ON no occasion is a want of punctuality more ill-bred than at a
dinner party, whether it is the guests who are late, or the
hostess who allows dinner to be later than the time appointed.
Belie remarks, with as much truth as sarcasm:
"I have always been punctual to the hour of dinner, for I know
that those whom I kept waiting would employ those unpleasant
moments to sum up all my faults."
To arrive too early is to annoy the lady of the house by
disturbing her at her toilet.
To arrive too late is injurious to the dinner, to the temper of
your host, of the other guests and of the servants.
It is really a sad breach of etiquette to be later than the hour
named in your invitation for dinner, and from ten to fifteen
minutes before it is quite soon enough for your arrival.
As regards the hour for dinner, etiquette, strictly so called, has
not prescribed anything. Custom, the fashion, convenience, a score
of things may control it. From five to eight o'clock, according
somewhat to the season of the year, is the present fashionable
limit. By that time the business of most men is over for the day,
which can scarcely be said of an hour earlier than five.
The lady of the house should be in her drawing-room, ready to
receive her guests, ten or fifteen minutes before the hour fixed
for their arrival, and the daughters of the house should be with
her, and not drop in one by one after the guests' arrival. The
gentleman of the house should also be present, and in case it is a
strictly gentleman's party, at which no hostess presides, he must
be all ready before the appointed time to do the honors.
On guests being announced, the lady advances a few steps towards
them, and should receive them cordially with some words of
welcome.
The hostess must never betray any chagrin at the lateness of a
guest, but try to place the unfortunate last arrival as much at
ease as possible by her cordial welcome and unembarrassed manner.
Before all the guests have arrived the lady should have made her
arrangements as to what gentleman and lady are to go in to dinner
together, and before dinner is announced the gentlemen of the
party should be informed what lady they are to escort to the
table.
The gentleman of the house offers his arm to the lady most honored
amongst the guests, the gentleman most distinguished offers his
arm to the lady of the house.
Gentlemen give the left arm to a lady, excepting military officers
in full dress, who give the right arm, as the sword is
inconveniently worn for offering the left. In all other cases the
right arm must be left free.
The order of procession being settled, the company move according
to it from the drawing-room to the dining-room, as soon as dinner
is announced.
The host sits at the bottom of the table, the hostess at the top.
At the right of the host is placed the lady he escorted from the
drawing-room, and at the right of the hostess her escort. The next
place of honor is at the left of the hostess.
It is a good plan, and rapidly becoming an established custom, to
have small cards with the names of the guests written upon them,
laid upon the plate at each seat. Each one thus taking the place
assigned prevents confusion, and gives the hostess the privilege
of placing near to each other the guests who will prove mutually
agreeable.
Gentlemen should stand behind their respective chairs until all
the ladies are seated, and then take their own seats, being
careful that their chairs do not stand upon the dresses of the
ladies beside them.
Seats having been apportioned to all, grace is said, by a
clergyman if there is one present, if not, by the host. The
clergyman should be invited to say grace by the host.
If the dinner is _a la Russe_, there will not be any carving done
on the table itself.
If the party is small, mere _en famille_, the hostess will have a
dish before her, the contents of which will have to be carved. The
gentleman on her right hand should in that case offer to carve for
her, but if she declines, should not press the offer. Many ladies
are excellent carvers, and like to appear so.
There is no space in our little volume for directions upon
carving, nor do they form any portion of the art of etiquette. All
that etiquette has to say on the subject is that you must not
stand up to carve; you must not pursue the bird, joint or whatever
the meat may be, all round the dish; nor should you comment upon
the age of the fowl, the toughness of the meat or your own
awkwardness in carving. If you really do not understand it, do not
attempt it; say so and let the waiter cut it up.
Never be helped twice to soup or fish, and indeed it appears low
bred to be twice served to any one dish. You may refuse either
soup or fish, but make no comment if you do, as to your liking or
dislike for the dish, nor is it incumbent upon you to state that
"soup does not agree with you," or that "fish always make you
ill;" any such remarks are rude. Simply to say "no, thank you," in
refusing a dish, is all the reply that strict etiquette will allow
upon the subject.
No remarks should be made by the host or hostess on the refusal of
a guest to partake of a proffered dish. Pressing the food upon a
guest with "Oh, do take some," or "You must, it was made by so-
and-so," or indeed any remark upon the repast, is not only
annoying to the guest, but a proof of low-breeding in the
entertainers. There is a sort of hospitality about it, but it is a
rough barbarism. Who does not remember the description of Bridget
Elias' hospitable _gaucherie_ in Charles Lamb's "Poor Relation,"
when urging the poor relation to eat with the speech: "Do take
some more; remember you do not get pudding every day."
Never should a host or hostess apologize for the fare set before
their guest. Such apologies are generally a mere fishing for
compliment, untrue and in entirely bad taste. In inviting his
friends to dinner, the host binds himself to set before them the
best his house and purse can afford, and if the fare is good the
guest will soon find it out, if bad, no apologies will make it any
better.
It is in bad taste to apologize to the waiters for the trouble
given them, and betrays a lamentable ignorance of the customs of
society. They are hired to wait upon the guests, and it is no
affair of those guests how they feel, as long as they discharge
their duty. To reprove a waiter is the height of ill-breeding.
Do not, when a dish is brought to you, say you prefer to be helped
after some one else. Accept or refuse what is offered to you, and
let the waiter pass the dish on. A gentleman, however, will see
that the lady he has escorted to the table is helped as she
wishes, before he attends to his own dinner, but to interfere with
the lady on the other side of him is all insult to her escort. He
may ask the lady under his care if she will be helped from any
dish offered him, before he accepts or declines for himself, and
will issue her orders for her to the waiter when she selects her
dinner.
A gentleman or a lady will always say "Thank you" to a waiter,
but nothing more.
A guest must never find fault with any dish placed before him, and
to appear to question the quality or freshness of the viands by
smelling or fastidiously tasting them, is a positive insult to the
gentleman who has invited him to his table.
A host or hostess may never find fault before their guests,
neither with the dinner, with the servants, nor with each other.
Burnt soup, fish boiled to rags, underdone vegetables, heavy
pastry, must be endured with smiling equanimity. No scowl must
greet the crash that announces the fall of a tray of the finest
glass, no word of remonstrance greet the deluge of a plate of soup
over the tablecloth. If care has not been taken to secure first-
rate cooks and well-trained waiters, the faults of omission and
commission must be endured with placid serenity.
After the ladies have all been served, the guests to the right of
the hostess must be attended to, then the guest on her left, and
so on until all are served. Ten persons are all that one cook can
properly prepare a dinner for, and three waiters will be amply
employed in waiting upon that number. If more are invited the
attempt to make the conversation general had better not be made,
but the guests allowed to converse _tete-a-tete_.
Wine should be handed by the waiters after soup. To decline wine
by covering the mouth of the wine-glass with the hand is an ill-
bred gesture. Say simply "Not any, thank you," and the waiter will
not fill your glass.
Fish follows next in order. A slice, neatly _cut_, not hashed up
by bad carving, should be placed upon each plate, with a slice of
egg, and fish sauce. If there be a silver knife, use it to cut the
fish. If not, take your fork in your right hand and supply the
place of the knife by a small piece of bread, which you should cut
off, and when your fish is eaten, leave upon your plate.
Do not eat as if you had good fare for the first time in your
life--that is to say, do not eat ravenously, and do not eat in a
noticeable way.
Never smack the lips when eating.
Never take a long, deep breath after you finish eating, as if the
exercise had fatigued you.
Never make noises in your mouth or throat.
Never suck your teeth, or pass your tongue round the outside of
your gums.
Never, even with cheese, put your knife into your mouth.
Never pick your teeth, or put your finger into your mouth.
If you find you have a fish-bone in your mouth, cover your lips
with a napkin to remove it. It is better to be very careful to
remove all bones before putting fish into your mouth. On no
account spit the bones out upon your plate.
Never take the bones of fowl or birds up in your fingers to gnaw or
suck them. Remove the meat with your knife, and convey it to your
mouth with your fork, never being too eager to clean off every
particle of flesh.
Wipe your finger tips, if soiled, upon the table napkin, never
upon your tongue or the table-cloth. An elegant eater will never
have occasion to think of his fingers.
Never use the table-cloth to wipe your mouth, you might as well
use it in place of your pocket handkerchief.
Never remark upon what is placed before you, either in praise or
dispraise of it.
Neither drink nor speak when you have anything in your mouth.
When you are helped, begin to eat, without regard to those who
have already, or have not yet, been helped.
Never watch the dishes as they are uncovered, nor make any
exclamation when you see their contents.
Under no circumstances tuck your napkin, bib-fashion, into your
shirt collar. Unfold it partially and put it in your lap, covering
your knees. A lady may slip a corner under her belt if there is
danger of its slipping upon her dress, but a gentleman must be
awkward indeed if he lets his napkin fall upon the floor.
No gentleman will ever settle himself in his chair, pushing back
his cuffs, as if for a "set-to," at the table.
If you make any general remark, do not look up at the waiters to
see what effect it has upon them. If they are well-trained they
will not move a muscle at hearing the most laughable story, nor
will they give any sign whatever that they have not closed their
ears like deaf adders to all that has been going on. In any case,
however, you must refrain from noticing them.
If you want anything, take the occasion of a waiter being near to
you, to ask for it in an undertone. To shout out "Waiter!" or
order one about, as if you were in a restaurant, is a certain mark
of ill-breeding.
Unless the party is a very small one, general conversation is
impossible. In such a case, you must converse with those on either
side of you, not confining your remarks exclusively to one.
Talk in a low, quiet tone, but never in a whisper.
To affect an air of mystery or secrecy at a dinner-table, is an
insult to your companion and company assembled.
It is in bad taste to force the attention of the company upon
yourself by loud talking or loud laughing.
Too many jokes or anecdotes are in bad taste, but the subjects for
conversation should not be too serious.
Any gentleman propounding a conundrum at the dinner-table deserves
to be taken away by the police.
To use one's own knife, spoon or fingers, instead of the
butterknife, sugar-tongs or salt-spoons, is to persuade the
company that you have never seen the latter articles before, and
are unacquainted with their use.
Never eat all that is on your plate, and above all never be guilty
of the _gaucherie_ of scraping your plate, or passing your bread
over it as if to clean it.
Never fill your mouth so full that you cannot converse; at the
same time avoid the appearance of merely playing with your food.
Eat in small mouthfuls, and rather slowly than rapidly.
If upon opening fruit you find it is not perfect, or there is a
worm in it, pass your plate quietly and without remark to the
waiter, who will bring you a clean one.
None but a low-bred clown will ever carry fruit or _bon bons_ away
from the table.
Drinking wine with people is an old custom, but it will now-adays
be found to exist only among the past or passing generation. If
you are, however, asked to take wine with any one, you should fill
your glass with the same sort of wine your friend has, and raise
it to your lips. You need only taste, not act upon the principle
of "no heel-taps."
A man would be looked upon as a curiosity, nay, many would not
understand what he meant, who should at the present day propose a
"sentiment" before drinking wine.
Never spit from your mouth the skins of grapes, the stones or pips
of fruits. Receive them upon the prongs of your fork, laid
horizontally, and place them as conveniently as so inelegant a
process will allow upon the edge of your plate.
Never play with your fingers upon the table.
Never play with your knife and fork, fidget with your salt-cellar,
balance your spoon on your tumbler, make pills of your bread, or
perform any of those vulgar antics unfortunately too often seen at
table.
Never in conversation, illustrate your remarks by plans drawn upon
the table-cloth with your nail, or built of your knife, fork and
spoon.
Never stretch your feet out under the table, so as to touch those
of your opposite neighbor. It is quite as bad to put them up under
you upon the chair-bar, or curl them up under the chair itself.
Try to take an easy position at table, neither pressing closely up
to it, nor yet so far away as to risk depositing your food upon
the floor instead of conveying it to your mouth.
Never touch fruit with your fingers. If you wish to peel an apple,
a pear or a peach, hold the fruit on a fork in your left hand, and
peel with a silver knife in your right. Eat it in small slices cut
from the whole fruit, but never bite it, or anything else at
table. Need I say no fruit should ever be sucked at the table.
When the hostess thinks her lady friends have taken as much
dessert as they wish, she catches the eye of the principal among
them; an interchange of ocular telegraphing takes place, the
hostess rises, and with her all the company rise; the gentlemen
make a passage for the ladies to pass; the one who is nearest to
the door opens it, and holds it open until all the ladies have
passed out of the room.
As soon as the ladies have retired the gentlemen may resume their
seats for more wine and conversation, but it is a very poor
compliment to the lady guests to linger long in the dining-room.
The ladies upon leaving the dining-room, retire to the drawing-
room, and occupy themselves until the gentlemen again join them.
It is well for the hostess to have a reserve force for this
interval, of photographic albums, stereoscopes, annuals, new
music, in fact, all the ammunition she can provide to make this
often tedious interval pass pleasantly.
If you dine in the French fashion, the gentlemen rise with the
ladies, each offering his arm to the lady he escorted to dinner,
and all proceed to the drawing-room together.
If the gentlemen remain to have coffee served in the dining-room,
tea may be served in the drawing-room to the ladies.
Upon returning to the drawing-room the gentlemen should never
cluster round the door, but join the ladies at once, striving to
repay the hospitality of the hostess by making themselves as
agreeable as possible to the guests.
From two to three hours after dinner is the proper time to leave
the house.
If the dinner is for the gentlemen guests alone, and the lady of
house presides, her duties are over when she rises after dessert.
The gentlemen do not expect to find her in the drawing-room again.
In this case cigars may be served with the coffee, and then the
servants may retire, unless especially summoned to wait. If
smoking is indulged in, have placed upon the table a number of
small match boxes, ashes receivers, and between the chairs
spittoons. And here let me add a few words upon smoking taken from
an English authority, but which, with a few exceptions will apply
equally well to lovers of the weed upon this side of the water. He
says:
"But what shall I say of the fragrant weed which Raleigh taught
our gallants to puff in capacious bowls; which a royal pedant
denounced in a famous 'Counterblast,' which his flattering,
laureate, Ben Jonson, ridiculed to please his master; which our
wives and sisters protest gives rise to the dirtiest and most
unsociable habit a man can indulge in; of which some fair flowers
declare that they love the smell, and others that they will never
marry an indulger (which, by the way, they generally end in
doing); which has won a fame over more space and among better men
than Noah's grape has ever done; which doctors still dispute
about, and boys get sick over; but which is the solace of the
weary laborer; the support of the ill-fed; the refresher of
overwrought brains; the soother of angry fancies; the boast of the
exquisite; the excuse of the idle; the companion of the
philosopher; and the tenth muse of the poet. I will go neither
into the the medical nor the moral questions about the dreamy
calming cloud. I will content myself so far with saying what may
be said for everything that can bless and curse mankind, that in
moderation it is at least harmless; but what is moderate and what
is not, must be determined in each individual case, according to
the habits and constitution of the subjects. If it cures asthma,
it may destroy digestion; if it soothes the nerves, it may, in
excess, produce a chronic irritability.
"But I will regard it in a social point of view, and, first as a
narcotic, notice its effects on the individual character. I
believe then, that in moderation it diminishes the violence of the
passions, and particularly that of the temper. Interested in the
subject, I have taken care to seek instances of members of the
same family having the same violent temper by inheritance, of whom
the one has been calmed down by smoking, and the other gone on in
his passionate course. I believe that it induces a habit of calm
reflectiveness, which causes us to take less prejudiced, perhaps
less zealous views of life, and to be therefore less irritable in
our converse with our fellow-creatures. I am inclined to think
that the clergy, the squirearchy and the peasantry, are the most
prejudiced and most violent classes in this country (England);
there may be other reasons for this, but it is noteworthy that
these are the classes which smoke least. On the other hand, I
confess that it induces a certain lassitude, and a lounging, easy
mode of life, which is fatal both to the precision of manners and
the vivacity of conversation. The mind of a smoker is
contemplative rather than active, and if the weed cures our
irritability, it kills our wit. I believe that it is a fallacy to
suppose that it encourages drinking. There is more drinking and
less smoking in England than in any other country of the the
civilized world. There was more drinking among the gentry of last
century, who never smoked at all. Smoke and wine do not go well
together. Coffee and beer are its best accompaniments; and the one
cannot intoxicate, the other must be largely imbibed to do so. I
have observed among young bachelors that very little wine is drunk
in their chambers, and that beer is gradually taking its place.
The cigar, too, is an excuse for rising from the dinner-table,
where there are no ladies to go to.
"In another point of view, I am inclined to think that smoking has
conduced to make the society of men, when alone, less riotous,
less quarrelsome and even less vicious than it was. Where young
men now blow a common cloud, they were formerly driven to a
fearful consumption of wine; and this in their heads, they were
ready and roused to any iniquity. But the pipe is the bachelors
wife. With it, he can endure solitude longer, and is not forced
into low society in order to shun it. With it, too, the idle can
pass many an hour, which otherwise he would have given, not to
work, but to extravagant follies. With it, he is no longer
restless, and impatient for excitement of any kind. We never hear
now of young blades issuing in bands from their wine to beat the
watch or disturb the slumbering citizens, as we did thirty or
forty years ago, when smoking was still a rarity; they are all
puffing harmlessly in their chambers now. But, on the other hand,
I foresee with dread a too tender allegiance to the pipe, to the
destruction of good society, and the abandonment of the ladies. No
wonder they hate it, dear creatures! the pipe is the worst rival a
woman can have, and it is one whose eyes she cannot scratch out;
who improves with age, while she herself declines; who has an art
which no woman possesses, that of never wearying her devotee; who
is silent, yet a companion; costs little, yet gives much pleasure;
who, lastly, never upbraids, and always yields the same joy. Ah!
this is a powerful rival to wife or maid; and no wonder that at
last the woman succumbs, consents, and, rather than lose her lord
or master, even supplies the hated herb with her own fair hands.
"There are rules to limit this indulgence. One must never smoke,
nor even ask to smoke, in the company of the fair. If they know
that in a few minutes you will be running off to your cigar, the
fair will do well--say it is in a garden, or so--to allow you to
bring it out and smoke it there.
"One must never smoke, again, in the streets--that is, in
daylight. The deadly crime may be committed, like burglary, after
dark, but not before.
"One must never smoke in a room inhabited at times by the ladies;
thus, a well-bred man, who has a wife or sister, will not offer to
smoke in the dining-room after dinner.
"One must never smoke in a public place, where ladies are or might
be; for instance, a flower-show or promenade.
"One may smoke in a railway-carriage, in spite of by-laws, if one
has first obtained the consent of every one present; but if there
be a lady there, though she give her consent, smoke not. In nine
cases out of ten, she will give it from good nature.*
*In America, cars are especially provided for smokers, and no
gentleman will violate etiquette by smoking in any other.
"One must never smoke in a close carriage; one may ask and obtain
leave to smoke, when returning from a pic-nic or expedition, in an
open carriage.
"One must never smoke in a theatre, on a race-course, nor in
church. This last is not, perhaps, a needless caution. In the
Belgian churches you see a placard announcing: "_Ici on ne mache
pas du tabac._'
"One must never smoke when anybody shows an objection to it.
"One must never smoke a pipe in the streets.
"One must never smoke at all in the coffee-room of a hotel.
"One must never smoke, without asking permission, in the presence
of a clergyman.
"But if you smoke, or if you are in the company of smokers, and
are to appear afterwards in the presence of ladies, you must
change your clothes to smoke in. A host who invites you to smoke
will generally offer you an old coat for the purpose.
"You must also after smoking rinse the mouth well out, and if
possible brush the teeth.
"You should never smoke in another person's house without leave,
and you should not ask leave to do so, if there are ladies in the
house.
"When you are going to smoke a cigar, you should offer one at the
same time to anybody present.
"You should always smoke a cigar given to you whether good or bad,
and never make any remark upon its quality."
At a gentleman's party it is the host alone who may call upon any
of the company for a toast, a speech or a song. No matter how much
others may desire it, they may never invite each other.
During the week following a dinner party, it is etiquette for each
guest to call upon the hostess, and it is rude to delay the call
more than a fortnight.
In concluding this chapter we give from a modern English work the
following bills of fare for dinners suiting the different seasons
of the year, which may be useful to young housekeepers:
MENUS OF FOUR CHOICE DINNERS, ADAPTED TO EACH SEASON OF THE
YEAR.
JANUARY.--(FOR TEN PERSONS.)
Consomme soup, with quenelles; Turbot, with Dutch sauce.
TWO REMOVES.--Braized fillet of veal, larded a la Chateaubriand;
Roast turkey, with puree of mushrooms.
FOUR ENTREES.--Oyster Kromeskys, a la Russe; Pork cutlets, sauce
Robert; Partridges, a la Prince of Wales; Supreme of fowls, a la
Macedoine.
SECOND COURSE.--Pintail; Snipes.
ONE REMOVE.--Fondu of Parmesan cheese.
FOUR ENTREMETS.-Salad, a la Rachel; Vol-au-vent of preserved
greengages; Plombieres cream iced; Braized celery with brown
sauce.
APRIL.-(FOR EIGHT PERSONS.)
Cray-fish soup; Spey trout, parsley sauce.
TWO REMOVES.--Boiled fowls, oyster sauce; Glazed tongue A la
jardiniere.
Two ENTREES.--Lamb cutlets, asparagus, peas; Boudins of rabbits, a
la Reine.
SECOND COURSE.--Lobster salad; Green goose.
FOUR ENTREMETS.--Orange fritters; Tapioca pudding; Wine jelly;
Potatoes a la Lyonnaise.
JUNE.--(FOR TWELVE PERSONS.)
Puree of green peas, soup; Stewed sturgeon, matelotte sauce;
Fillets of mackerel a la maitre d'hotel.
TWO REMOVES.--Roast fore-quarter of lamb; Spring chickens A la
Montmorency.
FOUR ENTREES.--Fillets of ducklings, with green peas; Mutton
cutlets a la Wyndham; Blanquette of chicken with cucumbers;
Timbale of macaroni a la Milanaise.
SECOND COURSE.--Pigeons; Leveret.
TWO REMOVES.--Flemish gauffers; Iced Souffle.
SIX ENTREMETS.-French beans, stewed; Mayonnaise of chicken; Peas a
la Francaise; Peach jelly with noyau; Love's wells glace with
chocolate; Flave of apricots and rice.
OCTOBER.--(FOR EIGHT PERSONS.)
Potage a la Julienne; Baked haddock, Italian sauce.
TWO REMOVES.--Braized neck of mutton, en cherveuil; Roast pheasant
a la Chipolata.
TWO ENTREES.--Pork cutlets, tomato sauce; Curried rabbit and rice.
SECOND COURSE.--Roast black-cock; Oyster omelette.
FOUR ENTREMETS.--Potatoes a la Duchesse; Blanc mange; Apple
tartlets; Semolina pudding.
MENU OF A FIRST RATE CHRISTMAS DINNER.
Turtle soup; Turbot a la Vatel; Fillets of sole a la Tartare.
THREE REMOVES.--Roast turkey, Perigueux sauce; Braized ham a la
jardiniere; Spiced round of beef.
FOUR ENTREES.--Marrow patties; Salmi of pheasants a la financiere;
Sweet breads a la Saint Cloud; Mutton cutlets a la Vicomtesse.
SECOND COURSE.--Woodcocks; Grouse; Mince pies; Plum pud ding.
SIX ENTREMETS.--Broccoli with Parmesan cheese; Italian creams;
Croute a l'Amanas; Salad a la Rachel; Meringues a la Parisienne;
Punch jelly.