To be acquainted with every detail of the etiquette pertaining to
this subject is of the highest importance to every gentlewoman. Ease,
_savoir faire_, and good breeding are nowhere more indispensable than
at the dinner-table, and the absence of them is nowhere more apparent.
How to eat soup and what to do with a cherry-stone are weighty
considerations when taken as the index of social status; and it is not
too much to say, that a young woman who elected to take claret with
her fish, or ate peas with her knife, would justly risk the punishment
of being banished from good society. As this subject is one of the
most important of which we have to treat, we may be pardoned for
introducing an appropriate anecdote related by the French poet
Delille:--
Delille and Marmontel were dining together in the month of April,
1786, and the conversation happened to turn upon dinner-table customs.
Marmontel observed how many little things a well-bred man was obliged
to know, if he would avoid being ridiculous at the tables of his
friends.
"They are, indeed, innumerable," said Delille; "and the most annoying
fact of all is, that not all the wit and good sense in the world can
help one to divine them untaught. A little while ago, for instance,
the Abbé Cosson, who is Professor of Literature at the Collège
Mazarin, was describing to me a grand dinner to which he had been
invited at Versailles, and to which he had sat down in the company of
peers, princes, and marshals of France.
"'I'll wager now,' said I, 'that you committed a hundred blunders in
the etiquette of the table!'
"'How so?' replied the Abbé, somewhat nettled. 'What blunders could I
make? It seems to me that I did precisely as others did.'
"'And I, on the contrary, would stake my life that you did nothing as
others did. But let us begin at the beginning, and see which is right.
In the first place there was your table napkin--what did you do with
that when you sat down at table?'
"'What did I do with my table-napkin? Why, I did like the rest of the
guests: I shook it out of the folds, spread it before me, and fastened
one corner to my button-hole.'
"'Very well, _mon cher_; you were the only person who did so. No one
shakes, spreads, and fastens a table-napkin in that manner. You should
have only laid it across your knees. What soup had you?'
"'Turtle.'
"'And how did you eat it?'
"'Like every one else, I suppose. I took my spoon in one hand, and my
fork in the other--'
"'Your fork! Good heavens! None but a savage eats soup with a fork.
But go on. What did you take next?'
"'A boiled egg.'
"'Good; and what did you do with the shell?'
"'Not eat it, certainly. I left it, of course, in the egg-cup.'
"'Without breaking it through with your spoon?'
"'Without breaking it.'
"'Then, my dear fellow, permit me to tell you that no one eats an egg
without breaking the shell and leaving the spoon standing in it. And
after your egg?'
"'I asked for some _bouilli_.'
"'For _bouilli_! It is a term that no one uses. You should have asked
for beef--never for _bouilli_. Well, and after the _bouilli_?'
"'I asked the Abbé de Radonvilliers for some fowl.'
"'Wretched man! Fowl, indeed! You should have asked for chicken or
capon. The word "fowl" is never heard out of the kitchen. But all this
applies only to what you ate; tell me something of what you drank, and
how you asked for it.'
"'I asked for champagne and bordeaux from those who had the bottles
before them.'
"'Know then, my good friend, that only a waiter, who has no time or
breath to spare, asks for champagne or bordeaux. A gentleman asks for
_vin de champagne_ and _vin de bordeaux_. And now inform me how you ate
your bread?'
"'Undoubtedly like all the rest of the world. I cut it into small
square pieces with my knife.'
"'Then let me tell you that no one cuts bread. You should always break
it. Let us go on to the coffee. How did you drink yours?'
"'Pshaw! At least I could make no mistake in that. It was boiling hot,
so I poured it, a little at a time, in the saucer, and drank it as it
cooled.'
"'_Eh bien_! then you assuredly acted as no other gentleman in the
room. Nothing can be more vulgar than to pour tea or coffee into a
saucer. You should have waited till it cooled, and then have drunk it
from the cup. And now you see, my dear cousin, that so far from doing
precisely as others did, you acted in no one respect according to the
laws prescribed by etiquette.'"
An invitation to dine should be replied to immediately, and
unequivocally accepted or declined. Once accepted, nothing but
an event of the last importance should cause you to fail in your
engagement.
To be exactly punctual is the strictest politeness on these occasions.
If you are too early, you are in the way; if too late, you spoil the
dinner, annoy the hostess, and are hated by the rest of the guests.
Some authorities are even of opinion that in the question of a
dinner-party "never" is better than "late;" and one author has gone so
far as to say, "if you do not reach the house till dinner is served,
you had better retire, and send an apology, and not interrupt the
harmony of the courses by awkward excuses and cold acceptance."
When the party is assembled, the mistress or master of the house will
point out to each gentleman the lady whom he is to conduct to table.
The guests then go down according to precedence of rank. This order of
precedence must be arranged by the host or hostess, as the guests are
probably unacquainted, and cannot know each other's social rank.
When the society is of a distinguished kind the hostess will do well
to consult Debrett or Burke, before arranging her visitors.
When rank is not in question, other claims to precedence must be
considered. The lady who is the greatest stranger should be taken
down by the master of the house, and the gentleman who is the greatest
stranger should conduct the hostess. Married ladies take precedence of
single ladies, elder ladies of younger ones, and so forth.
When dinner is announced, the host offers his arm to the lady of most
distinction, invites the rest to follow by a few words or a bow,
and leads the way. The lady of the house should then follow with the
gentleman who is most entitled to that honour, and the visitors follow
in the order that has been previously arranged. The lady of the house
frequently remains, however, till the last, that she may see her
guests go down in their prescribed order; but the plan is not a
convenient one. It is much better that the hostess should be in her
place as the guests enter the dining-room, in order that she may
indicate their seats to them as they enter, and not find them all
crowded together in uncertainty when she arrives.
The number of guests at a dinner-party should always be determined
by the size of the table. When the party is too small, conversation
flags, and a general air of desolation pervades the table. When they
are too many, every one is inconvenienced. A space of two feet should
be allowed to each person. It is well to arrange a party in such wise
that the number of ladies and gentlemen be equal.
It requires some tact to distribute your guests so that each shall
find himself with a neighbour to his taste; but as much of the success
of a dinner will always depend on this matter, it is worth some
consideration. If you have a wit, or a particularly good talker, among
your visitors, it is well to place him near the centre of the table,
where he can be heard and talked to by all. It is obviously a bad plan
to place two such persons in close proximity. They extinguish each
other. Neither is it advisable to assign two neighbouring seats to
two gentlemen of the same profession, as they are likely to fall
into exclusive conversation and amuse no one but themselves. A little
consideration of the politics, religious opinions, and tastes of his
friends, will enable a judicious host to avoid many quicksands, and
establish much pleasant intercourse on the occasion of a dinner-party.
The lady of the house takes the head of the table. The gentleman who
led her down to dinner occupies the seat on her right hand, and the
gentleman next in order of precedence, that on her left. The master of
the house takes the foot of the table. The lady whom he escorted sits
on his right hand, and the lady next in order of precedence on his
left.
As soon as you are seated at table, remove your gloves, place your
table-napkin across your knees, and remove the roll which you find
probably within it to the left side of your plate.
The soup should be placed on the table first. Some old-fashioned
persons still place soup and fish together; but "it is a custom more
honoured in the breach than the observance." Still more old-fashioned,
and in still worse taste is it to ask your guests if they will take
"soup or fish." They are as much separate courses as the fish and
the meat; and all experienced diners take both. In any case, it is
inhospitable to appear to force a choice upon a visitor, when that
visitor, in all probability, will prefer to take his soup first and
his fish afterwards. All well-ordered dinners begin with soup, whether
in summer or winter. The lady of the house should help it, and send
it round without asking each individual in turn. It is as much an
understood thing as the bread beside each plate, and those who do not
choose it are always at liberty to leave it untasted.
In eating soup, remember always to take it from the side of the spoon,
and to make no sound in doing so.
If the servants do not go round with wine the gentlemen should help
the ladies and themselves to sherry or sauterne immediately after the
soup.
You should never ask for a second supply of either soup or fish; it
delays the next course, and keeps the table waiting.
Never offer to "assist" your neighbours to this or that dish. The word
is inexpressibly vulgar--all the more vulgar for its affectation
of elegance. "Shall I send you some mutton?" or "may I help you to
grouse?" is better chosen and better bred.
As a general rule, it is better not to ask your guests if they will
partake of the dishes; but to send the plates round, and let them
accept or decline them as they please. At very large dinners it is
sometimes customary to distribute little lists of the order of the
dishes at intervals along the table. It must be confessed that
this gives somewhat the air of a dinner at an hotel; but it has the
advantage of enabling the visitors to select their fare, and, as
"forewarned is forearmed," to keep a corner, as the children say, for
their favourite dishes.
As soon as you are helped, begin to eat; or, if the viands are too hot
for your palate, take up your knife and fork and appear to begin. To
wait for others is now not only old-fashioned, but ill-bred.
Never offer to pass on the plate to which you have been helped. This
is a still more vulgar piece of politeness, and belongs to the manners
of a hundred years ago. The lady of the house who sends your plate to
you is the best judge of precedence at her own table.
In helping soup, fish, or any other dish, remember that to overfill a
plate is as bad as to supply it too scantily. Silver fish-knives will
now always be met with at the best tables; but where there are none,
a piece of crust should be taken in the left hand, and the fork in the
right. There is no exception to this rule in eating fish.
We presume it is scarcely necessary to remind our fair reader that she
is never, under any circumstances, to convey her knife to her mouth.
Peas are eaten with the fork; tarts, curry, and puddings of all kinds
with the spoon.
Always help fish with a fish-slice, and tart and puddings with a
spoon, or, if necessary, a spoon and fork.
Asparagus must be helped with the asparagus-tongs.
In eating asparagus, it is well to observe what others do, and act
accordingly. Some very well-bred people eat it with the fingers;
others cut off the heads, and convey them to the mouth upon the fork.
It would be difficult to say which is the more correct.
In eating stone fruit, such as cherries, damsons, &c., the same rule
had better be observed. Some put the stones out from the month into a
spoon, and so convey them to the plate. Others cover the lips with the
hand, drop them unseen into the palm, and so deposit them on the side
of the plate. In our own opinion, the last is the better way, as it
effectually conceals the return of the stones, which is certainly the
point of highest importance. Of one thing we may be sure, and that is,
that they must never be dropped from the mouth to the plate.
In helping sauce, always pour it on the side of the plate.
If the servants do not go round with the wine (which is by far
the best custom), the gentlemen at a dinner-table should take upon
themselves the office of helping those ladies who sit near them. Young
ladies seldom drink more than three glasses of wine at dinner; but
married ladies, professional ladies, and those accustomed to society
and habits of affluence, will habitually take five or even six,
whether in their own homes or at the tables of their friends.
The habit of taking wine with each other has almost wholly gone out
of fashion. A gentleman may ask the lady whom he conducted down to
dinner; or he may ask the lady of the house to take wine with him.
But even these last remnants of the old custom are fast falling into
disuse.
Unless you are a total abstainer, it is extremely uncivil to decline
taking wine if you are invited to do so. In accepting, you have only
to pour a little fresh wine into your glass, look at the person who
invited you, bow slightly, and take a sip from the glass.
It is particularly ill-bred to empty your glass on these occasions.
Certain wines are taken with certain dishes, by old-established
custom--as sherry, or sauterne, with soup and fish; hock and claret
with roast meat; punch with turtle; champagne with whitebait; port
with venison; port, or burgundy, with game; sparkling wines between
the roast and the confectionery; madeira with sweets; port with
cheese; and for dessert, port, tokay, madeira, sherry, and claret. Red
wines should never be iced, even in summer. Claret and burgundy should
always be slightly warmed; claret-cup and champagne-cup should, of
course, be iced.
Instead of cooling their wines in the ice-pail, some hosts have of
late years introduced clear ice upon the table, broken up in small
lumps, to be put inside the glasses. This is an innovation that cannot
be too strictly reprehended or too soon abolished. Melting ice can but
weaken the quality and flavour of the wine. Those who desire to drink
_wine and water_ can ask for iced water if they choose; but it savours
too much of economy on the part of a host to insinuate the ice inside
the glasses of his guests when the wine could be more effectually iced
outside the bottle.
A silver knife and fork should be placed to each guest at dessert.
It is wise never to partake of any dish without knowing of what
ingredients it is composed. You can always ask the servant who hands
it to you, and you thereby avoid all danger of having to commit the
impoliteness of leaving it, and showing that you do not approve of it.
Never speak while you have anything in your mouth.
Be careful never to taste soups or puddings till you are sure they
are sufficiently cool; as, by disregarding this caution, you may be
compelled to swallow what is dangerously hot, or be driven to the
unpardonable alternative of returning it to your plate.
When eating or drinking, avoid every kind of audible testimony to the
facts.
Finger-glasses, containing water slightly warmed and perfumed, are
placed to each person at dessert. In these you may dip the tips of
your fingers, wiping them afterwards on your table-napkin. If the
finger-glass and doyley are placed on your dessert-plate, you should
immediately remove the doyley to the left of your plate, and place
the finger-glass upon it. By these means you leave the right for the
wine-glasses.
Be careful to know the shapes of the various kinds of wine-glasses
commonly in use, in order that you may never put forward one for
another. High and narrow, and very broad and shallow glasses, are used
for champagne; large, goblet-shaped glasses for burgundy and claret;
ordinary wine-glasses for sherry and madeira; green glasses for hock;
and somewhat large, bell-shaped glasses, for port.
Port, sherry, and madeira, are decanted. Hocks and champagnes appear
in their native bottles. Claret and burgundy are handed round in a
claret-jug.
The servants leave the room when the dessert is on the table.
Coffee and liqueurs should be handed round when the dessert has
been about a quarter of an hour on the table. After this, the ladies
generally retire.
The lady of the house should never send away her plate, or appear to
have done eating, till all her guests have finished.
If you should unfortunately overturn or break anything, do not
apologize for it. You can show your regret in your face, but it is not
well-bred to put it into words.
To abstain from taking the last piece on the dish, or the last glass
of wine in the decanter, only because it is the last, is highly
ill-bred. It implies a fear on your part that the vacancy cannot be
supplied, and almost conveys an affront to your host.
To those ladies who have houses and servants at command, we have one
or two remarks to offer. Every housekeeper should be acquainted with
the routine of a dinner and the etiquette of a dinner-table. No lady
should be utterly dependent on the taste and judgment of her cook.
Though she need not know how to dress a dish, she should be able to
judge of it when served. The mistress of a house, in short, should
be to her cook what a publisher is to his authors--that is to
say, competent to form a judgment upon their works, though himself
incapable of writing even a magazine article.
If you wish to give a good dinner, and do not know in what manner to
set about it, you will do wisely to order it from Birch, Kühn, or any
other first-rate _restaurateur_. By these means you ensure the best
cookery and a faultless _carte_.
Bear in mind that it is your duty to entertain your friends in the
best manner that your means permit. This is the least you can do to
recompense them for the expenditure of time and money which they incur
in accepting your invitation.
"To invite a friend to dinner," says Brillat Savarin, "is to become
responsible for his happiness so long as he is under your roof."
Again:--"He who receives friends at his table, without having bestowed
his personal supervision upon the repast placed before them, is
unworthy to have friends."
A dinner, to be excellent, need not consist of a great variety of
dishes; but everything should be of the best, and the cookery should
be perfect. That which should be cool should be cool as ice; that
which should be hot should be smoking; the attendance should be
rapid and noiseless; the guests well assorted; the wines of the best
quality; the host attentive and courteous; the room well lighted; and
the time punctual.
Every dinner should begin with soup, be followed by fish, and include
some kind of game. "The soup is to the dinner," we are told by Grisnod
de la Regnière, "what the portico is to a building, or the overture to
an opera."
To this aphorism we may be permitted to add that a _chasse_ of cognac
or curaçoa at the close of the dinner is like the epilogue at the end
of a comedy.
Never reprove or give directions to your servants before guests. If a
dish is not placed precisely where you would have wished it to stand,
or the order of a course is reversed, let the error pass unobserved by
yourself, and you may depend that it will be unnoticed by others.
If you are a mother, you will be wise never to let your children make
their appearance at dessert when you entertain friends at dinner.
Children are out of place on these occasions. Your guests only
tolerate them through politeness; their presence interrupts the genial
flow of after-dinner conversation; and you may rely upon it that, with
the exception of yourself, and perhaps your husband, there is not a
person at table who does not wish them in the nursery.
The duties of hostess at a dinner-party are not onerous; but they
demand tact and good breeding, grace of bearing, and self-possession
in no ordinary degree. She does not often carve. She has no active
duties to perform; but she must neglect nothing, forget nothing,
put all her guests at their ease, encourage the timid, draw out the
silent, and pay every possible attention to the requirements of
each and all around her. No accident must ruffle her temper. No
disappointment must embarrass her. She must see her old china broken
without a sigh, and her best glass shattered with a smile. In short,
to quote the language of a clever contemporary, she must have "the
genius of tact to perceive, and the genius of finesse to execute; ease
and frankness of manner; a knowledge of the world that nothing
can surprise; a calmness of temper that nothing can disturb; and a
kindness of disposition that can never be exhausted."
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