THE FUNDAMENTALS OF GOOD BEHAVIOR
Far more important than any mere dictum of etiquette is the fundamental
code of honor, without strict observance of which no man, no matter how
"polished," can be considered a gentleman. The honor of a gentleman
demands the inviolability of his word, and the incorruptibility of his
principles; he is the descendant of the knight, the crusader; he is the
defender of the defenseless, and the champion of justice--or he is not a
gentleman.
=DECENCIES OF BEHAVIOR=
A gentleman does not, and a man who aspires to be one must not, ever
borrow money from a woman, nor should he, except in unexpected
circumstances, borrow money from a man. Money borrowed without security is
a debt of honor which must be paid without fail and promptly as possible.
The debts incurred by a deceased parent, brother, sister, or grown child,
are assumed by honorable men and women, as debts of honor.
A gentleman never takes advantage of a woman in a business dealing, nor of
the poor or the helpless.
One who is not well off does not "sponge," but pays his own way to the
utmost of his ability.
One who is rich does not make a display of his money or his possessions.
Only a vulgarian talks ceaselessly about how much this or that cost him.
A very well-bred man intensely dislikes the mention of money, and never
speaks of it (out of business hours) if he can avoid it.
A gentleman never discusses his family affairs either in public or with
acquaintances, nor does he speak more than casually about his wife. A man
is a cad who tells anyone, no matter who, what his wife told him in
confidence, or describes what she looks like in her bedroom. To impart
details of her beauty is scarcely better than to publish her blemishes; to
do either is unspeakable.
Nor does a gentleman ever criticise the behavior of a wife whose conduct
is scandalous. What he says to her in the privacy of their own apartments
is no one's affair but his own, but he must never treat her with
disrespect before their children, or a servant, or any one.
A man of honor never seeks publicly to divorce his wife, no matter what he
believes her conduct to have been; but for the protection of his own name,
and that of the children, he allows her to get her freedom on other than
criminal grounds. No matter who he may be, whether rich, or poor, in high
life or low, the man who publicly besmirches his wife's name, besmirches
still more his own, and proves that he is not, was not, and never will be,
a gentleman.
No gentleman goes to a lady's house if he is affected by alcohol. A
gentleman seeing a young man who is not entirely himself in the presence
of ladies, quietly induces the youth to depart. An older man addicted to
the use of too much alcohol, need not be discussed, since he ceases to be
asked to the houses of ladies.
A gentleman does not lose control of his temper. In fact, in his own
self-control under difficult or dangerous circumstances, lies his chief
ascendancy over others who impulsively betray every emotion which animates
them. Exhibitions of anger, fear, hatred, embarrassment, ardor or
hilarity, are all bad form in public. And bad form is merely an action
which "jars" the sensibilities of others. A gentleman does not show a
letter written by a lady, unless perhaps to a very intimate friend if the
letter is entirely impersonal and written by some one who is equally the
friend of the one to whom it is shown. But the occasions when the letter
of a woman may be shown properly by a man are so few that it is safest to
make it a rule never to mention a woman's letter.
A gentleman does not bow to a lady from a club window; nor according to
good form should ladies ever be discussed in a man's club!
A man whose social position is self-made is apt to be detected by his
continual cataloguing of prominent names. Mr. Parvenu invariably
interlards his conversation with, "When I was dining at the Bobo
Gilding's"; or even "at Lucy Gilding's," and quite often accentuates, in
his ignorance, those of rather second-rate, though conspicuous position.
"I was spending last week-end with the Richan Vulgars," or "My great
friends, the Gotta Crusts." When a so-called gentleman insists on
imparting information, interesting only to the Social Register, _shun
him_!
The born gentleman avoids the mention of names exactly as he avoids the
mention of what things cost; both are an abomination to his soul.
A gentleman's manners are an integral part of him and are the same whether
in his dressing-room or in a ballroom, whether in talking to Mrs. Worldly
or to the laundress bringing in his clothes. He whose manners are only put
on in company is a veneered gentleman, not a real one.
A man of breeding does not slap strangers on the back nor so much as lay
his finger-tips on a lady. Nor does he punctuate his conversation by
pushing or nudging or patting people, nor take his conversation out of the
drawing-room! Notwithstanding the advertisements in the most dignified
magazines, a discussion of underwear and toilet articles and their merit
or their use, is unpleasant in polite conversation.
All thoroughbred people are considerate of the feelings of others no
matter what the station of the others may be. Thackeray's climber who
"licks the boots of those above him and kicks the faces of those below him
on the social ladder," is a, very good illustration of what a gentleman is
not.
A gentleman never takes advantage of another's helplessness or ignorance,
and assumes that no gentleman will take advantage of him.
=SIMPLICITY AND UNCONSCIOUSNESS OF SELF=
These words have been literally sprinkled through the pages of this book,
yet it is doubtful if they convey a clear idea of the attributes meant.
Unconsciousness of self is not so much unselfishness as it is the mental
ability to extinguish all thought of one's self--exactly as one turns out
the light.
Simplicity is like it, in that it also has a quality of self-effacement,
but it really means a love of the essential and of directness. Simple
people put no trimmings on their phrases, nor on their manners; but
remember, simplicity is not crudeness nor anything like it. On the
contrary, simplicity of speech and manners means language in its purest,
most limpid form, and manners of such perfection that they do not suggest
"manner" at all.
=THE INSTINCTS OF A LADY=
The instincts of a lady are much the same as those of a gentleman. She is
equally punctilious about her debts, equally averse to pressing her
advantage; especially if her adversary is helpless or poor.
As an unhappy wife, her dignity demands that she never show her
disapproval of her husband, no matter how publicly he slights or outrages
her. If she has been so unfortunate as to have married a man not a
gentleman, to draw attention to his behavior would put herself on his
level. If it comes actually to the point where she divorces him, she
discusses her situation, naturally, with her parents or her brother or
whoever are her nearest and wisest relatives, but she shuns publicity and
avoids discussing her affairs with any one outside of her immediate
family. One can not too strongly censure the unspeakable vulgarity of the
woman so unfortunate as to be obliged to go through divorce proceedings,
who confides the private details of her life to reporters.
=THE HALL-MARK OF THE CLIMBER=
Nothing so blatantly proclaims a woman climber as the repetition of
prominent names, the owners of which she must have struggled to know.
Otherwise, why so eagerly boast of the achievement? Nobody cares whom she
knows--nobody that is, but a climber like herself. To those who were born
and who live, no matter how quietly, in the security of a perfectly good
ledge above and away from the social ladder's rungs, the evidence of one
frantically climbing and trying to vaunt her exalted position is merely
ludicrous.
All thoroughbred women, and men, are considerate of others less
fortunately placed, especially of those in their employ. One of the tests
by which to distinguish between the woman of breeding and the woman merely
of wealth, is to notice the way she speaks to dependents. Queen Victoria's
duchesses, those great ladies of grand manner, were the very ones who, on
entering the house of a close friend, said "How do you do, Hawkins?" to a
butler; and to a sister duchess's maid, "Good morning, Jenkins." A
Maryland lady, still living on the estate granted to her family three
generations before the Revolution, is quite as polite to her friends'
servants as to her friends themselves. When you see a woman in silks and
sables and diamonds speak to a little errand girl or a footman or a
scullery maid as though they were the dirt under her feet, you may be sure
of one thing; she hasn't come a very long way from the ground herself.