each other so agreeable that they make an effort to continue the
acquaintance, they become strangers again, equally whether they were
introduced or not.
Some writers on etiquette speak of "correct introductions" that carry
"obligations of future acquaintance," and "incorrect introductions," that
seemingly obligate one to nothing.
Degrees of introduction are utterly unknown to best society. It makes not
the slightest difference so far as any one's acceptance or rejection of
another is concerned how an introduction is worded or, on occasions,
whether an introduction takes place at all.
Fashionable people in very large cities take introductions lightly; they
are veritable ships that pass in the night. They show their red or green
signals--which are merely polite sentences and pleasant manners--and they
pass on again.
When you are introduced to some one for the second time and the first
occasion was without interest and long ago, there is no reason why you
should speak of the former meeting.
If some one presents you to Mrs. Smith for the second time on the same
occasion, you smile and say "I have already met Mrs. Smith," but you say
nothing if you met Mrs. Smith long ago and she showed no interest in you
at that time.
Most rules are elastic and contract and expand according to circumstances.
You do not remind Mrs. Smith of having met her before, but on meeting
again any one who was brought to your own house, or one who showed you an
especial courtesy you instinctively say, "I am so glad to see you again."
=INCLUDING SOMEONE IN CONVERSATION WITHOUT AN INTRODUCTION=
On occasions it happens that in talking to one person you want to include
another in your conversation without making an introduction. For instance:
suppose you are talking to a seedsman and a friend joins you in your
garden. You greet your friend, and then include her by saying, "Mr. Smith
is suggesting that I dig up these cannas and put in delphiniums." Whether
your friend gives an opinion as to the change in color of your flower bed
or not, she has been made part of your conversation.
This same maneuver of evading an introduction is also resorted to when you
are not sure that an acquaintance will be agreeable to one or both of
those whom an accidental circumstance has brought together.
=INTRODUCTIONS UNNECESSARY=
You must never introduce people to each other in public places unless you
are certain beyond a doubt that the introduction will be agreeable to
both. You cannot commit a greater social blunder than to introduce, to a
person of position, some one she does not care to know, especially on
shipboard, in hotels, or in other very small, rather public, communities
where people are so closely thrown together that it is correspondingly
difficult to avoid undesirable acquaintances who have been given the wedge
of an introduction.
As said above, introductions in very large cities are unimportant. In New
York, where people are meeting new faces daily, seldom seeing the same one
twice in a year, it requires a tenacious memory to recognize those one
hoped most to see again, and others are blotted out at once.
People in good society rarely ask to be introduced to each other, but if
there is a good reason for knowing some one, they often introduce
themselves; for instance, Mary Smith says:
"Mrs. Jones, aren't you a friend of my mother's? I am Mrs. Titherington
Smith's daughter." Mrs. Jones says:
"Why, my dear child, I am so glad you spoke to me. Your mother and I have
known each other since we were children!"
Or, an elder lady asks: "Aren't you Mary Smith? I have known your mother
since she was your age." Or a young woman says: "Aren't you Mrs. Worldly?"
Mrs. Worldly, looking rather freezingly, politely says "Yes" and waits.
And the stranger continues, "I think my sister Millicent Manners is a
friend of yours." Mrs. Worldly at once unbends. "Oh, yes, indeed, I am
devoted to Millicent! And you must be ----?"
"I'm Alice."
"Oh, of course, Millicent has often talked of you, and of your lovely
voice. I want very much to hear you sing some time."
These self-introductions, however, must never presumingly be made. It
would be in very bad taste for Alice to introduce herself to Mrs. Worldly
if her sister knew her only slightly.
=A BUSINESS VISIT NOT AN INTRODUCTION=
A lady who goes to see another to get a reference for a servant, or to ask
her aid in an organization for charity, would never consider such a
meeting as an introduction, even though they talked for an hour. Nor would
she offer to shake hands in leaving. On the other hand, neighbors who are
continually meeting, gradually become accustomed to say "How do you do?"
when they meet, even though they never become acquaintances.
=THE RETORT COURTEOUS TO ONE YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN=
Let us suppose some one addresses you, and then slightly disconcerted
says: "You don't remember me, do you?" The polite thing--unless his manner
does not ring true, is to say "Why, of course, I do." And then if a few
neutral remarks lead to no enlightening topic, and bring no further
memory, you ask at the first opportunity who it was that addressed you. If
the person should prove actually to be unknown, it is very easy to repel
any further advances. But nearly always you find it is some one you ought
to have known, and your hiding the fact of your forgetfulness saves you
from the rather rude and stupid situation of blankly declaring: "I don't
remember you."
If, after being introduced to you, Mr. Jones calls you by a wrong name,
you let it pass, at first, but if he persists you may say: "My name is
Simpson, not Simpkin."
At a private dance, young men nowadays introduce their men friends to
young women without first asking the latter's permission, because all
those invited to a lady's house are supposed to be eligible for
presentation to everyone, or they would not be there.
At a public ball young men and women keep very much to their own
particular small circle and are not apt to meet outsiders at all. Under
these circumstances a gentleman should be very careful not to introduce a
youth whom he knows nothing about to a lady of his acquaintance--or at
least he should ask her first. He can say frankly: "There is a man called
Sliders who has asked to meet you. I don't know who he is, but he seems
decent. Shall I introduce him?" The lady can say "Yes"; or, "I'd rather
not."
=INTRODUCTION BY LETTER=
An introduction by letter is far more binding than a casual spoken
introduction which commits you to nothing. This is explained fully and
example letters are given in the chapter on Letters.
A letter of introduction is handed you unsealed, always. It is correct for
you to seal it at once in the presence of its author. You thank your
friend for having written it and go on your journey.
If you are a man and your introduction is to a lady, you go to her house
as soon as you arrive in her city, and leave the letter with your card at
her door. Usually you do not ask to see her; but if it is between four and
six o'clock it is quite correct to do so if you choose. Presenting
yourself with a letter is always a little awkward. Most people prefer to
leave their cards without asking to be received.
If your letter is to a man, you mail it to his house, unless the letter is
a business one. In the latter case you go to his office, and send in your
card and the letter. Meanwhile you wait in the reception room until he has
read the letter and sends for you to come into his private office.
If you are a woman, you mail your letter of social introduction and do
nothing further until you receive an acknowledgment. If the recipient of
your letter leaves her card on you, you in return leave yours on her. But
the obligation of a written introduction is such that only illness can
excuse her not asking you to her house--either formally or informally.
When a man receives a letter introducing another man, he calls the person
introduced on the telephone and asks how he may be of service to him. If
he does not invite the newcomer to his house, he may put him up at his
club, or have him take luncheon or dinner at a restaurant, as the
circumstances seem to warrant.
CHAPTER III
GREETINGS
=WHAT TO SAY WHEN INTRODUCED=
As explained in the foregoing chapter, the correct formal greeting is:
"How do you do?" If Mrs. Younger is presented to Mrs. Worldly, Mrs.
Worldly says "How do you do?" If the Ambassador of France is presented to
her, she says "How do you do?" Mrs. Younger and the Ambassador likewise
say "How do you do?" or merely bow.
There are a few expressions possible under other circumstances and upon
other occasions. If you have, through friends in common, long heard of a
certain lady, or gentleman, and you know that she, or he, also has heard
much of you, you may say when you are introduced to her: "I am very glad
to meet you," or "I am delighted to meet you at last!" Do not use the
expression "pleased to meet you" then or on any occasion. And you must not
say you are delighted unless you have reason to be sure that she also is
delighted to meet you.
To one who has volunteered to help you in charitable work for instance,
you would say: "It is very good of you to help us," or, "to join us."
In business a gentleman says: "Very glad to meet you," or "Delighted to
meet you." Or, if in his own office: "Very glad to see you!"
=INFORMAL GREETINGS=
Informal greetings are almost as limited as formal, but not quite; for
besides saying "How do you do?" you can say "Good morning" and on
occasions "How are you?" or "Good evening."
On very informal occasions, it is the present fashion to greet an intimate
friend with "Hello!" This seemingly vulgar salutation is made acceptable
by the tone in which it is said. To shout "Hul_low_!" is vulgar, but
"Hello, Mary" or "How 'do John," each spoken in an ordinary tone of voice,
sound much the same. But remember that the "Hello" is spoken, not called
out, and never used except between intimate friends who call each other by
the first name.
There are only two forms of farewell: "Good-by" and "Good night." Never
say "Au revoir" unless you have been talking French, or are speaking to a
French person. Never interlard your conversation with foreign words or
phrases when you can possibly translate them into English; and the
occasions when our mother tongue will not serve are extremely rare.
Very often in place of the over-worn "How do you do," perhaps more often
than not, people skip the words of actual greeting and plunge instead into
conversation: "Why, Mary! When did you get back?" or "What is the news
with you?" or "What have you been doing lately?" The weather, too, fills
in with equal faithfulness. "Isn't it a heavenly day!" or "Horrid weather,
isn't it?" It would seem that the variability of the weather was purposely
devised to furnish mankind with unfailing material for conversation.
In bidding good-by to a new acquaintance with whom you have been talking,
you shake hands and say, "Good-by. I am very glad to have met you." To one
who has been especially interesting, or who is somewhat of a personage you
say: "It has been a great pleasure to meet you." The other answers: "Thank
you."
=IN CHURCH=
People do not greet each other in church, except at a wedding. At weddings
people do speak to friends sitting near them, but in a low tone of voice.
It would be shocking to enter a church and hear a babel of voices!
Ordinarily in church if a friend happens to catch your eye, you smile, but
never actually bow. If you go to a church not your own and a stranger
offers you a seat in her pew, you should, on leaving, turn to her and
say: "Thank you." But you do not greet anyone until you are out on the
church steps, when you naturally speak to your friends. "Hello" should not
be said on this occasion because it is too "familiar" for the solemnity of
church surroundings.
=SHAKING HANDS=
Gentlemen always shake hands when they are introduced to each other.
Ladies rarely do so with gentlemen who are introduced to them; but they
usually shake hands with other ladies, if they are standing near together.
All people who know each other, unless merely passing by, shake hands when
they meet.
A gentleman on the street never shakes hands with a lady without first
removing his right glove. But at the opera, or at a ball, or if he is
usher at a wedding, he keeps his glove on.
=PERSONALITY OF A HANDSHAKE=
A handshake often creates a feeling of liking or of irritation between two
strangers. Who does not dislike a "boneless" hand extended as though it
were a spray of sea-weed, or a miniature boiled pudding? It is equally
annoying to have one's hand clutched aloft in grotesque affectation and
shaken violently sideways, as though it were being used to clean a spot
out of the atmosphere. What woman does not wince at the viselike grasp
that cuts her rings into her flesh and temporarily paralyzes every finger?
The proper handshake is made briefly; but there should be a feeling of
strength and warmth in the clasp, and, as in bowing, one should at the
same time look into the countenance of the person whose hand one takes. In
giving her hand to a foreigner, a married woman always relaxes her arm and
fingers, as it is customary for him to lift her hand to his lips. But by a
relaxed hand is not meant a wet rag; a hand should have life even though
it be passive. A woman should always allow a man who is only an
acquaintance to shake her hand; she should never shake his. To a very old
friend she gives a much firmer clasp, but he shakes her hand more than she
shakes his. Younger women usually shake the hand of the older; or they
both merely clasp hands, give them a dropping movement rather than a
shake, and let go.
=POLITE GREETINGS FROM YOUNGER TO OLDER=
It is the height of rudeness for young people not to go and shake hands
with an older lady of their acquaintance when they meet her away from
home, if she is a hostess to whose house they have often gone. It is not
at all necessary for either young women or young men to linger and enter
into a conversation, unless the older lady detains them, which she should
not do beyond the briefest minute.
Older ladies who are always dragging young men up to unprepossessing
partners, are studiously avoided and with reason; but otherwise it is
inexcusable for any youth to fail in this small exaction of polite
behavior. If a young man is talking with some one when an older lady
enters the room, he bows formally from where he is, as it would be rude to
leave a young girl standing alone while he went up to speak to Mrs.
Worldly or Mrs. Toplofty. But a young girl passing near an older lady can
easily stop for a moment, say "How do you do, Mrs. Jones!" and pass on.
People do not cross a room to speak to any one unless--to show politeness
to an acquaintance who is a stranger there; to speak to an intimate
friend; or to talk to some one about something in particular.
CHAPTER IV
SALUTATIONS OF COURTESY
=WHEN A GENTLEMAN TAKES OFF HIS HAT=
A gentleman takes off his hat and holds it in his hand when a lady enters
the elevator in which he is a passenger, but he puts it on again in the
corridor. A public corridor is like the street, but an elevator is
suggestive of a room, and a gentleman does not keep his hat on in the
presence of ladies in a house.
This is the rule in elevators in hotels, clubs and apartments. In office
buildings and stores the elevator is considered as public a place as the
corridor. What is more, the elevators in such business structures are
usually so crowded that the only room for a man's hat is on his head. But
even under these conditions a gentleman can reveal his innate respect for
women by not permitting himself to be crowded too near to them.
When a gentleman stops to speak to a lady of his acquaintance in the
street, he takes his hat off with his left hand, leaving his right free to
shake hands, or he takes it off with his right and transfers it to his
left. If he has a stick, he puts his stick in his left hand, takes off his
hat with his right, transfers his hat also to his left hand, and gives her
his right. If they walk ahead together, he at once puts his hat on; but
while he is standing in the street talking to her, he should remain
hatless. There is no rudeness greater than for him to stand talking to a
lady with his hat on, and a cigar or cigarette in his mouth.
A gentleman always rises when a lady comes into a room. In public places
men do not jump up for every strange woman who happens to approach. But if
any woman addresses a remark to him, a gentleman at once rises to his
feet as he answers her. In a restaurant, when a lady bows to him, a
gentleman merely makes the gesture of rising by getting up half way from
his chair and at the same time bowing. Then he sits down again.
When a lady goes to a gentleman's office on business he should stand up to
receive her, offer her a chair, and not sit down until after she is
seated. When she rises to leave, he must get up instantly and stand until
she has left the office.
It is not necessary to add that every American citizen stands with his hat
off at the passing of the "colors" and when the national anthem is played.
If he didn't, some other more loyal citizen would take it off for him.
Also every man should stand with his hat off in the presence of a funeral
that passes close or blocks his way.
=A GENTLEMAN LIFTS HIS HAT=
Lifting the hat is a conventional gesture of politeness shown to strangers
only, not to be confused with bowing, which is a gesture used to
acquaintances and friends. In lifting his hat, a gentleman merely lifts it
slightly off his forehead and replaces it; he does not smile nor bow, nor
even look at the object of his courtesy. No gentleman ever subjects a lady
to his scrutiny or his apparent observation.
If a lady drops her glove, a gentleman should pick it up, hurry ahead of
her--on no account nudge her--offer the glove to her and say: "I think you
dropped this!" The lady replies: "Thank you." The gentleman should then
lift his hat and turn away.
If he passes a lady in a narrow space, so that he blocks her way or in any
manner obtrudes upon her, he lifts his hat as he passes.
If he gets on a street car and the car gives a lurch just as he is about
to be seated and throws him against another passenger, he lifts his hat
and says "Excuse me!" or "I beg your pardon!" He must _not_ say "Pardon
_me_!" He must not take a seat if there are ladies standing. But if he is
sitting and ladies enter, should they be young, he may with perfect
propriety keep his seat. If a very old woman, or a young one carrying a
baby, enters the car, a gentleman rises at once, lifts his hat slightly,
and says: "Please take my seat." He lifts his hat again when she thanks
him.
If the car is very crowded when he wishes to leave it and a lady is
directly in his way, he asks: "May I get through, please?" As she makes
room for him to pass, he lifts his hat and says: "Thank you!"
If he is in the company of a lady in a street car, he lifts his hat to
another gentleman who offers her a seat, picks up something she has
dropped, or shows her any civility.
He lifts his hat if he asks anyone a question, and always, if, when
walking on the street with either a lady or a gentleman, his companion
bows to another person. In other words, a gentleman lifts his hat whenever
he says "Excuse me," "Thank you," or speaks to a stranger, or is spoken to
by a lady, or by an older gentleman. And no gentleman ever keeps a pipe,
cigar or cigarette in his mouth when he lifts his hat, takes it off, or
bows.
=THE BOW OF CEREMONY=
The standing bow, made by a gentleman when he rises at a dinner to say a
few words, in response to applause, or across a drawing-room at a formal
dinner when he bows to a lady or an elderly gentleman, is usually the
outcome of the bow taught little boys at dancing school. The instinct of
clicking heels together and making a quick bend over from the hips and
neck, as though the human body had two hinges, a big one at the hip and a
slight one at the neck, and was quite rigid in between, remains in a
modified form through life. The man who as a child came habitually into
his mother's drawing-room when there was "company," generally makes a
charming bow when grown, which is wholly lacking in self-consciousness.
There is no apparent "heel-clicking" but a camera would show that the
motion is there.
In every form of bow, as distinct from merely lifting his hat, a
gentleman looks at the person he is bowing to. In a very formal standing
bow, his heels come together, his knees are rigid and his expression is
rather serious.
=THE INFORMAL BOW=
The informal bow is merely a modification of the above; it is easy and
unstudied, but it should suggest the ease of controlled muscles, not the
floppiness of a rag doll.
In bowing on the street, a gentleman should never take his hat off with a
flourish, nor should he sweep it down to his knee; nor is it graceful to
bow by pulling the hat over the face as though examining the lining. The
correct bow, when wearing a high hat or derby, is to lift it by holding
the brim directly in front, take it off merely high enough to escape the
head easily, bring it a few inches forward, the back somewhat up, the
front down, and put it on again. To a very old lady or gentleman, to show
adequate respect, a sweeping bow is sometimes made by a somewhat
exaggerated circular motion downward to perhaps the level of the waist, so
that the hat's position is upside down.
If a man is wearing a soft hat he takes it by the crown instead of the
brim, lifts it slightly off his head and puts it on again.
The bow to a friend is made with a smile, to a very intimate friend often
with a broad grin that fits exactly with the word "Hello"; whereas the
formal bow is mentally accompanied by the formal salutation: "How do you
do!"
=THE BOW OF A WOMAN OF CHARM=
The reputation of Southern women for having the gift of fascination is
perhaps due not to prettiness of feature more than to the brilliancy or
sweetness of their ready smile. That Southern women are charming and
"feminine" and lovable is proverbial. How many have noticed that Southern
women always bow with the grace of a flower bending in the breeze and a
smile like sudden sunshine? The unlovely woman bows as though her head
were on a hinge and her smile sucked through a lemon.
Nothing is so easy for any woman to acquire as a charming bow. It is such
a short and fleeting duty. Not a bit of trouble really; just to incline
your head and spontaneously smile as though you thought "Why, _there_ is
Mrs. Smith! How glad I am to see her!"
Even to a stranger who does her a favor, a woman of charm always smiles as
she says "Thank you!" As a possession for either woman or man, a ready
smile is more valuable in life than a ready wit; the latter may sometimes
bring enemies, but the former always brings friends.
=WHEN TO BOW=
Under formal circumstances a lady is supposed to bow to a gentleman first;
but people who know each other well bow spontaneously without observing
this etiquette.
In meeting the same person many times within an hour or so, one does not
continue to bow after the second, or at most third meeting. After that one
either looks away or merely smiles. Unless one has a good memory for
people, it is always better to bow to some one whose face is familiar than
to run the greater risk of ignoring an acquaintance.
=THE "CUT DIRECT"=
For one person to look directly at another and not acknowledge the other's
bow is such a breach of civility that only an unforgivable misdemeanor can
warrant the rebuke. Nor without the gravest cause may a lady "cut" a
gentleman. But there are no circumstances under which a gentleman may
"cut" any woman who, even by courtesy, can be called a lady.
On the other hand, one must not confuse absent-mindedness, or a forgetful
memory with an intentional "cut." Anyone who is preoccupied is apt to pass
others without being aware of them, and without the least want of
friendly regard. Others who have bad memories forget even those by whom
they were much attracted. This does not excuse the bad memory, but it
explains the seeming rudeness.
A "cut" is very different. It is a direct stare of blank refusal, and is
not only insulting to its victim but embarrassing to every witness.
Happily it is practically unknown in polite society.
CHAPTER V
ON THE STREET AND IN PUBLIC
=WALKING ON THE STREET=
A gentleman, whether walking with two ladies or one, takes the curb side
of the pavement. He should never sandwich himself between them.
A young man walking with a young woman should be careful that his manner
in no way draws attention to her or to himself. Too devoted a manner is
always conspicuous, and so is loud talking. Under no circumstances should
he take her arm, or grasp her by or above the elbow, and shove her here
and there, unless, of course, to save her from being run over! He should
not walk along hitting things with his stick. The small boy's delight in
drawing a stick along a picket fence should be curbed in the nursery! And
it is scarcely necessary to add that no gentleman walks along the street
chewing gum or, if he is walking with a lady, puffing a cigar or
cigarette.
All people in the streets, or anywhere in public, should be careful not to
talk too loud. They should especially avoid pronouncing people's names, or
making personal remarks that may attract passing attention or give a clue
to themselves.
One should never call out a name in public, unless it is absolutely
unavoidable. A young girl who was separated from her friends in a baseball
crowd had the presence of mind to put her hat on her parasol and lift it
above the people surrounding her so that her friends might find her.
Do not attract attention to yourself in public. This is one of the
fundamental rules of good breeding. Shun conspicuous manners, conspicuous
clothes, a loud voice, staring at people, knocking into them, talking
across anyone--in a word do not attract attention to yourself. Do not
expose your private affairs, feelings or innermost thoughts in public. You
are knocking down the walls of your house when you do.
=GENTLEMEN AND BUNDLES=
Nearly all books on etiquette insist that a "gentleman must offer to carry
a lady's bundles." Bundles do not suggest a lady in the first place, and
as for gentlemen and bundles!--they don't go together at all. Very neat
packages that could never without injury to their pride be designated as
"bundles" are different. Such, for instance, might be a square, smoothly
wrapped box of cigars, candy, or books. Also, a gentleman might carry
flowers, or a basket of fruit, or, in fact, any package that looks
tempting. He might even stagger under bags and suitcases, or a small
trunk--but carry a "bundle"? Not twice! And yet, many an unknowing woman,
sometimes a very young and pretty one, too, has asked a relative, a
neighbor, or an admirer, to carry something suggestive of a pillow, done
up in crinkled paper and odd lengths of joined string. Then she wonders
afterwards in unenlightened surprise why her cousin, or her neighbor, or
her admirer, who is one of the smartest men in town, never comes to see
her any more!
=A GENTLEMAN OFFERS HIS ARM=
To an old lady or to an invalid a gentleman offers his arm if either of
them wants his support. Otherwise a lady no longer leans upon a gentleman
in the daytime, unless to cross a very crowded thoroughfare, or to be
helped over a rough piece of road, or under other impeding circumstances.
In accompanying a lady anywhere at night, whether down the steps of a
house, or from one building to another, or when walking a distance, a
gentleman always offers his arm. The reason is that in her thin
high-heeled slippers, and when it is too dark to see her foothold clearly,
she is likely to trip.
Under any of these circumstances when he proffers his assistance, he
might say: "Don't you think you had better take my arm? You might trip."
Or--"Wouldn't it be easier if you took my arm along here? The going is
pretty bad." Otherwise the only occasions on which a gentleman offers his
arm to a lady are in taking her in at a formal dinner, or taking her in to
supper at a ball, or when he is an usher at a wedding. Even in walking
across a ballroom, except at a public ball in the grand march, it is the
present fashion for the younger generation to walk side by side, never arm
in arm. This, however, is merely an instance where etiquette and the
custom of the moment differ. Old-fashioned gentlemen still offer their
arm, and it is, and long will be, in accordance with etiquette to do so.
But etiquette does _not_ permit a gentleman to take a lady's arm!
In seeing a lady to her carriage or motor, it is quite correct for a
gentleman to put his hand under her elbow to assist her; and in helping
her out he should alight first and offer her his hand. He should not hold
a parasol over her head unless momentarily while she searches in her
wrist-bag for something, or stops perhaps to put on or take off her glove,
or do anything that occupies both hands. With an umbrella the case is
different, especially in a sudden and driving rain, when she is often very
busily occupied in trying to hold "good" clothes out of the wet and a hat
on, as well. She may also, under these circumstances, take the gentleman's
arm, if the "going" is thereby made any easier.
=A LADY NEVER "ON THE LEFT"=
The owner always sits on the right hand side of the rear seat of a
carriage or a motor, that is driven by a coachman or a chauffeur. If the
vehicle belongs to a lady, she should take her own place always, unless
she relinquishes it to a guest whose rank is above her own, such as that
of the wife of the President or the Governor. If a man is the owner, he
must, on the contrary, give a lady the right hand seat. Whether in a
private carriage, a car or a taxi, a lady must _never_ sit on a
gentleman's left; because according to European etiquette, a lady "on the
left" is _not_ a "lady." Although this etiquette is not strictly observed
in America, no gentleman should risk allowing even a single foreigner to
misinterpret a lady's position.
=AWKWARD QUESTIONS OF PAYMENT=
It is becoming much less customary than it used to be for a gentleman to
offer to pay a lady's way. If in taking a ferry or a subway, a young woman
stops to buy magazines, chocolates, or other trifles, a young man
accompanying her usually offers to pay for them. She quite as usually
answers: "Don't bother, I have it!" and puts the change on the counter. It
would be awkward for him to protest, and bad taste to press the point. But
usually in small matters such as a subway fare, he pays for two. If he
invites her to go to a ball game, or to a matinee or to tea, he naturally
buys the tickets and any refreshment which they may have.
Very often it happens that a young woman and a young man who are bound for
the same house party, at a few hours' distance from the place where they
both live, take the same train--either by accident or by pre-arrangement.
In this case the young woman should pay for every item of her journey. She
should not let her companion pay for her parlor car seat or for her
luncheon; nor should he, when they arrive at their destination, tip the
porter for carrying her bag.
A gentleman who is by chance sitting next to a lady of his acquaintance on
a train or boat, should never think of offering to pay for her seat or for
anything she may buy from the vendor.
=THE "ESCORT"=
Notwithstanding the fact that he is met, all dressed in his best store
clothes, with his "lady friend" leaning on his arm, in the pages of
counterfeit society novels and unauthoritative books on etiquette, there
is no such actual person known to good society--at least not in New York
or any great city--as an escort, he is not only unknown, but he is
impossible.
In good society ladies do not go about under the "care of" gentlemen! It
is unheard of for a gentleman to "take" a young girl alone to a dance or
to dine or to parties of any description; nor can she accept his
sponsorship anywhere whatsoever. A well behaved young girl goes to public
dances only when properly chaperoned and to a private dance with her
mother or else accompanied by her maid, who waits for her the entire
evening in the dressing room. It is not only improper, it is impossible
for any man to take a lady to a party of any sort, to which she has not
been personally invited by the hostess.
A lady may never be under the "protection" of a man _anywhere_! A young
girl is not even taken about by her betrothed. His friends send
invitations to her on his account, it is true, and, if possible, he
accompanies her, but correct invitations must be sent by them to her, or
she should not go.
Older ladies are often thoughtless and say to a young man: "Bring your
fiancee to see me!" His answer should be: "Indeed, I'd love to any time
you telephone her"; or, "I know she'd love to come if you'd ask her." If
the lady stupidly persists in casually saying, "Do bring her," he must
smile and say lightly: "But I can't bring her without an invitation from
you." Or, he merely evades the issue, and does not bring her.
=THE RESTAURANT CHECK=
Everyone has at some time or other been subjected to the awkward moment
when the waiter presents the check to the host. For a host to count up the
items is suggestive of parsimony, while not to look at them is
disconcertingly reckless, and to pay before their faces for what his
guests have eaten is embarrassing. Having the check presented to a hostess
when gentlemen are among her guests, is more unpleasant. Therefore, to
avoid this whole transaction, people who have not charge accounts, should
order the meal ahead, and at the same time pay for it in advance,
including the waiter's tip. Charge customers should make arrangements to
have the check presented to them elsewhere than at table.
=IN STORES OR SHOPS=
Lack of consideration for those who in any capacity serve you, is always
an evidence of ill-breeding, as well as of inexcusable selfishness.
Occasionally a so-called "lady" who has nothing whatever to do but drive
uptown or down in her comfortable limousine, vents her irritability upon a
saleswoman at a crowded counter in a store, because she does not leave
other customers and wait immediately upon her. Then, perhaps, when the
article she asked for is not to be had, she complains to the floor-walker
about the saleswoman's stupidity! Or having nothing that she can think of
to occupy an empty hour on her hands, she demands that every sort of
material be dragged down from the shelves until, discovering that it is at
last time for her appointment, she yawns and leaves.
Of course, on the other hand, there is the genuinely lethargic saleswoman
whose mind doesn't seem to register a single syllable that you have said
to her; who, with complete indifference to you and your preferences,
insists on showing what you distinctly say you do not want, and who caps
the climax by drawling "They" are wearing it this season! Does that sort
of saleswoman ever succeed in selling anything? Does anyone living buy
anything because someone, who knows nothing, tells another, who is often
an expert, what an indiscriminating "They" may be doing? That kind of a
saleswoman would try to tell Kreisler that "They" are not using violins
this season!
There are always two sides to the case, of course, and it is a credit to
good manners that there is scarcely ever any friction in stores and shops
of the first class. Salesmen and women are usually persons who are both
patient and polite, and their customers are most often ladies in fact as
well as "by courtesy." Between those before and those behind the counters,
there has sprung up in many instances a relationship of mutual goodwill
and friendliness. It is, in fact, only the woman who is afraid that
someone may encroach upon her exceedingly insecure dignity, who shows
neither courtesy nor consideration to any except those whom she considers
it to her advantage to please.
=REGARD FOR OTHERS=
Consideration for the rights and feelings of others is not merely a rule
for behavior in public but the very foundation upon which social life is
built.
Rule of etiquette the first--which hundreds of others merely paraphrase or
explain or elaborate--is:
Never do anything that is unpleasant to others.
Never take more than your share--whether of the road in driving a car, of
chairs on a boat or seats on a train, or food at the table.
People who picnic along the public highway leaving a clutter of greasy
paper and swill (not, a pretty name, but neither is it a pretty object!)
for other people to walk or drive past, and to make a breeding place for
flies, and furnish nourishment for rats, choose a disgusting way to repay
the land-owner for the liberty they took in temporarily occupying his
property.
CHAPTER VI
AT THE OPERA, THE THEATER, AND OTHER PUBLIC GATHERINGS
Excepting a religious ceremonial, there is no occasion where greater
dignity of manner is required of ladies and gentlemen both, than in
occupying a box at the opera. For a gentleman especially no other
etiquette is so exacting.
In walking about in the foyer of the opera house, a gentleman leaves his
coat in the box--or in his orchestra chair--but he always wears his high
hat. The "collapsible" hat is for use in the seats rather than in the
boxes, but it can be worn perfectly well by a guest in the latter if he
hasn't a "silk" one. A gentleman must always be in full dress, tail coat,
white waistcoat, white tie and white gloves whether he is seated in the
orchestra or a box. He wears white gloves nowhere else except at a ball,
or when usher at a wedding.
As people usually dine with their hostess before the opera, they arrive
together; the gentlemen assist the ladies to lay off their wraps, one of
the gentlemen (whichever is nearest) draws back the curtain dividing the
ante-room from the box, and the ladies enter, followed by the gentlemen,
the last of whom closes the curtain again. If there are two ladies besides
the hostess, the latter places her most distinguished or older guest in
the corner nearest the stage. The seat furthest from the stage is always
her own. The older guest takes her seat first, then the hostess takes her
place, whereupon the third lady goes forward in the center to the front of
the box, and stands until one of the gentlemen places a chair for her
between the other two. (The chairs are arranged in three rows, of one on
either side with an aisle left between.)
One of the duties of the gentlemen is to see that the curtains at the back
of the box remain tightly closed, as the light from the ante-room shining
in the faces of others in the audience across the house is very
disagreeable to them.
A gentleman never sits in the front row of a box, even though he is for a
time alone in it.
=AS TO VISITING=
It is the custom for a gentleman who is a guest in one box to pay visits
to friends in other boxes during the entr'actes. He must visit none but
ladies of his acquaintance and must never enter a box in which he knows
only the gentlemen, and expect to be introduced to the ladies. If Arthur
Norman, for instance, wishes to present a gentleman to Mrs. Gilding in her
box at the opera, he must first ask her if he may bring his friend James
Dawson. (He would on no account speak of him as Mr. Dawson unless he is an
elderly person.) A lady's box at the opera is actually her house, and only
those who are acceptable as visitors in her house should ask to be
admitted.
But it is quite correct for a gentleman to go into a stranger's box to
speak to a lady who is a friend of his, just as he would go to see her if
she were staying in a stranger's house. But he should not go into the box
of one he does not know, to speak to a lady with whom he has only a slight
acquaintance, since visits are not paid quite so casually to ladies who
are themselves visitors. Upon a gentleman's entering a box it is
obligatory for whoever is sitting behind the lady to whom the arriving
gentleman's visit is addressed, to relinquish his chair. Another point of
etiquette is that a gentleman must never leave the ladies of his own box
alone. Occasionally it happens that the gentlemen in Mrs. Gilding's box,
for instance, have all relinquished their places to visitors and have
themselves gone to Mrs. Worldly's or Mrs. Jones' or Mrs. Town's boxes.
Mrs. Gilding's guests must, from the vantage point of the Worldly, Jones
or Town boxes, keep a watchful eye on their hostess and instantly return
to her support when they see her visitors about to leave, even though the
ladies whom they are momentarily visiting be left to themselves. It is of
course the duty of the other gentlemen who came to the opera with Mrs.
Worldly, Mrs. Jones or Mrs. Town to hurry to them.
A gentleman must never stay in any box that he does not belong in, after
the lowering of the lights for the curtain. Nor, in spite of cartoons to
the contrary, does good taste permit conversation during the performance
or during the overture. Box holders arriving late or leaving before the
final curtain do so as quietly as possible and always without speaking.
=A "BRILLIANT OPERA NIGHT"=
A "brilliant opera night," which one often hears spoken of (meaning merely
that all the boxes are occupied, and that the ladies are more elaborately
dressed than usual) is generally a night when a leader of fashion such as
Mrs. Worldly, Mrs. Gilding, or Mrs. Toplofty, is giving a ball; and most
of the holders of the parterre boxes are in ball dresses, with an unusual
display of jewels. Or a house will be particularly "brilliant" if a very
great singer is appearing in a new role, or if a personage be present, as
when Marshal Joffre went to the Metropolitan.
=AFTER THE PERFORMANCE=
One gentleman, at least, must wait in the carriage lobby until all the
ladies in his party have driven away. _Never_ under any circumstances may
"the last" gentleman leave a lady standing alone on the sidewalk. It is
the duty of the hostess to take all unattended ladies home who have not a
private conveyance of their own, but the obligation does not extend to
married couples or odd men. But if a married lady or widow has ordered her
own car to come for her, the odd gentleman waits with her until it
appears. It is then considerate for her to offer him a "lift," but it is
equally proper for her to thank him for waiting and drive off alone.
=AT THE THEATER=
New Yorkers of highest fashion almost never occupy a box at the theater.
At the opera the world of fashion is to be seen in the parterre boxes (not
the first tier), and in boxes at some of the horse shows and at many
public charity balls and entertainments, but those in boxes at the theater
are usually "strangers" or "outsiders."
No one can dispute that the best theater seats are those in the center of
the orchestra. A box in these days of hatlessness has nothing to recommend
it except that the people can sit in a group and gentlemen can go out
between the acts easily, but these advantages hardly make up for the
disadvantage to four or at least three out of the six box occupants who
see scarcely a slice of the stage.
=WILL YOU DINE AND GO TO THE PLAY?=
There is no more popular or agreeable way of entertaining people than to
ask them to "dine and go to the play." The majority do not even prefer to
have "opera" substituted for "play," because those who care for serious
music are a minority compared with those who like the theater.
If a bachelor gives a small theater party he usually takes his guests to
dine at the Fitz-Cherry or some other fashionable and "amusing"
restaurant, but a married couple living in their own house are more likely
to dine at home, unless they belong to a type prevalent in New York which
is "restaurant mad." The Gildings, in spite of the fact that their own
chef is the best there is, are much more apt to dine in a restaurant
before going to a play--or if they don't dine in a restaurant, they go to
one for supper afterwards. But the Normans, if they ask people to dine and
go to the theater, invariably dine at home.
A theater party can of course be of any size, but six or eight is the
usual number, and the invitations are telephoned: "Will Mr. and Mrs.
Lovejoy dine with Mr. and Mrs. Norman at seven-thirty on Tuesday and go to
the play?"
Or "Will Mr. and Mrs. Oldname dine with Mr. Clubwin Doe on Saturday at the
Toit d'Or and go to the play?"
When Mr. and Mrs. Oldname "accept with pleasure" a second message is
given: "Dinner will be at 7.30."
Mrs. Norman's guests go to her house. Mr. Doe's guests meet him in the
foyer of the Toit d'Or. But the guests at both dinners are taken to the
theater by their host. If a dinner is given by a hostess who has no car of
her own, a guest will sometimes ask: "Don't you want me to have the car
come back for us?" The hostess can either say to an intimate friend "Why,
yes, thank you very much," or to a more formal acquaintance, "No, thank
you just the same--I have ordered taxis." Or she can accept. There is no
rule beyond her own feelings in the matter.
Mr. Doe takes his guests to the theater in taxis. The Normans, if only the
Lovejoys are dining with them, go in Mrs. Norman's little town car, but if
there are to be six or eight, the ladies go in her car and the gentlemen
follow in a taxi. (Unless Mrs. Worldly or Mrs. Gilding are in the party
and order their cars back.)
=TICKETS BOUGHT IN ADVANCE=
Before inviting anyone to go to a particular play, a hostess must be sure
that good tickets are to be had. She should also try to get seats for a
play that is new; since it is dull to take people to something they have
already seen. This is not difficult in cities where new plays come to town
every week, but in New York, where the same ones run for a year or more,
it is often a choice between an old good one or a new one that is poor. If
intimate friends are coming, a hostess usually asks them what they want to
see and tries to get tickets accordingly.
It is really unnecessary to add that one must never ask people to go to a
place of public amusement and then stand in line to get seats at the time
of the performance.
=GOING DOWN THE AISLE OF A THEATER=
The host, or whichever gentleman has the tickets, (if there is no host,
the hostess usually hands them to one of the, gentlemen before leaving her
house), goes down the aisle first and gives the checks to the usher, and
the others follow in the order in which they are to sit and which the
hostess must direct. It is necessary that each knows who follows whom,
particularly if a theater party arrives after the curtain has gone up. If
the hostess "forgets," the guests always ask before trooping down the
aisle "How do you want us to sit?" For nothing is more awkward and stupid
than to block the aisle at the row where their seats are, while their
hostess "sorts them"; and worse yet, in her effort to be polite, sends the
ladies to their seats first and then lets the gentlemen stumble across
them to their own places. Going down the aisle is not a question of
precedence, but a question of seating. The one who is to sit eighth from
the aisle, whether a lady or a gentleman, goes first, then the seventh,
then the sixth, and if the gentleman with the checks is fifth, he goes in
his turn and the fourth follows him.
If a gentleman and his wife go to the theater alone, the question as to
who goes down the aisle first depends on where the usher is. If the usher
takes the checks at the head of the aisle, she follows the usher.
Otherwise the gentleman goes first with the checks. When their places are
shown him, he stands aside for his wife to take her place first and then
he takes his. A lady never sits in the aisle seat if she is with a
gentleman.
=GOOD MANNERS AT THE THEATER=
In passing across people who are seated, always face the stage and press
as close to the backs of the seats you are facing as you can. Remember
also not to drag anything across the heads of those sitting in front of
you. At the moving pictures, especially when it is dark and difficult to
see, a coat on an arm passing behind a chair can literally devastate the
hair-dressing of a lady occupying it.
If you are obliged to cross in front of some one who gets up to let you
pass, say "Thank you," or "Thank you very much" or "I am very sorry." Do
_not_ say "Pardon _me_!" or "Beg pardon!" Though you can say "I beg your
pardon." That, however, would be more properly the expression to use if
you brushed your coat over their heads, or spilled water over them, or did
something to them for which you should actually _beg_ their pardon. But
"Beg pardon," which is an abbreviation, is one of the phrases never said
in best society.
Gentlemen who want to go out after every act should always be sure to get
aisle seats. There are no greater theater pests than those who come back
after the curtain has gone up and temporarily snuff out the view of
everyone behind, as well as annoy those who are obliged to stand up and
let them by.
Between the acts nearly all gentlemen go out and smoke at least once, but
those wedged in far from the aisle, who file out every time the curtain
drops are utterly lacking in consideration for others. If there are five
acts, they should at most go out for two entr'actes and even then be
careful to come back before the curtain goes up.
=VERY INCONSIDERATE TO GIGGLE AND TALK=
Nothing shows less consideration for others than to whisper and rattle
programmes and giggle and even make audible remarks throughout a
performance. Very young people love to go to the theater in droves called
theater parties and absolutely ruin the evening for others who happen to
sit in front of them. If Mary and Johnny and Susy and Tommy want to talk
and giggle, why not arrange chairs in rows for them in a drawing-room,
turn on a phonograph as an accompaniment and let them sit there and
chatter!
If those behind you insist on talking it is never good policy to turn
around and glare. If you are young they pay no attention, and if you are
older--most young people think an angry older person the funniest sight
on earth! The small boy throws a snowball at an elderly gentleman for no
other reason! The only thing you can do is to say amiably: "I'm sorry, but
I can't hear anything while you talk." If they still persist, you can ask
an usher to call the manager.
The sentimental may as well realize that every word said above a whisper
is easily heard by those sitting directly in front, and those who tell
family or other private affairs might do well to remember this also.
As a matter of fact, comparatively few people are ever anything but well
behaved. Those who arrive late and stand long, leisurely removing their
wraps, and who insist on laughing and talking are rarely encountered; most
people take their seats as quietly and quickly as they possibly can, and
are quite as much interested in the play and therefore as attentive and
quiet as you are. A very annoying person at the "movies" is one who reads
every "caption" out loud.
=PROPER THEATER CLOTHES=
At the evening performance in New York a lady wears a dinner dress; a
gentleman a dinner coat, often called a Tuxedo. Full dress is not correct,
but those going afterwards to a ball can perfectly well go to the theater
first if they do not make themselves conspicuous. A lady in a ball dress
and many jewels should avoid elaborate hair ornamentation and must keep
her wrap, or at least a sufficiently opaque scarf, about her shoulders to
avoid attracting people's attention. A gentleman in full dress is not
conspicuous.
And on the subject of theater dress it might be tentatively remarked that
prinking and "making up" in public are all part of an age which can not
see fun in a farce without bedroom scenes and actors in pajamas, and
actresses running about in negliges with their hair down. An audience
which night after night watches people dressing and undressing probably
gets into an unconscious habit of dressing or prinking itself. In other
days it was always thought that so much as to adjust a hat-pin or glance
in a glass was lack of breeding. Every well brought up young woman was
taught that she must finish dressing in her bedchamber. But to-day young
women in theaters, restaurants, and other public places, are continually
studying their reflection in little mirrors and patting their hair and
powdering their noses and fixing this or adjusting that in a way that in
Mrs. Oldname's girlhood would have absolutely barred them from good
society; nor can Mrs. Worldly or Mrs. Oldname be imagined "preening" and
"prinking" anywhere. They dress as carefully and as beautifully as
possible, but when they turn away from the mirrors in their dressing rooms
they never look in a glass or "take note of their appearance" until they
dress again. And it must be granted that Lucy Gilding, Constance Style,
Celia Lovejoy, Mary Smartlington and the other well-bred members of the
younger set do not put finishing touches on their faces in public--as yet!
=THE COURTESY OF SENDING TICKETS EARLY=
Most people are at times "obliged" to take tickets for various charity
entertainments--balls, theatricals, concerts or pageants--to which, if
they do not care to go themselves, they give away their tickets. Those who
intend giving tickets should remember that a message, "Can you use two
tickets for the Russian ballet to-night?" sent at seven o'clock that same
evening, after the Lovejoys have settled themselves for an evening at home
(Celia having decided not to curl her hair and Donald having that morning
sent his only dinner coat to be re-faced) can not give the same pleasure
that their earlier offer would have given. An opera box sent on the
morning of the opera is worse, since to find four music-loving people to
fill it on such short notice at the height of the season is an undertaking
that few care to attempt.
=A BIG THEATER PARTY=
A big theater party is one of the favorite entertainments given for a
debutante. If fifty or more are to be asked, invitations are sometimes
engraved.
Mrs. Toplofty
requests the pleasure of
[_Name of guest is written on this line._]
company at the theater and a small dance afterward
in honor of her great-niece
Miss Millicent Gilding
on Tuesday the sixth of January
at half past eight o'clock
R.s.v.p.
But--and usually--the "general utility" invitation (see page 118) is
filled in, as follows:
[HW: To meet Miss Millicent Gilding]
Mrs. Toplofty
requests the pleasure of
[HW: Miss Rosalie Gray's]
company at [HW: the Theater and at a dance]
on [HW: Tuesday the sixth of January]
at [HW: 8:15]
R.s.v.p.
Or notes in either wording above are written by hand.
All those who accept have a ticket sent them. Each ticket sent a debutante
is accompanied by a visiting card on which is written:
"Be in the lobby of the Comedy Theater at 8.15. Order your motor
to come for you at 010 Fifth Avenue at 1 A.M."
On the evening of the theater party, Mrs. Toplofty herself stands in the
lobby to receive the guests. As soon as any who are to sit next to each
other have arrived, they are sent into the theater; each gives her (or
his) ticket to an usher and sits in the place alloted to her (or him). It
is well for the hostess to have a seat plan for her own use in case
thoughtless young people mix their tickets all up and hand them to an
usher in a bunch! And yet--if they do mix themselves to their own
satisfaction, she would better "leave them" than attempt to disturb a plan
that may have had more method in it than madness.
When the last young girl has arrived, Mrs. Toplofty goes into the theater
herself (she does not bother to wait for any boys), and in this one
instance she very likely sits in a stage box so as to "keep her eye on
them," and with her she has two or three of her own friends.
After the theater, big motor busses drive them all either to the house of
the hostess or to a hotel for supper and to dance. If they go to a hotel,
a small ballroom must be engaged and the dance is a private one; it would
be considered out of place to take a lot of very young people to a public
cabaret.
Carelessly chaperoned young girls are sometimes, it is true, seen in very
questionable places because some of the so-called dancing restaurants are
perfectly fit and proper for them to go to; many other places however, are
not, and for the sake of general appearances it is safer to make it a rule
that no very young girl should go anywhere after the theater except to a
private house or a private dance or ball.
Older people, on the other hand, very often go for a supper to one of the
cabarets for which New York is famous (or infamous?), or perhaps go to
watch a vaudeville performance at midnight, or dance, or do both together.
Others, if they are among the great majority of "quiet" people, go home
after the theater, especially if they have dined with their hostess (or
host) before the play.
=DON'T BE LATE=
When you are dining before going to the opera or theater you must arrive
on the stroke of the hour for which you are asked; it is one occasion when
it is inexcusable to be late.
In accepting an invitation for lunch or dinner after which you are going
to a game, or any sort of performance, you must not be late! Nothing is
more unfair to others who are keen about whatever it is you are going to
see, than to make them miss the beginning of a performance through your
thoughtless selfishness.
For this reason box-holders who are music-lovers do not ask guests who
have the "late habit" to dine before the opera, because experience has
taught them they will miss the overture and most of the first act if they
do. Those, on the other hand, who care nothing for music and go to the
opera to see people and be seen, seldom go until most if not all of the
first act is over. But these in turn might give music-loving guests their
choice of going alone in time for the overture and waiting for them in the
box at the opera, or having the pleasure of dining with their hostess but
missing most of the first part.
=AT GAMES, THE CIRCUS OR ELSEWHERE=
Considerate and polite behavior by each member of an audience is the same
everywhere. At outdoor games, or at the circus, it is not necessary to
stop talking. In fact, a good deal of noise is not out of the way in
"rooting" at a match, and a circus band does not demand silence in order
to appreciate its cheerful blare. One very great annoyance in open air
gatherings is cigar smoke when blown directly in one's face, or worse yet
the smoke from a smouldering cigar. It is almost worthy of a study in air
currents to discover why with plenty of space all around, a tiny column of
smoke will make straight for the nostrils of the very one most nauseated
by it!
The only other annoyance met with at ball games or parades or wherever
people occupy seats on the grandstand, is when some few in front get
excited and insist on standing up. If those in front stand--those behind
naturally have to! Generally people call out "down in front." If they
won't stay "down," then all those behind have to stay "up." Also umbrellas
and parasols entirely blot out the view of those behind.
CHAPTER VII
CONVERSATION
=NEED OF RECIPROCITY=
Ideal conversation should be a matter of equal give and take, but too
often it is all "take." The voluble talker--or chatterer--rides his own
hobby straight through the hours without giving anyone else, who might
also like to say something, a chance to do other than exhaustedly await
the turn that never comes. Once in a while--a very long while--one meets a
brilliant person whose talk is a delight; or still more rarely a wit who
manipulates every ordinary topic with the agility of a sleight-of-hand
performer, to the ever increasing rapture of his listeners.
But as a rule the man who has been led to believe that he is a brilliant
and interesting talker has been led to make himself a rapacious pest. No
conversation is possible between others whose ears are within reach of his
ponderous voice; anecdotes, long-winded stories, dramatic and pathetic,
stock his repertoire; but worst of all are his humorous yarns at which he
laughs uproariously though every one else grows solemn and more solemn.
There is a simple rule, by which if one is a voluble chatterer (to be a
good talker necessitates a good mind) one can at least refrain from being
a pest or a bore. And the rule is merely, to stop and think.
="THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK"=
Nearly all the faults or mistakes in conversation are caused by not
thinking. For instance, a first rule for behavior in society is: "Try to
do and say those things only which will be agreeable to others." Yet how
many people, who really know better, people who are perfectly capable of
intelligent understanding if they didn't let their brains remain asleep
or locked tight, go night after night to dinner parties, day after day to
other social gatherings, and absent-mindedly prate about this or that
without ever taking the trouble to _think_ what they are saying and to
whom they are saying it! Would a young mother describe twenty or thirty
cunning tricks and sayings of the baby to a bachelor who has been
helplessly put beside her at dinner if she _thought_? She would know very
well, alas! that not even a very dear friend would really care for more
than a _hors d'oeuvre_ of the subject, at the board of general
conversation.
The older woman is even worse, unless something occurs (often when it is
too late) to make her wake up and realize that she not only bores her
hearers but prejudices everyone against her children by the unrestraint of
her own praise. The daughter who is continually lauded as the most
captivating and beautiful girl in the world, seems to the wearied
perceptions of enforced listeners annoying and plain. In the same way the
"magnificent" son is handicapped by his mother's--or his
father's--overweening pride and love in exact proportion to its displayed
intensity. On the other hand, the neglected wife, the unappreciated
husband, the misunderstood child, takes on a glamor in the eyes of others
equally out of proportion. That great love has seldom perfect wisdom is
one of the great tragedies in the drama of life. In the case of the
overloving wife or mother, some one should love _her_ enough to make her
_stop and think_ that her loving praise is not merely a question of boring
her hearers but of handicapping unfairly those for whom she would gladly
lay down her life--and yet few would have the courage to point out to her
that she would far better lay down her tongue.
The cynics say that those who take part in social conversation are bound
to be either the bores or the bored; and that which you choose to be, is a
mere matter of selection. And there must be occasions in the life of
everyone when the cynics seem to be right; the man of affairs who, sitting
next to an attractive looking young woman, is regaled throughout dinner
with the detailed accomplishments of the young woman's husband; the woman
of intellect who must listen with interest to the droolings of an
especially prosy man who holds forth on the super-everything of his own
possessions, can not very well consider that the evening was worth
dressing, sitting up, and going out for.
People who talk too easily are apt to talk too much, and at times
imprudently, and those with vivid imagination are often unreliable in
their statements. On the other hand the "man of silence" who never speaks
except when he has something "worth while" to say, is apt to wear well
among his intimates, but is not likely to add much to the gaiety of a
party.
Try not to repeat yourself; either by telling the same story again and
again or by going back over details of your narrative that seemed
especially to interest or amuse your hearer. Many things are of interest
when briefly told and for the first time; _nothing_ interests when too
long dwelt upon; little interests that is told a second time. The
exception is something very pleasant that you have heard about A. or more
especially A.'s child, which having already told A. you can then tell B.,
and later C. in A.'s presence. Never do this as a habit, however, and
never drag the incident into the conversation merely to flatter A., since
if A. is a person of taste, he will be far more apt to resent than be
pleased by flattery that borders on the fulsome.
Be careful not to let amiable discussion turn into contradiction and
argument. The tactful person keeps his prejudices to himself and even when
involved in a discussion says quietly "No. I don't think I agree with you"
or "It seems to me thus and so." One who is well-bred never says "You are
wrong!" or "Nothing of the kind!" If he finds another's opinion utterly
opposed to his own, he switches to another subject for a pleasanter
channel of conversation.
When some one is talking to you, it is inconsiderate to keep repeating
"What did you say?" Those who are deaf are often, obliged to ask that a
sentence be repeated. Otherwise their irrelevant answers would make them
appear half-witted. But countless persons with perfectly good hearing say
"What?" from force of habit and careless inattention.
=THE GIFT OF HUMOR=
The joy of joys is the person of light but unmalicious humor. If you know
any one who is gay, beguiling and amusing, you will, if you are wise, do
everything you can to make him prefer your house and your table to any
other; for where he is, the successful party is also. What he says is of
no matter, it is the twist he gives to it, the intonation, the personality
he puts into his quip or retort or observation that delights his hearers,
and in his case the ordinary rules do not apply.
Eugene Field could tell a group of people that it had rained to-day and
would probably rain to-morrow, and make everyone burst into laughter--or
tears if he chose--according to the way it was said. But the ordinary rest
of us must, if we would be thought sympathetic, intelligent or agreeable,
"go fishing."
=GOING FISHING FOR TOPICS=
The charming talker is neither more nor less than a fisherman.
(Fisherwoman rather, since in America women make more effort to be
agreeable than men do.) Sitting next to a stranger she wonders which "fly"
she had better choose to interest him. She offers one topic; not much of a
nibble. So she tries another or perhaps a third before he "rises" to the
bait.
=THE DOOR SLAMMERS=
There are people whose idea of conversation is contradiction and flat
statement. Finding yourself next to one of these, you venture:
"Have you seen any good plays lately?"
"No, hate the theater."
"Which team are you for in the series?"
"Neither. Only an idiot could be interested in baseball."
"Country must have a good many idiots!" mockingly.
"Obviously it has." Full stop. In desperation you veer to the personal.
"I've never seen Mrs. Bobo Gilding as beautiful as she is to-night."
"Nothing beautiful about her. As for the name 'Bobo,' it's asinine."
"Oh, it's just one of those children's names that stick sometimes for
life."
"Perfect rot. Ought to be called by his name," etc.
Another, not very different in type though different in method, is the
self-appointed instructor whose proper place is on the lecture platform,
not at a dinner table.
"The earliest coins struck in the Peloponnesus were stamped on one side
only; their alloy----" etc.
Another is the expounder of the obvious: "Have you ever noticed," says he,
deeply thinking, "how people's tastes differ?"
Then there is the vulgarian of fulsome compliment: "Why are you so
beautiful? It is not fair to the others----" and so on.
=TACTLESS BLUNDERERS=
Tactless people are also legion. The means-to-be-agreeable elderly man
says to a passee acquaintance, "Twenty years ago you were the prettiest
woman in town"; or in the pleasantest tone of voice to one whose only son
has married. "Why is it, do you suppose, that young wives always dislike
their mothers-in-law?"
If you have any ambition to be sought after in society you must not talk
about the unattractiveness of old age to the elderly, about the joys of
dancing and skating to the lame, or about the advantages of ancestry to
the self-made. It is also dangerous, as well as needlessly unkind, to
ridicule or criticize others, especially for what they can't help. If a
young woman's familiar or otherwise lax behavior deserves censure, a
casual unflattering remark may not add to your own popularity if your
listener is a relative, but you can at least, without being shamefaced,
stand by your guns. On the other hand to say needlessly "What an ugly
girl!" or "What a half-wit that boy is!" can be of no value except in
drawing attention to your own tactlessness.
The young girl who admired her own facile adjectives said to a casual
acquaintance: "How _can_ you go about with that moth-eaten, squint-eyed,
bag of a girl!" "Because," answered the youth whom she had intended to
dazzle, "the lady of your flattering epithets happens to be my sister."
It is scarcely necessary to say that one whose tactless remarks ride
rough-shod over the feelings of others, is not welcomed by many.
=THE BORE=
A bore is said to be "one who talks about himself when you want to talk
about yourself!" which is superficially true enough, but a bore might more
accurately be described as one who is interested in what does not interest
you, and insists that you share his enthusiasm, in spite of your
disinclination. To the bore life holds no dullness; every subject is of
unending delight. A story told for the thousandth time has not lost its
thrill; every tiresome detail is held up and turned about as a morsel of
delectableness; to him each pea in a pod differs from another with the
entrancing variety that artists find in tropical sunsets.
On the other hand, to be bored is a bad habit, and one only too easy to
fall into. As a matter of fact, it is impossible, almost, to meet anyone
who has not _something_ of interest to tell you if you are but clever
enough yourself to find out what it is. There are certain always
delightful people who refuse to be bored. Their attitude is that no
subject need ever be utterly uninteresting, so long as it is discussed for
the first time. Repetition alone is deadly dull. Besides, what is the
matter with trying to be agreeable yourself? Not _too_ agreeable. Alas!
it is true: "Be polite to bores and so shall you have bores always round
about you." Furthermore, there is no reason why you should be bored when
you can be otherwise. But if you find yourself sitting in the hedgerow
with nothing but weeds, there is no reason for shutting your eyes and
seeing nothing, instead of finding what beauty you may in the weeds. To
put it cynically, life is too short to waste it in drawing blanks.
Therefore, it is up to you to find as many pictures to put on your blank
pages as possible.
=A FEW IMPORTANT DETAILS OF SPEECH IN CONVERSATION=
Unless you wish to stamp yourself a person who has never been out of
"provincial" society, never speak of your husband as "Mr." except to an
inferior. Mrs. Worldly for instance in talking with a stranger would say
"my husband," and to a friend, meaning one not only whom she calls by her
first name, but anyone on her "dinner list," she says, "Dick thought the
play amusing" or "Dick said----". This does not give her listener the
privilege of calling him "Dick." The listener in return speaks of her own
husband as "Tom" even if he is seventy--unless her hearer is a very young
person (either man or woman), when she would say "my husband." Never "Mr.
Older." To call your husband Mr. means that you consider the person you
are talking to, beneath you in station. Mr. Worldly in the same way speaks
of Mrs. Worldly as "my wife" to a gentleman, or "Edith" in speaking to a
lady. _Always._
In speaking about other people, one says "Mrs.," "Miss" or "Mr." as the
case may be. It is bad form to go about saying "Edith Worldly" or "Ethel
Norman" to those who do not call them Edith or Ethel, and to speak thus
familiarly of one whom you do not call by her first name, is unforgivable.
It is also effrontery for a younger person to call an older by her or his
first name, without being asked to do so. Only a very underbred,
thick-skinned person would attempt it.
Also you must not take your conversation "out of the drawing-room."
Operations, ills or personal blemishes, details and appurtenances of the
dressing-room, for instance, are neither suitable nor pleasant topics, nor
are personal jokes in good taste.
=THE "OMNISCIENCE" OF THE VERY RICH=
Why a man, because he has millions, should assume that they confer
omniscience in all branches of knowledge, is something which may be left
to the psychologist to answer, but most of those thrown much in contact
with millionaires will agree that an attitude of infallibility is typical
of a fair majority.
A professor who has devoted his life to a subject modestly makes a
statement. "You are all wrong," says the man of millions, "It is this
way----". As a connoisseur he seems to think that because he can pay for
anything he fancies, he is accredited expert as well as potential owner.
Topics he does not care for are "bosh," those which he has a smattering
of, he simply appropriates; his prejudices are, in his opinion, expert
criticism; his taste impeccable; his judgment infallible; and to him the
world is a pleasance built for his sole pleasuring. But to the rest of us
who also have to live in it with as much harmony as we can, such persons
are certainly elephants at large in the garden. We can sometimes induce
them to pass through gently, but they are just as likely at any moment to
pull up our fences and push the house itself over on our defenseless
heads.
There are countless others of course, very often the richest of all, who
are authoritative in all they profess, who are experts and connoisseurs,
who are human and helpful and above everything respecters of the garden
enclosure of others.
=DANGERS TO BE AVOIDED=
In conversation the dangers are very much the same as those to be avoided
in writing letters. Talk about things which you think will be agreeable to
your hearer. Don't dilate on ills, misfortune, or other unpleasantnesses.
The one in greatest danger of making enemies is the man or woman of
brilliant wit. If sharp, wit is apt to produce a feeling of mistrust even
while it stimulates. Furthermore the applause which follows every witty
sally becomes in time breath to the nostrils, and perfectly
well-intentioned, people, who mean to say nothing unkind, in the flash of
a second "see a point," and in the next second, score it with no more
power to resist than a drug addict can resist a dose put into his hand!
The mimic is a joy to his present company, but the eccentric mannerism of
one is much easier to imitate than the charm of another, and the subjects
of the habitual mimic are all too apt to become his enemies.
You need not, however, be dull because you refrain from the rank habit of
a critical attitude, which like a weed will grow all over the place if you
let it have half a chance. A very good resolve to make and keep, if you
would also keep any friends you make, is never to speak of anyone without,
in imagination, having them overhear what you say. One often hears the
exclamation "I would say it to her face!" At least be very sure that this
is true, and not a braggart's phrase and then--nine times out of ten think
better of it and refrain. Preaching is all very well in a text-book,
schoolroom or pulpit, but it has no place in society. Society is supposed
to be a pleasant place; telling people disagreeable things to their faces
or behind their backs is _not_ a pleasant occupation.
Do not be too apparently clever if you would be popular. The cleverest
woman is she who, in talking to a man, makes _him_ seem clever. This was
Mme. Recamier's great charm.
=A FEW MAXIMS FOR THOSE WHO TALK TOO MUCH--AND EASILY!=
The faults of commission are far more serious than those of omission;
regrets are seldom for what you left unsaid.
The chatterer reveals every corner of his shallow mind; one who keeps
silent can not have his depth plumbed.
Don't pretend to know more than you do. To say you have read a book and
then seemingly to understand nothing of what you have read, proves you a
half-wit. Only the very small mind hesitates to say "I don't know."
Above all, stop and _think_ what you are saying! This is really the first,
last and only rule. If you "stop" you can't chatter or expound or flounder
ceaselessly, and if you _think_, you will find a topic and a manner of
presenting your topic so that your neighbor will be interested rather than
long-suffering.
Remember also that the sympathetic (not apathetic) listener is the delight
of delights. The person who looks glad to see you, who is seemingly eager
for your news, or enthralled with your conversation; who looks at you with
a kindling of the face, and gives you spontaneous and undivided attention,
is the one to whom the palm for the art of conversation would undoubtedly
be awarded.
CHAPTER VIII
WORDS, PHRASES AND PRONUNCIATION
=PHRASES AVOIDED IN GOOD SOCIETY=
It is difficult to explain why well-bred people avoid certain words and
expressions that are admitted by etymology and grammar. So it must be
merely stated that they have and undoubtedly always will avoid them.
Moreover, this choice of expression is not set forth in any printed guide
or book on English, though it is followed in all literature.
To liken Best Society to a fraternity, with the avoidance of certain
seemingly unimportant words as the sign of recognition, is not a fantastic
simile. People of the fashionable world invariably use certain expressions
and instinctively avoid others; therefore when a stranger uses an
"avoided" one he proclaims that he "does not belong," exactly as a
pretended Freemason proclaims himself an "outsider" by giving the wrong
"grip"--or whatever it is by which Brother Masons recognize one another.
People of position are people of position the world over--and by their
speech are most readily known. Appearance on the other hand often passes
muster. A "show-girl" may be lovely to look at as she stands in a
seemingly unstudied position and in perfect clothes. But let her say "My
Gawd!" or "Wouldn't that jar you!" and where is her loveliness then?
And yet, and this is the difficult part of the subject to make clear, the
most vulgar slang like that quoted above, is scarcely worse than the
attempted elegance which those unused to good society imagine to be the
evidence of cultivation.
People who say "I come," and "I seen it," and "I done it" prove by their
lack of grammar that they had little education in their youth.
Unfortunate, very; but they may at the same time be brilliant, exceptional
characters, loved by everyone who knows them, because they are what they
seem and nothing else. But the caricature "lady" with the comic picture
"society manner" who says "Pardon _me_" and talks of "retiring," and
"residing," and "desiring," and "being acquainted with," and "attending"
this and that with "her escort," and curls her little finger over the
handle of her teacup, and prates of "culture," does not belong to Best
Society, and _never_ will! The offense of pretentiousness is committed
oftener perhaps by women than by men, who are usually more natural and
direct. A genuine, sincere, kindly American man--or woman--can go anywhere
and be welcomed by everyone, provided of course, that he is a man of
ability and intellect. One finds him all over the world, neither aping the
manners of others nor treading on the sensibilities of those less
fortunate than himself.
Occasionally too, there appears in Best Society a provincial in whose
conversation is perceptible the influence of much reading of the Bible.
Such are seldom if ever stilted or pompous or long-worded, but are
invariably distinguished for the simplicity and dignity of their English.
There is no better way to cultivate taste in words, than by constantly
reading the best English. None of the words and expressions which are
taboo in good society will be found in books of proved literary standing.
But it must not be forgotten that there can be a vast difference between
literary standing and popularity, and that many of the "best sellers" have
no literary merit whatsoever.
To be able to separate best English from merely good English needs a long
process of special education, but to recognize bad English one need merely
skim through a page of a book, and if a single expression in the left-hand
column following can be found (unless purposely quoted in illustration of
vulgarity) it is quite certain that the author neither writes best English
nor belongs to Best Society.
NEVER SAY: CORRECT FORM:
In our residence we retire At our house we go to bed
early (or arise) early (or get up)
I desire to purchase I should like to buy
Make you acquainted with (See Introductions)
Pardon _me_! I beg your pardon. Or,
Excuse me! Or, sorry!
Lovely food Good food
Elegant home Beautiful house--or place
A stylish dresser She dresses well, or she
wears lovely clothes
Charmed! or Pleased to How do you do!
meet you!
Attended Went to
I trust I am not trespassing I hope I am not in the way
(unless trespassing on private
property is actually
meant)
Request (meaning ask) Used only in the third person
in formal written invitations.
Will you accord me permission? Will you let me? or May I?
Permit me to assist you Let me help you
Brainy Brilliant or clever
I presume I suppose
Tendered him a banquet Gave him a dinner
Converse Talk
Partook of liquid refreshment Had something to drink
Perform ablutions Wash
A song entitled Called (proper if used in
legal sense)
I will ascertain I will find out
Residence or mansion House, or big house
In the home In some one's house or At
home
Phone, photo, auto Telephone, photograph,
automobile
"Tintinnabulary summons," meaning bell, and "Bovine continuation," meaning
cow's tail, are more amusing than offensive, but they illustrate the
theory of bad style that is pretentious.
As examples of the very worst offenses that can be committed, the
following are offered:
"Pray, accept my thanks for the flattering ovation you have tendered me."
"Yes," says the preposterous bride, "I am the recipient of many admired
and highly prized gifts."
"Will you permit me to recall myself to you?"
Speaking of bridesmaids as "pretty servitors," "dispensing hospitality,"
asking any one to "step this way."
Many other expressions are provincial and one who seeks purity of speech
should, if possible, avoid them, but as "offenses" they are minor:
Reckon, guess, calculate, or figure, meaning think.
Allow, meaning agree.
Folks, meaning family.
Cute, meaning pretty or winsome.
Well, I declare! 'Pon my word!
Box party, meaning sitting in a box at the theater.
Visiting with, meaning talking to.
There are certain words which have been singled out and misused by the
undiscriminating until their value is destroyed. Long ago "elegant" was
turned from a word denoting the essence of refinement and beauty, into
gaudy trumpery. "Refined" is on the verge. But the pariah of the language
is culture! A word rarely used by those who truly possess it, but so
constantly misused by those who understand nothing of its meaning, that it
is becoming a synonym for vulgarity and imitation. To speak of the proper
use of a finger bowl or the ability to introduce two people without a
blunder as being "evidence of culture of the highest degree" is precisely
as though evidence of highest education were claimed for who ever can do
sums in addition, and read words of one syllable. Culture in its true
meaning is widest possible education, _plus_ especial refinement and
taste.
The fact that slang is apt and forceful makes its use irresistibly
tempting. Coarse or profane slang is beside the mark, but "flivver,"
"taxi," the "movies," "deadly" (meaning dull), "feeling fit," "feeling
blue," "grafter," a "fake," "grouch," "hunch" and "right o!" are typical
of words that it would make our spoken language stilted to exclude.
All colloquial expressions are little foxes that spoil the grapes of
perfect diction, but they are very little foxes; it is the false elegance
of stupid pretentiousness that is an annihilating blight which destroys
root and vine.
In the choice of words, we can hardly find a better guide than the lines
of Alexander Pope:
"In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold;
Alike fantastic, if too new, or old:
Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside."
=PRONUNCIATION=
Traits of pronunciation which are typical of whole sections of the
country, or accents inherited from European parents must not be confused
with crude pronunciations that have their origin in illiteracy. A
gentleman of Irish blood may have a brogue as rich as plum cake, or
another's accent be soft Southern or flat New England, or rolling
Western; and to each of these the utterance of the others may sound too
flat, too soft, too harsh, too refined, or drawled, or clipped short, but
not uncultivated.
To a New York ear, which ought to be fairly unbiased since the New York
accent is a composite of all accents, English women chirrup and twitter.
But the beautifully modulated, clear-clipped enunciation of a cultivated
Englishman, one who can move his jaws and not swallow his words whole,
comes as near to perfection in English as the diction of the Comedie
Francaise comes to perfection in French.
The Boston accent is very crisp and in places suggestive of the best
English but the vowels are so curiously flattened that the speech has a
saltless effect. There is no rhyming word as flat as the way they say
"heart"--"haht." And "bone" and "coat"--"bawn," "cawt," to rhyme with awe!
Then South, there is too much salt--rather too much sugar. Every one's
mouth seems full of it, with "I" turned to "ah" and every staccato a
drawl. But the voices are full of sweetness and music unknown north of the
Potomac.
The Pennsylvania burr is perhaps the mother of the Western one. It is
strong enough to have mothered all the r's in the wor-r-rld!
Philadelphia's "haow" and "caow" for "how" and "cow," and "me" for "my" is
quite as bad as the "water-r" and "thot" of the West.
N'Yawk is supposed to say "yeh" and "Omurica" and "Toosdeh," and
"puddin'." Probably five per cent. of it does, but as a whole it has no
accent, since it is a composite of all in one.
In best New York society there is perhaps a generally accepted
pronunciation which seems chiefly an elimination of the accents of other
sections. Probably that is what all people think of their own
pronunciation. Or do they not know, whether their inflection is right or
wrong? Nothing should be simpler to determine. If they pronounce according
to a standard dictionary, they are correct; if they don't, they have an
"accent" or are ignorant; it is for them to determine which. Such
differences as between saying wash or wawsh, ad_ver_tisement or
adver_tise_ment are of small importance. But no one who makes the least
pretence of being a person of education says: kep for kept, genelmun or
gempmun or laydee, vawde-vil, or eye-talian.
=HOW TO CULTIVATE AN AGREEABLE SPEECH=
First of all, remember that while affectation is odious, crudeness must be
overcome. A low voice is always pleasing, not whispered or murmured, but
low in pitch. Do not talk at the top of your head, nor at the top of your
lungs. Do not slur whole sentences together; on the other hand, do not
pronounce as though each syllable were a separate tongue and lip exercise.
As a nation we do not talk so much too fast, as too loud. Tens of
thousands twang and slur and shout and burr! Many of us drawl and many
others of us race tongues and breath at full speed, but, as already said,
the speed of our speech does not matter so much. Pitch of voice matters
very much and so does pronunciation--enunciation is not so
essential--except to one who speaks in public.
Enunciation means the articulation of whatever you have to say distinctly
and clearly. Pronunciation is the proper sounding of consonants, vowels
and the accentuation of each syllable.
There is no better way to cultivate a perfect pronunciation; apart from
association with cultivated people, than by getting a small pronouncing
dictionary of words in ordinary use, and reading it word by word, marking
and studying any that you use frequently and mispronounce. When you know
them, then read any book at random slowly aloud to yourself, very
carefully pronouncing each word. The consciousness of this exercise may
make you stilted in conversation at first, but by and by the "sense" or
"impulse" to speak correctly will come.
This is a method that has been followed by many men handicapped in youth
through lack of education, who have become prominent in public life, and
by many women, who likewise handicapped by circumstances, have not only
made possible a creditable position for themselves, but have then given
their children the inestimable advantage of learning their mother tongue
correctly at their mother's knee.
CHAPTER IX
ONE'S POSITION IN THE COMMUNITY
=THE CHOICE=
First of all, it is necessary to decide what one's personal idea of
position is, whether this word suggests merely a social one, comprising a
large or an exclusive acquaintance and leadership in social gaiety, or
position established upon the foundation of communal consequence, which
may, or may not, include great social gaiety. In other words, you who are
establishing yourself, either as a young husband or a stranger, would you,
if you could have your wish granted by a genie, choose to have the
populace look upon you askance and in awe, because of your wealth and
elegance, or would you wish to be loved, not as a power conferring favors
which belong really to the first picture, but as a fellow-being with an
understanding heart? The granting of either wish is not a bit beyond the
possibilities of anyone. It is merely a question of depositing securities
of value in the bank of life.
=THE BANK OF LIFE=
Life, whether social or business, is a bank in which you deposit certain
funds of character, intellect and heart; or other funds of egotism,
hard-heartedness and unconcern; or deposit--nothing! And the bank honors
your deposit, and no more. In other words, you can draw nothing out but
what you have put in.
If your community is to give you admiration and honor, it is merely
necessary to be admirable and honorable. The more you put in, the more
will be paid out to you. It is too trite to put on paper! But it is
astonishing, isn't it, how many people who are depositing nothing
whatever, expect to be paid in admiration and respect?
A man of really high position is always a great citizen first and above
all. Otherwise he is a hollow puppet whether he is a millionaire or has
scarcely a dime to bless himself with. In the same way, a woman's social
position that is built on sham, vanity, and selfishness, is like one of
the buildings at an exposition; effective at first sight, but bound when
slightly weather-beaten to show stucco and glue.
It would be very presumptuous to attempt to tell any man how to acquire
the highest position in his community, especially as the answer is written
in his heart, his intellect, his altruistic sympathy, and his ardent civic
pride. A subject, however, that is not so serious or over-aweing, and
which can perhaps have directions written for it, is the lesser ambition
of acquiring a social position.
=TAKING OR ACQUIRING A SOCIAL POSITION=
A bride whose family or family-in-law has social position has merely to
take that which is hers by inheritance; but a stranger who comes to live
in a new place, or one who has always lived in a community but unknown to
society, have both to acquire a standing of their own. For example:
=THE BRIDE OF GOOD FAMILY=
The bride of good family need do nothing on her own initiative. After her
marriage when she settles down in her own house or apartment, everyone who
was asked to her wedding breakfast or reception, and even many who were
only bidden to the church, call on her. She keeps their cards, enters them
in a visiting or ordinary alphabetically indexed blank book, and within
two weeks she returns each one of their calls.
As it is etiquette for everyone when calling for the first time on a
bride, to ask if she is in, the bride, in returning her first calls,
should do likewise. As a matter of fact, a bride assumes the intimate
visiting list of both her own and her husband's families, whether they
call on her or not. By and by, if she gives a general tea or ball, she can
invite whom, among them, she wants to. She should not, however, ask any
mere acquaintances of her family to her house, until they have first
invited her and her husband to theirs. But if she would like to invite
intimate friends of her own or of her husband, or of her family, there is
no valid reason why she should not do so.
Usually when a bride and groom return from their wedding trip, all their
personal friends and those of their respective parents, give "parties" for
them. And from being seen at one house, they are invited to another. If
they go nowhere, they do not lose position but they are apt to be
overlooked until people remember them by seeing them. But it is not at all
necessary for young people to entertain in order to be asked out a great
deal; they need merely be attractive and have engaging manners to be as
popular as heart could wish. But they must make it a point to be
considerate of everyone and never fail to take the trouble to go up with a
smiling "How do you do" to every older lady who has been courteous enough
to invite them to her house. That is not "toadying," it is being merely
polite. To go up and gush is a very different matter, and to go up and
gush over a prominent hostess who has never invited them to her house, is
toadying and of a very cheap variety.
A really well-bred person is as charming as possible to all, but effusive
to none, and shows no difference in manner either, to the high or to the
lowly when they are of equally formal acquaintance.
=THE BRIDE WHO IS A STRANGER=
The bride who is a stranger, but whose husband is well known in the town
to which he brings her, is in much the same position as the bride noted
above, in that her husband's friends call on her; she returns their
visits, and many of them invite her to their house. But it then devolves
upon her to make herself liked, otherwise she will find herself in a
community of many acquaintances but no friends. The best ingredients for
likeableness are a happy expression of countenance, an unaffected manner,
and a sympathetic attitude. If she is so fortunate as to possess these
attributes her path will have roses enough. But a young woman with an
affected pose and bad or conceited manners, will find plenty of thorns.
Equally unsuccessful is she with a chip-on-her-shoulder who, coming from
New York for instance, to live in Brightmeadows, insists upon dragging New
York sky-scrapers into every comparison with Brightmeadows' new
six-storied building. She might better pack her trunks and go back where
she came from. Nor should the bride from Brightmeadows who has married a
New Yorker, flaunt Brightmeadows standards or customs, and tell Mrs.
Worldly that she does not approve of a lady's smoking! Maybe she doesn't
and she may be quite right, and she should not under the circumstances
smoke herself; but she should not make a display of intolerance, or she,
too, had better take the first train back home, since she is likely to
find New York very, very lonely.
=HOW TOTAL STRANGERS ACQUIRE SOCIAL STANDING=
When new people move into a community, bringing letters of introduction to
prominent citizens, they arrive with an already made position, which ranks
in direct proportion to the standing of those who wrote the introductions.
Since, however, no one but "persons of position" are eligible to letters
of importance, there would be no question of acquiring position--which
they have--but merely of adding to their acquaintance.
As said in another chapter, people of position are people of position the
world over, and all the cities strung around the whole globe are like so
many chapter-houses of a brotherhood, to which letters of introduction
open the doors.
However, this is off the subject, which is to advise those who have no
position, or letters, how to acquire the former. It is a long and slow
road to travel, particularly long and slow for a man and his wife in a big
city. In New York people could live in the same house for generations, and
do, and not have their next door neighbor know them even by sight. But no
other city, except London, is as unaware as that. When people move to a
new city, or town, it is usually because of business. The husband at least
makes business acquaintances, but the wife is left alone. The only thing
for her to do is to join the church of her denomination, and become
interested in some activity; not only as an opening wedge to
acquaintanceships and possibly intimate friendships, but as an occupation
and a respite from loneliness. Her social position is gained usually at a
snail's pace--nor should she do anything to hurry it. If she is a real
person, if she has qualities of mind and heart, if she has charming
manners, sooner or later a certain position will come, and in proportion
to her eligibility.
One of the ladies with whom she works in church, having gradually learned
to like her, asks her to her house. Nothing may ever come of this, but
another one also inviting her, may bring an introduction to a third, who
takes a fancy to her. This third lady also invites her where she meets an
acquaintance she has already made on one of the two former occasions, and
this acquaintance in turn invites her. By the time she has met the same
people several times, they gradually, one by one, offer to go and see her,
or ask her to come and see them. One inviolable rule she must not forget:
it is fatal to be pushing or presuming. She must remain dignified always,
natural and sympathetic when anyone approaches her, but she should not
herself approach any one more than half way. A smile, the more friendly
the better, is never out of place, but after smiling, she should pass on!
Never grin weakly, and--cling!
If she is asked to go to see a lady, it is quite right to go. But not
again, until the lady has returned the visit, or asked her to her house.
And if admitted when making a first visit, she should remember not to
stay more than twenty minutes at most, since it is always wiser to make
others sorry to have her leave than run the risk of having the hostess
wonder why her visitor doesn't know enough to go!
=THE ENTRANCE OF AN OUTSIDER=
The outsider enters society by the same path, but it is steeper and longer
because there is an outer gate of reputation called "They are not people
of any position" which is difficult to unlatch. Nor is it ever unlatched
to those who sit at the gate rattling at the bars, or plaintively peering
in. The better, and the only way if she has not the key of birth, is
through study to make herself eligible. Meanwhile, charitable, or civic
work, will give her interest and occupation as well as throw her with
ladies of good breeding, by association with whom she can not fail to
acquire some of those qualities of manner before which the gates of
society always open.
=WHEN POSITION HAS BEEN ESTABLISHED=
When her husband belongs to a club, or perhaps she does too, and the
neighbors are friendly and those of social importance have called on her
and asked her to their houses, a newcomer does not have to stand so
exactly on the chalk line of ceremony as in returning her first visits and
sending out her first invitations.
After people have dined with each other several times, it is not at all
important to consider whether an invitation is owed or paid several times
over. She who is hospitably inclined can ask people half a dozen times to
their once if she wants to, and they show their friendliness by coming.
Nor need visits be paid in alternate order. Once she is really accepted by
people she can be as friendly as she chooses.
When Mrs. Oldname calls on Mrs. Stranger the first time, the latter may do
nothing but call in return; it would be the height of presumption to
invite one of conspicuous prominence until she has first been invited by
her. Nor may the Strangers ask the Oldnames to dine after being merely
invited to a tea. But when Mrs. Oldname asks Mrs. Stranger to lunch, the
latter might then invite the former to dinner, after which, if they
accept, the Strangers can continue to invite them on occasion, whether
they are invited in turn or not; especially if the Strangers are
continually entertaining, and the Oldnames are not. But on no account must
the Strangers' parties be arranged solely for the benefit of any
particular fashionables.
The Strangers can also invite to a party any children whom their own
children know at school, and Mrs. Stranger can quite properly go to fetch
her own children from a party to which their schoolmates invited them.
=MONEY NOT ESSENTIAL TO SOCIAL POSITION=
Bachelors, unless they are very well off, are not expected to give
parties; nor for that matter are very young couples. All hostesses go on
asking single men and young people to their houses without it ever
occurring to them that any return other than politeness should be made.
There are many couples, not necessarily in the youngest set either, who
are tremendously popular in society in spite of the fact that they give no
parties at all. The Lovejoys, for instance, who are clamored for
everywhere, have every attribute--except money. With fewer clothes perhaps
than any fashionable young woman in New York, she can't compete with Mrs.
Bobo Gilding or Constance Style for "smartness" but, as Mrs. Worldly
remarked: "What would be the use of Celia Lovejoy's beauty if it depended
upon continual variation in clothes?"
The only "entertaining" the Lovejoys ever do is limited to afternoon tea
and occasional welsh-rarebit suppers. But they return every bit of
hospitality shown them by helping to make a party "go" wherever they are.
Both are amusing, both are interesting, both do everything well. They
can't afford to play cards for money, but they both play a very good game
and the table is delighted to "carry them," or they play at the same table
against each other.
This, by the way, is another illustration of the conduct of a gentleman;
if young Lovejoy played for money he would win undoubtedly in the long run
because he plays unusually well, but to use card-playing as a "means of
making money" would be contrary to the ethics of a gentleman, just as
playing for more than can be afforded turns a game into "gambling."
=AN ELUSIVE POINT ESSENTIAL TO SOCIAL SUCCESS=
The sense of whom to invite with whom is one of the most important, and
elusive, points in social knowledge. The possession or lack of it is
responsible more than anything else for the social success of one woman,
and the failure of another. And as it is almost impossible, without
advice, for any stranger anywhere to know which people like or dislike
each other, the would-be hostess must either by means of natural talent or
more likely by trained attention, read the signs of liking or prejudice
much as a woodsman reads a message in every broken twig or turned leaf.
One who can read expression, perceives at a glance the difference between
friendliness and polite aloofness. When a lady is unusually silent,
strictly impersonal in conversation, and entirely unapproachable,
something is not to her liking. The question is, what? Or usually, whom?
The greatest blunder possible would be to ask her what the matter is. The
cause of annoyance is probably that she finds someone distasteful and it
should not be hard for one whose faculties are not asleep to discover the
offender and if possible separate them, or at least never ask them
together again.
CHAPTER X
CARDS AND VISITS
=USEFULNESS OF CARDS=
Who was it that said--in the Victorian era probably, and a man of
course--"The only mechanical tool ever needed by a woman is a hair-pin"?
He might have added that with a hair-pin and a visiting card, she is ready
to meet most emergencies.
Although the principal use of a visiting card, at least the one for which
it was originally invented--to be left as an evidence of one person's
presence at the house of another--is going gradually out of ardent favor
in fashionable circles, its usefulness seems to keep a nicely adjusted
balance. In New York, for instance, the visiting card has entirely taken
the place of the written note of invitation to informal parties of every
description. Messages of condolence or congratulation are written on it;
it is used as an endorsement in the giving of an order; it is even tacked
on the outside of express boxes. The only employment of it which is not as
flourishing as formerly is its being left in quantities and with frequency
at the doors of acquaintances. This will be explained further on.
=A CARD'S SIZE AND ENGRAVING=
The card of a lady is usually from about 2-3/4 to 3-1/2 inches wide, by 2
to 2-3/4 inches high, but there is no fixed rule. The card of a young girl
is smaller and more nearly square in shape. (About 2 inches high by 2-1/2
or 2-5/8 inches long, depending upon the length of the name.) Young girls
use smaller cards than older ladies. A gentleman's card is long and
narrow, from 2-7/8 to 3-1/4 inches long, and from 1-1/4 to 1-5/8 inches
high. All visiting cards are engraved on white unglazed bristol board,
which may be of medium thickness or thin, as one fancies. A few years ago
there was a fad for cards as thin as writing paper, but one seldom sees
them in America now. The advantage of a thin card is that a greater
quantity may be carried easily.
The engraving most in use to-day is shaded block. Script is seldom seen,
but it is always good form and so is plain block, but with the exception
of old English all ornate lettering should be avoided. All people who live
in cities should have the address in the lower right corner, engraved in
smaller letters than the name. In the country, addresses are not
important, as every one knows where every one else lives. People who have
town and country houses usually have separate cards, though not
necessarily a separate plate.
=ECONOMICAL ENGRAVING=
The economically inclined can have several varieties of cards printed from
one plate. The cards would vary somewhat in size in order to "center" the
wording.
Example:
The plate:
Mr. and Mrs. Gilding
Miss Gilding
00 FIFTH AVENUE
GOLDEN HALL
may be printed.
Miss Gilding's name should never appear on a card with both her mother's
and father's, so her name being out of line under the "Mr. and Mrs."
engraving makes no difference.
or
Mr. and Mrs. Gilding
GOLDEN HALL
or
Mrs. Gilding
Miss Gilding
00 FIFTH AVENUE
or
Mrs. Gilding
GOLDEN HALL
The personal card is in a measure an index of one's character. A fantastic
or garish note in the type effect, in the quality or shape of the card,
betrays a lack of taste in the owner of the card.
It is not customary for a married man to have a club address on his card,
and it would be serviceable only in giving a card of introduction to a
business acquaintance, under social rather than business circumstances, or
in paying a formal call upon a political or business associate. Unmarried
men often use no other address than that of a club; especially if they
live in bachelor's quarters, but young men who live at home use their home
address.
=CORRECT NAMES AND TITLES=
To be impeccably correct, initials should not be engraved on a visiting
card. A gentleman's card should read: Mr. John Hunter Titherington Smith,
but since names are sometimes awkwardly long, and it is the American
custom to cling to each and every one given in baptism, he asserts his
possessions by representing each one with an initial, and engraves his
cards Mr. John H.T. Smith, or Mr. J.H. Titherington Smith, as suits his
fancy. So, although, according to high authorities, he should drop a name
or two and be Mr. Hunter Smith, or Mr. Titherington Smith, it is very
likely that to the end of time the American man, and necessarily his wife,
who must use the name as he does, will go on cherishing initials.
And a widow no less than a married woman should always continue to use her
husband's Christian name, or his name and another initial, engraved on her
cards. She is Mrs. John Hunter Titherington Smith, or, to compromise, Mrs.
J.H. Titherington Smith, but she is _never_ Mrs. Sarah Smith; at least not
anywhere in good society. In business and in legal matters a woman is
necessarily addressed by her own Christian name, because she uses it in
her signature. But no one should ever address an envelope, except from a
bank or a lawyer's office, "Mrs. Sarah Smith." When a widow's son, who has
the name of his father, marries, the widow has Sr. added to her own name,
or if she is the "head" of the family, she very often omits all Christian
names, and has her card engraved "Mrs. Smith," and the son's wife calls
herself Mrs. John Hunter Smith. Smith is not a very good name as an
example, since no one could very well claim the distinction of being _the_
Mrs. Smith. It, however, illustrates the point.
For the daughter-in-law to continue to use a card with Jr. on it when her
husband no longer uses Jr. on his, is a mistake made by many people. A
wife always bears the name of her husband. To have a man and his mother
use cards engraved respectively Mr. J.H. Smith and Mrs. J.H. Smith and the
son's wife a card engraved Mrs. J.H. Smith, Jr., would announce to
whomever the three cards were left upon, that Mr. and Mrs. Smith and
_their_ daughter-in-law had called.
The cards of a young girl after she is sixteen have always "Miss" before
her name, which must be her real and never a nick-name: Miss Sarah Smith,
not Miss Sally Smith.
The fact that a man's name has "Jr." added at the end in no way takes the
place of "Mr." His card should be engraved Mr. John Hunter Smith, Jr., and
his wife's Mrs. John Hunter Smith, Jr. Some people have the "Jr." written
out, "junior." It is not spelled with a capital J if written in full.
A boy puts Mr. on his cards when he leaves school, though many use cards
without Mr. on them while in college. A doctor, or a judge, or a minister,
or a military officer have their cards engraved with the abbreviation of
their title: Dr. Henry Gordon; Judge Horace Rush; The Rev. William Goode;
Col. Thomas Doyle.
The double card reads: Dr. and Mrs. Henry Gordon; Hon. and Mrs., etc.
A woman who has divorced her husband retains the legal as well as the
social right to use her husband's full name, in New York State at least.
Usually she prefers, if her name was Alice Green, to call herself Mrs.
Green Smith; not Mrs. Alice Smith, and on no account Mrs. Alice
Green--unless she wishes to give the impression that she was the guilty
one in the divorce.
=CHILDREN'S CARDS=
That very little children should have visiting cards is not so "silly" as
might at first thought be supposed. To acquire perfect manners, and those
graces of deportment that Lord Chesterfield so ardently tried to instil
into his son, training can not begin early enough, since it is through
lifelong familiarity with the niceties of etiquette that much of the
distinction of those to the manner born is acquired.
Many mothers think it good training for children to have their own cards,
which they are taught not so much to leave upon each other after
"parties," as to send with gifts upon various occasions.
At the rehearsal of a wedding, the tiny twin flower girls came carrying
their wedding present for the bride between them, to which they had
themselves attached their own small visiting cards. One card was bordered
and engraved in pink, and the other bordered and engraved in blue, and the
address on each read "_Chez Maman_."
And in going to see a new baby cousin each brought a small 1830 bouquet,
and sent to their aunt their cards, on which, after seeing the baby, one
had printed "He is very little," and the other, "It has a red face." This
shows that if modern society believes in beginning social training in the
nursery, it does not believe in hampering a child's natural expression.
=SPECIAL CARDS AND WHEN TO USE THEM=
The double card, reading Mr. and Mrs., is sent with a wedding present, or
with flowers to a funeral, or with flowers to a debutante, and is also
used in paying formal visits.
The card on which a debutante's name is engraved under that of her mother,
is used most frequently when no coming-out entertainment has been given
for the daughter. Her name on her mother's card announces, wherever it is
left, that the daughter is "grown" and "eligible" for invitations. In the
same way a mother may leave her son's card with her own upon any of her
own friends--especially upon those likely to entertain for young people.
This is the custom if a young man has been away at school and college for
so long that he has not a large acquaintance of his own. It is, however,
correct under any circumstances when formally leaving cards to leave those
of all sons and daughters who are grown.
=THE P.P.C. CARD=
This is merely a visiting card, whether of a lady or a gentleman, on which
the initials P.P.C. (_pour prendre conge_--to take leave) are written in
ink in the lower left corner. This is usually left at the door, or sent by
mail to acquaintances, when one is leaving for the season, or for good. It
never takes the place of a farewell visit when one has received especial
courtesy, nor is it in any sense a message of thanks for especial
kindness. In either of these instances, a visit should be paid or a note
of farewell and thanks written.
=CARDS OF NEW OR TEMPORARY ADDRESS=
In cities where there is no Social Register or other printed society list,
one notifies acquaintances of a change of address by mailing a visiting
card.
Cards are also sent, with a temporary address written in ink, when one is
in a strange city and wishes to notify friends where one is stopping.
It is also quite correct for a lady to mail her card with her temporary
address written on it to any gentleman whom she would care to see, and who
she is sure would like to see her.
=WHEN CARDS ARE SENT=
When not intending to go to a tea or a wedding reception (the invitation
to which did not have R.s.v.p. on it and require an answer), one should
mail cards to the hostess so as to arrive on the morning of the
entertainment. To a tea given for a debutante cards are enclosed in one
envelope and addressed:
Mrs. Gilding
Miss Gilding
00 Fifth Avenue
New York
For a wedding reception, cards are sent to Mr. and Mrs. ----, the mother
and father of the bride, and another set of cards sent to Mr. and
Mrs. ----, the bride and bridegroom.
=THE VISIT OF EMPTY FORM=
Not so many years ago, a lady or gentleman, young girl or youth, who
failed to pay her or his "party call" after having been invited to Mrs.
Social-Leader's ball was left out of her list when she gave her next one.
For the old-fashioned hostess kept her visiting list with the precision
of a bookkeeper in a bank; everyone's credit was entered or cancelled
according to the presence of her or his cards in the card receiver. Young
people who liked to be asked to her house were apt to leave an extra one
at the door, on occasion, so that theirs should not be among the missing
when the new list for the season was made up--especially as the more
important old ladies were very quick to strike a name off, but seldom if
ever known to put one back.
But about twenty years ago the era of informality set in and has been
gaining ground ever since. In certain cities old-fashioned hostesses, it
is said, exclude delinquents. But New York is too exotic and intractable,
and the too exacting hostess is likely to find her tapestried rooms rather
empty, while the younger world of fashion flocks to the crystal-fountained
ballroom of the new Spendeasy Westerns. And then, too, life holds so many
other diversions and interests for the very type of youth which of
necessity is the vital essence of all social gaiety. Society can have
distinction and dignity without youth--but not gaiety. The country with
its outdoor sports, its freedom from exacting conventions, has gradually
deflected the interest of the younger fashionables, until at present they
care very little whether Mrs. Toplofty and Mrs. Social-Leader ask them to
their balls or not. They are glad enough to go, of course, but they don't
care enough for invitations to pay dull visits and to live up to the
conventions of "manners" that old-fashioned hostesses demand. And as these
"rebels" are invariably the most attractive and the most eligible youths,
it has become almost an issue; a hostess must in many cases either invite
none but older people and the few young girls and men whose mothers have
left cards for them, or ignore convention and invite the rebels.
In trying to find out where the present indifference started, many ascribe
it to Bobo Gilding, to whom entering a great drawing-room was more
suggestive of the daily afternoon tea ordeal of his early nursery days,
than a voluntary act of pleasure. He was long ago one of the first to
rebel against old Mrs. Toplofty's exactions of party calls, by saying he
did not care in the least whether his great-aunt Jane Toplofty invited him
to her stodgy old ball or not. And then Lucy Wellborn (the present Mrs.
Bobo Gilding) did not care much to go either if none of her particular men
friends were to be there. Little she cared to dance the cotillion with old
Colonel Bluffington or to go to supper with that odious Hector Newman.
And so, beginning first with a few gilded youths, then including young
society, the habit has spread until the obligatory paying of visits by
young girls and men has almost joined the once universal "day at home" as
belonging to a past age. Do not understand by this that visits are never
paid on other occasions. Visits to strangers, visits of condolence, and of
other courtesies are still paid, quite as punctiliously as ever. But
within the walls of society itself, the visit of formality is decreasing.
One might almost say that in certain cities society has become a family
affair. Its walls are as high as ever, higher perhaps to outsiders, but
among its own members, such customs as keeping visiting lists and having
days at home, or even knowing who owes a visit to whom, is not only
unobserved but is unheard of.
But because punctilious card-leaving, visiting, and "days at home" have
gone out of fashion in New York, is no reason why these really important
observances should not be, or are not, in the height of fashion elsewhere.
Nor, on the other hand, must anyone suppose because the younger
fashionables in New York pay few visits and never have days at home, that
they are a bit less careful about the things which they happen to consider
essential to good-breeding.
The best type of young men pay few, if any, party calls, because they work
and they exercise, and whatever time is left over, if any, is spent in
their club or at the house of a young woman, not tete-a-tete, but
invariably playing bridge. The Sunday afternoon visits that the youth of
another generation used always to pay, are unknown in this, because every
man who can, spends the week-end in the country.
It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that not alone men, but many young
married women of highest social position, except to send with flowers or
wedding presents, do not use a dozen visiting cards a year. But there are
circumstances when even the most indifferent to social obligations must
leave cards.
=WHEN CARDS MUST BE LEFT=
Etiquette absolutely demands that one leave a card within a few days after
taking a first meal in a lady's house; or if one has for the first time
been _invited_ to lunch or dine with strangers, it is inexcusably rude not
to leave a card upon them, whether one accepted the invitation or not.
One must also unfailingly return a first call, even if one does not care
for the acquaintance. Only a real "cause" can excuse the affront to an
innocent stranger that the refusal to return a first call would imply. If
one does not care to continue the acquaintance, one need not pay a second
visit.
Also a card is always left with a first invitation. Supposing Miss
Philadelphia takes a letter of introduction to Mrs. Newport--Mrs. Newport,
inviting Miss Philadelphia to her house, would not think of sending her
invitation without also leaving her card. Good form demands that a visit
be paid before issuing a _first invitation_. Sometimes a note of
explanation is sent asking that the formality be waived, but it is _never_
disregarded, except in the case of an invitation from an older lady to a
young girl. Mrs. Worldly, for instance, who has known Jim Smartlington
always, might, instead of calling on Mary Smith, to whom his engagement is
announced, write her a note, asking her to lunch or dinner. But in
inviting Mrs. Greatlake of Chicago she would leave her card with her
invitation at Mrs. Greatlake's hotel.
It seems scarcely necessary to add that anyone not entirely heartless
must leave a card on, or send flowers to, an acquaintance who has suffered
a recent bereavement. One should also leave cards of inquiry or send
flowers to sick people.
=INVITATION IN PLACE OF RETURNED VISIT=
Books on etiquette seem agreed that sending an invitation does not cancel
the obligation of paying a visit--which may be technically correct--but
fashionable people, who are in the habit of lunching or dining with each
other two or three times a season, pay no attention to visits whatever.
Mrs. Norman calls on Mrs. Gilding. Mrs. Gilding invites the Normans to
dinner. They go. A short time afterward Mrs. Norman invites the
Gildings--or the Gildings very likely again invite the Normans. Some
evening at all events, the Gildings dine with the Normans. Someday, if
Mrs. Gilding happens to be leaving cards, she may leave them at the
Normans--or she may not. Some people leave cards almost like the "hares"
in a paper chase; others seldom if ever do. Except on the occasions
mentioned in the paragraph before this, or unless there is an illness, a
death, a birth, or a marriage, people in society invite each other to
their houses and don't leave cards at all. Nor do they ever consider whose
"turn" it is to invite whom.
="NOT AT HOME"=
When a servant at a door says "Not at home," this phrase means that the
lady of the house is "Not at home to visitors." This answer neither
signifies nor implies--nor is it intended to--that Mrs. Jones is out of
the house. Some people say "Not receiving," which means actually the same
thing, but the "not at home" is infinitely more polite; since in the
former you know she is in the house but won't see you, whereas in the
latter case you have the pleasant uncertainty that it is quite possible
she is out.
To be told "Mrs. Jones is at home but doesn't want to see you," would
certainly be unpleasant. And to "beg to be excused"--except in a case of
illness or bereavement--has something very suggestive of a cold shoulder.
But "not at home" means that she is not sitting in the drawing room behind
her tea tray; that and nothing else. She may be out or she may be lying
down or otherwise occupied. Nor do people of the world find the slightest
objection if a hostess, happening to recognize the visitor as a particular
friend, calls out, "Do come in! I _am_ at home to _you!_" Anyone who talks
about this phrase as being a "white lie" either doesn't understand the
meaning of the words, or is going very far afield to look for untruth. To
be consistent, these over-literals should also exact that when a guest
inadvertently knocks over a tea cup and stains a sofa, the hostess instead
of saying "It is nothing at all! Please don't worry about it," ought for
the sake of truth to say, "See what your clumsiness has done! You have
ruined my sofa!" And when someone says "How are you?" instead of answering
"Very well, thank you," the same truthful one should perhaps take an hour
by the clock and mention every symptom of indisposition that she can
accurately subscribe to.
While "not at home" is merely a phrase of politeness, to say "I am _out_"
after a card has been brought to you is both an untruth and an inexcusable
rudeness. Or to have an inquiry answered, "I don't know, but I'll see,"
and then to have the servant, after taking a card, come back with the
message "Mrs. Jones is out" can not fail to make the visitor feel
rebuffed. Once a card has been admitted, the visitor _must_ be admitted
also, no matter how inconvenient receiving her may be. You may send a
message that you are dressing but will be very glad to see her if she can
wait ten minutes. The visitor can either wait or say she is pressed for
time. But if she does not wait, then _she_ is rather discourteous.
Therefore, it is of the utmost importance always to leave directions at
the door such as, "Mrs. Jones is not at home." "Miss Jones will be home at
five o'clock," "Mrs. Jones will be home at 5.30," or Mrs. Jones "is at
home" in the library to intimate friends, but "not at home" in the
drawing-room to acquaintances. It is a nuisance to be obliged to remember
either to turn an "in" and "out" card in the hail, or to ring a bell and
say, "I am going out," and again, "I have come in." But whatever plan or
arrangement you choose, no one at your front door should be left in doubt
and then repulsed. It is not only bad manners, it is bad housekeeping.
=THE OLD-FASHIONED DAY AT HOME=
It is doubtful if the present generation of New Yorkers knows what a day
at home is! But their mothers, at least, remember the time when the
fashionable districts were divided into regular sections, wherein on a
given day in the week, the whole neighborhood was "at home." Friday sounds
familiar as the day for Washington Square! And was it Monday for lower
Fifth Avenue? At all events, each neighborhood on the day of its own,
suggested a local fete. Ladies in visiting dresses with trains and bonnets
and nose-veils and tight gloves, holding card cases, tripped demurely into
this house, out of that, and again into another; and there were always
many broughams and victorias slowly "exercising" up and down, and very
smart footmen standing with maroon or tan or fur rugs over their arms in
front of Mrs. Wellborn's house or Mrs. Oldname's, or the big house of Mrs.
Toplofty at the corner of Fifth Avenue. It must have been enchanting to be
a grown person in those days! Enchanting also were the C-spring victorias,
as was life in general that was taken at a slow carriage pace and not at
the motor speed of to-day. The "day at home" is still in fashion in
Washington, and it is ardently to be hoped that it also flourishes in many
cities and towns throughout the country or that it will be revived, for it
is a delightful custom--though more in keeping with Europe than America,
which does not care for gentle paces once it has tasted swift. A certain
young New York hostess announced that she was going to stay home on
Saturday afternoons. But the men went to the country and the women to the
opera, and she gave it up.
There are a few old-fashioned ladies, living in old-fashioned houses, and
still staying at home in the old-fashioned way to old-fashioned friends
who for decades have dropped in for a cup of tea and a chat. And there are
two maiden ladies in particular, joint chatelaines of an imposingly
beautiful old house where, on a certain afternoon of the week, if you come
in for tea, you are sure to meet not alone those prominent in the world of
fashion, but a fair admixture of artists, scientists, authors; inventors,
distinguished strangers--in a word Best Society in its truest sense. But
days at home such as these are not easily duplicated; for few houses
possess a "salon" atmosphere, and few hostesses achieve either the social
talent or the wide cultivation necessary to attract and interest so varied
and brilliant a company.
=MODERN CARD LEAVING: A QUESTIONABLE ACT OF POLITENESS=
The modern New York fashion in card-leaving is to dash as fast as possible
from house to house, sending the chauffeur up the steps with cards,
without ever asking if anyone is home. Some butlers announce "Not at home"
from force of habit even when no question is asked. There are occasions
when the visitors _must_ ask to see the hostess (see page 88); but cards
are left without asking whether a lady is at home under the following
circumstances:
Cards are left on the mother of the bride, after a wedding, also on the
mother of the groom.
Cards are also left after any formal invitation. Having been asked to
lunch or dine with a lady whom you know but slightly you should leave your
card whether you accepted the invitation or not, within three days if
possible, or at least within a week, of the date for which you were
invited. It is not considered necessary (in New York at least) to ask if
she is at home; promptness in leaving your card is, in this instance,
better manners than delaying your "party call" and asking if she is at
home. This matter of asking at the door is one that depends upon the
customs of each State and city, but as it is always wiser to err on the
side of politeness, it is the better policy, if in doubt, to ask "Is Mrs.
Blank at home?" rather than to run the risk of offending a lady who may
like to see visitors.
A card is usually left with a first invitation to a stranger who has
brought a letter of introduction, but it is more polite--even though not
necessary--to ask to be received. Some ladies make it a habit to leave a
card on everyone on their visiting list once a season.
It is correct for the mother of a debutante to leave her card as well as
her daughter's on every lady who has invited the daughter to her house,
and a courteous hostess returns all of these pasteboard visits. But
neither visit necessitates closer or even further acquaintance.
=VISITS WHICH EVERYONE MUST PAY=
Paying visits differs from leaving cards in that you must ask to be
received. A visit of condolence should be paid at once to a friend when a
death occurs in her immediate family. A lady does not call on a gentleman,
but writes him a note of sympathy.
In going to inquire for sick people, you should ask to be received, and it
is always thoughtful to take them gifts of books or fruit or flowers.
If a relative announces his engagement, you must at once go to see his
fiancee. Should she be out, you do not ask to see her mother. You do,
however, leave a card upon both ladies and you ask to see her mother if
received by the daughter.
A visit of congratulation is also paid to a new mother and a gift
invariably presented to the baby.
=MESSAGES WRITTEN ON CARDS=
"With sympathy" or "With deepest sympathy" is written on your visiting
card with flowers sent to a funeral. This same message is written on a
card and left at the door of a house of mourning, if you do not know the
family well enough to ask to be received.
"To inquire" is often written on a card left at the house of a sick
person, but not if you are received.
In going to see a friend who is visiting a lady whom you do not know,
whether you should leave a card on the hostess as well as on your friend
depends upon the circumstances: if the hostess is one who is socially
prominent and you are unknown, it would be better taste not to leave a
card on her, since your card afterward found without explanation might be
interpreted as an uncalled-for visit made in an attempt for a place on her
list. If, on the other hand, she is the unknown person and you are the
prominent one, your card is polite, but unwise unless you mean to include
her name on your list. But if she is one with whom you have many interests
in common, then you may very properly leave a card for her.
In leaving a card on a lady stopping at a hotel or living in an apartment
house, you should write her name in pencil across the top of your card, to
insure its being given to her, and not to some one else.
At the house of a lady whom you know well and whom you are sorry not to
find at home, it is "friendly" to write "Sorry not to see you!" or "So
sorry to miss you!"
Turning down a corner of a visiting card is by many intended to convey
that the visit is meant for all the ladies in the family. Other people
mean merely to show that the card was left at the door in person and not
sent in an envelope. Other people turn them down from force of habit and
mean nothing whatever. But whichever the reason, more cards are bent or
dog-eared than are left flat.
=ENGRAVED CARDS ANNOUNCING ENGAGEMENT, BAD FORM=
Someone somewhere asked whether or not to answer an engraved card
announcing an engagement. The answer can have nothing to do with
etiquette, since an engraved announcement is unknown to good society. (For
the proper announcement of an engagement see page 304.)
=WHEN PEOPLE SEE THEIR FRIENDS=
Five o'clock is the informal hour when people are "at home" to friends.
The correct hour for leaving cards and paying formal visits is between
3.30 and 4.30. One should hesitate to pay a visit at the "tea hour" unless
one is sure of one's welcome among the "intimates" likely to be found
around the hostess's tea-table.
Many ladies make it their practise to be home if possible at five o'clock,
and their friends who know them well come in at that time. (For the
afternoon tea-table and its customs, see page 171.)
=INFORMAL VISITING OFTEN ARRANGED BY TELEPHONE=
For instance, instead of ringing her door-bell, Mrs. Norman calls Mrs.
Kindhart on the telephone: "I haven't seen you for weeks! Won't you come
in to tea, or to lunch--just you." Mrs. Kindhart answers, "Yes, I'd love
to. I can come this afternoon"; and five o'clock finds them together over
the tea-table.
In the same way young Struthers calls up Millicent Gilding, "Are you going
to be in this afternoon?" She says, "Yes, but not until a quarter of six."
He says, "Fine, I'll come then." Or she says, "I'm so sorry, I'm playing
bridge with Pauline--but I'll be in to-morrow!" He says, "All right, I'll
come to-morrow."
The younger people rarely ever go to see each other without first
telephoning. Or since even young people seldom meet except for bridge,
most likely it is Millicent Gilding who telephones the Struthers youth to
ask if he can't possibly get uptown before five o'clock to make a fourth
with Mary and Jim and herself.
=HOW A FIRST VISIT IS MADE=
In very large cities, neighbors seldom call on each other. But if
strangers move into a neighborhood in a small town or in the country, or
at a watering-place, it is not only unfriendly but uncivil for their
neighbors not to call on them. The older residents always call on the
newer. And the person of greatest social prominence should make the first
visit, or at least invite the younger or less prominent one to call on
her; which the younger should promptly do.
Or two ladies of equal age or position may either one say, "I wish you
would come to see me." To which the other replies "I will with pleasure."
More usually the first one offers "I should like to come to see you, if I
may." And the other, of course, answers "I shall be delighted if you
will."
The first one, having suggested going to see the second, is bound in
politeness to do so, otherwise she implies that the acquaintance on second
thought seems distasteful to her.
Everyone invited to a wedding should call upon the bride on her return
from the honeymoon. And when a man marries a girl from a distant place,
courtesy absolutely demands that his friends and neighbors call on her as
soon as she arrives in her new home.
=ON OPENING THE DOOR TO A VISITOR=
On the hall table in every house, there should be a small silver, or other
card tray, a pad and a pencil. The nicest kind of pad is one that when
folded, makes its own envelope, so that a message when written need not be
left open. There are all varieties and sizes at all stationers.
When the door-bell rings, the servant on duty, who can easily see the
chauffeur or lady approaching, should have the card tray ready to present,
on the palm of the left hand. A servant at the door must never take the
cards in his or her fingers.
=CORRECT NUMBER OF CARDS TO LEAVE=
When the visitor herself rings the door-bell and the message is "not at
home," the butler or maid proffers the card tray on which the visitor lays
a card of her own and her daughter's for each lady in the house and a card
of her husband's and son's for each lady and gentleman. But three is the
greatest number ever left of any one card. In calling on Mrs. Town, who
has three grown daughters and her mother living in the house, and a Mrs.
Stranger staying with her whom the visitor was invited to a luncheon to
meet, a card on each would need a packet of six. Instead, the visitor
should leave three--one for Mrs. Town, one for all the other ladies of the
house, and one for Mrs. Stranger. In asking to be received, her query at
the door should be "Are any of the ladies at home?" Or in merely leaving
her cards she should say "For all of the ladies."
=WHEN THE CALLER LEAVES=
The butler or maid must stand with the front door open until a visitor
re-enters her motor, or if she is walking, until she has reached the
sidewalk. It is bad manners ever to close the door in a visitor's face.
When a chauffeur leaves cards, the door may be closed as soon as he turns
away.
=WHEN THE LADY OF THE HOUSE IS AT HOME=
When the door is opened by a waitress or a parlor-maid and the mistress of
the house is in the drawing-room, the maid says "This way, please," and
leads the way. She goes as quickly as possible to present the card tray.
The guest, especially if a stranger, lags in order to give the hostess
time to read the name on the card.
The maid meanwhile moves aside, to make room for the approaching visitor,
who goes forward to shake hands with the hostess. If a butler is at the
door, he reads the card himself, picking it up from the tray, and opening
the door of the drawing-room announces: "Mrs. Soandso," after which he
puts the card on the hall table.
The duration of a formal visit should be in the neighborhood of twenty
minutes. But if other visitors are announced, the first one--on a very
formal occasion--may cut her visit shorter. Or if conversation becomes
especially interesting, the visit may be prolonged five minutes or so. On
no account must a visitor stay an hour!
A hostess always rises when a visitor enters, unless the visitor is a
very young woman or man and she herself elderly, or unless she is seated
behind the tea-table so that rising is difficult. She should, however,
always rise and go forward to meet a lady much older than herself; but she
never rises from her tea-table to greet a man, unless he is quite old.
If the lady of the house is "at home" but up-stairs, the servant at the
door leads the visitor into the reception room, saying "Will you take a
seat, please?" and then carries the card to the mistress of the house.
On an exceptional occasion, such as paying a visit of condolence or
inquiring for a convalescent, when the question as to whether he will be
received is necessarily doubtful, a gentleman does not take off his coat
or gloves, but waits in the reception room with his hat in his hand. When
the servant returning says either "Will you come this way, please?" or
"Mrs. Town is not well enough to see any one, but Miss Alice will be down
in a moment," the visitor divests himself of his coat and gloves, which
the servant carries, as well as his hat, out to the front hall.
As said before, few men pay visits without first telephoning. But perhaps
two or three times during a winter a young man, when he is able to get
away from his office in time, will make a tea-time visit upon a hostess
who has often invited him to dinner or to her opera box. Under ordinary
circumstances, however, some woman member of his family leaves his card
for him after a dinner or a dance, or else it is not left at all.
A gentleman paying visits, always asks if the hostess is at home. If she
is, he leaves his hat and stick in the hall and also removes and leaves
his gloves--and rubbers should he be wearing them. If the hour is between
five and half-past, the hostess is inevitably at her tea-table, in the
library, to which, if he is at all well known to the servant at the door,
he is at once shown without being first asked to wait in the reception
room. A gentleman entering a room in which there are several people who
are strangers, shakes hands with his hostess and slightly bows to all the
others, whether he knows them personally or not. He, of course, shakes
hands with any who are friends, and with all men to whom he is introduced,
but with a lady only if she offers him her hand.
=HOW TO ENTER A DRAWING-ROOM=
To know how to enter a drawing-room is supposed to be one of the supreme
tests of good breeding. But there should be no more difficulty in entering
the drawing-room of Mrs. Worldly than in entering the sitting-room at
home. Perhaps the best instruction would be like that in learning to swim.
"Take plenty of time, don't struggle and don't splash about!" Good manners
socially are not unlike swimming--not the "crawl" or "overhand," but
smooth, tranquil swimming. (Quite probably where the expression "in the
swim" came from anyway!) Before actually entering a room, it is easiest to
pause long enough to see where the hostess is. Never start forward and
then try to find her as an afterthought. The place to pause is on the
threshold--not half-way in the room. The way _not_ to enter a drawing-room
is to dart forward and then stand awkwardly bewildered and looking about
in every direction. A man of the world stops at the entrance of the room
for a scarcely perceptible moment, until he perceives the most
unencumbered approach to the hostess, and he thereupon walks over to her.
When he greets his hostess he pauses slightly, the hostess smiles and
offers her hand; the gentleman smiles and shakes hands, at the same time
bowing. A lady shakes hands with the hostess and with every one she knows
who is nearby. She bows to acquaintances at a distance and to strangers to
whom she is introduced.
=HOW TO SIT GRACEFULLY=
Having shaken hands with the hostess, the visitor, whether a lady or a
gentleman, looks about quietly, without hurry, for a convenient chair to
sit down upon, or drop into. To sit gracefully one should not perch
stiffly on the edge of a straight chair, nor sprawl at length in an easy
one. The perfect position is one that is easy, but dignified. In other
days, no lady of dignity ever crossed her knees, held her hands on her
hips, or twisted herself sideways, or even _leaned back in her chair!_
To-day all these things are done; and the only etiquette left is on the
subject of how not to exaggerate them. No lady should cross her knees so
that her skirts go up to or above them; neither should her foot be thrust
out so that her toes are at knee level. An arm a-kimbo is _not_ a graceful
attitude, nor is a twisted spine! Everyone, of course, leans against a
chair back, except in a box at the opera and in a ballroom, but a lady
should never throw herself almost at full length in a reclining chair or
on a wide sofa when she is out in public. Neither does a gentleman in
paying a formal visit sit on the middle of his backbone with one ankle
supported on the other knee, and both as high as his head.
The proper way for a lady to sit is in the center of her chair, or
slightly sideways in the corner of a sofa. She may lean back, of course,
and easily; her hands relaxed in her lap, her knees together, or if
crossed, her foot must not be thrust forward so as to leave a space
between the heel and her other ankle. On informal occasions she can lean
back in an easy chair with her hands on the arms. In a ball dress a lady
of distinction never leans back in a chair; one can not picture a
beautiful and high-bred woman, wearing a tiara and other ballroom jewels,
leaning against anything. This is, however, not so much a rule of
etiquette as a question of beauty and fitness.
A gentleman, also on very formal occasions, should sit in the center of
his chair; but unless it is a deep lounging one, he always leans against
the back and puts a hand or an elbow on its arms.
=POSTSCRIPTS ON VISITS=
A lady never calls on another under the sponsorship of a gentleman--unless
he is her husband or father. A young girl can very properly go with her
fiance to return visit paid to her by members or friends of his family;
but she should not pay an initial visit unless to an invalid who has
written her a note asking her to do so.
If, when arriving at a lady's house, you find her motor at the door, you
should leave your card as though she were not at home. If she happens to
be in the hall, or coming down the steps, you say "I see you are going
out, and I won't keep you!"
If she insists on your coming in, you should stay only a moment. Do not,
however, fidget and talk about leaving. Sit down as though your leaving
immediately were not on your mind, but after two or three minutes say
"Good-by" and go.
A young man may go to see a young girl as often as he feels inclined and
she cares to receive him. If she continually asks to be excused, or shows
him scant attention when he is talking to her, or in any other way
indicates that he annoys or bores her, his visits should cease.
It is very bad manners to invite one person to your house and leave out
another with whom you are also talking. You should wait for an opportunity
when the latter is not included in your conversation.
In good society ladies do not kiss each other when they meet either at
parties or in public.
It is well to remember that nothing more blatantly stamps an ill-bred
person than the habit of patting, nudging or taking hold of people. "Keep
your hands to yourself!" might almost be put at the head of the first
chapter of every book on etiquette.
Be very chary of making any such remarks as "I am afraid I have stayed too
long," or "I must apologize for hurrying off," or "I am afraid I have
bored you to death talking so much." All such expressions are
self-conscious and stupid. If you really think you are staying too long or
leaving too soon or talking too much--don't!
=AN INVALID'S VISIT BY PROXY=
It is not necessary that an invalid make any attempt to return the visits
to her friends who are attentive enough to go often to see her. But if a
stranger calls on her--particularly a stranger who may not know that she
is always confined to the house, it is correct for a daughter or sister
or even a friend to leave the invalid's card for her and even to pay a
visit should she find a hostess "at home." In this event the visitor by
proxy lays her own card as well as that of the invalid on the tray
proffered her. Upon being announced to the hostess, she naturally explains
that she is appearing in place of her mother (or whatever relation the
invalid is to her) and that the invalid herself is unable to make any
visits.
A lady never pays a party call on a gentleman. But if the gentleman who
has given a dinner has his mother (or sister) staying with him and if the
mother (or sister) chaperoned the party, cards should of course be left
upon her.
Having risen to go, _go_! Don't stand and keep your hostess standing while
you say good-by, and make a last remark last half an hour!
Few Americans are so punctilious as to pay their dinner calls within
twenty-four hours; but it is the height of correctness and good manners.
When a gentleman, whose wife is away, accepts some one's hospitality, it
is correct for his wife to pay the party call with (or for) him, since it
is taken for granted that she would have been included had she been at
home.
In other days a hostess thought it necessary to change quickly into a best
dress if important company rang her door-bell. A lady of fashion to-day
receives her visitors at once in whatever dress she happens to be wearing,
since not to keep them waiting is the greater courtesy.
CHAPTER XI
INVITATIONS, ACCEPTANCES AND REGRETS
=THE FORMAL INVITATION=
As an inheritance from the days when Mrs. Brown presented her compliments
and begged that Mrs. Smith would do her the honor to take a dish of tea
with her, we still--notwithstanding the present flagrant disregard of
old-fashioned convention--send our formal invitations, acceptances and
regrets, in the prescribed punctiliousness of the third person.
All formal invitations, whether they are to be engraved or to be written
by hand (and their acceptances and regrets) are invariably in the third
person, and good usage permits of no deviation from this form.
=WEDDING INVITATIONS=
The invitation to the ceremony is engraved on the front sheet of white
note-paper. The smartest, at present, is that with a raised margin--or
plate mark. At the top of the sheet the crest (if the family of the bride
has the right to use one) is embossed without color. Otherwise the
invitation bears no device. The engraving may be in script, block, shaded
block, or old English. The invitation to the ceremony should always
request "the honour" of your "presence," and never the "pleasure" of your
"company." (Honour is spelled in the old-fashioned way, with a "u" instead
of "honor.")
_Enclosed in Two Envelopes_
Two envelopes are never used except for wedding invitations or
announcements; but wedding invitations and all accompaning cards are
always enclosed first in an inner envelope that has no mucilage on the
flap, and is superscribed "Mr. and Mrs. Jameson Greatlake," without
address. This is enclosed in an outer envelope which is sealed and
addressed:
Mr. and Mrs. Jameson Greatlake,
24 Michigan Avenue,
Chicago.
To those who are only "asked to the church" no house invitation is
enclosed.
=THE CHURCH INVITATION=
The proper form for an invitation to a church ceremony is:
(_Form No. 1._)
Mr. and Mrs. John Huntington Smith
request the honour of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Mary Katherine
to
Mr. James Smartlington
on Tuesday the first of November
at twelve o'clock
at St. John's Church
in the City of New York
(_Form No. 2._)
Mr. and Mrs. John Huntington Smith
request the honour of
[HW: Miss Pauline Town's]
presence at the marriage of their daughter
Mary Katherine
to
Mr. James Smartlington
on Tuesday the first of November
at twelve o'clock
at St. John's Church
(_The size of invitations is 5-1/8 wide by 7-3/8 deep._)
(_When the parents issue the invitations for a wedding at a house other
than their own._)
Mr. and Mrs. Richard Littlehouse
request the honour of
presence at the marriage of their daughter
Betty
to
Mr. Frederic Robinson
on Saturday the fifth of November
at four o'clock
at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Sterlington
Tuxedo Park
New York
R.s.v.p.
No variation is permissible in the form of a wedding invitation. Whether
fifty guests are to be invited or five thousand, the paper, the engraving
and the wording, and the double envelope are precisely the same.
_Church Card of Admittance_
In cities or wherever the general public is not to be admitted, a card of
about the size of a small visiting card is enclosed with the church
invitation:
Please present this card,
at St. John's Church
on Tuesday the first of November
_Cards to Reserved Pews_
To the family and very intimate friends who are to be seated in especially
designated pews:
Please present this to an usher
Pew No.
on Thursday the ninth of May
Engraved pew cards are ordered only for very big weddings where twenty or
more pews are to be reserved. The more usual custom--at all small and many
big weddings--is for the mother of the bride, and the mother of the
bridegroom each to write on her personal visiting card:
[HW: Pew No. 7]
Mrs. John Huntington Smith
FOUR WEST THIRTY-SIXTH STREET
A card for the reserved enclosure but no especial pew is often inscribed
"Within the Ribbons."
=INVITATION TO THE HOUSE=
The invitation to the breakfast or reception following the church ceremony
is engraved on a card to match the paper of the church invitation and is
the size of the latter after it is folded for the envelope:
Mr. and Mrs. John Huntington Smith
request the pleasure of
[HW: Mr. & Mrs. James Greatlake's]
company on Tuesday the first of November
at half after four o'clock
at Four West Thirty-sixth Street
R.s.v.p.
=CEREMONY AND RECEPTION INVITATION IN ONE=
Occasionally, especially for a country wedding, the invitation to the
breakfast or the reception is added to the one to the ceremony:
Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Chatterton request the
honour of
[HW: Mr. & Mrs. Worldly's]
presence at the marriage of their daughter
Hester
to
Mr. James Town, junior
on Tuesday the first of June
at three o'clock
at St. John's Church
and afterwards at Sunnylawn
Ridgefield
R.s.v.p.
Or the invitation reads "at twelve o'clock, at St. John's Church, and
afterwards at breakfast at Sunnylawn"; but "afterwards to the reception at
Sunnylawn" is wrong.
=THE INVITATION TO A HOUSE WEDDING=
Is precisely the same except that "at Sunnylawn" or "at Four West
Thirty-sixth Street" is put in place of "at St. John's Church," and an
invitation to stay on at a house, to which the guest is already invited,
is not necessary.
_The Train Card_
If the wedding is to be in the country, a train card is enclosed:
A special train will leave Grand Central Station at 12:45 P.M.,
arriving at Ridgefield at 2:45. Returning, train will leave
Ridgefield at 5:10 P.M., arriving New York at 7.02 P.M.
_Show this card at the gate._
=INVITATION TO RECEPTION AND NOT TO CEREMONY=
It sometimes happens that the bride prefers none but her family at the
ceremony, and a big reception. This plan is chosen where the mother of the
bride or other very near relative is an invalid. The ceremony may take
place at a bedside, or it may be that the invalid can go down to the
drawing-room with only the immediate families, and is unequal to the
presence of many people.
Under these circumstances the invitations to the breakfast or reception
are sent on sheets of note paper like that used for church invitations,
but the wording is:
Mr. and Mrs. Grantham Jones
request the pleasure of your company
at the wedding breakfast of their daughter
Muriel
and
Mr. Burlingame Ross, Jr.
on Saturday the first of November
at one o'clock
at Four East Thirty-Eighth Street
The favor of an
answer is requested
The "pleasure of your company" is requested in this case instead of the
"honour of your presence."
=THE WRITTEN WEDDING INVITATION=
If a wedding is to be so small that no invitations are engraved, the notes
of invitation should be personally written by the bride:
Sally Dear:
Our wedding is to be on Thursday the tenth at half-past twelve,
Christ Church Chantry. Of course we want you and Jack and the
children! And we want all of you to come afterward to Aunt
Mary's, for a bite to eat and to wish us luck.
Affectionately,
Helen.
or
Dear Mrs. Kindhart:
Dick and I are to be married at Christ Church Chantry at noon on
Thursday the tenth. We both want you and Mr. Kindhart to come to
the church and afterward for a very small breakfast to my
Aunt's--Mrs. Slade--at Two Park Avenue.
With much love from us both,
Affectionately,
Helen.
=WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENTS=
If no general invitations were issued to the church, an announcement
engraved on note paper like that of the invitation to the ceremony, is
sent to the entire visiting list of both the bride's and the groom's
family:
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard Barnes
have the honour to announce
the marriage of their daughter
Priscilla
to
Mr. Eben Hoyt Leaming
on Tuesday the twenty-sixth of April
One thousand nine hundred and twenty-two
in the City of New York
=THE SECOND MARRIAGE=
=INVITATIONS=
Invitations to the marriage of a widow--if she is very young--are sent in
the name of her parents exactly as were the invitations to her first
wedding, excepting that her name instead of being merely Priscilla is now
written Priscilla Barnes Leaming, thus:
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard Barnes
request the honour of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Priscilla Barnes Leaming
to
etc.
=ANNOUNCEMENTS=
For a young widow's marriage are also the same as for a first wedding:
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard Barnes
have the honour to announce
the marriage of their daughter
Priscilla Barnes Leaming
to
Mr. Worthington Adams
etc. But the announcement of the marriage of a widow of maturer years is
engraved on note paper and reads:
Mrs. Priscilla Barnes Leaming
and
Mr. Worthington Adams
have the honour to announce their marriage
on Monday the second of November
at Saratoga Springs
New York
=CARDS OF ADDRESS=
If the bride and groom wish to inform their friends of their future
address (especially in cities not covered by the Social Register), it is
customary to enclose a card with the announcement:
Mr. and Mrs. Worthington Adams
will be at home
after the first of December
at Twenty-five Alderney Place
Or merely their visiting card with their new address in the lower right
corner:
Mr. and Mrs. Worthington Adams
25 Alderney Place
=INVITATION TO WEDDING ANNIVERSARY=
For a wedding anniversary celebration, the year of the wedding and the
present year are usually stamped across the top of an invitation.
Sometimes the couple's initials are added.
1898-1922
Mr. and Mrs. Alvin Johnson
request the pleasure of
[HW: Mr. & Mrs. ILLEGIBLE]
company at the
Twenty-fifth Anniversary of their marriage
on Wednesday the first of June
at nine o'clock
Twenty-four Austin Avenue
R.s.v.p.
=ANSWERING A WEDDING INVITATION=
An invitation to the church only requires no answer whatever. An
invitation to the reception or breakfast is answered on the first page of
a sheet of note paper, and although it is written "by hand" the spacing of
the words must be followed as though they were engraved. This is the form
of acceptance:
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Gilding, Jr.,
accept with pleasure
Mr. and Mrs. John Huntington Smith's
kind invitation for
Tuesday the first of June
The regret reads:
Mr. and Mrs. Richard Brown
regret that they are unable to accept
Mr. and Mrs. John Huntington Smith's
kind invitation for
Tuesday the first of June
=OTHER FORMAL INVITATIONS=
All other formal invitations are engraved (never printed) on cards of thin
white matte Bristol board, either plain or plate-marked like those for
wedding reception cards. Note paper such as that used for wedding
invitations is occasionally, but rarely, preferred.
Monograms, addresses, personal devices are not used on engraved
invitations.
The size of the card of invitation varies with personal preference from
four and a half to six inches in width, and from three to four and a half
inches in height. The most graceful proportion is three units in height to
four in width.
The lettering is a matter of personal choice, but the plainer the design,
the better. Scrolls and ornate trimmings are bad taste always. Punctuation
is used only after each letter of the R.s.v.p. and it is absolutely
correct to use small letters for the s.v.p. Capitals R.S.V.P. are
permissible; but fastidious people prefer "R.s.v.p."
=INVITATION TO A BALL=
The word "ball" is never used excepting in an invitation to a public one,
or at least a semi-public one, such as may be given by a committee for a
charity or a club, or association of some sort.
For example:
The Committee of the Greenwood Club
request the pleasure of your company
at a Ball
to be held in the Greenwood Clubhouse
on the evening of November the seventh
at ten o'clock.
for the benefit of
The Neighborhood Hospital
Tickets five dollars
Invitations to a private ball, no matter whether the ball is to be given
in a private house, or whether the hostess has engaged an entire floor of
the biggest hotel in the world, announce merely that Mr. and Mrs. Somebody
will be "At Home," and the word "dancing" is added almost as though it
were an afterthought in the lower left corner, the words "At Home" being
slightly larger than those of the rest of the invitation. When both "At"
and "Home" are written with a capital letter, this is the most punctilious
and formal invitation that it is possible to send. It is engraved in
script usually, on a card of white Bristol board about five and a half
inches wide and three and three-quarters of an inch high. Like the wedding
invitation it has an embossed crest without color, or nothing.
The precise form is:
Mr. and Mrs. Titherington de Payster
At Home
On Monday the third of January
at ten o'clock
One East Fiftieth Street
The favour of an answer
is requested Dancing
or
Mr. and Mrs. Davis Jefferson
At Home
On Monday the third of January
at ten o'clock
Town and Country Club
Kindly send reply to
Three Mt. Vernon Square Dancing
(_If preferred, the above invitations may be engraved in block or shaded
block type._)
=BALL FOR DEBUTANTE DAUGHTER=
Very occasionally an invitation is worded
Mr. and Mrs. Davis Jefferson
Miss Alice Jefferson
At Home
if the daughter is a debutante and the ball is for her, but it is not
strictly correct to have any names but those of the host and his wife
above the words "At Home."
The proper form of invitation when the ball is to be given for a
debutante, is as follows:
Mr. and Mrs. de Puyster
request the pleasure of
[HW: Miss Rosalie Gray's]
company at a dance in honour of their daughter
Miss Alice de Puyster
on Monday evening, the third of January
at ten o'clock
One East Fiftieth Street
R.s.v.p.
or
Mr. and Mrs. Titherington de Puyster
Miss Alice de Puyster
request the pleasure of
[HW: Mr. and Mrs. Greatlake's]
company on Monday evening the third of January
at ten o'clock
One East Fiftieth Street
Dancing
R.s.v.p.
The form most often used by fashionable hostesses in New York and Newport
is:
Mr. and Mrs. Gilding
request the pleasure of
company at a small dance
on Monday the first of January
at Ought Ought Fifth Avenue
Even if given for a debutante daughter, her name does not appear, and it
is called a "small dance," whether it is really small or big. The request
for a reply is often omitted, since everyone is supposed to know that an
answer is necessary. But if the dance, or dinner, or whatever the
entertainment is to be, is given at one address and the hostess lives at
another, both addresses are always given:
Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Oldname
request the pleasure of
company at a dance
on Monday evening the sixth of January
at ten o'clock
The Fitz-Cherry
Kindly send response to
Brookmeadows
L.I.
If the dance is given for a young friend who is not a relative, Mr. and
Mrs. Oldname's invitations should
request the pleasure of
company at a dance in honour of
Miss Rosalie Grey
=WHEN AND HOW ONE MAY ASK FOR AN INVITATION FOR A STRANGER=
One may never ask for an invitation for oneself anywhere! And one may not
ask for an invitation to a luncheon or a dinner for a stranger. But an
invitation for any general entertainment may be asked for a
stranger--especially for a house-guest.
Example:
Dear Mrs. Worldly,
A young cousin of mine, David Blakely from Chicago, is staying
with us.
May Pauline take him to your dance on Friday? If it will be
inconvenient for you to include him, please do not hesitate to
say so frankly.
Very sincerely yours,
Caroline Robinson Town.
Answer:
Dear Mrs. Town,
I shall be delighted to have Pauline bring Mr. Blakely on the
tenth.
Sincerely yours,
Edith Worldly.
Or
A man might write for an invitation for a friend. But a very young girl
should not ask for an invitation for a man--or anyone--since it is more
fitting that her mother ask for her. An older girl might say to Mrs.
Worldly, "My cousin is staying with us, may I bring him to your dance?" Or
if she knows Mrs. Worldly very well she might send a message by telephone:
"Miss Town would like to know whether she may bring her cousin, Mr.
Michigan, to Mrs. Worldly's dance."
=CARD OF GENERAL INVITATION=
Invitations to important entertainments are nearly always especially
engraved, so that nothing is written except the name of the person
invited; but, for the hostess who entertains constantly, a card which is
engraved in blank, so that it may serve for dinner, luncheon, dance,
garden party, musical, or whatever she may care to give, is indispensable.
The spacing of the model shown below, the proportion of the words, and the
size of the card, are especially good.
Mrs. Stevens
requests the pleasure of
company at
on
at o'clock
Two Elm Place
=THE DINNER INVITATION=
The blank which may be used only for dinner:
Mr. and Mrs. Huntington Jones
request the pleasure of
company at dinner
on
at eight o'clock
at Two Thousand Fifth Avenue
(_For type and spacing follow model on p. 118._)
=INVITATIONS TO RECEPTIONS AND TEAS=
Invitations to receptions and teas differ from invitations to balls in
that the cards on which they are engraved are usually somewhat smaller,
the words "At Home" with capital letters are changed to "will be at home"
with small letters, and the time is not set at the hour. Also, except on
very unusual occasions, a man's name does not appear. The name of the
debutante for whom the tea is given is put under that of her mother, and
sometimes under that of her sister or the bride of her brother.
Mrs. James Town
Mrs. James Town, junior
Miss Pauline Town
will be at home
On Tuesday the eighth of December
from four until six o'clock
Two Thousand Fifth Avenue.
Mr. Town's name would probably appear with that of his wife if he were an
artist, and the reception was given in his studio to view his pictures, or
if a reception were given to meet a distinguished guest such as a bishop
or a governor, in which case "In honour of the Right Reverend William
Powell," or "To meet His Excellency the Governor," is at the top of the
invitation.
=THE FORMAL INVITATION WHICH IS WRITTEN=
When the formal invitation to dinner or lunch is written instead of
engraved, note paper stamped with house or personal device is used. The
wording and spacing must follow the engraved models exactly.
350 PARK AVENUE
Mr. and Mrs. John Kindhart
request the pleasure of
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Gilding Jr.'s
company at Dinner
on Tuesday the sixth of December
at eight o'clock.
It must _not_ be written:
350 PARK AVENUE
TELEPHONE 7572 PLAZA
Mr. & Mrs. J. Kindhart request the pleasure of Mr. & Mrs. James
Town's Company at Dinner on Tuesday etc.
The foregoing example has four faults:
(1) Letters in the third person must follow the prescribed form. This does
not. (2) The writing is crowded against the margin. (3) The telephone
number should be used only for business and informal notes and letters.
(4) The full name John should be used instead of the initial "J." "Mr. and
Mrs." is better form than "Mr. & Mrs."
=RECALLING AN INVITATION=
If for illness or other reason invitations have to be recalled the
following forms are correct. They are always printed instead of engraved,
there being no time for engraving.
Owing to sudden illness
Mr. and Mrs. John Huntington Smith
are obliged to recall their invitations
for Tuesday the tenth of June.
The form used when the invitation is postponed:
Mr. and Mrs. John Huntington Smith
regret exceedingly
that owing to the illness of Mrs. Smith
their dance is temporarily postponed.
When a wedding is broken off after the invitations have been issued:
Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Nottingham
announce
that the marriage of their daughter
Mary Katharine
and
Mr. Jerrold Atherton
will not take place
=FORMAL ACCEPTANCE OR REGRET=
Acceptances or regrets are always written. An engraved form to be filled
in is vulgar--nothing could be in worse taste than to flaunt your
popularity by announcing that it is impossible to answer your numerous
invitations without the time-saving device of a printed blank. If you have
a dozen or more invitations a day, if you have a hundred, hire a staff of
secretaries if need be, but answer "by hand."
The formal acceptance to an invitation, whether it is to a dance, wedding
breakfast or a ball, is identical:
Mr. and Mrs. Donald Lovejoy
accept with pleasure
Mr. and Mrs. Smith's
kind invitation for dinner
on Monday the tenth of December
at eight o'clock
The formula for regret:
Mr. Clubwin Doe
regrets extremely that a previous engagement
prevents his accepting
Mr. and Mrs. Smith's
kind invitation for dinner
on Monday the tenth of December
or
Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Kerry
regret that they are unable to accept
Mr. and Mrs. Smith's
kind invitation for dinner
on Monday the tenth of December
In accepting an invitation the day and hour must be repeated, so that in
case of mistake it may be rectified and prevent one from arriving on a day
when one is not expected. But in declining an invitation it is not
necessary to repeat the hour.
=VISITING CARD INVITATIONS=
With the exception of invitations to house-parties, dinners and luncheons,
the writing of notes is past. For an informal dance, musical, picnic, for
a tea to meet a guest, or for bridge, a lady uses her ordinary visiting
card:
To meet Miss Millicent Gilding
=MRS. JOHN KINDHART=
Tues. Jan. 7. Dancing at 10. o'ck. 350 PARK AVENUE
or
Wed. Jan. 8. Bridge at 4. o'ck.
=MRS. JOHN KINDHART=
R.s.v.p. 350 PARK AVENUE
Answers to invitations written on visiting cards are always formally
worded in the third person, precisely as though the invitation had been
engraved.
=INVITATIONS IN THE SECOND PERSON=
The informal dinner and luncheon invitation is not spaced according to set
words on each line, but is written merely in two paragraphs. Example:
Dear Mrs. Smith:
Will you and Mr. Smith dine with us on Thursday, the seventh of
January, at eight o'clock?
Hoping so much for the pleasure of seeing you,
Very sincerely,
Caroline Robinson Town.
=THE INFORMAL NOTE OF ACCEPTANCE OR REGRET=
Dear Mrs. Town:
It will give us much pleasure to dine with you on Thursday the
seventh, at eight o'clock.
Thanking you for your kind thought of us,
Sincerely yours,
Margaret Smith.
Wednesday.
or
Dear Mrs. Town:
My husband and I will dine with you on Thursday the seventh, at
eight o'clock, with greatest pleasure.
Thanking you so much for thinking of us,
Always sincerely,
Margaret Smith.
or
Dear Mrs. Town:
We are so sorry that we shall be unable to dine with you on the
seventh, as we have a previous engagement.
With many thanks for your kindness in thinking of us,
Very sincerely,
Ethel Norman.
=INVITATION TO COUNTRY HOUSE=
To an intimate friend:
Dear Sally:
Will you and Jack (and the baby and nurse, of course) come out
the 28th (Friday), and stay for ten days? Morning and evening
trains take only forty minutes, and it won't hurt Jack to commute
for the weekdays between the two Sundays! I am sure the country
will do you and the baby good, or at least it will do me good to
have you here.
With much love, affectionately,
Ethel Norman.
To a friend of one's daughter:
Dear Mary:
Will you and Jim come on Friday the first for the Worldly dance,
and stay over Sunday? Muriel asks me to tell you that Helen and
Dick, and also Jimmy Smith are to be here and she particularly
hopes that you will come, too.
The three-twenty from New York is the best train--much. Though
there is a four-twenty and a five-sixteen, in case Jim is not
able to take the earlier one.
Very sincerely,
Alice Jones.
Confirming a verbal invitation:
Dear Helen:
This note is merely to remind you that you and Dick are coming
here for the Worldly dance on the sixth. Mother is expecting you
on the three-twenty train, and will meet you here at the station.
Affectionately,
Muriel.
Invitation to a house party at a camp:
Dear Miss Strange:
Will you come up here on the sixth of September and stay until
the sixteenth? It would give us all the greatest pleasure. There
is a train leaving Broadway Station at 8.03 A.M. which will get
you to Dustville Junction at 5 P.M. and here in time for supper.
It is only fair to warn you that the camp is very primitive; we
have no luxuries, but we can make you fairly comfortable if you
like an outdoor life and are not too exacting. Please do not
bring a maid or any clothes that the woods or weather can ruin.
You will need nothing but outdoor things: walking boots (if you
care to walk), a bathing suit (if you care to swim in the lake),
and something comfortable rather than smart for evening (if you
care to dress for supper). But on no account bring evening, or
any _good_ clothes!
Hoping so much that camping appeals to you and that we shall see
you on the evening of the sixth,
Very sincerely yours,
Martha Kindhart.
=THE INVITATION BY TELEPHONE=
Custom which has altered many ways and manners has taken away all
opprobrium from the message by telephone, and with the exception of those
of a very small minority of letter-loving hostesses, all informal
invitations are sent and answered by telephone. Such messages, however,
follow a prescribed form:
"Is this Lenox 0000? Will you please ask Mr. and Mrs. Smith if
they will dine with Mrs. Grantham Jones next Tuesday the tenth at
eight o'clock? Mrs. Jones' telephone number is Plaza, one two
ring two."
The answer:
"Mr. and Mrs. Huntington Smith regret that they will be unable to
dine with Mrs. Jones on Tuesday the tenth, as they are engaged
for that evening.
Or
"Will you please tell Mrs. Jones that Mr. and Mrs. Huntington
Smith are very sorry that they will be unable to dine with her
next Tuesday, and thank her for asking them."
Or
"Please tell Mrs. Jones that Mr. and Mrs. Huntington Smith will
dine with her on Tuesday the tenth, with pleasure."
The formula is the same, whether the invitation is to dine or lunch, or
play bridge or tennis, or golf, or motor, or go on a picnic.
"Will Mrs. Smith play bridge with Mrs. Grantham Jones this
afternoon at the Country Club, at four o'clock?"
"Hold the wire please * * * Mrs. Jones will play bridge, with
pleasure at four o'clock."
In many houses, especially where there are several grown sons or
daughters, a blank form is kept in the pantry:
Will
with M
on the
at o'clock. Telephone number
Accept
Regret
These slips are taken to whichever member of the family has been invited,
who crosses off "regret" or "accept" and hands the slip back for
transmission by the butler, the parlor-maid or whoever is on duty in the
pantry.
If Mr. Smith and Mrs. Jones are themselves telephoning there is no long
conversation, but merely:
Mrs. Jones:
"Is that you Mrs. Smith (or Sarah)? This is Mrs. Jones (or
Alice). Will you and your husband (or John) dine with us
to-morrow at eight o'clock?"
Mrs. Smith:
"I'm so sorry we can't. We are dining with Mabel."
Or
"We have people coming here."
Invitations to a house party are often as not telephoned:
"Hello, Ethel? This is Alice. Will you and Arthur come on the
sixteenth for over Sunday?"
"The sixteenth? That's Friday. We'd love to!"
"Will you take the 3:20 train? etc."
[Illustration: "A GEM OF A HOUSE MAY BE NO SIZE AT ALL, BUT ITS LINES
ARE HONEST, AND ITS PAINTING AND WINDOW CURTAINS IN GOOD TASTE ... AND ITS
BELL IS ANSWERED PROMPTLY BY A TRIM MAID WITH A LOW VOICE AND QUIET,
COURTEOUS MANNER." [Page 131.]]
CHAPTER XII
THE WELL-APPOINTED HOUSE
Every house has an outward appearance to be made as presentable as
possible, an interior continually to be set in order, and incessantly to
be cleaned. And for those that dwell within it there are meals to be
prepared and served; linen to be laundered and mended; personal garments
to be brushed and pressed; and perhaps children to be cared for. There is
also a door-bell to be answered in which manners as well as appearance
come into play.
Beyond these fundamental necessities, luxuries can be added indefinitely,
such as splendor of architecture, of gardening, and of furnishing, with
every refinement of service that executive ability can produce. With all
this genuine splendor possible only to the greatest establishments, a
little house can no more compete than a diamond weighing but half a carat
can compete with a stone weighing fifty times as much. And this is a good
simile, because the perfect little house may be represented by a corner
cut from precisely the same stone and differing therefore merely in size
(and value naturally), whereas the house in bad taste and improperly run
may be represented by a diamond that is off color and full of flaws; or in
some instances, merely a piece of glass that to none but those as ignorant
as its owner, for a moment suggests a gem of value.
A gem of a house may be no size at all, but its lines are honest, and its
painting and window curtains in good taste. As for its upkeep, its path or
sidewalk is beautifully neat, steps scrubbed, brasses polished, and its
bell answered promptly by a trim maid with a low voice and quiet courteous
manner; all of which contributes to the impression of "quality" evens
though it in nothing suggests the luxury of a palace whose opened bronze
door reveals a row of powdered footmen.
But the "mansion" of bastard architecture and crude paint, with its brass
indifferently clean, with coarse lace behind the plate glass of its
golden-oak door, and the bell answered at eleven in the morning by a
butler in an ill fitting dress suit and wearing a mustache, might as well
be placarded: "Here lives a vulgarian who has never had an opportunity to
acquire cultivation." As a matter of fact, the knowledge of how to make a
house distinguished both in appearance and in service, is a much higher
test than presenting a distinguished appearance in oneself and acquiring
presentable manners. There are any number of people who dress well, and in
every way appear well, but a lack of breeding is apparent as soon as you
go into their houses. Their servants have not good manners, they are not
properly turned out, the service is not well done, and the decorations and
furnishings show lack of taste and inviting arrangement.
The personality of a house is indefinable, but there never lived a lady of
great cultivation and charm whose home, whether a palace, a farm-cottage
or a tiny apartment, did not reflect the charm of its owner. Every visitor
feels impelled to linger, and is loath to go. Houses without personality
are a series of rooms with furniture in them. Sometimes their lack of
charm is baffling; every article is "correct" and beautiful, but one has
the feeling that the decorator made chalk-marks indicating the exact spot
on which each piece of furniture is to stand. Other houses are filled with
things of little intrinsic value, often with much that is shabby, or they
are perhaps empty to the point of bareness, and yet they have that
"inviting" atmosphere, and air of unmistakable quality which is an
unfailing indication of high-bred people.
="BECOMING" FURNITURE=
Suitability is the test of good taste always. The manner to the moment,
the dress to the occasion, the article to the place, the furniture to the
background. And yet to combine many periods in one and commit no
anachronism, to put something French, something Spanish, something
Italian, and something English into an American house and have the
result the perfection of American taste--is a feat of legerdemain that has
been accomplished time and again.
[Illustration: "THE PERSONALITY OF A HOUSE IS INDEFINABLE, BUT THERE NEVER
LIVED A LADY OF GREAT CULTIVATION AND CHARM WHOSE HOME, WHETHER A PALACE,
A FARM-COTTAGE OR A TINY APARTMENT, DID NOT REFLECT THE CHARM OF ITS
OWNER." [Page 132.]]
A woman of great taste follows fashion in house furnishing, just as she
follows fashion in dress, in general principles only. She wears what is
becoming to her own type, and she puts in her house only such articles as
are becoming to it.
That a quaint old-fashioned house should be filled with quaint
old-fashioned pieces of furniture, in size proportionate to the size of
the rooms, and that rush-bottomed chairs and rag-carpets have no place in
a marble hall, need not be pointed out. But to an amazing number of
persons, proportion seems to mean nothing at all. They will put a huge
piece of furniture in a tiny room so that the effect is one of painful
indigestion; or they will crowd things all into one corner--so that it
seems about to capsize; or they will spoil a really good room by the
addition of senseless and inappropriately cluttering objects, in the
belief that because they are valuable they must be beautiful, regardless
of suitability. Sometimes a room is marred by "treasures" clung to for
reasons of sentiment.
=THE BLINDNESS OF SENTIMENT=
It is almost impossible for any of us to judge accurately of things which
we have throughout a lifetime been accustomed to. A chair that was
grandmother's, a painting father bought, the silver that has always been
on the dining table--are all so part of ourselves that we are
sentiment-blind to their defects.
For instance, the portrait of a Colonial officer, among others, has always
hung in Mrs. Oldname's dining-room. One day an art critic, whose knowledge
was better than his manners, blurted out, "Will you please tell me why you
have that dreadful thing in this otherwise perfect room?" Mrs. Oldname,
somewhat taken back, answered rather wonderingly: "Is it
dreadful?--Really? I have a feeling of affection for him and his dog!"
The critic was merciless. "If you call a cotton-flannel effigy, a dog! And
as for the figure, it is equally false and lifeless! It is amazing how
any one with your taste can bear looking at it!" In spite of his rudeness,
Mrs. Oldname saw that what he said was quite true, but not until the fact
had been pointed out to her. Gradually she grew to dislike the poor
officer so much that he was finally relegated to the attic. In the same
way most of us have belongings that have "always been there" or perhaps
"treasures" that we love for some association, which are probably as bad
as can be, to which habit has blinded us, though we would not have to be
told of their hideousness were they seen by us in the house of another.
It is not to be expected that all people can throw away every esthetically
unpleasing possession, with which nearly every house twenty-five years ago
was filled, but those whose pocket-book and sentiment will permit, would
add greatly to the beauty of their houses by sweeping the bad into the ash
can! Far better have stone-ware plates that are good in design than
expensive porcelain that is horrible in decoration.
The only way to determine what is good and what is horrible is to study
what is good in books, in museums, or in art classes in the universities,
or even by studying the magazines devoted to decorative art.
Be very careful though. Do not mistake modern eccentricities for "art."
There are frightful things in vogue to-day--flamboyant colors, grotesque,
triangular and oblique designs that can not possibly be other than bad,
because aside from striking novelty, there is nothing good about them. By
no standard can a room be in good taste that looks like a perfume
manufacturer's phantasy or a design reflected in one of the distorting
mirrors that are mirth-provokers at county fairs.
=TO DETERMINE AN OBJECT'S WORTH=
In buying an article for a house one might formulate for oneself a few
test questions:
First, is it useful? Anything that is really useful has a reason for
existence.
Second, has it _really_ beauty of form and line and color?
(Texture is not so important.) Or is it merely striking, or amusing?
Third, is it entirely suitable for the position it occupies?
Fourth, if it were eliminated would it be missed? Would something else
look as well or better, in its place? Or would its place look as well
empty? A truthful answer to these questions would at least help in
determining its value, since an article that failed in any of them could
not be "perfect."
Fashion affects taste--it is bound to. We abominate Louis the Fourteenth
and Empire styles at the moment, because curves and super-ornamentation
are out of fashion; whether they are really bad or not, time alone can
tell. At present we are admiring plain silver and are perhaps exacting
that it be too plain? The only safe measure of what is good, is to choose
that which has best endured. The "King" and the "Fiddle" pattern for flat
silver, have both been in use in houses of highest fashion ever since they
were designed, so that they, among others, must have merit to have so long
endured.
In the same way examples of old potteries and china and glass, at present
being reproduced, are very likely good, because after having been for a
century or more in disuse, they are again being chosen. Perhaps one might
say that the "second choice" is "proof of excellence."
=SERVICE=
The subject of furnishings is however the least part of this
chapter--appointments meaning decoration being of less importance (since
this is not a book on architecture or decoration!), than appointments
meaning _service_.
But before going into the various details of service, it might be a good
moment to speak of the unreasoning indignity cast upon the honorable
vocation of a servant.
There is an inexplicable tendency, in this country only, for working
people in general to look upon domestic service as an unworthy, if not
altogether degrading vocation. The cause may perhaps be found in the fact
that this same scorning public having for the most part little opportunity
to know high-class servants, who are to be found only in high-class
families, take it for granted that ignorant "servant girls" and "hired
men" are representative of their kind. Therefore they put upper class
servants in the same category--regardless of whether they are uncouth and
illiterate, or persons of refined appearance and manner who often have
considerable cultivation, acquired not so much at school as through the
constant contact with ultra refinement of surroundings, and not
infrequently through the opportunity for world-wide travel.
And yet so insistently has this obloquy of the word "servant" spread that
every one sensitive to the feelings of others avoids using it exactly as
one avoids using the word "cripple" when speaking to one who is slightly
lame. Yet are not the best of us "servants" in the Church? And the highest
of us "servants" of the people and the State?
To be a slattern in a vulgar household is scarcely an elevated employment,
but neither is working in a sweat-shop, or belonging to a calling that is
really degraded; which is otherwise about all that equal lack of ability
would procure. On the other hand, consider the vocation of a lady's maid
or "_courier_" valet and compare the advantages these enjoy (to say
nothing of their never having to worry about overhead expenses), with the
opportunities of those who have never been out of the "factory" or the
"store" or further away than the adjoining town in their lives. As for a
nurse, is there any vocation more honorable? No character in E.F. Benson's
"Our Family Affairs" is more beautiful or more tenderly drawn than that of
"Beth," who was not only nurse to the children of the Archbishop of
Canterbury but one of the most dearly beloved of the family's members--her
place was absolutely next to their mother's in the very heart of the
household always.
Two years ago, Anna, who had for a lifetime been Mrs. Gilding's personal
maid, died. Every engagement of that seemingly frivolous family was
cancelled, even the invitations for their ball. Not one of the family but
mourned for what she truly was, their humble but nearest friend. Would it
have been so much better, so much more dignified, for these two women, who
lived long useful years in closest association with every cultivating
influence of life, to have lived on in their native villages and worked in
a factory, or to have had a little store of their own? Does this false
idea of dignity--since it _is_ false--go so far as that?
=HOW MANY SERVANTS FOR CORRECT SERVICE?=
It stands to reason that one may expect more perfect service from a
"specialist" than from one whose functions are multiple. But small houses
that have a double equipment--meaning an alternate who can go in the
kitchen, and two for the dining-room--can be every bit as well run, so far
as essentials go, as the palaces of the Gildings and the Worldlys, though
of course not with the same impressiveness. But good service is badly
handicapped if, when the waitress goes out, there is no one to open the
door, or when the cook goes out, there is no one to prepare a meal.
For what one might call "complete" service, (meaning service that is
adequate for constant entertaining and can stand comparison with the most
luxurious establishments,) three are the minimum--a cook, a butler (or
waitress) and a housemaid. The reason why luncheons and dinners can not be
"perfectly" given with a waitress alone is because two persons are
necessary for the exactions of modern standards of service. Yet one alone
can, on occasion, manage very well, if attention is paid to ordering an
especial menu for single-handed service--described on page 233. Aside from
the convenience of a second person in the dining-room, a house can not be
run very comfortably and smoothly without alternating shifts in staying in
and going out. The waitress being on "duty" to answer bell and telephone
and serve tea one afternoon, and the housemaid taking her place the next.
They also alternate in going out every other evening after dinner.
It should be realized that above the number necessary for essentials, each
additional chambermaid, parlor-maid, footman, scullery maid or useful man,
is made necessary by the size of the house and by the amount of
entertaining usual, rather than (as is often supposed) for the mere reason
of show. The seemingly superfluous number of footmen at Golden Hall and
Great Estates are, aside from standing on parade at formal parties, needed
actually to do the immense amount of work that houses of such size entail;
whereas a small apartment can be fairly well looked after by one alone.
All house employees and details of their several duties, manners, and
appearances, are enumerated below. Beginning with the greatest and most
complicated establishments possible, the employee of highest rank is:
=THE SECRETARY WHO IS ALSO COMPANION=
The position of companion, which is always one of social equality with her
employer, exists only when the lady of the house is an invalid, or very
elderly, or a widow, or a young girl. (In the latter case the "companion"
is a "chaperon.")
Her secretarial duties consist in writing impersonal letters and notes and
probably paying bills; she may have occasional invitations to send out,
and to answer, though a lady needing a companion is not apt to be greatly
interested in social activities. The companion never performs the services
of a maid--but she occasionally does the housekeeping. Otherwise her
duties can not very well be set down, because they vary with individual
requirements. One lady likes continually to travel and merely wants a
companion, (usually a poor relative or friend) to go with her. Another who
is a semi-invalid never leaves her room, and the duties of her companion
are almost those of a trained nurse. The average requirement is in being
personally agreeable, tactful, intelligent, and--companionable!
A companion dresses as any other lady does; according to the occasion, her
personal taste, her age, and her means.
=VARIED SOCIAL STANDING OF THE PRIVATE SECRETARY=
The private secretary to a diplomat, since, he must first pass the
diplomatic examination in order to qualify, is invariably a young man of
education, if not of birth, and his social position is always that of a
member of his "chief's" family.
The position of an ordinary private secretary is sometimes that of an
upper servant, or, on the other hand, his own social position may be much
higher than that of his employer. A secretary who either has position of
his own or is given position by his employer, is in every way treated as a
member of the family; he is present at all general entertainments; and
quite as often as not at lunches and dinners. The duties of a private
secretary are naturally to attend to all correspondence, take shorthand
notes of speeches or conversations, file papers and documents and in every
way serve as extra eyes and hands and supplementary brain for his
employer.
=THE SOCIAL SECRETARY=
The position of social secretary is an entirely clerical one, and never
confers any "social privileges" unless the secretary is also "companion."
Her duties are to write all invitations, acceptances, and regrets; keep a
record of every invitation received and every one sent out, and to enter
in an engagement book every engagement made for her employer, whether to
lunch, dinner, to be fitted, or go to the dentist. She also writes all
impersonal notes, takes longer letters in shorthand, and writes others
herself after being told their purport. She also audits all bills and
draws the checks for them, the checks are filled in and then presented to
her employer to be signed, after which they are put in their envelopes,
sealed and sent. When the receipted bills are returned, the secretary
files them according to her own method, where they can at any time be
found by her if needed for reference. In many cases it is she (though it
is most often the butler) who telephones invitations and other messages.
Occasionally a social secretary is also a social manager; devises
entertainments and arranges all details such as the decorations of the
house for a dance, or a programme of entertainment following a very large
dinner. The social secretary very rarely lives in the house of her
employer; more often than not she goes also to one or two other
houses--since there is seldom work enough in one to require her whole
time.
Miss Brisk, who is Mrs. Gilding's secretary, has little time for any one
else. She goes every day for from two to sometimes eight or nine hours in
town, and at Golden Hall lives in the house. Usually a secretary can
finish all there is to do in an average establishment in about an hour, or
at most two, a day, with the addition of five or six hours on two or three
other days each month for the paying of bills.
Supposing she takes three positions; she goes to Mrs. A. from 8.30 to 10
every day, and for three extra hours on the 10th and 11th of every month.
To Mrs. B. from 10.30 to 1 (her needs being greater) and for six extra
hours on the 12th, 13th and 14th of every month. And to Mrs. C. every day
at 3 o'clock for an indefinite time of several hours or only a few
minutes.
Her dress is that of any business woman. Conspicuous clothes are out of
keeping as they would be out of keeping in an office; which, however, is
no reason why she should not be well dressed. Well-cut tailor-made suits
are the most appropriate with a good-looking but simple hat; as good shoes
as she can possibly afford, and good gloves and immaculately clean shirt
waists, represent about the most dignified and practical clothes. But why
describe clothes! Every woman with good sense enough to qualify as a
secretary has undoubtedly sense enough to dress with dignity.
=THE HOUSEKEEPER=
In a very big house the housekeeper usually lives in the house. Smaller
establishments often have a "visiting housekeeper" who comes for as long
as she is needed each morning. The resident housekeeper has her own
bedroom and bath and sitting-room always. Her meals are brought to her by
an especial kitchen-maid, called in big houses the "hall girl," or
occasionally the butler details an under footman to that duty.
In an occasional house all the servants, the gardener as well as the cook
and butler and nurses, come under the housekeeper's authority; in other
words, she superintends the entire house exactly as a very conscientious
and skilled mistress would do herself, if she gave her whole time and
attention to it. She engages the servants, and if necessary, dismisses
them; she sees the cook, orders meals, goes to the market, or at least
supervises the cook's market orders, and likewise engages and apportions
the work of the men servants.
Ordinarily, however, she is in charge of no one but the housemaids,
parlor-maids, useful man and one of the scullery maids. The cook, butler,
nurses and lady's maid do not come under her supervision. But should
difficulties arise between herself and them it would be within her
province to ask for their dismissal which would probably be granted; since
she would not ask without grave cause that involved much more than her
personal dislike. A good housekeeper is always a woman of experience and
tact, and often a lady; friction is, therefore, extremely rare.
=THE ORGANIZATION OF A GREAT HOUSE=
The management of a house of greatest size, is divided usually into
several distinct departments, each under its separate head. The
housekeeper has charge of the appearance of the house and of its contents;
the manners and looks of the housemaids and parlor-maids, as well as their
work in cleaning walls, floors, furniture, pictures, ornaments, books, and
taking care of linen.
The butler has charge of the pantry and dining-room. He engages all
footmen, apportions their work and is responsible for their appearance,
manners and efficiency.
The cook is in charge of the kitchen, under-cook and kitchen-maids.
The nurse and the personal maid and cook are under the direction of the
lady of the house. The butler and the valet as well as the chauffeur and
gardener are engaged by the gentleman of the house.
=THE BUTLER=
The butler is not only the most important servant in every big
establishment, but it is by no means unheard of for him to be in supreme
command, not only as steward, but as housekeeper as well.
At the Worldly's for instance, Hastings who is actually the butler, orders
all the supplies, keeps the household accounts and engages not only the
men servants but the housemaids, parlor-maids and even the chef.
But normally in a great house, the butler has charge of his own department
only, and his own department is the dining-room and pantry, or possibly
the whole parlor floor. In all smaller establishments the butler is always
the valet--and in many great ones he is valet to his employer, even though
he details a footman to look after other gentlemen of the family or
visitors.
In a small house the butler works a great deal with his hands and not so
much with his head. In a great establishment, the butler works very much
with his head, and with his hands not at all.
At Golden Hall where guests come in dozens at a time (both in the house
and the guest annex), his stewardship--even though there is a
housekeeper--is not a job which a small man can fill. He has perhaps
thirty men under him at big dinners, ten who belong under him in the house
always; he has the keys to the wine cellar and the combination of the
silver safe. (The former being in this day by far the greater
responsibility!) He also chooses the china and glass and linen as well as
the silver to be used each day, oversees the setting of the table, and the
serving of all food. When there is a house party every breakfast tray that
leaves the pantry is first approved by him.
At all meals he stands behind the chair of the lady of the house--in other
words, at the head of the table. In occasional houses, the butler stands
at the opposite end as he is supposed to be better able to see any
directions given him. At Golden Hall the butler stands behind Mr. Gilding
but at Great Estates Hastings invariably stands behind Mrs. Worldly's
chair so that at the slightest turn of her head, he need only take a step
to be within reach of her voice. (The husband by the way is "head of the
house," but the wife is "head of the table.")
At tea time, he oversees the footmen who place the tea-table, put on the
tea cloth and carry in the tea tray, after which Hastings himself places
the individual tables. When there is "no dinner at home" he waits in the
hall and assists Mr. Worldly into his coat, and hands him his hat and
stick, which have previously been handed to the butler by one of the
footmen.
_The Butler in a Smaller House_
In a smaller house, the butler also takes charge of the wines and silver,
does very much the same as the butler in the bigger house, except that he
has less overseeing of others and more work to do himself. Where he is
alone, he does all the work--naturally. Where he has either one footman or
a parlor-maid, he passes the main courses at the table and his assistant
passes the secondary dishes.
He is also valet not only for the gentleman of the house but for any
gentleman guests as well.
_What the Butler Wears_
The butler never wears the livery of a footman and on no account knee
breeches or powder. In the early morning he wears an ordinary sack
suit--black or very dark blue--with a dark, inconspicuous tie. For
luncheon or earlier, if he is on duty at the door, he wears black
trousers, with gray stripes, a double-breasted, high-cut, black waistcoat,
and black swallowtail coat without satin on the revers, a white
stiff-bosomed shirt with standing collar, and a black four-in-hand tie.
In fashionable houses, the butler does not put on his dress suit until
six o'clock. The butler's evening dress differs from that of a gentleman
in a few details only: he has no braid on his trousers, and the satin on
his lapels (if any) is narrower, but the most distinctive difference is
that a butler wears a black waistcoat and a white lawn tie, and a
gentleman always wears a white waistcoat with a white tie, or a white
waistcoat and a black tie with a dinner coat, but never the reverse.
Unless he is an old-time colored servant in the South a butler who wears a
"dress suit" in the daytime is either a hired waiter who has come in to
serve a meal, or he has never been employed by persons of position; and it
is unnecessary to add that none but vulgarians would employ a butler (or
any other house servant) who wears a mustache! To have him open the door
collarless and in shirt-sleeves is scarcely worse!
A butler never wears gloves, nor a flower in his buttonhole. He sometimes
wears a very thin watch chain in the daytime but none at night. He never
wears a scarf-pin, or any jewelry that is for ornament alone. His
cuff-links should be as plain as possible, and his shirt studs white
enamel ones that look like linen.
=THE HOUSE FOOTMEN=
All house servants who assist in waiting on the table come under the
direction of the butler, and are known as footmen. One who never comes
into the dining-room is known as a useful man. The duties of the footmen
(and useful man) include cleaning the dining-room, pantry, lower hall,
entrance vestibule, sidewalk, attending to the furnace, carrying coal to
the kitchen, wood to all the open fireplaces in the house, cleaning the
windows, cleaning brasses, cleaning all boots, carrying everything that is
heavy, moving furniture for the parlor-maids to clean behind it, valeting
all gentlemen, setting and waiting on table, attending the front door,
telephoning and writing down messages, and--incessantly and ceaselessly,
cleaning and polishing silver.
In a small house, the butler polishes silver, but in a very big house one
of the footmen is silver specialist, and does nothing else. Nothing! If
there is to be a party of any sort he puts on his livery and joins the
others who line the hall and bring dishes to the table. But he does not
assist in setting the table or washing dishes or in cleaning anything
whatsoever--except silver.
The butler also usually answers the telephone--if not, it is answered by
the first footman. The first footman is deputy butler.
The footmen also take turns in answering the door. In houses of great
ceremony like those of the Worldlys' and the Gildings', there are always
two footmen at the door if anyone is to be admitted. One to open the door
and the other to conduct a guest into the drawing-room. But if formal
company is expected, the butler himself is in the front hall with one or
two footmen at the door.
_The Footmen's Livery_
People who have big houses usually choose a color for their livery and
never change it. Maroon and buff, for instance, are the colors of the
Gildings; all their motor cars are maroon with buff lines and
cream-colored or maroon linings. The chauffeurs and outside footmen wear
maroon liveries. The house footmen, for everyday, wear ordinary footmen's
liveries, maroon trousers and long-tailed coats with brass buttons and
maroon-and-buff striped waistcoats.
For gala occasions, Mrs. Gilding adds as many caterer's men as necessary,
but they all are dressed in her full-dress livery, consisting of a "court"
coat which comes together at the neck in front, and then cuts away to long
tails at the back. The coat is of maroon broadcloth with frogs and
epaulets of black braiding. There is a small standing collar of buff
cloth, and a falling cravat of pleated cream-colored lace worn in front.
The waistcoat is of buff satin, the breeches of black satin, cream-colored
stockings, pumps, and the hair is powdered. It is first pomaded and then
thickly powdered. Wigs are never worn.
Mrs. Worldly however compromises between the "court" footman and the
ordinary one, and puts her footmen in green cloth coats cut like the
everyday liveries, with silver buttons on which the crest is raised in
relief, but adds black velvet collars, and black satin waistcoats in place
of the everyday striped ones. Black satin knee breeches, black silk
stockings, and pumps with silver buckles, and their ordinary hair, cut
short.
The powdered footman's "court" livery is, as a matter of fact, very rarely
seen. Three or four houses in New York, and one or two otherwhere, would
very likely include them all. Knee breeches are more usual, but even those
are seen in none but very lavish houses.
To choose servants who are naturally well-groomed is more important than
putting them in smart liveries. Men must be close shaven and have their
hair well cut. Their linen must be immaculate, their shoes polished, their
clothes brushed and in press, and their finger nails clean and well cared
for. If a man's fingers are indelibly stained he would better wear white
cotton gloves.
=THE COOK=
The kitchen is always in charge of the cook. In a small house, or in an
apartment, she is alone and has all the cooking, cleaning of kitchen and
larder, to do, the basement or kitchen bell to answer, and the servants'
table to set and their dishes to wash as well as her kitchen utensils. In
a bigger house, the kitchen-maid lights the kitchen fire, and does all
cleaning of kitchen and pots and pans, answers the basement bell, sets the
servants' table and washes the servants' table dishes. In a still bigger
house, the second cook cooks for the servants always, and for the children
sometimes, and assists the cook by preparing certain plainer portions of
the meals, the cook preparing all dinner dishes, sauces and the more
elaborate items on the menu. Sometimes there are two or more kitchen-maids
who merely divide the greater amount of work between them.
In most houses of any size, the cook does all the marketing. She sees the
lady of the house every morning, and submits menus for the day. In smaller
houses, the lady does the ordering of both supplies and menus.
_How a Cook Submits the Menu_
In a house of largest size--at the Gildings for instance, the chef writes
in his "book" every evening, the menus for the next day, whether there is
to be company or not. (None, of course, if the family are to be out for
all meals.) This "book" is sent up to Mrs. Gilding with her breakfast
tray. It is a loose-leaf blank book of rather large size. The day's menu
sheet is on top, but the others are left in their proper sequence
underneath, so that by looking at her engagement book to see who dined
with her on such a date, and then looking at the menu for that same date,
she knows--if she cares to--exactly what the dinner was.
If she does not like the chef's choice, she draws a pencil through and
writes in something else. If she has any orders or criticisms to make, she
writes them on an envelope pad, folds the page, and seals it and puts the
"note" in the book. If the menu is to be changed, the chef re-writes it,
if not the page is left as it is, and the book put in a certain place in
the kitchen.
The butler always goes into the kitchen shortly after the book has come
down, and copies the day's menus on a pad of his own. From this he knows
what table utensils will be needed.
This system is not necessary in medium sized or small houses, but where
there is a great deal of entertaining it is much simpler for the butler to
be able to go and "see for himself" than to ask the cook and--forget. And
ask again, and the cook forget, and then--disturbance!--because the butler
did not send down the proper silver dishes or have the proper plates
ready, or had others heated unnecessarily.
=THE KITCHEN-MAID=
The kitchen-maids are under the direction of the cook, except one known
colloquially as the "hall girl" who is supervised by the housekeeper. She
is evidently a survival of the "between maid" of the English house. Her
sobriquet comes from the fact that she has charge of the servants' hall,
or dining-room, and is in fact the waitress for them. She also takes care
of the housekeeper's rooms, and carries all her meals up to her. If there
is no housekeeper, the hall girl is under the direction of the cook.
=THE PARLOR-MAID=
The parlor-maid keeps the drawing-room and library in order. The useful
man brings up the wood for the fireplaces, but the parlor-maid lays the
fire. In some houses the parlor-maid takes up the breakfast trays; in
other houses, the butler does this himself and then hands them to the
lady's maid, who takes them into the bedrooms. The windows and the brasses
are cleaned by the useful man and heavy furniture moved by him so she can
clean behind them.
The parlor-maid assists the butler in waiting at table, and washing
dishes, and takes turns with him in answering the door and the telephone.
In huge houses like the Worldlys' and the Gildings', the footmen assist
the butler in the dining-room and at the door--and there is always a
"pantry maid" who washes dishes and cleans the pantry.
=THE HOUSEMAID=
The housemaid does all the chamber work, cleans all silver on
dressing-tables, polishes fixtures in the bathroom--in other words takes
care of the bedroom floors.
In a bigger house, the head housemaid has charge of the linen and does the
bedrooms of the lady and gentleman of the house and a few of the spare
rooms. The second housemaid does the nurseries, extra spare rooms, and the
servants' floor. The bigger the establishment, the more housemaids, and
the work is further divided. The housemaid is by many people called the
chambermaid.
=UNIFORMS=
In all houses of importance and fashion, the parlor-maid and the
housemaids, and the waitress (where there is no butler), are all dressed
alike. Their "work" dresses are of plain cambric and in whatever the
"house color" may be, with large white aprons with high bibs, and Eton
collars, but no cuffs (as they must be able to unbutton their sleeves and
turn them up.) Those who serve in the dining-room must always dress before
lunch, and the afternoon dresses vary according to the taste--and
purse--of the lady of the house. Where no uniforms are supplied, each maid
is supposed to furnish herself with a plain black dress for afternoon, on
which she wears collars and cuffs of embroidered muslin usually (always
supplied her), and a small afternoon apron, with or without shoulder
straps, and with or without a cap.
In very "beautifully done" houses (all the dresses of the maids are
furnished them), the color of the uniforms is chosen to harmonize with the
dining-room. At the Gildings', Jr., for instance, where there are no men
servants because Mr. Gilding does not like them, but where the house is as
perfect as a picture on the stage, the waitress and parlor-maid wear in
the blue and yellow dining-room, dresses of Nattier blue taffeta with
aprons and collars and cuffs of plain hemstitched cream-colored organdie,
that is as transparent as possible; blue stockings and patent leather
slippers with silver buckles, their hair always beautifully smooth.
Sometimes they wear caps and sometimes not, depending upon the waitress'
appearance. Twenty years ago, every maid in a lady's house wore a cap
except the personal maid, who wore (and still does) a velvet bow, or
nothing. But when every little slattern in every sloppy household had a
small mat of whitish Swiss pinned somewhere on an untidy head, and was
decked out in as many yards of embroidery ruffling on her apron and
shoulders as her person could carry, fashionable ladies began taking caps
and trimmings off, and exacting instead that clothes be good in cut and
hair be neatly arranged.
A few ladies of great taste dress their maids according to individual
becomingness; some faces look well under a cap, others look the contrary.
A maid whose hair is rather fluffy--especially if it is dark--looks pretty
in a cap, particularly of the coronet variety. No one looks well in a
doily laid flat, but fluffy fair hair with a small mat tilted up against
a knot of hair dressed high can look very smart. A young woman whose hair
is straight and rebellious to order, can be made to look tidy and even
attractive in a headdress that encircles the whole head. A good one for
this purpose has a very narrow ruche from 9 to 18 inches long on either
side of a long black velvet ribbon. The ruche goes part way, or all the
way, around the head, and the velvet ribbon ties, with streamers hanging
down the back. On the other hand, many extremely pretty young women with
hair worn flat do not look well in caps of any description--except "Dutch"
ones which are, in most houses, too suggestive of fancy dress. If no caps
are worn the hair must be faultlessly smooth and neat; and of course where
two or more maids are seen together, they must be alike. It would not do
to have one wear a cap and the other not.
=THE LADY'S MAID=
A first class lady's maid is required to be a hairdresser, a good packer
and an expert needlewoman. Her first duty is to keep her lady's clothes in
order and to help her dress, and undress. She draws the bath, lays out
underclothes, always brushes her lady's hair and usually dresses it, and
gets out the dress to be worn, as well as the stockings, shoes, hat, veil,
gloves, wrist bag, parasol, or whatever accessories go with the dress in
question.
As soon as the lady is dressed, everything that has been worn is taken to
the sewing room and each article is gone over, carefully brushed if of
woolen material, cleaned if silk. Everything that is mussed is pressed,
everything that can be suspected of not being immaculate is washed or
cleaned with cleaning fluid, and when in perfect order is replaced where
it belongs in the closet. Underclothes as mended are put in the clothes
hamper. Stockings are looked over for rips or small holes, and the maid
usually washes very fine stockings herself, also lace collars or small
pieces of lace trimming.
Some maids have to wait up at night, no matter how late, until their
ladies return; but as many, if not more, are never asked to wait longer
than a certain hour.
But the maid for a debutante in the height of the season, between the
inevitable "go fetching" at this place and that, and mending of party
dresses danced to ribbons and soiled by partner's hands on the back, and
slippers "walked on" until there is quite as much black part as satin or
metal, has no sinecure.
_Why Two Maids?_
In very important houses where mother and daughters go out a great deal
there are usually two maids, one for the mother and one for the daughters.
But even in moderate households it is seldom practical for a debutante and
her mother to share a maid--at least during the height of the season. That
a maid who has to go out night after night for weeks and even months on
end, and sit in the dressing-rooms at balls until four and five and even
six in the morning, is then allowed to go to bed and to sleep until
luncheon is merely humane. And it can easily be seen that it is more
likely that she will need the help of a seamstress to refurbish
dance-frocks, than that she will have any time to devote to her young
lady's mother--who in "mid-season," therefore, is forced to have a maid of
her own, ridiculous as it sounds, that two maids for two ladies should be
necessary! Sometimes this is overcome by engaging an especial maid "by the
evening" to go to parties and wait, and bring the debutante home again.
And the maid at home can then be "maid for two."
_Dress of a Lady's Maid_
A lady's maid wears a black skirt, a laundered white waist, and a small
white apron, the band of which buttons in the back.
In traveling, a lady's maid always wears a small black silk apron and some
maids wear black taffeta ones always. In the afternoon, she puts on a
black waist with white collar and cuffs. Mrs. Gilding, Jr., puts her maid
in black taffeta with embroidered collar and cuffs. For "company
occasions," when she waits in the dressing-room, she wears light gray
taffeta with a very small embroidered mull apron with a narrow black
velvet waist-ribbon, and collar and cuffs of mull to match--which is
extremely pretty, but also extremely extravagant.
=THE VALET=
The valet (pronounced val-et not vallay) is what Beau Brummel called a
gentleman's gentleman. His duties are exactly the same as those of the
lady's maid--except that he does not sew! He keeps his employer's clothes
in perfect order, brushes, cleans and presses everything as soon as it has
been worn--even if only for a few moments. He lays out the clothes to be
put on, puts away everything that is a personal belonging. Some gentlemen
like their valet to help them dress; run the bath, shave them and hold
each article in readiness as it is to be put on. But most gentlemen merely
like their clothes "laid out" for them, which means that trousers have
belts or braces attached, shirts have cuff links and studs; and waistcoat
buttons are put in.
The valet also unpacks the bags of any gentleman guests when they come,
valets them while there, and packs them when they go. He always packs for
his own gentleman, buys tickets, looks after the luggage, and makes
himself generally useful as a personal attendant, whether at home or when
traveling.
At big dinners, he is required (much against his will) to serve as a
footman--in a footman's, not a butler's, livery.
The valet wears no livery except on such occasions. His "uniform" is an
ordinary business suit, dark and inconspicuous in color, with a black tie.
In a bachelor's quarters a valet is often general factotum; not only
valeting but performing the services of cook, butler, and even housemaid.
=THE NURSE=
Everybody knows the nurse is either the comfort or the torment of the
house. Everyone also knows innumerable young mothers who put up with
inexcusable crankiness from a crotchety middle-aged woman because she was
"so wonderful" to the baby. And here let it be emphasized that such an one
usually turns out to have been not wonderful to the baby at all. That she
does not actually abuse a helpless infant is merely granting that she is
not a "monster."
Devotion must always be unselfish; the nurse who is _really_ "wonderful"
to the baby is pretty sure to be a person who is kind generally. In
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the sooner a domineering nurse--old or
young--is got rid of, the better. It has been the experience of many a
mother whose life had been made perfectly miserable through her belief
that if she dismissed the tyrant the baby would suffer, that in the
end--there _is_ always an end!--the baby was quite as relieved as the rest
of the family when the "right sort" of a kindly and humane person took the
tyrant's place.
It is unnecessary to add that one can not be too particular in asking for
a nurse's reference and in never failing to get a personal one from the
lady she is leaving. Not only is it necessary to have a sweet-tempered,
competent and clean person, but her moral character is of utmost
importance, since she is to be the constant and inseparable companion of
the children whose whole lives are influenced by her example, especially
where busy parents give only a small portion of time to their children.
=COURTESY TO ONE'S HOUSEHOLD=
In a dignified house, a servant is never spoken to as Jim, Maisie, or
Katie, but always as James or Margaret or Katherine, and a butler is
called by his last name, nearly always. The Worldly's butler, for
instance, is called Hastings, not John. In England, a lady's maid is also
called by her last name, and the cook, if married, is addressed as Mrs.
and the nurse is always called "Nurse." A chef is usually called "Chef" or
else by his last name.
Always abroad, and every really well-bred lady or gentleman here, says
"please" in asking that something be brought her or him. "Please get me
the book I left on the table in my room!" Or "Please give me some bread!"
Or "Some bread, please." Or one can say equally politely and omit the
please, "I'd like some toast," but it is usual and instinctive to every
lady or gentleman to add "please."
In refusing a dish at the table, one must say "No, thank you," or "No,
thanks," or else one shakes one's head. A head can be shaken politely or
rudely. To be courteously polite, and yet keep one's walls up is a thing
every thoroughbred person knows how to do--and a thing that everyone who
is trying to become such must learn to do.
A rule can't be given because there isn't any. As said in another chapter,
a well-bred person always lives within the walls of his personal reserve,
a vulgarian has no walls--or at least none that do not collapse at the
slightest touch. But those who think they appear superior by being rude to
others whom fortune has placed below them, might as well, did they but
know it, shout their own unexalted origin to the world at large, since by
no other method could it be more widely published.
=THE HOUSE WITH LIMITED SERVICE=
The fact that you live in a house with two servants, or in an apartment
with only one, need not imply that your house lacks charm or even
distinction, or that it is not completely the home of a lady or gentleman.
But, as explained in the chapter on Dinners, if you have limited service
you must devise systematic economy of time and labor or you will have
disastrous consequences.
Every person, after all, has only one pair of hands, and a day has only so
many hours, and one thing is inevitable, which young housekeepers are apt
to forget, a few can not do the work of many, and do it in the same way.
It is all very well if the housemaid can not get into young Mrs. Gilding's
room until lunch time, nor does it matter if its confusion looks like the
aftermath of a cyclone. The housemaid has nothing to do the rest of the
day but put that one room and bath in order. But in young Mrs. Gaily's
small house where the housemaid is also the waitress, who is supposed to
be "dressed" for lunch, it does not have to be pointed out that she can
not sweep, dust, tidy up rooms, wash out bathtubs, polish fixtures, and at
the same time be dressed in afternoon clothes. If Mrs. Gaily is out for
lunch, it is true the chambermaid-waitress need not be dressed to wait on
table, but her thoughtless young mistress would not be amiable if a
visitor were to ring the door-bell in the early afternoon and have it
opened by a maid in a rumpled "working" dress.
Supposing the time to put the bedroom in order is from ten to eleven each
morning: it is absolutely necessary that Mrs. Gaily take her bath before
ten so that even if she is not otherwise "dressed" she can be out of her
bedroom and bath at ten o'clock promptly. She can go elsewhere while her
room is done up and then come back and finish dressing later. In this case
she must herself "tidy" any disorder that she makes in dressing; put away
her neglige and slippers and put back anything out of place. On the days
when Mr. Gaily does not go to the office he too must get up and out so
that the house can be put in order.
=THE ONE MAID ALONE=
But where one maid alone cooks, cleans, waits on table, and furthermore
serves as lady's maid and valet, she must necessarily be limited in the
performance of each of these duties in direct proportion to their number.
Even though she be eagerly willing, quality must give way before quantity
produced with the same equipment, or if quality is necessary then quantity
must give way. In the house of a fashionable gay couple like the Lovejoys'
for instance, the time spent in "maiding" or "valeting" has to be taken
from cleaning or cooking. Besides cleaning and cooking, the one maid in
their small apartment can press out Mrs. Lovejoy's dresses and do a little
mending, but she can not sit down and spend one or two hours going over a
dress in the way a specialist maid can. Either Mrs. Lovejoy herself must
do the sewing or the housework, or one or the other must be left undone.
=THE MANAGEMENT OF SERVANTS=
It is certainly a greater pleasure and incentive to work for those who are
appreciative than for those who continually find fault. Everyone who did
war work can not fail to remember how easy it was to work for, or with,
some people, and how impossible to get anything done for others. And just
as the "heads" of work-rooms or "wards" or "canteens" were either
stimulating or dispiriting, so must they and their types also be to those
who serve in their households.
This, perhaps, explains why some people are always having a "servant
problem"; finding servants difficult to get, more difficult to keep, and
most difficult to get efficient work from. It is a question whether the
"servant problem" is not more often a mistress problem. It must be!
Because, if you notice, those who have woes and complaints are invariably
the same, just as others who never have any trouble are also the same. It
does not depend on the size of the house; the Lovejoys never have any
trouble, and yet their one maid of all work has a far from "easy" place,
and a vacancy at Brookmeadows is always sought after, even though the
Oldnames spend ten months of the year in the country. Neither is there any
friction at the Golden Hall or Great Estates, even though the latter house
is run by the butler--an almost inevitable cause of trouble. These houses
represent a difference in range of from one alone, to nearly forty on the
household payroll.
=THOSE WHO HAVE PERSISTENT "TROUBLE"=
It might be well for those who have trouble to remember a few rules which
are often overlooked: Justice must be the foundation upon which every
tranquil house is constructed. Work must be as evenly divided as possible;
one servant should not be allowed liberties not accorded to all.
It is not just to be too lenient, any more than it is just to be
unreasonably strict. To allow impertinence or sloppy work is inexcusable,
but it is equally inexcusable to show causeless irritability or to be
overbearing or rude. And there is no greater example of injustice than to
reprimand those about you because you happen to be in a bad humor, and at
another time overlook offenses that are greater because you are in an
amiable mood.
There is also no excuse for "correcting" either a servant or a child
before people.
[Illustration: "THE PERFECT MISTRESS SHOWS ALL THOSE IN HER EMPLOY THE
CONSIDERATION AND TRUST DUE THEM AS HONORABLE SELF-RESPECTING AND
CONSCIENTIOUS HUMAN BEINGS." [Page 157.]]
And when you do correct, do not forget to make allowances, if there be
any reason why allowance should be made.
If you live in a palace like Golden Hall, or any completely equipped house
of important size, you overlook _nothing!_ There is no more excuse for
delinquency than there is in the Army. If anything happens, such as
illness of one servant, there is another to take his (or her) place. A
huge household is a machine and it is the business of the engineers--in
other words, the secretary, housekeeper, chef or butler, to keep it going
perfectly.
But in a little house, it may not be fair to say "Selma, the silver is
dirty!" when there is a hot-air furnace and you have had company to every
meal, and you have perhaps sent her on errands between times, and she has
literally not had a moment. If you don't know whether she has had time or
not, you could give her the benefit of the doubt and say (trustfully, not
haughtily) "You have not had time to clean the silver, have you?" This--in
case she has really been unable to clean it--points out just as well the
fact that it is not shining, but is not a criticism. Carelessness, on the
other hand, when you know she has had plenty of time, should never be
overlooked.
Another type that has "difficulties" is the distrustful--sometimes
actually suspicious--person who locks everything tight and treats all
those with whom she comes in contact as though they were meddlesomely
curious at least, or at worst, dishonest. It is impossible to overstate
the misfortune of this temperament. The servant who is "watched" for fear
she "won't work," listened to for fear she may be gossiping, suspected of
wanting to take a liberty of some sort, or of doing something else she
shouldn't do, is psychologically encouraged, almost driven, to do these
very things.
The perfect mistress expects perfect service, but it never occurs to her
that perfect service will not be voluntarily and gladly given. She, on her
part, shows all of those in her employ the consideration and trust due
them as honorable, self-respecting and conscientious human beings. If she
has reason to think they are not all this, a lady does not keep them in
her house.
=ETIQUETTE OF SERVICE=
The well-trained high-class servant is faultlessly neat in appearance,
reticent in manner, speaks in a low voice, walks and moves quickly but
silently, and is unfailingly courteous and respectful. She (or he) always
knocks on a door, even of the library or sitting-room, but opens it
without waiting to hear "Come in," as knocking on a downstairs door is
merely politeness. At a bedroom door she would wait for permission to
enter. In answering a bell, she asks "Did you ring, sir?" or if especially
well-mannered she asks "Did Madam ring?"
A servant always answers "Yes, Madam," or "Very good, sir," never "Yes,"
"No," "All right," or "Sure."
Young people in the house are called "Miss Alice" or "Mr. Ollie," possibly
"Mr. Oliver," but they are generally called by their familiar names with
the prefix of Miss or Mister. Younger children are called Miss Kittie and
Master Fred, but never by the nurse, who calls them by their first names
until they are grown--sometimes always.
All cards and small packages are presented on a tray.
=TIME "OUT" AND "IN"=
No doubt in the far-off districts there are occasional young women who
work long and hard and for little compensation, but at least in all
cities, servants have their definite time out. Furthermore, they are
allowed in humanely run houses to have "times in" when they can be at home
to friends who come to see them. In every well-appointed house of size
there is a sitting-room which is furnished with comfortable chairs and
sofa if possible, a good droplight to read by, often books, and always
magazines (sent out as soon as read by the family). In other words, they
have an inviting room to use as their own exactly as though they were
living at home. If no room is available, the kitchen has a cover put on
the table, a droplight, and a few restful chairs are provided.
=THE MAIDS' MEN FRIENDS=
Are maids allowed to receive men friends? Certainly they are! Whoever in
remote ages thought it was better to forbid "followers" the house, and
have Mary and Selma slip out of doors to meet them in the dark, had very
distorted notions to say the least. And any lady who knows so little of
human nature as to make the same rule for her maids to-day is acting in
ignorant blindness of her own duties to those who are not only in her
employ but also under her protection.
A pretty young woman whose men friends come in occasionally and play cards
with the others, or dance to a small and not loud phonograph in the
kitchen, is merely being treated humanly. Because she wears a uniform
makes her no less a young girl, with a young girl's love of amusement,
which if not properly provided for her "at home" will be sought for in
sinister places.
This responsibility is one that many ladies who are occupied with
charitable and good works elsewhere often overlook under their own roof.
It does not mean that the kitchen should be a scene of perpetual revelry
and mirth that can by any chance disturb the quiet of the neighborhood or
even the family. Unseemly noise is checked at once, much as it would be if
young people in the drawing-room became disturbing. Continuous company is
not suitable either, and those who abuse privileges naturally must have
them curtailed, but the really high-class servant who does not appreciate
kindness and requite it with considerate and proper behavior is rare.
=SERVICE IN FORMAL ENTERTAINING=
=ON THE SIDEWALK AND IN THE HALL=
For a wedding, or a ball, and sometimes for teas and big dinners, there is
an awning from curb to front door. But usually, especially in good
weather, a dinner or other moderate sized evening entertainment is
prepared for by stretching a carpet (a red one invariably!) down the front
steps and across the pavement to the curb's edge. At all important
functions there is a chauffeur (or a caterer's man) on the sidewalk to
open the door of motors, and a footman or waitress stationed inside the
door of the house to open it on one's approach. This same servant, or more
often another stationed in the hall beyond, directs arriving guests to the
dressing-rooms.
=DRESSING-ROOMS=
Houses especially built for entertaining, have two small rooms on the
ground floor, each with its lavatory, and off of it, a rack for the
hanging of coats and wraps. In most houses, however, guests have to go
up-stairs where two bedrooms are set aside, one as a ladies', and the
other as a gentlemen's coat room.
At an afternoon tea in houses where dressing-rooms have not been installed
by the architect, the end of the hall, if it is wide, is sometimes
supplied with a coat rack (which may be rented from a caterer) for the
gentlemen. Ladies are in this case supposed to go into the drawing-room as
they are, or go up-stairs to the bedroom put at their disposal and in
charge of a lady's maid or housemaid.
If the entertainment is very large, checks are always given to avoid
confusion in the dressing-rooms exactly as in public "check rooms." In the
ladies' dressing-room--whether downstairs or up--there must be an array of
toilet necessities such as brushes and combs; well-placed mirrors,
hairpins, powder with stacks of individual cotton balls, or a roll of
cotton in a receptacle from which it may be pulled. In the lavatory there
must be fresh soap and plenty of small hand towels. The lady's personal
maid and one or two assistants if necessary, depending upon the size of
the party, but one and all of them as neatly dressed as possible, assist
ladies off and on with their wraps, and give them coat checks.
A lady's maid should always look the arriving guests over--not boldly nor
too apparently, but with a quick glance for anything that may be amiss. If
the drapery of a dress is caught up on its trimming, or a fastening
undone, it is her duty to say: "Excuse me, madam (or miss), but there is a
hook undone"--or "the drapery of your gown is caught--shall I fix it?"
Which she does as quietly and quickly as possible. If there is a rip of
any sort, she says: "I think there is a thread loose, I'll just tack it.
It will only be a moment."
The well-bred maid instinctively makes little of a guest's accident, and
is as considerate as the hostess herself. Employees instinctively adopt
the attitude of their employer.
In the gentlemen's coat room of a perfectly appointed house the valet's
attitude is much the same. If a gentleman's coat should have met with any
accident, the valet says: "Let me have it fixed for you, sir, it'll only
take a moment!" And he divests the gentleman of his coat and takes it to a
maid and asks her please to take a stitch in it. Meanwhile he goes back to
his duties in the dressing-room until he is sure the coat is finished,
when he gets it and politely helps the owner into it.
In a small country house where dressing-room space is limited, the quaint
tables copied from old ones are very useful, screened off at the back of
the downstairs hall, or in a very small lavatory. They look, when shut,
like an ordinary table, but when the top is lifted a mirror, the height of
the table's width, swings forward and a series of small compartments and
trays both deep and shallow are laid out on either side. The trays of
course are kept filled with hairpins, pins and powder, and the
compartments have sunburn lotion and liquid powder, brush, comb and
whiskbroom, and whatever else the hostess thinks will be useful.
=THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF GUESTS=
The butler's duty is to stand near the entrance to the reception or
drawing-room, and as each guest arrives (unless they are known to him) he
asks: "What name, please?" He then leads the way into the room where the
hostess is receiving, and says distinctly: "Mr. and Mrs. Jones." If Mrs.
Jones is considerably in advance of her husband, he says: "Mrs. Jones!"
then waits for Mr. Jones to approach before announcing: "Mr. Jones!"
At a very large party such as a ball, or a very big tea or musical, he
does not leave his place, but stands just outside the drawing-room, and
the hostess stands just within, and as the guests pass through the door,
he announces each one's name.
It is said to be customary in certain places to have waitresses announce
people. But in New York guests are never announced if there are no men
servants. At a very large function such as a ball or tea, a hostess who
has no butler at home, always employs one for the occasion. If, for
instance, she is giving a ball for her daughter, and all the sons and
daughters of her own acquaintance are invited, the chances are that not
half or even a quarter of her guests are known to her by sight, so that
their announcement is not a mere matter of form but of necessity.
=THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF DINNER=
When the butler on entering the room to announce dinner, happens to catch
the attention of the hostess, he merely bows. Otherwise he approaches
within speaking distance and says, "Dinner is served." He never says,
"Dinner is ready."
At a large dinner where it is quite a promenade to circle the table in
search of one's name, the butler stands just within the dining-room and
either reads from a list or says from memory "right" or "left" as the case
may be, to each gentleman and lady on approaching. In a few of the
smartest houses a leaf has been taken from the practise of royalty and a
table plan arranged in the front hall, which is shown to each gentleman at
the moment when he takes the envelope enclosing the name of his partner at
dinner. This table plan is merely a diagram made in leather with white
name cards that slip into spaces corresponding to the seats at the table.
On this a gentleman can see exactly where he sits and between whom; so
that if he does not know the lady who is to be on his left as well as the
one he is to "take in," he has plenty of time before going to the table to
ask his host to present him.
At the end of the evening, the butler is always at the front door--and by
that time, unless the party is very large, he should have remembered
their names, if he is a perfect butler, and as Mr. and Mrs. Jones appear
he opens the door and calls down to the chauffeur "Mr. Jones' car!" And in
the same way "Mr. Smith's car!" "Miss Gilding's car!" When a car is at the
door, the chauffeur runs up the steps and says to the butler: "Miss
Gilding's car" or "Mrs. Jones' car." The butler then announces to either
Mr. or Mrs. Jones, "Your car, sir," or "Your car, madam," and holds the
door open for her to go out, or he may say, "Your car, Miss," if the
Gilding car comes first.
=DINING-ROOM SERVICE AT PRIVATE ENTERTAINMENTS=
Supper at a ball in a great house (big enough for a ball) is usually in
charge of the butler, who by "supper time" is free from his duties of
"announcing" and is able to look after the dining-room service. The
sit-down supper at a ball is served exactly like a dinner--or a wedding
breakfast; and the buffet supper of a dance is like the buffet of a
wedding reception.
At a large tea where the butler is on duty "announcing" at the same time
that other guests are going into the dining-room for refreshments, the
dining-room service has to be handed over to the first footman and his
assistants or a capable waitress is equally able to meet the situation.
She should have at least two maids with her, as they have to pour all cups
of tea and bouillon and chocolate as well as to take away used cups and
plates and see that the food on the table is replenished.
At a small tea where ladies perform the office of pouring, one man or maid
in the dining-room is plenty, to bring in more hot water or fresh cups, or
whatever the table hostesses have need of.
=FORMAL SERVICE WITHOUT MEN SERVANTS=
Many, and very fastidious, people, who live in big houses and entertain
constantly, have neither men servants nor employ a caterer, ever.
Efficient women take men's places equally well, though two services are
omitted. Women never (in New York at least) announce guests or open the
doors of motors. But there is no difference whatsoever in the details of
the pantry, dining-room, hall or dressing-room, whether the services are
performed by men or women. (No women, of course, are ever on duty in the
gentlemen's dressing-rooms.)
At an evening party, the door is opened by the waitress, assisted by the
parlor-maid who directs the way to the dressing-rooms. The guests, when
they are ready to go in the drawing-room, approach the hostess
unannounced. A guest who may not be known by sight does not wait for her
hostess to recognize her but says at once, "How do you do, Mrs. Eminent,
I'm Mrs. Joseph Blank"; or a young girl says, "I am Constance Style" (not
"Miss Style," unless she is beyond the "twenties"); or a married woman
merely announces herself as "Mrs. Town." She does not add her husband's
name as it is taken for granted that the gentleman following her is Mr.
Town.
CHAPTER XIII
TEAS AND OTHER AFTERNOON PARTIES
=TEAS=
Except at a wedding, the function strictly understood by the word
"reception" went out of fashion, in New York at least, during the reign of
Queen Victoria, and its survivor is a public or semi-public affair
presided over by a committee, and is a serious, rather than a merely
social event.
The very word "reception" brings to mind an aggregation of personages,
very formal, very dressed up, very pompous, and very learned, among whom
the ordinary mortal can not do other than wander helplessly in the
labyrinth of the specialist's jargon. Art critics on a varnishing day
reception, are sure to dwell on the effect of a new technique, and the
comment of most of us, to whom a painting ought to look like a "picture,"
is fatal. Equally fatal to meet an explorer and not know where or what he
explored; or to meet a celebrated author and not have the least idea
whether he wrote detective stories or expounded Taoism. On the other hand
it is certainly discouraging after studying up on the latest Cretan
excavations in order to talk intelligently to Professor Diggs, to be
pigeon-holed for the afternoon beside Mrs. Newmother whose interest in
discovery is limited to "a new tooth in baby's head."
Yet the difference between a reception and a tea is one of atmosphere
only, like the difference in furnishing twin houses. One is enveloped in
the heavy gloom of the mid-Victorian period, the other is light and
alluring in the fashion of to-day.
A "tea," even though it be formal, is nevertheless friendly and inviting.
One does not go in "church" clothes nor with ceremonious manner; but in an
informal and every-day spirit, to see one's friends and be seen by them.
=THE AFTERNOON TEA WITH DANCING=
The afternoon tea with dancing is usually given to "bring out" a daughter,
or to present a new daughter-in-law. The invitations are the same whether
one hundred or two thousand are sent out. For instance:
Mrs. Grantham Jones
Miss Muriel Jones
will be at home
on Tuesday, the third of December
from four until seven o'clock
The Fitz-Cherry
Dancing
As invitations to formal teas of this sort are sent to the hostess'
"general" visiting list, and very big houses are comparatively few, a
ballroom is nearly always engaged at a hotel. Many hotels have a big and a
small ballroom, and unless one's acquaintance is enormous the smaller room
is preferable.
Too much space for too few people gives an effect of emptiness which
always is suggestive of failure; also one must not forget that an
undecorated room needs more people to make it look "trimmed" than one in
which the floral decoration is lavish. On the other hand, a "crush" is
very disagreeable, even though it always gives the effect of "success."
The arrangements are not as elaborate as for a ball. At most a screen of
palms behind which the musicians sit (unless they sit in a gallery),
perhaps a few festoons of green here and there, and the debutante's own
flowers banked on tables where she stands to receive, form as much
decoration as is ever attempted.
Whether in a public ballroom or a private drawing-room, the curtains over
the windows are drawn and the lights lighted as if for a ball in the
evening. If the tea is at a private house there is no awning unless it
rains, but there is a chauffeur or coachman at the curb to open motor
doors, and a butler, or caterer's man, to open the door of the house
before any one has time to ring.
Guests as they arrive are announced either by the hostess' own butler or a
caterer's "announcer." The hostess receives everyone as at a ball; if she
and her daughter are for the moment standing alone, the new arrival, if a
friend, stands talking with them until a newer arrival takes his or her
place.
After "receiving" with her mother or mother-in-law for an hour or so, as
soon as the crowd thins a little, the debutante or bride may be allowed to
dance.
The younger people, as soon as they have shaken hands with the hostess,
dance. The older ones sit about, or talk to friends or take tea.
At a formal tea, the tea-table is exactly like that at a wedding
reception, in that it is a large table set as a buffet, and is always in
charge of the caterer's men, or the hostess' own butler or waitress and
assistants. It is never presided over by deputy hostesses.
=THE MENU IS LIMITED=
Only tea, bouillon, chocolate, bread and cakes are served. There can be
all sorts of sandwiches, hot biscuits, crumpets, muffins, sliced cake and
little cakes in every variety that a cook or caterer can devise--whatever
can come under the head of "bread and cake" is admissible; but nothing
else, or it becomes a "reception," and not a "tea." At the end of the
table or on a separate table near by, there are bowls or pitchers of
orangeade or lemonade or "punch" (meaning in these days something cold
that has fruit juice in it) for the dancers, exactly as at a ball.
Guests go to the table and help themselves to their own selection of bread
and cakes. The chocolate, already poured into cups and with whipped cream
on top, is passed on a tray by a servant. Tea also poured into cups, not
mixed but accompanied by a small pitcher of cream, bowl of sugar, and dish
of lemon, is also passed on a tray. A guest taking her plate of food in
one hand and her tea or chocolate in the other, finds herself a chair
somewhere, if possible, near a table, so that she can take her tea without
discomfort.
=AFTERNOON TEAS WITHOUT DANCING=
Afternoon teas without dancing are given in honor of visiting celebrities
or new neighbors or engaged couples, or to "warm" a new house; or, most
often, for a house-guest from another city.
The invitation is a visiting card of the hostess with "to meet Mrs.
So-and-So" across the top of it and "Jan. 10, Tea at 4 o'clock" in the
lower corner, opposite the address.
At a tea of this description, tea and chocolate may be passed on trays or
poured by two ladies, as will be explained below.
Unless the person for whom the tea is given is such a celebrity that the
"tea" becomes a "reception," the hostess does not stand at the door, but
merely near it so that anyone coming in may easily find her. The ordinary
afternoon tea given for one reason or another is, in winter, merely and
literally, being at home on a specified afternoon with the blinds and
curtains drawn, the room lighted as at night, a fire burning and a large
tea-table spread in the dining-room or a small one near the hearth. An
afternoon tea in summer is the same, except that artificial light is never
used, and the table is most often on a veranda.
="DO COME IN FOR A CUP OF TEA"=
This is Best Society's favorite form of invitation. It is used on nearly
every occasion whether there is to be music or a distinguished visitor, or
whether a hostess has merely an inclination to see her friends. She writes
on her personal visiting card: "Do come in on Friday for a cup of tea and
hear Ellwin play, or Farrish sing, or to meet Senator West, or Lady X." Or
even more informally: "I have not seen you for so long."
Invitations to a tea of this description are never "general." A hostess
asks either none but close friends, or at most her "dining" list;
sometimes this sort of a "tea" is so small that she sits behind her own
tea-table--exactly as she does every afternoon.
But if the tea is of any size, from twenty upwards, the table is set in
the dining-room and two intimate friends of the hostess "pour" tea at one
end, and chocolate at the other. The ladies who "pour" are always
especially invited beforehand and always wear afternoon dresses, with
hats, of course, as distinguished from the street clothes of other guests.
As soon as a hostess decides to give a tea, she selects two friends for
this duty who are, in her opinion, decorative in appearance and also who
(this is very important) can be counted on for gracious manners to
everyone and under all circumstances.
It does not matter if a guest going into the dining-room for a cup of tea
or chocolate does not know the deputy hostesses who are "pouring." It is
perfectly correct for a stranger to say "May I have a cup of tea?"
The one pouring should answer very, responsively, "Certainly! How do you
like it? Strong or weak?"
If the latter, she deluges it with hot water, and again watching for the
guest's negative or approval, adds cream or lemon or sugar. Or, preferring
chocolate, the guest perhaps goes to the other end of the table and asks
for a cup of chocolate. The table hostess at that end also says
"Certainly," and pours out chocolate. If she is surrounded with people,
she smiles as she hands it out, and that is all. But if she is unoccupied
and her momentary "guest by courtesy" is alone, it is merest good manners
on her part to make a few pleasant remarks. Very likely when asked for
chocolate she says: "How nice of you! I have been feeling very neglected
at my end. Everyone seems to prefer tea." Whereupon the guest ventures
that people are afraid of chocolate because it is so fattening or so hot.
After an observation or two about the weather, or the beauty of the china
or how good the little cakes look, or the sandwiches taste, the guest
finishes her chocolate.
If the table hostess is still unoccupied the guest smiles and slightly
nods "Good-by," but if the other's attention has been called upon by
someone else, she who has finished her chocolate, leaves unnoticed.
If another lady coming into the dining-room is an acquaintance of one of
the table hostesses, the new visitor draws up a chair, if there is room,
and drinks her tea or chocolate at the table. But as soon as she has
finished, she should give her place up to a newer arrival. Or perhaps a
friend appears, and the two take their tea together over in another part
of the room, or at vacant places farther down the table. The tea-table is
not set with places; but at a table where ladies are pouring, and
especially at a tea that is informal, a number of chairs are usually ready
to be drawn up for those who like to take their tea at the table.
In many cities, strangers who find themselves together in the house of a
friend in common, always talk. In New York smart people always do at
dinners or luncheons, but never at a general entertainment. Their
cordiality to a stranger would depend largely upon the informal, or
intimate, quality of the tea party; it would depend on who the stranger
might be, and who the New Yorker. Mrs. Worldly would never dream of
speaking to anyone--no matter whom--if it could be avoided. Mrs. Kindhart
on the other hand, talks to everyone, everywhere and always. Mrs.
Kindhart's position is as good as Mrs. Worldly's every bit, but perhaps
she can be more relaxed; not being the conspicuous hostess that Mrs.
Worldly is, she is not so besieged by position-makers and
invitation-seekers. Perhaps Mrs. Worldly, finding that nearly every one
who approaches her wants something, has come instinctively to avoid each
new approach.
[Illustration: "THE AFTERNOON TEA-TABLE IS THE SAME IN ITS SERVICE WHETHER
IN THE TINY BANDBOX HOUSE OF THE NEWEST BRIDE, OR IN THE DRAWING-ROOM OF
MRS. WORLDLY OF GREAT ESTATES." [Page 171.]]
=THE EVERY-DAY AFTERNOON TEA TABLE=
The every-day afternoon tea table is familiar to everyone; there is not
the slightest difference in its service whether in the tiny bandbox house
of the newest bride, or in the drawing-room of Mrs. Worldly of Great
Estates, except that in the little house the tray is brought in by a
woman--often a picture in appearance and appointment--instead of a butler
with one or two footmen in his wake. In either case a table is placed in
front of the hostess. A tea-table is usually of the drop-leaf variety
because it is more easily moved than a solid one. There are really no
"correct" dimensions; any small table is suitable. It ought not to be so
high that the hostess seems submerged behind it, nor so small as to be
overhung by the tea tray and easily knocked over. It is usually between 24
and 26 inches wide and from 27 to 36 inches long, or it may be oval or
oblong. A double-decked table that has its second deck above the main
table is not good because the tea tray perched on the upper deck is
neither graceful nor convenient. In proper serving, not only of tea but of
cold drinks of all sorts, even where a quantity of bottles, pitchers and
glasses need space, everything should be brought on a tray and not
trundled in on a tea-wagon!
A cloth must always be first placed on the table, before putting down the
tray. The tea cloth may be a yard, a yard and a half, or two yards square.
It may barely cover the table, or it may hang half a yard over each edge.
A yard and a quarter is the average size. A tea cloth can be colored, but
the conventional one is of white linen, with little or much white
needlework or lace, or both.
On this is put a tray big enough to hold everything except the plates of
food. The tray may be a massive silver one that requires a footman with
strong arms to lift it, or it may be of Sheffield or merely of effectively
lacquered tin. In any case, on it should be: a kettle which ought to be
already boiling, with a spirit lamp under it, an empty tea-pot, a caddy of
tea, a tea strainer and slop bowl, cream pitcher and sugar bowl, and, on a
glass dish, lemon in slices. A pile of cups and saucers and a stack of
little tea plates, all to match, with a napkin (about 12 inches square,
hemstitched or edged to match the tea cloth) folded on each of the plates,
like the filling of a layer cake, complete the paraphernalia. Each plate
is lifted off with its own napkin. Then on the tea-table, back of the
tray, or on the shelves of a separate "curate," a stand made of three
small shelves, each just big enough for one good-sized plate, are always
two, usually three, varieties of cake and hot breads.
=THINGS PEOPLE EAT AT TEA=
The top dish on the "curate" should be a covered one, and holds hot bread
of some sort; the two lower dishes may be covered or not, according to
whether the additional food is hot or cold; the second dish usually holds
sandwiches, and the third cake. Or perhaps all the dishes hold cake;
little fancy cakes for instance, and pastries and slices of layer cakes.
Many prefer a simpler diet, and have bread and butter, or toasted
crackers, supplemented by plain cookies. Others pile the "curate" until it
literally staggers, under pastries and cream cakes and sandwiches of pate
de foie gras or mayonnaise. Others, again, like marmalade, or jam, or
honey on bread and butter or on buttered toast or muffins. This
necessitates little butter knives and a dish of jam added to the already
overloaded tea tray.
Selection of afternoon tea food is entirely a matter of whim, and new
food-fads sweep through communities. For a few months at a time, everyone,
whether in a private house or a country club, will eat nothing but English
muffins and jam, then suddenly they like only toasted cheese crackers, or
Sally Lunn, or chocolate cake with whipped cream on top. The present fad
of a certain group in New York is bacon and toast sandwiches and fresh hot
gingerbread. Let it be hoped for the sake of the small household that it
will die out rather than become epidemic, since the gingerbread must be
baked every afternoon, and the toast and bacon are two other items that
come from a range.
Sandwiches for afternoon tea as well as for all collations, are made by
buttering the end of the loaf, spreading on the "filling" and then cutting
off the prepared slice as thin as possible. A second slice, unspread,
makes the other side of the sandwich. When it is put together, the crust
is either cut off leaving a square and the square again divided diagonally
into two triangular sandwiches, or the sandwich is cut into shape with a
regular cutter. In other words, a "party" sandwich is not the sort of
sandwich to eat--or order--when hungry!
The tea served to a lady who lives alone and cares for only one dish of
eatables would naturally eliminate the other two. But if a visitor is
"received," the servant on duty should, without being told, at once bring
in at least another dish and an additional cup, saucer, plate and napkin.
Afternoon tea at a very large house party or where especially invited
people are expected for tea, should include two plates of hot food such as
toast or hot biscuits split open and buttered, toasted and buttered
English muffins, or crumpets, corn muffins or hot gingerbread. Two cold
plates should contain cookies or fancy cakes, and perhaps a layer cake. In
hot weather, in place of one of the hot dishes, there should be pate or
lettuce sandwiches, and always a choice of hot or iced tea, or perhaps
iced coffee or chocolate frappe, but rarely if ever, anything else.
=THE ETIQUETTE OF TEA SERVING AND DRINKING=
As tea is the one meal of intimate conversation, a servant never comes to
the room at tea-time unless rung for, to bring fresh water or additional
china or food, or to take away used dishes. When the tray and curate are
brought in, individual tables, usually glass topped and very small and
low, are put beside each of the guests, and the servant then withdraws.
The hostess herself "makes" the tea and pours it. Those who sit near
enough to her put out their hands for their cup-and-saucer. If any ladies
are sitting farther off, and a gentleman is present, he, of course, rises
and takes the tea from the hostess to the guest. He also then passes the
curate, afterward putting it back where it belongs and resuming his seat.
If no gentleman is present, a lady gets up and takes her own tea which the
hostess hands her, carries it to her own little individual table, comes
back, takes a plate and napkin, helps herself to what she likes and goes
to her place.
If the cake is very soft and sticky or filled with cream, small forks must
be laid on the tea-table.
As said above, if jam is to be eaten on toast or bread, there must be
little butter knives to spread it with. Each guest in taking her plate
helps herself to toast and jam and a knife and carries her plate over to
her own little table. She then carries her cup of tea to her table and
sits down comfortably to drink it. If there are no little tables, she
either draws her chair up to the tea-table, or manages as best she can to
balance plate, cup and saucer on her lap--a very difficult feat!
In fact, the hostess who, providing no individual tables, expects her
guest to balance knife, fork, jam, cream cake, plate and cup and saucer,
all on her knees, should choose her friends in the circus rather than in
society.
=THE GARDEN PARTY=
The garden party is merely an afternoon tea out of doors. It may be as
elaborate as a sit-down wedding breakfast or as simple as a miniature
strawberry festival. At an elaborate one (in the rainy section of our
country) a tent or marquise with sides that can be easily drawn up in fine
weather and dropped in rain, and with a good dancing floor, is often put
up on the lawn or next to the veranda, so that in case of storm people
will not be obliged to go out of doors. The orchestra is placed within or
near open sides of the tent, so that it can he heard on the lawn and
veranda as well as where they are dancing. Or instead of a tea with
dancing, if most of the guests are to be older, there may be a concert or
other form of professional entertainment.
On the lawn there are usually several huge bright-colored umbrella tents,
and under each a table and a group of chairs, and here and there numerous
small tables and chairs. For, although the afternoon tea is always put in
the dining-room footmen or maids carry varieties of food out on large
trays to the lawn, and the guests hold plates on their knees and stand
glasses on tables nearby.
At a garden party the food is often much more prodigal than at a tea in
town. Sometimes it is as elaborate as at a wedding reception. In addition
to hot tea and chocolate, there is either iced coffee or a very melted
cafe parfait, or frosted chocolate in cups. There are also pitchers of
various drinks that have rather mysterious ingredients, but are all very
much iced and embellished with crushed fruits and mint leaves. There are
often berries with cream, especially in strawberry season, on an estate
that prides itself on those of its own growing, as well as the inevitable
array of fancy sandwiches and cakes.
At teas and musicales and all entertainments where the hostess herself is
obliged to stand at the door, her husband or a daughter (if the hostess is
old enough, and lucky enough to have one) or else a sister or a very close
friend, should look after the guests, to see that any who are strangers
are not helplessly wandering about alone, and that elderly ladies are
given seats if there is to be a performance, or to show any other
courtesies that devolve upon a hostess.
=THE ATMOSPHERE OF HOSPITALITY=
The atmosphere of hospitality is something very intangible, and yet
nothing is more actually felt--or missed. There are certain houses that
seem to radiate warmth like an open wood fire, there are others that
suggest an arrival by wireless at the North Pole, even though a much
brighter actual fire may be burning on the hearth in the drawing-room of
the second than of the first. Some people have the gift of hospitality;
others whose intentions are just as kind and whose houses are perfection
in luxury of appointments, seem to petrify every approach. Such people
appearing at a picnic color the entire scene with the blue light of their
austerity. Such people are usually not masters, but slaves, of etiquette.
Their chief concern is whether this is correct, or whether that is
properly done, or is this person or that such an one as they care to know?
They seem, like _Hermione_ (Don Marquis's heroine), to be anxiously asking
themselves, "Have I failed to-day, or have I not?"
Introspective people who are fearful of others, fearful of themselves, are
never successfully popular hosts or hostesses. If you for instance, are
one of these, if you are _really_ afraid of knowing some one who might
some day prove unpleasant, if you are such a snob that you can't take
people at their face value, then why make the effort to bother with people
at all? Why not shut your front door tight and pull down the blinds and,
sitting before a mirror in your own drawing-room, order tea for two?
[Illustration: "THE PERFECT EXAMPLE OF A FORMAL DINNER TABLE OF WEALTH,
LUXURY AND TASTE, WHICH INVOLVES NO EFFORT ON THE PART OF THE HOSTESS OF A
GREAT HOUSE BEYOND DECIDING UPON THE DATE AND THE PRINCIPAL GUESTS WHO ARE
TO FORM THE NUCLEUS OF THE PARTY." [Page 177.]]
CHAPTER XIV
FORMAL DINNERS
=NOT FOR THE NOVICE TO ATTEMPT=
If the great world of society were a university which issued degrees to
those whom it trains to its usages, the _magna cum laude_ honors would be
awarded without question, not to the hostess who may have given the most
marvelous ball of the decade, but to her who knows best every component
detail of preparation and service, no less than every inexorable rule of
etiquette, in formal dinner-giving.
To give a perfect dinner of ceremony is the supreme accomplishment of a
hostess! It means not alone perfection of furnishing, of service, of
culinary skill, but also of personal charm, of tact. The only other
occasion when a hostess must have equal--and possibly even greater
ability--is the large and somewhat formal week-end party, which includes a
dinner or two as by no means its least formidable features.
There are so many aspects to be considered in dinner giving that it is
difficult to know whether to begin up-stairs or down, or with furnishing,
or service, or people, or manners! One thing is certain, no novice should
ever begin her social career by attempting a formal dinner, any more than
a pupil swimmer, upon being able to take three strokes alone, should
attempt to swim three miles out to sea. The former will as surely drown as
the latter.
=HOW A DINNER IS GIVEN IN A GREAT HOUSE=
When Mrs. Worldly gives a dinner, it means no effort on her part
whatsoever beyond deciding upon the date and the principal guests who are
to form the nucleus; every further detail is left to her
subordinates--even to the completion of her list of guests. For instance,
she decides that she will have an "older" dinner, and finding that the
tenth is available for herself, she tells her secretary to send out
invitations for that date. She does not have especial cards engraved but
uses the dinner blank described in the chapter on Invitations. She then
looks through her "dinner list" and orders her secretary to invite the
Oldworlds, the Eminents, the Learneds, the Wellborns, the Highbrows, and
the Onceweres. She also picks out three or four additional names to be
substituted for those who regret. Then turning to the "younger married"
list she searches for a few suitable but "amusing" or good-looking ones to
give life to her dinner which might otherwise be heavy. But her favorites
do not seem appropriate. It will not do to ask the Bobo Gildings, not
because of the difference in age but because Lucy Gilding smokes like a
furnace and is miserable unless she can play bridge for high stakes, and,
just as soon as she can bolt through dinner, sit at a card table; while
Mrs. Highbrow and Mrs. Oncewere quite possibly disapprove of women's
smoking and are surely horrified at "gambling." The Smartlings won't do
either, for the same reason, nor the Gaylies. She can't ask the Newell
Riches either, because Mrs. Oldworld and Mrs. Wellborn both dislike
vulgarity too much to find compensation in qualities which are merely
amusing. So she ends by adding her own friends the Kindharts and the
Normans, who "go" with everyone, and a few somewhat younger people, and
approves her secretary's suggestions as to additional names if those first
invited should "regret."
The list being settled, Mrs. Worldly's own work is done. She sends word to
her cook that there will be twenty-four on the tenth; the menu will be
submitted to her later, which she will probably merely glance at and send
back. She never sees or thinks about her table, which is in the butler's
province.
On the morning of the dinner her secretary brings her the place cards,
(the name of each person expected, written on a separate card) and she
puts them in the order in which they are to be placed on the table, very
much as though playing solitaire. Starting with her own card at one end
and her husband's at the other, she first places the lady of honor on
his right, the second in importance on his left. Then on either side of
herself, she puts the two most important gentlemen. The others she fits in
between, trying to seat side by side those congenial to each other.
[Illustration: "DETAIL OF PLACE SET AT A FORMAL DINNER TABLE OF A GREAT
HOUSE." [Page 179.]]
When the cards are arranged, the secretary attends to putting the name of
the lady who sits on each gentleman's right in the envelope addressed to
him. She then picks up the place cards still stacked in their proper
sequence, and takes them to the butler who will put them in the order
arranged on the table after it is set.
Fifteen minutes before the dinner hour, Mrs. Worldly is already standing
in her drawing-room. She has no personal responsibility other than that of
being hostess. The whole machinery of equipment and service runs seemingly
by itself. It does not matter whether she knows what the menu is. Her cook
is more than capable of attending to it. That the table shall be perfect
is merely the every-day duty of the butler. She knows without looking that
one of the chauffeurs is on the sidewalk; that footmen are in the hall;
that her own maid is in the ladies' dressing-room, and the valet in that
of the gentlemen; and that her butler is just outside the door near which
she is standing.
So with nothing on her mind (except a jewelled ornament and perfectly
"done" hair) she receives her guests with the tranquillity attained only
by those whose household--whether great or small--can be counted on to run
like a perfectly coordinated machine.
=HOW A DINNER CAN BE BUNGLED=
This is the contrasting picture to the dinner at the Worldly's--a picture
to show you particularly who are a bride how awful an experiment in dinner
giving can be.
Let us suppose that you have a quite charming house, and that your wedding
presents included everything necessary to set a well-appointed table. You
have not very experienced servants, but they would all be good ones with a
little more training.
You have been at home for so few meals you don't quite know how
experienced they are. Your cook at least makes good coffee and eggs and
toast for breakfast, and the few other meals she has cooked seemed to be
all right, and she is such a nice clean person!
So when your house is "in order" and the last pictures and curtains are
hung, the impulse suddenly comes to you to give a dinner! Your husband
thinks it is a splendid idea. It merely remains to decide whom you will
ask. You hesitate between a few of your own intimates, or older people,
and decide it would be such fun to ask a few of the hostesses whose houses
you have almost lived at ever since you "came out." You decide to ask Mrs.
Toplofty, Mr. Clubwin Doe, the Worldlys, the Gildings, and the Kindharts
and the Wellborns. With yourselves that makes twelve. You can't have more
than twelve because you have only a dozen of everything; in fact you
decide that twelve will be pretty crowded, but that it will be safe to ask
that number because a few are sure to "regret." So you write notes (since
it is to be a formal dinner), and--they all accept! You are a little
worried about the size of the dining-room, but you are overcome by the
feeling of your popularity. Now the thing to do is to prepare for a
dinner. The fact that Nora probably can't make fancy dishes does not
bother you a bit. In your mind's eye you see delicious plain food passed;
you must get Sigrid a dress that properly fits her, and Delia, the
chambermaid (who was engaged with the understanding that she was to serve
in the dining-room when there was company), has not yet been at table, but
she is a very willing young person who will surely look well.
Nora, when you tell her who are coming, eagerly suggests the sort of menu
that would appear on the table of the Worldlys or the Gildings. You are
thrilled at the thought of your own kitchen producing the same. That it
may be the same in name only, does not occur to you. You order flowers for
the table, and candy for your four compotiers. You pick out your best
tablecloth, but you find rather to your amazement that when the waitress
asks you about setting the table, you have never noticed in detail how the
places are laid. Knives and spoons go on the right of the plate, of
course, and forks on the left, but which goes next to the plate, or
whether the wine glasses should stand nearer or beyond the goblet you can
only guess. It is quite simple, however, to give directions in serving;
you just tell the chambermaid that she is to follow the waitress, and pass
the sauces and the vegetables. And you have already explained carefully to
the latter that she must not deal plates around the table like a pack of
cards, or ever take them off in piles either. (_That_ much at least you do
know.) You also make it a point above everything that the silver must be
very clean; Sigrid seems to understand, and with the optimism of youth,
you approach the dinner hour without misgiving. The table, set with your
wedding silver and glass, looks quite nice. You are a little worried about
the silver--it does look rather yellow, but perhaps it is just a shadow.
Then you notice there are a great many forks on the table! You ask your
husband what is the matter with the forks? He does not see anything wrong.
You need them all for the dinner you ordered, how can there be less? So
you straighten a candlestick that was out of line, and put the place cards
on.
Then you go into the drawing-room. You don't light the fire until the last
moment, because you want it to be burning brightly when your guests
arrive. Your drawing-room looks a little stiff somehow, but an open fire
more than anything else makes a room inviting, and you light it just as
your first guest rings the bell. As Mr. Clubwin Doe enters, the room looks
charming, then suddenly the fire smokes, and in the midst of the smoke
your other guests arrive. Every one begins to cough and blink. They are
very polite, but the smoke, growing each moment denser, is not to be
overlooked. Mrs. Toplofty takes matters in her own hands and makes Mr. Doe
and your husband carry the logs, smoke and all, and throw them into the
yard. The room still thick with smoke is now cheerlessly fireless, and
another factor beginning to distress you is that, although everyone has
arrived, there is no sign of dinner. You wait, at first merely eager to
get out of the smoke-filled drawing-room. Gradually you are becoming
nervous--what can have happened? The dining-room door might be that of a
tomb for all the evidence of life behind it. You become really alarmed.
Is dinner never going to be served? Everyone's eyes are red from the
smoke, and conversation is getting weaker and weaker. Mrs.
Toplofty--evidently despairing--sits down. Mrs. Worldly also sits, both
hold their eyes shut and say nothing. At last the dining-room door opens,
and Sigrid instead of bowing slightly and saying in a low tone of voice,
"Dinner is served," stands stiff as a block of wood, and fairly shouts:
"Dinner's all ready!"
You hope no one heard her, but you know very well that nothing escaped any
one of those present. And between the smoke and the delay and your
waitress' manners, you are already thoroughly mortified by the time you
reach the table. But you hope that at least the dinner will be good. For
the first time you are assailed with doubt on that score. And again you
wait, but the oyster course is all right. And then comes the soup. You
don't have to taste it to see that it is wrong. It looks not at all as
"clear" soup should! Its color, instead of being glass-clear amber, is
greasy-looking brown. You taste it, fearing the worst, and the worst is
realized. It tastes like dish-water--and is barely tepid. You look around
the table; Mr. Kindhart alone is trying to eat it.
In removing the plates, Delia, the assistant, takes them up by piling one
on top of the other, clashing them together as she does so. You can feel
Mrs. Worldly looking with almost hypnotized fascination--as her attention
might be drawn to a street accident against her will. Then there is a
wait. You wait and wait, and looking in front of you, you notice the bare
tablecloth without a plate. You know instantly that the service is wrong,
but you find yourself puzzled to know how it should have been done.
Finally Sigrid comes in with a whole dozen plates stacked in a pile, which
she proceeds to deal around the table. You at least know that to try to
interfere would only make matters worse. You hold your own cold fingers in
your lap knowing that you must sit there, and that you can do nothing.
The fish which was to have been a _mousse_ with Hollandaise sauce, is a
huge mound, much too big for the platter, with a narrow gutter of water
around the edge and the center dabbed over with a curdled yellow mess. You
realize that not only is the food itself awful, but that the quantity is
too great for one dish. You don't know what to do next; you know there is
no use in apologizing, there is no way of dropping through the floor, or
waking yourself up. You have collected the smartest and the most critical
people around your table to put them to torture such as they will never
forget. Never! You have to bite your lips to keep from crying. Whatever
possessed you to ask these people to your horrible house?
Mr. Kindhart, sitting next to you, says gently, "Cheer up, little girl, it
doesn't really matter!" And then you know to the full how terrible the
situation is. The meal is endless; each course is equally unappetizing to
look at, and abominably served. You notice that none of your guests eat
anything. They can't.
You leave the table literally sick, but realizing fully that the giving of
a dinner is not as easy as you thought. And in the drawing-room, which is
now fireless and freezing, but at least smokeless, you start to apologize
and burst into tears!
As you are very young, and those present are all really fond of you, they
try to be comforting, but you know that it will be years (if ever) before
any of them will be willing to risk an evening in your house again. You
also know that without malice, but in truth and frankness, they will tell
everyone: "Whatever you do, don't dine with the Newweds unless you eat
your dinner before you go, and wear black glasses so no sight can offend
you."
When they have all gone, you drag yourself miserably up-stairs, feeling
that you never want to look in that drawing-room or dining-room again.
Your husband, remembering the trenches, tries to tell you it was not so
bad! But you _know!_ You lie awake planning to let the house, and to
discharge each one of your awful household the next morning, and then you
realize that the fault is not a bit more theirs than yours.
If you had tried the chimney first, and learned its peculiarities; if you
yourself had known every detail of cooking and service, of course you
would not have attempted to give the dinner in the first place; not at
least until, through giving little dinners, the technique of your
household had become good enough to give a big one.
On the other hand, supposing that you had had a very experienced cook and
waitress; dinner would, of course, not have been bungled, but it would
have lacked something, somewhere, if you added nothing of your own
personality to its perfection. It is almost safe to make the statement
that no dinner is ever really well done unless the hostess herself knows
every smallest detail thoroughly. Mrs. Worldly pays seemingly no
attention, but nothing escapes her. She can walk through a room without
appearing to look either to the right or left, yet if the slightest detail
is amiss, an ornament out of place, or there is one dull button on a
footman's livery, her house telephone is rung at once!
Having generalized by drawing two pictures, it is now time to take up the
specific details to be considered in giving a dinner.
=DETAILED DIRECTIONS FOR DINNER GIVING=
The requisites at every dinner, whether a great one of 200 covers, or a
little one of six, are as follows:
Guests. People who are congenial to one another. This is of first
importance.
Food. A suitable menu perfectly prepared and dished. (Hot food to be
_hot_, and cold, _cold_.)
Table furnishing. Faultlessly laundered linen, brilliantly polished
silver, and all other table accessories suitable to the occasion and
surroundings.
Service. Expert dining-room servants and enough of them.
Drawing-room. Adequate in size to number of guests and inviting in
arrangement.
A cordial and hospitable host.
A hostess of charm. Charm says everything--tact, sympathy, poise and
perfect manners--always.
And though for all dinners these requisites are much the same, the
necessity for perfection increases in proportion to the formality of the
occasion.
=TASTE IN SELECTION OF PEOPLE=
The proper selection of guests is the first essential in all entertaining,
and the hostess who has a talent for assembling the right people has a
great asset. Taste in house furnishings or in clothes or in selecting a
cook, is as nothing compared to taste in people! Some people have this
"sense"--others haven't. The first are the great hosts and hostesses; the
others are the mediocre or the failures.
It is usually a mistake to invite great talkers together. Brilliant men
and women who love to talk want hearers, not rivals. Very silent people
should be sandwiched between good talkers, or at least voluble talkers.
Silly people should never be put anywhere near learned ones, nor the dull
near the clever, unless the dull one is a young and pretty woman with a
talent for listening, and the clever, a man with an admiration for beauty,
and a love for talking.
Most people think two brilliant people should be put together. Often they
should, but with discretion. If both are voluble or nervous or
"temperamental," you may create a situation like putting two operatic
sopranos in the same part and expecting them to sing together.
The endeavor of a hostess, when seating her table, is to put those
together who are likely to be interesting to each other. Professor Bugge
might bore _you_ to tears, but Mrs. Entomoid would probably delight in
him; just as Mr. Stocksan Bonds and Mrs. Rich would probably have
interests in common. Making a dinner list is a little like making a
Christmas list. You put down what _they_ will (you hope) like, not what
you like. Those who are placed between congenial neighbors remember your
dinner as delightful--even though both food and service were mediocre; but
ask people out of their own groups and seat them next to their pet
aversions, and wild horses could not drag them to your house again!
=HOW A DINNER LIST IS KEPT=
Nearly every hostess keeps a dinner list--apart from her general visiting
list--of people with whom she is accustomed to dine, or to invite to
dinner or other small entertainments. But the prominent hostess, if she
has grown daughters and continually gives parties of all sorts and sizes
and ages, usually keeps her list in a more complete and "ready reference"
order.
Mrs. Gilding, for instance, has guest lists separately indexed. Under the
general heading "Dinners," she has older married, younger married, girls,
men. Her luncheon list is taken from her dinner list. "Bridge" includes
especially good players of all ages; "dances," young married people, young
girls, and dancing men. Then she has a cross-index list of "Important
Persons," meaning those of real distinction who are always the foundation
of all good society; "Amusing," usually people of talent--invaluable for
house parties; and "New People," including many varieties and unassorted.
Mrs. Gilding exchanges invitations with a number of these because they are
interesting or amusing, or because their parties are diverting and
dazzling. And Mrs. Gilding herself, being typical of New York's Cavalier
element rather than its Puritan strain, personally prefers diversion to
edification. Needless to say, "Boston's Best," being ninety-eight per
cent. Puritan, has no "new" list. Besides her list of "New People," she
has a short "frivolous" list of other Cavaliers like herself, and a
"Neutral" list, which is the most valuable of all because it comprises
those who "go" with everyone. Besides her own lists she has a "Pantry"
list, a list that is actually made out for the benefit of the butler, so
that on occasions he can invite guests to "fill in." The "Pantry" list
comprises only intimate friends who belong on the "Neutral" list and fit
in everywhere; young girls and young and older single men.
Allowing the butler to invite guests at his own discretion is not quite as
casual as it sounds. It is very often an unavoidable expedient. For
instance, at four o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Blank telephones that he
cannot come to dinner that same evening. Mrs. Gilding is out; to wait
until she returns will make it too late to fill the place. Her butler who
has been with her for years knows quite as well as Mrs. Gilding herself
exactly which people belong in the same group. The dinner cards being
already in his possession, he can see not only who is expected for dinner
but the two ladies between whom Mr. Blank has been placed, and he
thereupon selects some one on the "Pantry" list who is suitable for Mr.
Blank's place at the table, and telephones the invitation. Perhaps he
calls up a dozen before he finds one disengaged. When Mrs. Gilding returns
he says, "Mr. Blank telephoned he would not be able to come for dinner as
he was called to Washington. Mr. Bachelor will be happy to come in his
place." Married people are seldom on this list, because the butler need
not undertake to fill any but an odd place--that of a gentleman
particularly. Otherwise two ladies would be seated together.
=ASKING SOMEONE TO FILL A PLACE=
Since no one but a fairly intimate friend is ever asked to fill a place,
this invitation is always telephoned. A very young man is asked by the
butler if he will dine with Mrs. Gilding that evening, and very likely no
explanation is made; but if the person to be invited is a lady or an older
gentleman (except on such occasions as noted above), the hostess herself
telephones:
"Can you do me a great favor and fill a place at dinner to-night?" The one
who receives this invitation is rather bound by the rules of good manners
to accept if possible.
=IMPORTANCE OF DINNER ENGAGEMENTS=
Dinner invitations must be answered immediately; engraved or written ones
by return post, or those which were telephoned, by telephone and at once!
Also, nothing but serious illness or death or an utterly unavoidable
accident can excuse the breaking of a dinner engagement.
To accept a dinner at Mrs. Nobody's and then break the obligation upon
being invited to dine with the Worldlys, proclaims anyone capable of such
rudeness an unmitigated snob, whom Mrs. Worldly would be the first to cut
from her visiting list if she knew of it. The rule is: "Don't accept an
invitation if you don't care about it." Having declined the Nobody
invitation in the first place, you are then free to accept Mrs. Worldly's,
or to stay at home. There are times, however, when engagements between
very close friends or members of the family may perhaps be broken, but
only if made with the special stipulation: "Come to dinner with us alone
Thursday if nothing better turns up!" And the other answers, "I'd love
to--and you let me know too, if you want to do anything else." Meanwhile
if one of them is invited to something unusually tempting, there is no
rudeness in telephoning her friend, "Lucy has asked us to hear Galli-Curci
on Thursday!" and the other says, "Go, by all means! We can dine Tuesday
next week if you like, or come Sunday for supper." This privilege of
intimacy can, however, be abused. An engagement, even with a member of
one's family, ought never to be broken twice within a brief period, or it
becomes apparent that the other's presence is more a fill-in of idle time
than a longed-for pleasure.
=THE MENU=
It may be due to the war period, which accustomed everyone to going with
very little meat and to marked reduction in all food, or it may be, of
course, merely vanity that is causing even grandparents to aspire to
svelte figures, but whatever the cause, people are putting much less food
on their tables than formerly. The very rich, living in the biggest houses
with the most imposing array of servants, sit down to three, or at most
four, courses when alone, or when intimate friends who are known to have
moderate appetites, are dining with them.
Under no circumstances would a private dinner, no matter how formal,
consist of more than:
1. Hors d'oeuvre
2. Soup
3. Fish
4. Entree
5. Roast
6. Salad
7. Dessert
8. Coffee
The menu for an informal dinner would leave out the entree, and possibly
either the hors d'oeuvre or the soup.
As a matter of fact, the marked shortening of the menu is in informal
dinners and at the home table of the well-to-do. Formal dinners have been
as short as the above schedule for twenty-five years. A dinner interlarded
with a row of extra entrees, Roman punch, and hot dessert is unknown
except at a public dinner, or in the dining-room of a parvenu. About
thirty-five years ago such dinners are said to have been in fashion!
=THE BALANCED MENU=
One should always try to choose well-balanced dishes; an especially rich
dish balanced by a simple one. Timbale with a very rich sauce of cream and
pate de foie gras might perhaps be followed by French chops, broiled
chicken or some other light, plain meat. An entree of about four broiled
mushrooms on a small round of toast should be followed by boned capon or
saddle of mutton or spring lamb. It is equally bad to give your guests
very peculiar food unless as an extra dish. Some people love highly
flavored Spanish or Indian dishes, but they are not appropriate for a
formal dinner. At an informal dinner an Indian curry or Spanish enchillada
for one dish is delicious for those who like it, and if you have another
substantial dish such as a plain roast which practically everyone is able
to eat, those who don't like Indian food can make their dinner of the
other course.
It is the same way with the Italian dishes. One hating garlic and onions
would be very wretched if onions were put in each and every course, and
liberally. With Indian curry, a fatally bad selection would be a very
peppery soup, such as croute au pot filled with pepper, and fish with
green peppers, and then the curry, and then something casserole filled
again with peppers and onions and other throat-searing ingredients,
finishing with an endive salad. Yet more than one hostess has done exactly
this. Or equally bad is a dinner of flavorless white sauces from beginning
to end; a creamed soup, boiled fish with white sauce, then vol au vent of
creamed sweetbreads, followed by breast of chicken and mashed potatoes and
cauliflower, palm root salad, vanilla ice cream and lady-cake. Each thing
is good in itself but dreadful in the monotony of its combination.
Another thing: although a dinner should not be long, neither should it
consist of samples, especially if set before men who are hungry!
The following menu might seem at first glance a good dinner, but it is one
from which the average man would go home and forage ravenously in the ice
box:
A canape (good, but merely an appetizer)
Clear soup (a dinner party helping, and no substance)
Smelts (one apiece)
Individual croutards of sweetbreads (holding about a dessert-spoonful)
Broiled squab, small potato croquette, and string beans
Lettuce salad, with about one small cracker apiece
Ice cream
The only thing that had any sustaining quality, barring the potato which
was not more than a mouthful, was the last, and very few men care to make
their dinner of ice cream. If instead of squab there had been filet of
beef cut in generous slices, and the potato croquettes had been more
numerous, it would have been adequate. Or if there had been a thick cream
soup, and a fish with more substance--such as salmon or shad, or a baked
thick fish of which he could have had a generous helping--the squab would
have been adequate also. But many women order trimmings rather than food;
men usually like food.
=THE DINNER TABLE OF YESTERDAY=
All of us old enough to remember the beginning of this century can bring
to mind the typical (and most fashionable) dinner table of that time.
Occasionally it was oblong or rectangular, but its favorite shape was
round, and a thick white damask cloth hung to the floor on all sides.
Often as not there was a large lace centerpiece, and in the middle of it
was a floral mound of roses (like a funeral piece, exactly), usually red.
The four compotiers were much scrolled and embossed, and the four
candlesticks, also scrolled, but not to match, had shades of perforated
silver over red silk linings, like those in restaurants to-day. And there
was a gas droplight thickly petticoated with fringed red silk. The plates
were always heavily "jewelled" and hand painted, and enough forks and
knives and spoons were arrayed at each "place" for a dozen courses. The
glasses numbered at least six, and the entire table was laden with little
dishes--and spoons! There were olives, radishes, celery and salted nuts in
glass dishes; and about ten kinds of sugar-plums in ten different styles
of ornate and bumpy silver dishes; and wherever a small space of
tablecloth showed through, it was filled with either a big "Apostle" spoon
or little Dutch ones criss-crossed.
Bread was always rolled in the napkin (and usually fell on the floor) and
the oysters were occasionally found already placed on the table when the
guests came in to dinner! Loading a table to the utmost of its capacity
with useless implements which only in rarest instances had the least
value, would seem to prove that quantity without quality must have been
thought evidence of elegance and generous hospitality! And the astounding
part of the bad taste epidemic was that few if any escaped. Even those who
had inherited colonial silver and glass and china of consummate beauty,
sent it dust-gathering to the attic and cluttered their tables with stuffy
and spurious lumber.
But to-day the classic has come into its own again! As though recovering
from an illness, good taste is again demanding severe beauty of form and
line, and banishing everything that is useless or superfluous. During the
last twenty years most of us have sent an army of lumpy dishes to the
melting-pot, and junky ornaments to the ash heap along with plush table
covers, upholstered mantel-boards and fern dishes! To-day we are going
almost to the extreme of bareness, and putting nothing on our tables not
actually needed for use.
=THE DINING-ROOM=
It is scarcely necessary to point out that the bigger and more ambitious
the house, the more perfect its appointments must be. If your house has a
great Georgian dining-room, the table should be set with Georgian or an
_earlier_ period English silver. Furthermore, in a "great" dining-room,
all the silver should be real! "Real" meaning nothing so trifling as
"sterling," but genuine and important "period" pieces made by Eighteenth
Century silversmiths, such as de Lamerie or Crespell or Buck or Robertson,
or perhaps one of their predecessors. Or if, like Mrs. Oldname, you live
in an old Colonial house, you are perhaps also lucky enough to have
inherited some genuine American pieces made by Daniel Rogers or Paul
Revere! Or if you are an ardent admirer of Early Italian architecture and
have built yourself a Fifteenth Century stone-floored and frescoed or
tapestry-hung dining room, you must set your long refectory table with a
"runner" of old hand-linen and altar embroidery, or perhaps Thirteenth
Century damask and great cisterns or ewers and beakers in high-relief
silver and gold; or in Callazzioli or majolica, with great bowls of fruit
and church candlesticks of gilt, and even follow as far as is practicable
the crude table implements of that time. It need not be pointed out that
Twentieth Century appurtenances in a Thirteenth or Fifteenth Century room
are anachronisms. But because the dining-table in the replica of a palace
(whether English, Italian, Spanish or French) may be equipped with great
"standing cups" and candelabra so heavy a man can scarcely lift one, it
does not follow that all the rest of us who live in medium or small
houses, should attempt anything of the sort. Nothing could be more out of
proportion--and therefore in worse taste. Nor is it necessary, in order to
have a table that is inviting, to set it with any of the completely
exquisite things which all people of taste long for, but which are
possessed (in quantity at least) only through wealth, inheritance, or
"collector's luck."
=A PLEASING DINING-ROOM AT LIMITED COST=
Enchanting dining-rooms and tables have been achieved with an outlay
amounting to comparatively nothing.
There is a dining-room in a certain small New York house that is quite as
inviting as it is lacking in expensiveness. Its walls are rough-plastered
"French gray." Its table is an ordinary drop-leaf kitchen one painted a
light green that is almost gray; the chairs are wooden ones, somewhat on
the Windsor variety, but made of pine and painted like the table, and the
side tables or consoles are made of a cheap round pine table which has
been sawed in half, painted gray-green, and the legless sides fastened to
the walls. The glass curtains are point d'esprit net with a deep flounce
at the bottom and outside curtains are (expensive) watermelon pink
changeable taffeta. There is a gilt mirror over a cream (absolutely plain)
mantel and over each console a picture of a conventional bouquet of
flowers in a flat frame the color of the furniture, with the watermelon
color of the curtains predominating in a neutral tint background. The
table is set with a rather coarse cream-colored linen drawn-work
centerpiece (a tea cloth actually) big enough to cover all but three
inches of table edge. In the middle of the table is a glass bowl with a
wide turn-over rim, holding deep pink flowers (roses or tulips) standing
upright in glass flower holders as though growing. In midwinter, when real
flowers are too expensive, porcelain ones take their place--unless there
is a lunch or dinner party. The compotiers are glass urns and the only
pieces of silver used are two tall Sheffield candelabra at night, without
shades, the salts and peppers and the necessary spoons and forks. The
knives are "ivory" handled.
=SETTING THE TABLE=
Everything on the table must be geometrically spaced; the centerpiece in
the actual center, the "places" at equal distances, and all utensils
balanced; beyond this one rule you may set your table as you choose.
If the tablecloth is of white damask, which for dinner is always good
style, a "felt" must be put under it. (To say that it must be smooth and
white, in other words perfectly laundered, is as beside the mark as to say
that faces and hands should be clean!) If the tablecloth has lace
insertions, it must on no account be put over satin or over a color. In a
very "important" dining-room and on a very large table, a cloth of plain
and finest quality damask with no trimming other than a monogram (or
crest) embroidered on either side, is in better taste than one of linen
with elaborations of lace and embroidery. Damask is the old-fashioned but
essentially conservative (and safely best style) tablecloth, especially,
suitable in a high-ceilinged room that is either English, French, or of no
special period, in decoration. Lace tablecloths are better suited to an
Italian room--especially if the table is a refectory one. Handkerchief
linen tablecloths embroidered and lace-inserted are also, strangely
enough, suited to all quaint, low-ceilinged, old-fashioned but beautifully
appointed rooms; the reason being that the lace cloth is put over a bare
table. The lace cloth must also go over a refectory table without felt or
other lining.
Very high-studded rooms (unless Italian) on the other hand, seem to need
the thickness of damask. To be sure, one does see in certain houses--at
the Gildings' for instance--an elaborate lace and embroidery tablecloth
put on top of a plain one which in turn goes over a felt, but this
combination is always somewhat overpowering, whereas lace over a bare
table is light and fragile.
Another thing--very ornate, large, and arabesqued designs, no matter how
marvellous as examples of workmanship, inevitably produce a vulgar effect.
All needlework, whether to be used on the table or on a bed, must, in a
beautifully finished house, be fine rather than striking. Coarse linen,
coarse embroideries, all sorts of Russian drawn-work, Italian needlework
or mosaic (but avoiding big scrolled patterns), are in perfect
keeping--and therefore in good taste--in a cottage, a bungalow or a house
whose furnishings are not too fine.
But whatever type of cloth is used, the middle crease must be put on so
that it is an absolutely straight and unwavering line down the exact
center from head to foot. If it is an embroidered one, be sure the
embroidery is "right side out." Next goes the centerpiece which is always
the chief ornament. Usually this is an arrangement of flowers in either a
bowl or a vase, but it can be any one of an almost unlimited variety of
things; flowers or fruit in any arrangement that taste and ingenuity can
devise; or an ornament in silver that needs no flowers, such as a covered
cup; or an epergne, which, however, necessitates the use of fruit, flowers
or candy. Mrs. Wellborn, for instance, whose heirlooms are better than her
income, rarely uses flowers, but has a wonderful old centerpiece that is
ornament enough in itself. The foundation is a mirror representing a lake,
surrounded by silver rocks and grass. At one side, jutting into the lake,
is a knoll with a group of trees sheltering a stag and doe. The ornament
is entirely of silver, almost twenty inches high, and about twenty inches
in diameter across the "lake."
The Normans have a full-rigged silver ship in the center of their table
and at either end rather tall lanterns, Venetian really, but rather
appropriate to the ship; and the salt cellars are very tall ones (about
ten inches high), of sea shells supported on the backs of dolphins.
However, to go back to table setting: A cloth laid straight; then a
centerpiece put in the middle; then four candlesticks at the four corners,
about half-way between the center and the edge of the table, or two
candelabra at either end halfway between the places of the host and
hostess and the centerpiece. Candles are used with or without shades.
Fashion at the moment, says "without," which means that, in order to bring
the flame well above people's eyes, candlesticks or candelabra must be
high and the candles as long as the proportion can stand. Longer candles
can be put in massive candlesticks than in fragile ones. But whether
shaded or not, there are candles on all dinner tables always! The center
droplight has gone out entirely. Electroliers in candlesticks were never
good style, and kerosene lamps in candlesticks--horrible! Fashion says,
"Candles! preferably without shades, but shades if you insist, and few or
many--but candles!"
Next comes the setting of the places. (If it is an extension table, leaves
have, of course, been put in; or if it is stationary, guests have been
invited according to its size.) The distance between places at the table
must never be so short that guests have no elbow room, and that the
servants can not pass the dishes properly; when the dining-room chairs are
very high backed and are placed so close as to be almost touching, it is
impossible for them not to risk spilling something over some one. On the
other hand, to place people a yard or more apart so that conversation has
to be shouted into the din made by everyone else's shouting, is equally
trying. About two feet from plate center to plate center is ideal. If the
chairs have narrow and low backs, people can sit much closer together,
especially at a small round table, the curve of which leaves a spreading
wedge of space between the chairs at the back even if the seats touch at
the front corners. But on the long straight sides of a rectangular table
in a very large--and impressive--dining-room there should be at least a
foot of space between the chairs.
=SETTING THE PLACES=
The necessary number of plates, with the pattern or initials right side
up, are first put around the table at equal distances (spaced with a tape
measure if the butler or waitress has not an accurate eye). Then on the
left of each plate, handle towards the edge of the table, and prongs up,
is put the salad fork, the meat fork is put next, and then the fish fork.
The salad fork, which will usually be the third used, is thus laid
nearest to the plate. If there is an entree, the fork for this course is
placed between the fish fork and that for the roast and the salad fork is
left to be brought in later. On the right of the plate, and nearest to it,
is put the steel meat knife, then the silver fish knife, the edge of each
toward the plate. Then the soup spoon and then the oyster fork or grape
fruit spoon. Additional forks and knives are put on the table during
dinner.
In putting on the glasses, the water goblet is at the top and to the right
of the knives, and the wine glasses are either grouped to the right of the
goblet, or in a straight line slanting down from the goblet obliquely
towards the right. (Butter plates are never put on a dinner table.) A
dinner napkin folded square and flat is laid on each "place" plate; very
fancy foldings are not in good taste, but if the napkin is very large, the
sides are folded in so as to make a flattened roll a third the width of
its height. (Bread should _not_ be put in the napkin--not nowadays.) The
place cards are usually put above the plate on the tablecloth, but some
people put them on top of the napkin because they are more easily read.
When the places have been set, four silver dishes (or more on a very big
table), either bowl or basket or paten shaped, are put at the four
corners, between the candlesticks (or candelabra) and the centerpiece; or
wherever there are four equally spaced vacancies on the table. These
dishes, or compotiers, hold candy or fruit, chosen less for taste than for
decorative appearance.
On a very large table the four compotiers are filled with candy, and two
or four larger silver dishes or baskets are filled with fruit and put on
alternately with the candy dishes. Flowers are also often put in two or
four smaller vases, in addition to a larger and dominating one in the
center.
Peppers and salts should be put at every other place. For a dinner of
twelve there should be six salt cellars at least, if not six pepper pots.
Olives and radishes are served from the side table, but salted nuts are
often put on the dinner table either in two big silver dishes, or in small
individual ones.
=HAVE SILVER THAT SHINES OR NONE=
Lots of people who would not dream of using a wrinkled tablecloth or
chipped glass or china, seem perfectly blind to dirty silver--silver that
is washed clean of food of course, but so dull that it looks like
jaundiced pewter.
Don't put any silver on your table if you can't have it cleaned.
Infinitely rather have every ornament of glass or china--and if knives and
forks have crevices in the design of their handles that are hard to clean,
buy plain plated ones, or use tin! Anything is better than yellow-faced
dirty-finger-nailed silver. The first thing to ask in engaging a waitress
is, "Can you clean silver?" If she can't, she would better be something
else.
Of course no waitress and no single-handed butler can keep silver the way
it is kept in such houses as the Worldlys', nor is such perfection
expected. The silver polishing of perfection in huge houses is done by
such an expert that no one can tell whether a fork has that moment been
sent from the silversmiths or not. It is not merely polished until it is
bright, but burnished so that it is new! Every piece of silver in certain
of the great establishments, or in smaller ones that are run like a great
one, is never picked up by a servant except with a rouged chamois. No
piece of silver is ever allowed by the slightest chance to touch another
piece. Every piece is washed separately. The footman who gathers two or
three forks in a bunch will never do it a second time, and keep his place.
If the ring of a guest should happen to scratch a knife handle or a fork,
the silver-polisher may have to spend an entire day using his thumb or a
silver buffer, and rub and rub until no vestige of a scratch remains.
Perfection such as this is attainable only in a great house where servants
are specialists of super-efficiency; but in every perfectly run house,
where service is not too limited, every piece of silver that is put on the
table, at every meal, is handled with a rouged chamois and given a quick
wipe-off as it is laid on the dining table. No silver should ever be
picked up in the fingers as that always leaves a mark.
And the way "moderate" households, which are nevertheless perfectly run
for their size and type, have burnished silver, is by using not more than
they can have cleaned.
In view of the present high cost of living (including wages) and the
consequent difficulty, with a reduced number of servants, of keeping a
great quantity of silver brilliant, even the most fashionable people are
more and more using only what is essential, and in occasional instances,
are taking to china! People who are lucky enough to have well-stored
attics these days are bringing treasures out of them.
But services of Swansea or Lowestoft or Spode, while easily cleaned, are
equally easily broken, so that genuine Eighteenth Century pieces are more
apt to see a cabinet than a dinner table.
But the modern manufacturers are making enchanting "sets" that are
replicas of the old. These tea sets with cups and saucers to match and
with a silver kettle and tray, are seen almost as often as silver services
in simple houses in the country, as well as in the small apartment in
town.
=DON'TS IN TABLE SETTING!=
Don't put ribbon trimmings on your table. Satin bands and bows have no
more place on a lady's table than have chop-house appurtenances. Pickle
jars, catsup bottles, toothpicks and crackers are not private-house table
ornaments. Crackers are passed with oyster stew and with salad, and any
one who wants "relishes" can have them in his own house (though they
insult the cook!). At all events, pickles and tomato sauces and other cold
meat condiments are never presented at table in a bottle, but are put in
glass dishes with small serving spoons. Nothing is ever served from the
jar or bottle it comes in except certain kinds of cheese, Bar-le-Duc
preserves (only sometimes) and wines. Pickles, jellies, jams, olives, are
all put into small glass dishes.
Saucers for vegetables are contrary to all etiquette. The only extra
plates ever permitted are the bread and butter plates which are put on at
breakfast and lunch and supper above and to the left of the forks, but
_never_ at dinner. The crescent-shaped salad plate, made to fit at the
side of the place plate, is seen rarely in fashionable houses. When two
plates are made necessary by the serving of game or broiled chicken or
squab, for which the plate should be very hot, at the same time as the
salad which is cold, the crescent-shaped plate is convenient in that it
takes little room.
A correct and very good serving dish for a family of two, is the vegetable
dish that has a partition dividing it into two or even three divisions, so
that a small quantity of two or three vegetables can be passed at the same
time.
Napkin rings are unknown in fashionable houses outside of the nursery. But
in large families where it is impossible to manage such a wash as three
clean napkins a day entail, napkin rings are probably necessary. In most
moderately run houses, a napkin that is unrumpled and spotless after a
meal, is put aside and used again for breakfast; but to be given a napkin
that is not perfectly clean is a horrid thought. Perhaps though, the
necessity for napkin rings results in the achievement of the immaculate
napkin--which is quite a nice thought.
=CORRECT SERVICE OF DINNER=
Whether there are two at table or two hundred, plates are changed and
courses presented in precisely the same manner.
For faultless service, if there are many "accompanied" dishes, two
servants are necessary to wait on as few as two persons. But two can also
efficiently serve eight; or with unaccompanied dishes an expert servant
can manage eight alone, and with one assistant, he can perfectly manage
twelve.
In old-fashioned times people apparently did not mind waiting tranquilly
through courses and between courses, even though meat grew cold long
before the last of many vegetables was passed, and they waited endlessly
while a slow talker and eater finished his topic and his food. But people
of to-day do not like to wait an unnecessary second. The moment fish is
passed them, they expect the cucumbers or sauce, or whatever should go
with the fish, to follow immediately. And when the first servant hands the
meat course, they consider that they should not be expected to wait a
moment for a second servant to hand the gravy or jelly or whatever goes
with the meat. No service is good in this day unless swift--and, of
course, soundless.
A late leader of Newport society who had a world-wide reputation for the
brilliancy of her entertainments, had an equally well-known reputation for
rapidly served dinners. "Twenty minutes is quite long enough to sit at
table--ever!" is what she used to say, and what her household had to live
up to. She had a footman to about every two guests and any one dining with
her had to cling to the edge of his plate or it would be whisked away! One
who looked aside or "let go" for a second found his plate gone! That was
extreme; but, even so, better than a snail-paced dinner!
=THE DINNER HOUR=
In America the dinner hour is not a fixture, since it varies in various
sections of the country. The ordinary New York hour when "giving a dinner"
is eight o'clock, half past eight in Newport. In New York, when dining and
going to the opera, one is usually asked for seven-fifteen, and for
seven-thirty before going to a play. Otherwise only "quiet" people dine
before eight. But invitations should, of course, be issued for whatever
hour is customary in the place where the dinner is given.
=THE BUTLER IN THE DINING-ROOM=
When the dinner guests enter the dining-room, it is customary for the
butler to hold out the chair of the mistress of the house. This always
seems a discourtesy to the guests. And an occasional hostess insists on
having the chair of the guest of honor held by the butler instead of her
own. If there are footmen enough, the chair of each lady is held for her;
otherwise the gentleman who takes her in to dinner helps her to be seated.
Ordinarily where there are two servants, the head one holds the chair of
the hostess and the second, the chair on the right of the host. The
hostess always seats herself as quickly as possible so that the butler may
be free to assist a guest to draw her chair up to the table.
In a big house the butler always stands throughout a meal back of the
hostess' chair, except when giving one of the men under him a direction,
or when pouring wine. He is not supposed to leave the dining-room himself
or ever to handle a dish. In a smaller house where he has no assistant, he
naturally does everything himself; when he has a second man or
parlor-maid, he passes the principal dishes and the assistant follows with
the accompanying dishes or vegetables.
So-called "Russian" service is the only one known in New York which merely
means that nothing to eat is ever put on the table except ornamental
dishes of fruit and candy. The meat is carved in the kitchen or pantry,
vegetables are passed and returned to the side table. Only at breakfast or
possibly at supper are dishes of food put on the table.
=THE EVER-PRESENT PLATE=
From the setting of the table until it is cleared for dessert, a plate
must remain at every cover. Under the first two courses there are always
two plates. The plate on which oysters or hors d'oeuvres are served is put
on top of the place plate. At the end of the course the used plate is
removed, leaving the place plate. The soup plate is also put on top of
this same plate. But when the soup plate is removed, the underneath plate
is removed with it, and a hot plate immediately exchanged for the two
taken away. The place plate merely becomes a hot fish plate, but it is
there just the same.
_The Exchange Plate_
If the first course had been a canape or any cold dish that was offered in
bulk instead of being brought on separate plates, it would have been eaten
on the place plate, and an exchange plate would have been necessary before
the soup could be served. That is, a clean plate would have been
exchanged for the used one, and the soup plate then put on top of that.
The reason for it is that a plate with food on it can never be exchanged
for a plate that has had food on it; a clean one must come between.
If an entree served on individual plates follows the fish, clean plates
are first exchanged for the used ones until the whole table is set with
clean plates. Then the entree is put at each place in exchange for the
clean plate. Although dishes are always presented at the left of the
person served, plates are removed and replaced at the right. Glasses are
poured and additional knives placed at the right, but forks are put on as
needed from the left.
_May the Plates for Two Persons Be Brought in Together?_
The only plates that can possibly be brought into the dining-room one in
each hand are for the hors d'oeuvres, soup and dessert. The first two
plates are placed on others which have not been removed, and the dessert
plates need merely be put down on the tablecloth. But the plates of every
other course have to be exchanged and therefore each individual service
requires two hands. Soup plates, two at a time, would better not be
attempted by any but the expert and sure-handed, as it is in placing one
plate, while holding the other aloft that the mishap of "soup poured down
some one's back" occurs! If only one plate of soup is brought in at a
time, that accident at least cannot happen. In the same way the spoon and
fork on the dessert plate can easily fall off, unless it is held level.
"Two plates at a time" therefore is not a question of etiquette, but of
the servant's skill.
_Plate Removed When Fork Is Laid Down_
Once upon a time it was actually considered impolite to remove a single
plate until the last guest at the table had finished eating! In other days
people evidently did not mind looking at their own dirty plates
indefinitely, nor could they have minded sitting for hours at table. Good
service to-day requires the removal of each plate as soon as the fork is
laid upon it; so that by the time the last fork is put down, the entire
table is set with clean plates and is ready for the next course.
=DOUBLE SERVICE AND THE ORDER OF TABLE PRECEDENCE=
At every well-ordered dinner, there should be a double service for ten or
twelve persons; that is, no hot dish should, if avoidable, be presented to
more than six, or nine at the outside. At a dinner of twelve, for
instance, two dishes each holding six portions, are garnished exactly
alike and presented at opposite ends of the table. One to the lady on the
right of the host, and the other to the lady at the opposite end of the
table. The services continue around to the right, but occasional butlers
direct that after serving the "lady of honor" on the right of the host,
the host is skipped and the dish presented to the lady on his left, after
which the dish continues around the table to the left, to ladies and
gentlemen as they come. In this event the second service starts opposite
the lady of honor and also skips the first gentleman, after which it goes
around the table to the left, skips the lady of honor and ends with the
host. The first service when it reaches the other end of the table skips
the lady who was first served and ends with the gentleman who was skipped.
It is perhaps more polite to the ladies to give them preference, but it is
complicated, and leaves another gentleman as well as the host, sitting
between two ladies who are eating while he is apparently forgotten. The
object (which is to prevent the lady who is second in precedence from
being served last) can be accomplished by beginning the first service from
the lady on the right of the host and continuing on the right 6 places;
the second service begins with the lady on the left of the host and
continues on the left five places, and then comes back to the host. The
best way of all, perhaps, is to vary the "honor" by serving the entree and
salad courses first to the lady on the left instead of to the lady on the
right and continue the service of these two courses to the left.
A dinner of eighteen has sometimes two services, but if _very_ perfect,
three. Where there are three services they start with the lady of honor
and the sixth from her on either side and continue to the right.
=FILLING GLASSES=
As soon as the guests are seated and the first course put in front of
them, the butler goes from guest to guest on the right hand side of each,
and asks "Apollinaris or plain water!" and fills the goblet accordingly.
In the same way he asks later before pouring wine: "Cider, sir?" "Grape
fruit cup, madam?" Or in a house which has the remains of a cellar,
"Champagne?" or "Do you care for whiskey and soda, sir?"
But the temperature and service of wines which used to be an essential
detail of every dinner have now no place at all. Whether people will offer
frapped cider or some other iced drink in the middle of dinner, and a
warmed something else to take the place of claret with the fish, remains
to be seen. A water glass standing alone at each place makes such a meager
and untrimmed looking table that most people put on at least two wine
glasses, sherry and champagne, or claret and sherry, and pour something
pinkish or yellowish into them. A rather popular drink at present is an
equal mixture of white grape-juice and ginger ale with mint leaves and
much ice. Those few who still have cellars, serve wines exactly as they
used to, white wine, claret, sherry and Burgundy warm, champagne ice cold;
and after dinner, green mint poured over crushed ice in little glasses,
and other liqueurs of room temperature. Whiskey is always poured at the
table over ice in a tall tumbler, each gentleman "saying when" by putting
his hand out. The glass is then filled with soda or Apollinaris.
As soon as soup is served the parlor-maid or a footman passes a dish or a
basket of dinner rolls. If rolls are not available, bread cut in about
two-inch-thick slices, is cut cross-ways again in three. An old-fashioned
silver cake basket makes a perfect modern bread-basket. Or a small wicker
basket that is shallow and inconspicuous will do. A guest helps himself
with his fingers and lays the roll or bread on the tablecloth, always. No
bread plates are ever on a table where there is no butter, and no butter
is ever served at a dinner. Whenever there is no bread left at any one's
place at table, more should be passed. The glasses should also be kept
filled.
=PRESENTING DISHES=
Dishes are presented held flat on the palm of the servant's right hand;
every hot one must have a napkin placed as a pad under it. An especially
heavy meat platter can be steadied if necessary by holding the edge of the
platter with the left hand, the fingers protected from being burned by a
second folded napkin.
Each dish is supplied with whatever implements are needed for helping it;
a serving spoon (somewhat larger than an ordinary tablespoon) is put on
all dishes and a fork of large size is added for fish, meat, salad and any
vegetables or other dishes that are hard to help. String beans, braised
celery, spinach en branche, etc., need a fork and spoon. Asparagus has
various special lifters and tongs, but most people use the ordinary spoon
and fork, putting the spoon underneath and the fork, prongs down, to hold
the stalks on the spoon while being removed to the plate. Corn on the cob
is taken with the fingers, but is _never_ served at a dinner party. A
galantine or mousse, as well as peas, mashed potatoes, rice, etc., are
offered with a spoon only.
=THE SERVING TABLE=
The serving table is an ordinary table placed in the corner of the
dining-room near the door to the pantry, and behind a screen, so that it
may not be seen by the guests at table. In a small dining-room where space
is limited, a set of shelves like a single bookcase is useful.
The serving table is a halfway station between the dinner table and the
pantry. It holds stacks of cold plates, extra forks and knives, and the
finger bowls and dessert plates. The latter are sometimes put out on the
sideboard, if the serving table is small or too crowded.
At little informal dinners all dishes of food after being passed are left
on the serving table in case they are called upon for a second helping.
But at formal dinners, dishes are never passed twice, and are therefore
taken direct to the pantry after being passed.
=CLEARING TABLE FOR DESSERT=
At dinner always, whether at a formal one, or whether a member of the
family is alone, the salad plates, or the plates of whatever course
precedes dessert, are removed, leaving the table plateless. The salt
cellars and pepper pots are taken off on the serving tray (without being
put on any napkin or doily, as used to be the custom), and the crumbs are
brushed off each place at table with a folded napkin onto a tray held
under the table edge. A silver crumb scraper is still seen occasionally
when the tablecloth is plain, but its hard edge is not suitable for
embroidery and lace, and ruinous to a bare table, so that a napkin folded
to about the size and thickness of an iron-holder is the crumb-scraper of
to-day.
=DESSERT=
The captious say "dessert means the fruit and candy which come after the
ices." "Ices" is a misleading word too, because suggestive of the
individual "ices" which flourished at private dinners in the Victorian
age, and still survive at public dinners, suppers at balls, and at wedding
breakfasts, but which are seen at not more than one private dinner in a
thousand--if that.
In the present world of fashion the "dessert" is ice-cream, served in one
mold; not ices (a lot of little frozen images). And the refusal to call
the "sweets" at the end of the dinner, which certainly include ice cream
and cake, "dessert," is at least not the interpretation of either good
usage or good society. In France, where the word "dessert" originated,
"ices" were set apart from dessert merely because French chefs delight in
designating each item of a meal as a separate course. But chefs and
cook-books notwithstanding, dessert means everything sweet that comes at
the end of a meal. And the great American dessert is ice cream--or pie.
Pie, however, is not a "company" dessert. Ice cream on the other hand is
the inevitable conclusion of a formal dinner. The fact that the spoon
which is double the size of a teaspoon is known as nothing but a dessert
spoon, is offered in further proof that "dessert" is "spoon" and not
"finger" food!
_Dessert Service_
There are two, almost equally used, methods of serving dessert. The first
or "hotel method," also seen in many fashionable private houses, is to put
on a china plate for ice cream or a first course, and the finger bowl on a
plate by itself, afterwards. In the "private house" service, the entire
dessert paraphernalia is put on at once.
In detail: In the two-course, or hotel, service, the "dessert" plate is of
china, or if of glass, it must have a china one under it. A china dessert
plate is just a fairly deep medium sized plate and it is always put on the
table with a "dessert" spoon and fork on it. After the inevitable ice
cream has been eaten, a fruit plate with a finger bowl on it, is put on in
exchange. A doily goes under the finger bowl, and a fruit knife and fork
on either side.
In the single course, or private house, service, the ice cream plate is of
glass and belongs under the finger bowl which it matches. The glass plate
and finger bowl in turn are put on the fruit plate with a doily between,
and the dessert spoon and fork go on either side of the finger bowl
(instead of the fruit knife and fork). This arrangement of plates is seen
in such houses as the Worldlys' and the Oldnames', and in fact in most
very well done houses. The finger bowls and glass plates that match make a
prettier service than the finger bowl on a china plate by itself; also it
eliminates a change--but not a removal--of plates. In this service, a
guest lifts the finger bowl off and eats his ice cream on the glass plate,
after which the glass plate is removed and the china one is left for
fruit.
Some people think this service confusing because an occasional guest, in
lifting off the finger bowl, lifts the glass plate too, and eats his
dessert on his china plate. It is merely necessary for the servants to
notice at which place the china plate has been used and to bring a clean
one; otherwise a "cover" is left with a glass plate or a bare tablecloth
for fruit. Also any one taking fruit must have a fruit knife and fork
brought to him. Fruit is passed immediately after ice-cream; and
chocolates, conserves, or whatever the decorative sweets may be, are
passed last.
This single service may sound as though it were more complicated than the
two-course service, but actually it is less. Few people use the wrong
plate and usually the ice-cream plates having others under them can be
taken away two at a time. Furthermore, scarcely any one takes fruit, so
that the extra knives and forks are few, if any.
Before finishing dessert, it may be as well to add in detail, that the
finger bowl doiley is about five or six inches in diameter; it may be
round or square, and of the finest and sheerest needlework that can be
found (or afforded). It must always be cream or white. Colored
embroideries look well sometimes on a country lunch table but not at
dinner. No matter where it is used, the finger bowl is less than half
filled with cold water; and at dinner parties, a few violets, sweet peas,
or occasionally a gardenia, is put in it. (A slice of lemon is never seen
outside of a chop-house where eating with the fingers may necessitate the
lemon in removing grease. Pretty thought!)
Black coffee is never served at a fashionable dinner table, but is brought
afterwards with cigarettes and liqueurs into the drawing-room for the
ladies, and with cigars, cigarettes and liqueurs into the smoking room for
the gentlemen.
If there is no smoking-room, coffee and cigars are brought to the table
for the gentlemen after the ladies have gone into the drawing-room.
=PLACE CARDS=
The place cards are usually about an inch and a half high by two inches
long, sometimes slightly larger. People of old family have their crest
embossed in plain white; occasionally an elderly hostess, following a
lifelong custom, has her husband's crest stamped in gold. Nothing other
than a crest must ever be engraved on a place card; and usually they are
plain, even in the houses of old families.
Years ago "hand-painted" place cards are said to have been in fashion. But
excepting on such occasions as a Christmas or a birthday dinner, they are
never seen in private houses to-day.
=MENU CARDS=
Small, standing porcelain slates, on which the menu is written, are seen
on occasional dinner tables. Most often there is only one which is placed
in front of the host; but sometimes there is one between every two guests.
=SEATING THE TABLE=
As has already been observed, the most practical way to seat the table is
to write the names on individual cards first, and then "place" them as
though playing solitaire; the guest of honor on the host's right, the
second lady in rank on his left; the most distinguished or oldest
gentleman on the right of the hostess, and the other guests filled in
between.
=WHO IS THE GUEST OF HONOR?=
The guest of honor is the oldest lady present, or a stranger whom you wish
for some reason to honor. A bride at her first dinner in your house, after
her return from her honeymoon, takes, if you choose to have her,
precedence over older people. Or if a younger woman has been long away
she, in this instance of welcoming her home, takes precedence over her
elders. The guest of honor is always led in to dinner by the host and
placed on his right, the second in importance sits on his left and is
taken in to dinner by the gentleman on whose right she sits. The hostess
is always the last to go into the dining-room at a formal dinner.
=THE ENVELOPES FOR THE GENTLEMEN=
In an envelope addressed to each gentleman is put a card on which is
written the name of the lady he is to take down to dinner. This card just
fits in the envelope, which is an inch or slightly less high and about two
inches long. When the envelopes are addressed and filled, they are
arranged in two neat rows on a silver tray and put in the front hall. The
tray is presented to each gentleman just before he goes into the
drawing-room, on his arrival.
=THE TABLE DIAGRAM=
A frame made of leather, round or rectangular, with small openings at
regular intervals around the edge in which names written on cards can be
slipped, shows the seating of the table at a glance. In a frame holding
twenty-four cards, twelve guests would be indicated by leaving every other
card place blank, or for eight, only one in three is filled. This diagram
is shown to each gentleman upon his arrival, so that he can see who is
coming for dinner and where he himself is placed. At a dinner of ten or
less this diagram is especially convenient as "envelopes" are used only at
formal dinners of twelve and over.
=WHEN THE HOSTESS SITS AT THE SIDE=
When the number of guests is a multiple of four, the host and hostess
never sit opposite each other. It would bring two ladies and two gentlemen
together if they did. At a table which seats two together at each end, the
fact that the host is opposite a gentleman and the hostess opposite a lady
is not noticeable; nor is it ever noticeable at a round table. But at a
narrow table which has room for only one at the end, the hostess
invariably sits in the seat next to that which is properly her own,
putting in her place a gentleman at the end. The host usually keeps his
seat rather than the hostess because the seat of honor is on his right;
and in the etiquette governing dinners, the host and not the hostess is
the more important personage!
When there are only four, they keep their own places, otherwise the host
and hostess would sit next to each other. At a dinner of eight, twelve,
sixteen, twenty, etc., the host keeps his place, but at supper for eight
or twelve, the hostess keeps _her_ place and the host moves a place to the
right or left because the hostess at supper pours coffee or chocolate. And
although the host keeps his seat at a formal dinner in honor of the lady
he takes in, at a little dinner of eight, where there is no guest of
honor, the host does not necessarily keep his seat at the expense of his
wife unless he carves, in which case he must have the end place; just as
at supper she has the end place in order to pour.
=SIDEWALK, HALL, AND DRESSING ROOMS=
One can be pretty sure on seeing a red velvet carpet spread down the steps
of a house (or up! since there are so many sunken American basement
entrances) that there are people for dinner. The carpet is kept rolled, or
turned under near the foot (or top) of the steps until a few minutes
before the dinner hour when it is spread across the width of the pavement
by the chauffeur or whoever is on duty on the sidewalk. Very big or formal
dinners often have an awning, especially at a house where there is much
entertaining and which has an awning of its own; but at an ordinary house,
for a dinner of twelve or so, the man on the pavement must, if it is
raining, shelter each arriving guest under his coachman's umbrella from
carriage to door. If it does not rain, he merely opens the doors of
vehicles. Checks are never given at dinners, no matter how big; every
motor is called by address at the end of the evening. The Worldly car is
not shouted for as "Worldly!" but "xox Fifth Avenue!" The typical coachman
of another day used to tell you "carriages are ordered for ten-fifteen."
Carriages were nearly always ordered for that hour, though with slow and
long dinners no one ever actually left until the horses had exercised for
at least an hour! But the chauffeur of to-day opens the door in
silence--unless there is to be a concert or amateur theatricals, when he,
like the coachman says, "Motors are ordered for twelve o'clock," or
whatever hour he is told to say.
In this day of telephone and indefinite bridge games, many people prefer
to have their cars telephoned for, when they are ready to go home. Those
who do not play bridge leave an eight o'clock dinner about half past ten,
or at least order their cars for that hour.
In all modern houses of size there are two rooms on the entrance floor,
built sometimes as dressing-rooms and nothing else, but more often they
are small reception rooms, each with a lavatory off of it. In the one
given to the ladies, there is always a dressing-table with toilet
appointments on it, and the lady's maid should be on duty to give whatever
service may be required; when there is no dressing-room on the ground
floor, the back of the hall is arranged with coat-hangers and an
improvised dressing-table for the ladies, since modern people--in New York
at least--never go up-stairs to a bedroom if they can help it. In fact,
nine ladies out of ten drop their evening cloaks at the front door,
handing them to the servant on duty, and go at once without more ado to
the drawing-room. A lady arriving in her own closed car can't be very much
blown about, in a completely air tight compartment and in two or three
minutes of time!
Gentlemen also leave their hats and coats in the front part of the hail. A
servant presents to each a tray of envelopes, and if there is one, the
table diagram. Envelopes are not really necessary when there is a table
diagram, since every gentleman knows that he "takes in" the lady placed on
his right! But at very big dinners in New York or Washington, where many
people are sure to be strangers to one another, an absent-minded gentleman
might better, perhaps, have his partner's name safely in his pocket.
=ANNOUNCING GUESTS=
A gentleman always falls behind his wife in entering the drawing-room. If
the butler knows the guests, he merely announces the wife's name first and
then the husband's. If he does not know them by sight he asks whichever is
nearest to him, "What name, please?" And whichever one is asked, answers:
"Mr. and Mrs. Lake."
The butler then precedes the guests a few steps into the room where the
hostess is stationed, and standing aside says in a low tone but very
distinctly: "Mrs. Lake," a pause and then, "Mr. Lake." Married people are
usually announced separately as above, but occasionally people have their
guests announced "Mr. and Mrs. ----."
=ANNOUNCING PERSONS OF RANK=
All men of high executive rank are not alone announced first, but take
precedence of their wives in entering the room. The President of the
United States is announced simply, "The President and Mrs. Harding." His
title needs no qualifying appendage, since he and he solely, is _the_
President. He enters first, and alone, of course; and then Mrs. Harding
follows. The same form precisely is used for "The Vice-President and Mrs.
Coolidge." A governor is sometimes in courtesy called "Excellency" but the
correct announcement would be "the Governor of New Jersey and Mrs.
Edwards." He enters the room and Mrs. Edwards follows. "The Mayor and Mrs.
Thompson" observe the same etiquette; or in a city other than his own he
would be announced "The Mayor of Chicago and Mrs. Thompson."
Other announcements are "The Chief Justice and Mrs. Taft," "The Secretary
of State and Mrs. Hughes." "Senator and Mrs. Washington," but in this case
the latter enters the room first, because his office is not executive.
According to diplomatic etiquette an Ambassador and his wife should be
announced, "Their Excellencies the Ambassador and Ambassadress of Great
Britain." The Ambassador enters the room first. A Minister
Plenipotentiary is announced "The Minister of Sweden." He enters a moment
later and "Mrs. Ogren" follows. But a First Secretary and his wife are
announced, if they have a title of their own, "Count and Countess
European," or "Mr. and Mrs. American."
The President, the Vice-President, the Governor of a State, the Mayor of a
city, the Ambassador of a foreign Power--in other words, all
executives--take precedence over their wives and enter rooms and vehicles
first. But Senators, Representatives, Secretaries of legations and all
other officials who are not executive, allow their wives to precede them,
just as they would if they were private individuals.
Foreigners who have hereditary titles are announced by them: "The Duke and
Duchess of Overthere." "The Marquis and Marchioness of Landsend," or "Sir
Edward and Lady Blank," etc. Titles are invariably translated into
English, "Count and Countess Lorraine," not "M. le Comte et Mme. la
Comtesse Lorraine."
=HOW A HOSTESS RECEIVES AT A FORMAL DINNER=
On all occasions of formality, at a dinner as well as at a ball, the
hostess stands near the door of her drawing-room, and as guests are
announced, she greets them with a smile and a handshake and says something
pleasant to each. What she says is nothing very important, charm of
expression and of manner can often wordlessly express a far more gracious
welcome than the most elaborate phrases (which as a matter of fact should
be studiously avoided). Unless a woman's loveliness springs from
generosity of heart and sympathy, her manners, no matter how perfectly
practised, are nothing but cosmetics applied to hide a want of inner
beauty; precisely as rouge and powder are applied in the hope of hiding
the lack of a beautiful skin. One device is about as successful as the
other; quite pleasing unless brought into comparison with the real.
Mrs. Oldname, for instance, usually welcomes you with some such sentences
as, "I am very glad to see you" or "I am so glad you could come!" Or if it
is raining, she very likely tells you that you were very unselfish to
come out in the storm. But no matter what she says or whether anything at
all, she takes your hand with a firm pressure and her smile is really a
_smile_ of welcome, not a mechanical exercise of the facial muscles. She
gives you always--even if only for the moment--her complete attention; and
you go into her drawing-room with a distinct feeling that you are under
the roof, not of a mere acquaintance, but of a friend. Mr. Oldname who
stands never very far from his wife, always comes forward and, grasping
your hand, accentuates his wife's more subtle but no less vivid welcome.
And either you join a friend standing near, or he presents you, if you are
a man, to a lady; or if you are a lady, he presents a man to you.
Some hostesses, especially those of the Lion-Hunting and the
New-to-Best-Society variety are much given to explanations, and love to
say "Mrs. Jones, I want you to meet Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith is the author
of 'Dragged from the Depths,' a most enlightening work of psychic
insight." Or to a good-looking woman, "I am putting you next to the
Assyrian Ambassador--I want him to carry back a flattering impression of
American women!"
But people of good breeding do not over-exploit their distinguished guests
with embarrassing hyperbole, or make personal remarks. Both are in worst
possible taste. Do not understand by this that explanations can not be
made; it is only that they must not be embarrassingly made to their faces.
Nor must a "specialist's" subject be forced upon him, like a pair of
manacles, by any exploiting hostess who has captured him. Mrs. Oldname
might perhaps, in order to assist conversation for an interesting but
reticent person, tell a lady just before going in to dinner, "Mr. Traveler
who is sitting next to you at the table, has just come back from two years
alone with the cannibals." This is not to exploit her "Traveled Lion" but
to give his neighbor a starting point for conversation at table. And
although personal remarks are never good form, it would be permissible for
an older lady in welcoming a very young one, especially a debutante or a
bride, to say, "How lovely you look, Mary dear, and what an adorable
dress you have on!"
But to say to an older lady, "That is a very handsome string of pearls you
are wearing," would be objectionable.
=THE DUTY OF THE HOST=
The host stands fairly near his wife so that if any guest seems to be
unknown to all of the others, he can present him to some one. At formal
dinners introductions are never general and people do not as a rule speak
to strangers, except those next to them at table or in the drawing-room
after dinner. The host therefore makes a few introductions if necessary.
Before dinner, since the hostess is standing (and no gentleman may
therefore sit down) and as it is awkward for a lady who is sitting, to
talk with a gentleman who is standing, the ladies usually also stand until
dinner is announced.
=WHEN DINNER IS ANNOUNCED=
It is the duty of the butler to "count heads" so that he may know when the
company has arrived. As soon as he has announced the last person, he
notifies the cook. The cook being ready, the butler, having glanced into
the dining-room to see that windows have been closed and the candles on
the table lighted, enters the drawing-room, approaches the hostess, bows,
and says quietly, "Dinner is served."
The host offers his arm to the lady of honor and leads the way to the
dining-room. All the other gentlemen offer their arms to the ladies
appointed to them, and follow the host, in an orderly procession, two and
two; the only order of precedence is that the host and his partner lead,
while the hostess and her partner come last. At all formal dinners, place
cards being on the table, the hostess does not direct people where to sit.
If there was no table diagram in the hall, the butler, standing just
within the dining-room door, tells each gentleman as he approaches "Right"
or "Left."
"R" or "L" is occasionally written on the lady's name card in the
envelopes given to the gentlemen, or if it is such a big dinner that there
are many separate tables, the tables are numbered with standing placards
(as at a public dinner) and the table number written on each lady's name
card.
=THE MANNERS OF A HOSTESS=
First of all, a hostess must show each of her guests equal and impartial
attention. Also, although engrossed in the person she is talking to, she
must be able to notice anything amiss that may occur. The more competent
her servants, the less she need be aware of details herself, but the
hostess giving a formal dinner with uncertain dining-room efficiency has a
far from smooth path before her. No matter what happens, if all the china
in the pantry falls with a crash, she must not appear to have heard it. No
matter what goes wrong she must cover it as best she may, and at the same
time cover the fact that she is covering it. To give hectic directions,
merely accentuates the awkwardness. If a dish appears that is
unpresentable, she as quietly as possible orders the next one to be
brought in. If a guest knocks over a glass and breaks it, even though the
glass be a piece of genuine Steigel, her only concern must seemingly be
that her guest's place has been made uncomfortable. She says, "I am so
sorry, but I will have it fixed at once!" The broken glass is _nothing!_
And she has a fresh glass brought (even though it doesn't match) and
dismisses all thought of the matter.
Both the host and hostess must keep the conversation going, if it lags,
but this is not as definitely their duty at a formal, as at an informal
dinner It is at the small dinner that the skilful hostess has need of what
Thackeray calls the "showman" quality. She brings each guest forward in
turn to the center of the stage. In a lull in the conversation she says
beguilingly to a clever but shy man, "John, what was that story you told
me----" and then she repeats briefly an introduction to a topic in which
"John" particularly shines. Or later on, she begins a narrative and
breaks off suddenly, turning to some one else, "_You_ tell them!"
These examples are rather bald, and overemphasize the method in order to
make it clear. Practise and the knowledge of human nature, or of the
particular temperament with which she is trying to deal, can alone tell
her when she may lead or provoke this or that one to being at his best, to
his own satisfaction as well as that of the others who may be present. Her
own character and sympathy are the only real "showman" assets, since no
one "shows" to advantage except in a congenial environment.
=THE LATE GUEST=
A polite hostess waits twenty minutes after the dinner hour, and then
orders dinner served. To wait more than twenty minutes, or actually
fifteen after those who took the allowable five minutes grace, would be
showing lack of consideration to many for the sake of one. When the late
guest finally enters the dining-room, the hostess rises, shakes hands with
her, but does not leave her place at table. She doesn't rise for a
gentleman. It is the guest who must go up to the hostess and apologize for
being late. The hostess must never take the guest to task, but should say
something polite and conciliatory such as, "I was sure you would not want
us to wait dinner!" The newcomer is usually served with dinner from the
beginning unless she is considerate enough to say to the butler, "Just let
me begin with this course."
Old Mrs. Toplofty's manners to late guests are an exception: on the last
stroke of eight o'clock in winter and half after eight in Newport, dinner
is announced. She waits for no one! Furthermore, a guest arriving after a
course has been served, does not have to protest against disarranging the
order of dinner since the rule of the house is that a course which has
passed a chair is not to be returned. A guest missing his "turn" misses
that course. The result is that everyone dining with Mrs. Toplofty arrives
on the stroke of the dinner hour; which is also rather necessary, as she
is one of those who like the service to be rushed through at top speed,
and anyone arriving half an hour late would find dinner over.
It would be excellent discipline if there were more hostesses like her,
but no young woman could be so autocratic and few older ones care (or
dare) to be. Nothing shows selfish want of consideration more than being
habitually late for dinner. Not only are others, who were themselves
considerate, kept waiting, but dinner is dried and ruined for everyone
else through the fault of the tardy one. And though expert cooks know how
to keep food from becoming uneatable, no food can be so good as at the
moment for which it is prepared, and the habitually late guest should be
made to realize how unfairly she is meeting her hostess' generosity by
destroying for every one the hospitality which she was invited to share.
On the other hand, before a formal dinner, it is the duty of the hostess
to be dressed and in her drawing-room fifteen, or ten minutes at least,
before the hour set for dinner. For a very informal dinner it is not
important to be ready ahead of time, but even then a late hostess is an
inconsiderate one.
=ETIQUETTE OF GLOVES AND NAPKIN=
Ladies always wear gloves to formal dinners and take them off at table.
Entirely off. It is hideous to leave them on the arm, merely turning back
the hands. Both gloves and fan are supposed to be laid across the lap, and
one is supposed to lay the napkin folded once in half across the lap too,
on top of the gloves and fan, and all three are supposed to stay in place
on a slippery satin skirt on a little lap, that more often than not slants
downward.
It is all very well for etiquette to say "They stay there," but every
woman knows they don't! And this is quite a nice question: If you obey
etiquette and lay the napkin on top of the fan and gloves loosely across
your satin-covered knees, it will depend merely upon the heaviness and
position of the fan's handle whether the avalanche starts right, left or
forward, onto the floor. There is just _one_ way to keep these four
articles (including the lap as one) from disintegrating, which is to put
the napkin cornerwise across your knees and tuck the two side corners
under like a lap robe, with the gloves and the fan tied in place as it
were. This ought not to be put in a book of etiquette, which should say
you must do nothing of the kind, but it is either do that or have the
gentleman next you groping under the table at the end of the meal; and it
is impossible to imagine that etiquette should wish to conserve the
picture of "gentlemen on all fours" as the concluding ceremonial at
dinners.
=THE TURNING OF THE TABLE=
The turning of the table is accomplished by the hostess, who merely turns
from the gentleman (on her left probably) with whom she has been talking
through the soup and the fish course, to the one on her right. As she
turns, the lady to whom the "right" gentleman has been talking, turns to
the gentleman further on, and in a moment everyone at table is talking to
a new neighbor. Sometimes a single couple who have become very much
engrossed, refuse to change partners and the whole table is blocked;
leaving one lady and one gentleman on either side of the block, staring
alone at their plates. At this point the hostess has to come to the rescue
by attracting the blocking lady's attention and saying, "Sally, you cannot
talk to Professor Bugge any longer! Mr. Smith has been trying his best to
attract your attention."
"Sally" being in this way brought awake, is obliged to pay attention to
Mr. Smith, and Professor Bugge, little as he may feel inclined, must turn
his attention to the other side. To persist in carrying on their own
conversation at the expense of others, would be inexcusably rude, not only
to their hostess but to every one present.
At a dinner not long ago, Mr. Kindhart sitting next to Mrs. Wellborn and
left to himself because of the assiduity of the lady's farther partner,
slid his own name-card across and in front of her, to bring her attention
to the fact that it was "his turn."
=ENEMIES MUST BURY HATCHETS=
One inexorable rule of etiquette is that you must talk to your next door
neighbor at a dinner table. You _must_, that is all there is about it!
Even if you are placed next to some one with whom you have had a bitter
quarrel, consideration for your hostess, who would be distressed if she
knew you had been put in a disagreeable place, and further consideration
for the rest of the table which is otherwise "blocked," exacts that you
give no outward sign of your repugnance and that you make a pretence at
least for a little while, of talking together.
At dinner once, Mrs. Toplofty, finding herself next to a man she quite
openly despised, said to him with apparent placidity, "I shall not talk to
you--because I don't care to. But for the sake of my hostess I shall say
my multiplication tables. Twice one are two, twice two are four ----" and she
continued on through the tables, making him alternate them with her. As
soon as she politely could she turned again to her other companion.
=MANNERS AT TABLE=
It used to be an offense, and it still is considered impolite, to refuse
dishes at the table, because your refusal implies that you do not like
what is offered you. If this is true, you should be doubly careful to take
at least a little on your plate and make a pretence of eating some of it,
since to refuse course after course can not fail to distress your hostess.
If you are "on a diet" and accepted the invitation with that stipulation,
your not eating is excusable; but even then to sit with an empty plate in
front of you throughout a meal makes you a seemingly reproachful table
companion for those of good appetite sitting next to you.
=ATTACKING A COMPLICATED DISH=
When a dinner has been prepared by a chef who prides himself on being a
decorative artist, the guest of honor and whoever else may be the first to
be served have quite a problem to know which part of an intricate
structure is to be eaten, and which part is scenic effect!
The main portion is generally clear enough; the uncertainty is in whether
the flowers are eatable vegetables and whether the things that look like
ducks are potatoes, or trimming. If there are six or more, the chances are
they are edible, and that one or two of a kind are embellishments only.
Rings around food are nearly always to be eaten; platforms under food
seldom, if ever, are. Anything that looks like pastry is to be eaten; and
anything divided into separate units should be taken on your plate
complete. You should not try to cut a section from anything that has
already been divided into portions in the kitchen. Aspics and desserts
are, it must be said, occasionally Chinese puzzles, but if you do help
yourself to part of the decoration, no great harm is done.
Dishes are _never_ passed from hand to hand at a dinner, not even at the
smallest and most informal one. Sometimes people pass salted nuts to each
other, or an extra sweet from a dish near by, but not circling the table.
=LEAVING THE TABLE=
At the end of dinner, when the last dish of chocolates has been passed and
the hostess sees that no one is any longer eating, she looks across the
table, and catching the eye of one of the ladies, slowly stands up. The
one who happens to be observing also stands up, and in a moment everyone
is standing. The gentlemen offer their arms to their partners and conduct
them back to the drawing-room or the library or wherever they are to sit
during the rest of the evening.
Each gentleman then slightly bows, takes leave of his partner, and
adjourns with the other gentlemen to the smoking-room, where after-dinner
coffee, liqueurs, cigars and cigarettes are passed, and they all sit where
they like and with whom they like, and talk.
It is perfectly correct for a gentleman to talk to any other who happens
to be sitting near him, whether he knows him or not. The host on
occasions--but it is rarely necessary--starts the conversation if most of
the guests are inclined to keep silent, by drawing this one or that into
discussion of a general topic that everyone is likely to take part in. At
the end of twenty minutes or so, he must take the opportunity of the first
lull in the conversation to suggest that they join the ladies in the
drawing-room.
In a house where there is no smoking-room, the gentlemen do not conduct
the ladies to the drawing-room, but stay where they are (the ladies
leaving alone) and have their coffee, cigars, liqueurs and conversation
sitting around the table.
In the drawing-room, meanwhile, the ladies are having coffee, cigarettes,
and liqueurs passed to them. There is not a modern New York hostess,
scarcely even an old-fashioned one, who does not have cigarettes passed
after dinner.
At a dinner of ten or twelve, the five or six ladies are apt to sit in one
group, or possibly two sit by themselves, and three of four together, but
at a very large dinner they inevitably fall into groups of four or five or
so each. In any case, the hostess must see that no one is left to sit
alone. If one of her guests is a stranger to the others, the hostess draws
a chair near one of the groups and offering it to her single guest sits
beside her. After a while when this particular guest has at least joined
the outskirts of the conversation of the group, the hostess leaves her and
joins another group where perhaps she sits beside some one else who has
been somewhat left out. When there is no one who needs any especial
attention, the hostess nevertheless sits for a time with each of the
different groups in order to spend at least a part of the evening with all
of her guests.
=WHEN THE GENTLEMEN RETURN TO THE DRAWING-ROOM=
When the gentlemen return to the drawing-room, if there is a particular
lady that one of them wants to talk to, he naturally goes directly to
where she is, and sits down beside her. If, however, she is securely
wedged in between two other ladies, he must ask her to join him elsewhere.
Supposing Mr. Jones, for instance, wants to talk to Mrs. Bobo Gilding, who
is sitting between Mrs. Stranger and Miss Stiffleigh: Mr. Jones saunters
up to Mrs. Gilding--he must not look too eager or seem too directly to
prefer her to the two who are flanking her position, so he says rather
casually, "Will you come and talk to me?" Whereupon she leaves her
sandwiched position and goes over to another part of the room, and sits
down where there is a vacant seat beside her. Usually, however, the ladies
on the ends, being accessible, are more apt to be joined by the first
gentleman entering than is the one in the center, whom it is impossible to
reach. Etiquette has always decreed that gentlemen should not continue to
talk together after leaving the smoking-room, as it is not courteous to
those of the ladies who are necessarily left without partners.
At informal dinners, and even at many formal ones, bridge tables are set
up in an adjoining room, if not in the drawing-room. Those few who do not
play bridge spend a half hour (or less) in conversation and then go home,
unless there is some special diversion.
=MUSIC OR OTHER ENTERTAINMENT AFTER DINNER=
Very large dinners of fifty or over are almost invariably followed by some
sort of entertainment. Either the dinner is given before a ball or a
musicale or amateur theatricals, or professionals are brought in to dance
or sing.
In this day when conversation is not so much a "lost" as a "wilfully
abandoned" art, people in numbers can not be left to spend an evening on
nothing but conversation. Grouped together by the hundred and with bridge
tables absent, the modern fashionables in America, and in England, too,
are as helpless as children at a party without something for them to do,
listen to, or look at!
=VERY BIG DINNERS=
A dinner of sixty, for instance, is always served at separate tables; a
center one of twenty people, and four corner tables of ten each. Or if
less, a center table of twelve and four smaller tables of eight. A dinner
of thirty-six or less is seated at a single table.
But whether there are eighteen, eighty, or one or two hundred, the setting
of each individual table and the service is precisely the same. Each one
is set with centerpiece, candles, compotiers, and evenly spaced plates,
with the addition of a number by which to identify it; or else each table
is decorated with different colored flowers, pink, yellow, orchid, white.
Whatever the manner of identification, the number or the color is written
in the corner of the ladies' name cards that go in the envelopes handed to
each arriving gentleman at the door: "pink," "yellow," "orchid," "white,"
or "center table."
In arranging for the service of dinner the butler details three footmen,
usually, to each table of ten, and six footmen to the center table of
twenty. There are several houses (palaces really) in New York that have
dining-rooms big enough to seat a hundred or more easily. But sixty is a
very big dinner, and even thirty does not "go" well without an
entertainment following it.
Otherwise the details are the same in every particular as well as in table
setting: the hostess receives at the door; guests stand until dinner is
announced; the host leads the way with the guest of honor. The hostess
goes to table last. The host and hostess always sit at the big center
table and the others at that table are invariably the oldest present. No
one resents being grouped according to "age," but many do resent a
segregation of ultra fashionables. You must never put all the prominent
ones at one table, unless you want forever to lose the acquaintance of
those at every other.
After dinner, the gentlemen go to the smoking-room and the ladies sit in
the ballroom, where, if there is to be a theatrical performance, the stage
is probably arranged. The gentlemen return, the guests take their places,
and the performance begins. After the performance the leave-taking is the
same as at all dinners or parties.
=TAKING LEAVE=
That the guest of honor must be first to take leave was in former times so
fixed a rule that everyone used to sit on and on, no matter how late it
became, waiting for her whose duty it was, to go! More often than not, the
guest of honor was an absent-minded old lady, or celebrity, who very
likely was vaguely saying to herself, "Oh, my! are these people never
going home?" until by and by it dawned upon her that the obligation was
her own!
But to-day, although it is still the obligation of the guest who sat on
the host's right to make the move to go, it is not considered
ill-mannered, if the hour is growing late, for another lady to rise first.
In fact, unless the guest of honor is one _really_, meaning a stranger or
an elderly lady of distinction, there is no actual precedence in being the
one first to go. If the hour is very early when the first lady rises, the
hostess, who always rises too, very likely says: "I hope you are not
thinking of going!"
The guest answers, "We don't want to in the least, but Dick has to be at
the office so early!" or "I'm sorry, but I must. Thank you so much for
asking us."
Usually, however, each one merely says, "Good night, thank you so much."
The hostess answers, "I am so glad you could come!" and she then presses a
bell (not one that any guest can hear!) for the servants to be in the
dressing-rooms and hall. When one guest leaves, they all leave--except
those at the bridge tables. They all say, "Good night" to whomever they
were talking with and shake hands, and then going up to their hostess,
they shake hands and say, "Thank you for asking us," or "Thank you so
much."
"Thank you so much; good night," is the usual expression. And the hostess
answers, "It was so nice to see you again," or "I'm glad you could come."
But most usually of all she says merely, "Good night!" and suggests
friendliness by the tone in which she says it--an accent slightly more on
the "good" perhaps than on the "night."
In the dressing-room, or in the hall, the maid is waiting to help the
ladies on with their wraps, and the butler is at the door. When Mr. and
Mrs. Jones are ready to leave, he goes out on the front steps and calls,
"Mr. Jones' car!" The Jones' chauffeur answers, "Here," the butler says to
either Mr. or Mrs. Jones, "Your car is at the door!" and they go out.
The bridge people leave as they finish their games; sometimes a table at a
time or most likely two together. (Husbands and wives are never, if it
can be avoided, put at the same table.) Young people in saying good night
say, "Good night, it has been too wonderful!" or "Good night, and thank
you _so_ much." And the hostess smiles and says, "So glad you could come!"
or just "Good night!"
=THE LITTLE DINNER=
The little dinner is thought by most people to be the very pleasantest
social function there is. It is always informal, of course, and intimate
conversation is possible, since strangers are seldom, or at least very
carefully, included. For younger people, or others who do not find great
satisfaction in conversation, the dinner of eight and two tables of bridge
afterwards has no rival in popularity. The formal dinner is liked by most
people now and then (and for those who don't especially like it, it is at
least salutary as a spine stiffening exercise), but for night after night,
season after season, the little dinner is to social activity what the
roast course is to the meal.
The service of a "little" dinner is the same as that of a big one. As has
been said, proper service in properly run houses is never relaxed, whether
dinner is for eighteen or for two alone. The table appointments are
equally fine and beautiful, though possibly not quite so rare. Really
priceless old glass and china can't be replaced because duplicates do not
exist and to use it three times a day would be to court destruction;
replicas, however, are scarcely less beautiful and can be replaced if
chipped. The silver is identical; the food is equally well prepared,
though a course or two is eliminated; the service is precisely the same.
The clothes that fashionable people wear every evening they are home
alone, are, if not the same, at least as beautiful of their kind. Young
Gilding's lounge suit is quite as "handsome" as his dinner clothes, and he
tubs and shaves and changes his linen when he puts it on. His wife wears a
tea gown, which is classified as a neglige rather in irony, since it is
apt to be more elaborate and gorgeous (to say nothing of dignified) than
half of the garments that masquerade these days as evening dresses! They
wear these informal clothes only if very intimate friends are coming to
dinner alone. "Alone" may include as many as eight!--but never includes a
stranger.
[Illustration: A DINNER SERVICE WITHOUT SILVER--"THE LITTLE DINNER IS
THOUGHT BY MOST PEOPLE TO BE THE VERY PLEASANTEST SOCIAL FUNCTION THERE
IS." [Page 228.]]
Otherwise, at informal dinners, the host wears a dinner coat and the
hostess a simple evening dress, or perhaps an elaborate one that has been
seen by everyone and which goes on at little dinners for the sake of
getting some "wear out of it." She never, however, receives formally
standing, though she rises when a guest comes into the room, shakes hands
and sits down again. When dinner is announced, gentlemen do not offer
their arms to the ladies. The hostess and the other ladies go into the
dining-room together, not in a procession, but just as they happen to
come. If one of them is much older than the others, the younger ones wait
for her to go ahead of them, or one who is much younger goes last. The men
stroll in the rear. The hostess on reaching the dining-room goes to her
own place where she stands and tells everyone where she or he is to sit.
"Mary, will you sit next to Jim, and Lucy on his other side; Kate, over
there, Bobo, next to me," etc.
=CARVING ON THE TABLE=
Carving is sometimes seen at "home" dinner tables. A certain type of man
always likes to carve, and such a one does. But in forty-nine houses out
of fifty, in New York at least, the carving is done by the cook in the
kitchen--a roast while it is still in the roasting pan, and close to the
range at that, so that nothing can possibly get cooled off in the carving.
After which the pieces are carefully put together again, and transferred
to an intensely hot platter. This method has two advantages over table
carving; quicker service, and hotter food. Unless a change takes place in
the present fashion, none except cooks will know anything about carving,
which was once considered an art necessary to every gentleman. The boast
of the high-born Southerner, that he could carve a canvas-back holding it
on his fork, will be as unknown as the driving of a four-in-hand.
Old-fashioned butlers sometimes carve in the pantry, but in the most
modern service all carving is done by the cook. Cold meats are, in the
English service, put whole on the sideboard and the family and guests cut
off what they choose themselves. In America cold meat is more often sliced
and laid on a platter garnished with finely chopped meat jelly and water
cress or parsley.
=THE "STAG" OR "BACHELOR" DINNER=
A man's dinner is sometimes called a "stag" or a "bachelor" dinner; and as
its name implies, is a dinner given by a man and for men only. A man's
dinner is usually given to celebrate an occasion of welcome or farewell.
The best-known bachelor dinner is the one given by the groom just before
his wedding. Other dinners are more apt to be given by one man (or a group
of men) in honor of a noted citizen who has returned from a long absence,
or who is about to embark on an expedition or a foreign mission. Or a
young man may give a dinner in honor of a friend's twenty-first birthday;
or an older man may give a dinner merely because he has a quantity of game
which he has shot and wants to share with his especial friends.
Nearly always a man's dinner is given at the host's club or his bachelor
quarters or in a private room in a hotel. But if a man chooses to give a
stag dinner in his own house, his wife (or his mother) should not appear.
For a wife to come downstairs and receive the guests for him, can not be
too strongly condemned as out of place. Such a maneuver on her part,
instead of impressing his guests with her own grace and beauty, is far
more likely to make them think what a "poor worm" her husband must be, to
allow himself to be hen-pecked. And for a mother to appear at a son's
dinner is, if anything, worse. An essential piece of advice to every woman
is: No matter how much you may want to say "How do you do" to your
husband's or your son's friends--_don't!_
CHAPTER XV
DINNER GIVING WITH LIMITED EQUIPMENT
=THE SERVICE PROBLEM=
People who live all the year in the country are not troubled with formal
dinner giving, because (excepting on great estates) formality and the
country do not go together.
For the one or two formal dinners which the average city dweller feels
obliged to give every season, nothing is easier than to hire
professionals; it is also economical, since nothing is wasted in
experiment. A cook equal to the Gildings' chef can be had to come in and
cook your dinner at about the price of two charwomen; skilled butlers or
waitresses are to be had in all cities of any size at comparatively
reasonable fees.
The real problem is in giving the innumerable casual and informal dinners
for which professionals are not only expensive, but inappropriate. The
problem of limited equipment would not present great difficulty if the
tendency of the age were toward a slower pace, but the opposite is the
case; no one wants to be kept waiting a second at table, and the world of
fashion is growing more impatient and critical instead of less.
The service of a dinner can however be much simplified and shortened by
choosing dishes that do not require accessories.
=DISHES THAT HAVE ACCOMPANYING CONDIMENTS=
Nothing so delays the service of a dinner as dishes that must immediately
be followed by necessary accessories. If there is no one to help the
butler or waitress, no dish must be included on the menu--unless you are
only one or two at table, or unless your guests are neither critical nor
"modern"--that is not complete in itself.
For instance, fish has nearly always an accompanying dish. Broiled fish,
or fish meuniere, has ice-cold cucumbers sliced as thin as Saratoga chips,
with a very highly seasoned French dressing, or a mixture of cucumbers and
tomatoes. Boiled fish always has mousseline, Hollandaise, mushroom or egg
sauce, and round scooped boiled potatoes sprinkled with parsley. Fried
fish must always be accompanied by tartar sauce and pieces of lemon, and a
boiled fish even if covered with sauce when served, is usually followed by
additional sauce.
Many meats have condiments. Roast beef is never served at a dinner
party--it is a family dish and generally has Yorkshire pudding or roast
potatoes on the platter with the roast itself, and is followed by pickles
or spiced fruit.
Turkey likewise, with its chestnut stuffing and accompanying cranberry
sauce, is not a "company" dish, though excellent for an informal dinner.
Saddle of mutton is a typical company dish--all mutton has currant jelly.
Lamb has mint sauce--or mint jelly.
Partridge or guinea hen must have two sauce boats--presented on one
tray--browned bread-crumbs in one, and cream sauce in the other.
Apple sauce goes with barnyard duck.
The best accompaniment to wild duck is the precisely timed 18 minutes in a
quick oven! And celery salad, which goes with all game, need not be
especially hurried.
Salad is always the accompaniment of "tame game," aspics, cold meat dishes
of all sorts, and is itself "accompanied by" crackers and cheese or cheese
souffle or cheese straws.
=SPECIAL MENUS OF UNACCOMPANIED DISHES=
One person can wait on eight people if dishes are chosen which need no
supplements. The fewer the dishes to be passed, the fewer the hands needed
to pass them. And yet many housekeepers thoughtlessly order dishes within
the list above, and then wonder why the dinner is so hopelessly slow, when
their waitress is usually so good!
The following suggestions are merely offered in illustration; each
housekeeper can easily devise further for herself. It is not necessary to
pass anything whatever with melon or grapefruit, or a macedoine of fruit,
or a canape. Oysters, on the other hand, have to be followed by tabasco
and buttered brown bread. Soup needs nothing with it (if you do not choose
split pea which needs croutons, or petite marmite which needs grated
cheese). Fish dishes which are "made" with sauce in the dish, such as sole
au vin blanc, lobster Newburg, crab ravigote, fish mousse, especially if
in a ring filled with plenty of sauce, do not need anything more. Tartar
sauce for fried fish can be put in baskets made of hollowed-out lemon
rind--a basket for each person--and used as a garnishing around the dish.
Filet mignon, or fillet of beef, both of them surrounded by little clumps
of vegetables share with chicken casserole in being the life-savers of the
hostess who has one waitress in her dining-room. Another dish, but more
appropriate to lunch than to dinner, is of French chops banked against
mashed potatoes, or puree of chestnuts, and surrounded by string beans or
peas. None of these dishes requires any following dish whatever, not even
a vegetable.
Fried chicken with corn fritters on the platter is almost as good as the
two beef dishes, since the one green vegetable which should go with it,
can be served leisurely, because fried chicken is not quickly eaten. And a
ring of aspic with salad in the center does not require accompanying
crackers as immediately as plain lettuce.
Steak and broiled chicken are fairly practical since neither needs gravy,
condiment, or sauce--especially if you have a divided vegetable dish so
that two vegetables can be passed at the same time.
If a hostess chooses not necessarily the above dishes but others which
approximately take their places, she need have no fear of a slow dinner,
if her one butler or waitress is at all competent.
=THE POSSIBILITIES OF THE PLAIN COOK=
In giving informal or little dinners, you need never worry because you
cannot set the dishes of a "professional" dinner-party cook before your
friends or even strangers; so long as the food that you are offering is
good of its kind.
It is by no means necessary that your cook should be able to make the
"clear" soup that is one of the tests of the perfect cook (and practically
never produced by any other); nor is it necessary that she be able to
construct comestible mosaics and sculptures. The essential thing is to
prevent her from attempting anything she can't do well. If she can make
certain dishes that are pretty as well as good to taste, so much the
better. But remember, the more pretentious a dish is, the more it
challenges criticism.
If your cook can make neither clear nor cream soup, but can make a
delicious clam chowder, better far to have a clam chowder! On no account
let her attempt clear green turtle, which has about as good a chance to be
perfect as a supreme of boned capon--in other words, none whatsoever! And
the same way throughout dinner. Whichever dishes your own particular Nora
or Selma or Marie can do best, those are the ones you must have for your
dinners. Another thing: it is not important to have variety. Because you
gave the Normans chicken casserole the last time they dined with you is no
reason why you should not give it to them again--if that is the "specialty
of the house" as the French say. A late, and greatly loved, hostess whose
Sunday luncheons at a huge country house just outside of Washington were
for years one of the outstanding features of Washington's smartest
society, had the same lunch exactly, week after week, year after year.
Those who went to her house knew just as well what the dishes would be as
they did where the dining-room was situated. At her few enormous and
formal dinners in town, her cook was allowed to be magnificently
architectural, but if you dined with her alone, the chances were ten to
one that the Sunday chicken and pancakes would appear before you.
=DO NOT EXPERIMENT FOR STRANGERS=
Typical dinner-party dishes are invariably the temptation no less than the
downfall of ambitious ignorance. Never let an inexperienced cook _attempt
a new dish_ for company, no matter how attractive her description of it
may sound. Try it yourself, or when you are having family or most intimate
friends who will understand if it turns out all wrong that it is a "trial"
dish. In fact, it is a very good idea to share the testing of it with some
one who can help you in suggestions, if they are needed for its
improvement. Or supposing you have a cook who is rather poor on all dinner
dishes, but makes delicious bread and cake and waffles and oyster stew and
creamed chicken, or even hash! You can make a specialty of asking people
to "supper." Suppers are necessarily informal, but there is no objection
in that. Formal parties play a very small role anyway compared to informal
ones. There are no end of people, and the smartest ones at that, who
entertain only in the most informal possible way. Mrs. Oldname gives at
most two formal dinners a year; her typical dinners and suppers are for
eight.
=PROPER DISHING=
The "dishing" is quite as important as the cooking; a smear or thumb-mark
on the edge of a dish is like a spot on the front of a dress!
Water must not be allowed to collect at the bottom of a dish (that is why
a folded napkin is always put under boiled fish and sometimes under
asparagus). And dishes must be hot; they cannot be too hot! Meat juice
that has started to crust is nauseating. Far better have food too hot to
eat and let people take their time eating it than that others should
suffer the disgust of cold victuals! Sending in cold food is one of the
worst faults (next to not knowing how to cook) that a cook can have.
=PROFESSIONAL OR HOME DINING ROOM SERVICE=
Just as it is better to hire a professional dinner-party cook than to run
the risk of attempting a formal dinner with your own Nora or Selma unless
you are very sure she is adequate, in the same way it is better to have a
professional waitress as captain over your own, or a professional butler
over your own inexperienced one, than to have your meal served in spasms
and long pauses. But if your waitress, assisted by the chambermaid,
perfectly waits on six, you will find that they can very nicely manage
ten, even with accompanied dishes.
=BLUNDERS IN SERVICE=
If an inexperienced servant blunders, you should pretend, if you can, not
to know it. Never attract anyone's attention to anything by apologizing or
explaining, unless the accident happens to a guest. Under ordinary
circumstances "least said, soonest mended" is the best policy. If a
servant blunders, it makes the situation much worse to take her to task,
the cause being usually that she is nervous or ignorant. Speak, if it is
necessary to direct her, very gently and as kindly as possible; your
object being to restore confidence, not to increase the disorder. Beckon
her to you and tell her as you might tell a child you were teaching: "Give
Mrs. Smith a tablespoon, not a teaspoon." Or, "You have forgotten the fork
on that dish." Never let her feel that you think her stupid, but encourage
her as much as possible and when she does anything especially well, tell
her so.
=THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF PRAISE=
Nearly all people are quick to censure but rather chary of praise.
Admonish of course where you must, but censure only with justice, and
don't forget that whether of high estate or humble, we all of us like
praise--sometimes. When a guest tells you your dinner is the best he has
ever eaten, remember that the cook cooked it, and tell her it was praised.
Or if the dining-room service was silent and quick and perfect, then tell
those who served it how well it was done. If you are entertaining all the
time, you need not commend your household after every dinner you give, but
if any especial willingness, attentiveness, or tact is shown, don't forget
that a little praise is not only merest justice but is beyond the purse of
no one.
CHAPTER XVI
LUNCHEONS, BREAKFASTS AND SUPPERS
=THE INVITATIONS=
Although the engraved card is occasionally used for an elaborate luncheon,
especially for one given in honor of a noted person, formal invitations to
lunch in very fashionable houses are nearly always written in the first
person, and rarely sent out more than a week in advance. For instance:
Dear Mrs. Kindhart (or Martha):
Will you lunch with me on Monday the tenth at half after one
o'clock?
Hoping so much to see you,
Sincerely (or affectionately),
Jane Toplofty.
If the above lunch were given in honor of somebody--Mrs. Eminent, for
instance--the phrase "to meet Mrs. Eminent" would have been added
immediately after the word "o'clock." At a very large luncheon for which
the engraved card might be used, "To meet Mrs. Eminent" would be written
across the top of the card of invitation.
Informal invitations are telephoned nearly always.
Invitation to a stand-up luncheon (or breakfast; it is breakfast if the
hour is twelve or half after, and lunch if at one, or one-thirty), is
either telephoned or written on an ordinary visiting card:
[HW: Sat. Oct. 2.
Luncheon at 1 o'clock]
Mr. and Mrs. Gilding
GOLDEN HALL
If R.s.v.p. is added in the lower corner, the invitation should be
answered, otherwise the hostess is obliged to guess how many to provide
for.
Or, if the hostess prefers, a personal note is always courteous:
Dear Mrs. Neighbor:
We are having a stand-up luncheon on Saturday, October Second, at
one o'clock, and hope that you and your husband and any guests
who may be staying with you will come,
Very sincerely yours,
Alice Toplofty Gilding.
Golden Hall
Sept. 27.
A personal note always exacts a reply--which may however be telephoned,
unless the invitation was worded in the formal third person. A written
answer is more polite, if the hostess is somewhat of a stranger to you.
=THE FORMAL LUNCHEON OF TO-DAY=
Luncheon, being a daylight function, is never so formidable as a dinner,
even though it may be every bit as formal and differ from the latter in
minor details only. Luncheons are generally given by, and for, ladies,
but it is not unusual, especially in summer places or in town on Saturday
or Sunday, to include an equal number of gentlemen.
But no matter how large or formal a luncheon may be, there is rarely a
chauffeur on the sidewalk, or a carpet or an awning. The hostess, instead
of receiving at the door, sits usually in the center of the room in some
place that has an unobstructed approach from the door. Each guest coming
into the room is preceded by the butler to within a short speaking
distance of the hostess, where he announces the new arrival's name, and
then stands aside. Where there is a waitress instead of a butler, guests
greet the hostess unannounced. The hostess rises, or if standing takes a
step forward, shakes hands, says "I'm so glad to see you," or "I am
delighted to see you," or "How do you do!" She then waits for a second or
two to see if the guest who has just come in speaks to anyone; if not, she
makes the necessary introduction.
When the butler or waitress has "counted heads" and knows the guests have
arrived, he or she enters the room, bows to the hostess and says,
"Luncheon is served."
If there is a guest of honor, the hostess leads the way to the
dining-room, walking beside her. Otherwise, the guests go in twos or
threes, or even singly, just as they happen to come, except that the very
young make way for their elders, and gentlemen stroll in with those they
happen to be talking to, or, if alone, fill in the rear. The gentlemen
_never_ offer their arms to ladies in going in to a luncheon--unless there
should be an elderly guest of honor, who might be taken in by the host, as
at a dinner. But the others follow informally.
=THE TABLE=
Candles have no place on a lunch or breakfast table; and are used only
where a dining-room is unfortunately without daylight. Also a plain damask
tablecloth (which must always be put on top of a thick table felt) is
correct for dinner but not for luncheon. The traditional lunch table is
"bare"--which does not mean actually bare at all, but that it has a
centerpiece, either round or rectangular or square, with place mats to
match, made in literally unrestricted varieties of linen, needlework and
lace. The centerpiece is anywhere from 30 inches to a yard and a half
square, on a square or round table, and from half a yard to a yard wide by
length in proportion to the length of a rectangular table. The place mats
are round or square or rectangular to match, and are put at the places.
Or if the table is a refectory one, instead of centerpiece and doilies,
the table is set with a runner not reaching to the edge at the side, but
falling over both ends. Or there may be a tablecloth made to fit the top
of the table to within an inch or two of its edge. Occasionally there is a
real cloth that hangs over like a dinner cloth, but it always has lace or
open-work and is made of fine linen so that the table shows through.
The decorations of the table are practically the same as for dinner:
flowers, or a silver ornament or epergne in the center, and flower dishes
or compotiers or patens filled with ornamental fruit or candy at the
corners. If the table is very large and rather bare without candles, four
vases or silver bowls of flowers, or ornamental figures are added.
If the center ornament is of porcelain, four porcelain figures to match
have at least a logical reason for their presence, or a bisque "garden"
set of vases and balustrades, with small flowers and vines put in the
vases to look as though they were growing, follows out the decoration.
Most people, however, like a sparsely ornamented table.
The places are set as for dinner, with a place plate, three forks, two
knives and a small spoon. The lunch napkin, which should match the table
linen, is much smaller than the dinner napkin, and is not folded quite the
same: it is folded like a handkerchief, in only four folds (four
thicknesses). The square is laid on the place plate diagonally, with the
monogrammed (or embroidered) corner pointing down toward the edge of the
table. The upper corner is then turned sharply under in a flat crease for
about a quarter of its diagonal length; then the two sides are rolled
loosely under, making a sort of pillow effect laid sideways; with a
straight top edge and a pointed lower edge, and the monogram displayed in
the center.
Another feature of luncheon service, which is always omitted at dinner, is
the bread and butter plate.
_The Bread and Butter Plate_
The butter plate has been entirely dispossessed by the bread and butter
plate, which is part of the luncheon service always--as well as of
breakfast and supper. It is a very small plate about five and a half to
six and a half inches in diameter, and is put at the left side of each
place just beyond the forks. Butter is sometimes put on the plate by the
servant (as in a restaurant) but usually it is passed. Hot breads are an
important feature of every luncheon; hot crescents, soda biscuits, bread
biscuits, dinner rolls, or corn bread, the latter baked in small pans like
pie plates four inches in diameter. Very thin bread that is roasted in the
oven until it is curled and light brown (exactly like a large Saratoga
chip), is often made for those who don't eat butter, and is also suitable
for dinner. This "double-baked" bread, toast, and one or two of the above
varieties, are all put in an old-fashioned silver cake-basket, or actual
basket of wicker, and passed as often as necessary. Butter is also passed
(or helped) throughout the meal until the table is cleared for dessert.
Bread and butter plates are always removed with the salt and pepper pots.
=THE SERVICE OF LUNCHEON=
The service is identical with that of dinner. Carving is done in the
kitchen and no food set on the table except ornamental dishes of fruit,
candy and nuts. The plate service is also the same as at dinner. The
places are never left plateless, excepting after salad, when the table is
cleared and crumbed for dessert. The dessert plates and finger bowls are
arranged as for dinner. Flowers are usually put in the finger bowls, a
little spray of any sweet-scented flower, but "corsage bouquets" laid at
the places with flower pins complete are in very bad taste.
=THE LUNCHEON MENU=
Five courses at most (not counting the passing of a dish of candy or
after-dinner coffee as a course), or more usually four actual courses, are
thought sufficient in the smartest houses. Not even at the Worldlys' or
the Gildings' will you ever see a longer menu than:
1. Fruit, or soup in cups
2. Eggs
3. Meat and vegetables
4. Salad
5. Dessert
or
1. Fruit
2. Soup
3. Meat and vegetables
4. Salad
5. Dessert
or
1. Fruit
2. Soup
3. Eggs
4. Fowl or "tame" game with salad
5. Dessert
An informal lunch menu is seldom more than four courses and would
eliminate either No. 1 or No. 2 or No. 5.
The most popular fruit course is a macedoine or mixture of fresh orange,
grape fruit, malaga grapes, banana, and perhaps a peach or a little
pineapple; in fact, any sort of fruit cut into very small pieces, with
sugar and maraschino, or rum, for flavor--or nothing but sugar--served in
special bowl-shaped glasses that fit into long-stemmed and much larger
ones, with a space for crushed ice between; or it can just as well be put
in champagne or any bowl-shaped glasses, after being kept as cold as
possible in the ice-box until sent to the table.
If the first course is grape fruit, it is cut across in half, the sections
cut free and all dividing skin and seeds taken out with a sharp vegetable
knife, and sugar put in it and left standing for an hour or so. A slice
of melon is served plain.
Soup at luncheon, or at a wedding breakfast or a ball supper, is never
served in soup plates, but in two-handled cups, and is eaten with a
teaspoon or a bouillon spoon. It is limited to a few varieties: either
chicken, or clam broth, with a spoonful of whipped cream on top; or
bouillon, or green turtle, or strained chicken, or tomato broth; or in
summer, cold bouillon or broth.
Lunch party egg dishes must number a hundred varieties. (See any cook
book!) Eggs that are substantial and "rich," such as eggs Benedict, or
stuffed with pate de foie gras and a mushroom sauce, should then be
"balanced" by a simple meat, such as broiled chicken and salad, combining
meat and salad courses in one. On the other hand, should you have a light
egg course, like "eggs surprise," you could have meat and vegetables, and
plain salad; or an elaborate salad and no dessert. Or with fruit and soup,
omit eggs, especially if there is to be an aspic with salad.
The menu of an informal luncheon, if it does not leave out a course, at
least chooses simpler dishes. A bouillon or broth, shirred eggs or an
omelette; or scrambled eggs on toast which has first been spread with a
pate or meat puree; then chicken or a chop with vegetables, a salad of
plain lettuce with crackers and cheese, and a pudding or pie or any other
"family" dessert. Or broiled chicken, chicken croquettes, or an aspic, is
served with the salad in very hot weather. While cold food is both
appropriate and palatable, no meal should ever be chosen without at least
one course of hot food. Many people dislike cold food, and it disagrees
with others, but if you offer your guests soup, or even tea or chocolate,
it would then do to have the rest of the meal cold.
=LUNCHEON BEVERAGES=
It is an American custom--especially in communities where the five o'clock
tea habit is neither so strong nor so universal as in New York, for the
lady of a house to have the tea set put before her at the table, not only
when alone, but when having friends lunching informally with her, and to
pour tea, coffee, or chocolate. And there is certainly not the slightest
reason why, if she is used to these beverages and |
