The Laws of Etiquette
or,
Short Rules and Reflections
for
CONDUCT IN SOCIETY.
by A Gentleman
PHILADELPHIA:
1836.
Transcriber’s Note: Note the inconsistency of “Brummell” in one place
of the original, and “Brummel” all other places. Also “Shakspeare,”
“Don Quixotte,” “Sir Piercy,” and “Esop” are as in the original.
Contents
PREFACE
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER I. GOOD BREEDING.
CHAPTER II. DRESS.
CHAPTER III. SALUTATIONS.
CHAPTER IV. THE DRAWING-ROOM. COMPANY. CONVERSATION.
CHAPTER V. THE ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.
CHAPTER VI. LETTERS.
CHAPTER VII. VISITS.
CHAPTER VIII. APPOINTMENTS AND PUNCTUALITY.
CHAPTER IX. DINNER.
CHAPTER X. TRAVELLING.
CHAPTER XI. BALLS.
CHAPTER XII. FUNERALS.
CHAPTER XIII. SERVANTS.
CHAPTER XIV. FASHION.
CHAPTER XV. MISCELLANEOUS.
PREFACE
The author of the present volume has endeavoured to embody, in as short
a space as possible, some of the results of his own experience and
observation in society, and submits the work to the public, with the
hope that the remarks which are contained in it, may prove available
for the benefit of others. It is, of course, scarcely possible that
anything original should be found in a volume like this: almost all
that it contains must have fallen under the notice of every man of
penetration who has been in the habit of frequenting good society. Many
of the precepts have probably been contained in works of a similar
character which have appeared in England and France since the days of
Lord Chesterfield. Nothing however has been copied from them in the
compilation of this work, the author having in fact scarcely any
acquaintance with books of this description, and many years having
elapsed since he has opened even the pages of the noble oracle. He has
drawn entirely from his own resources, with the exception of some hints
for arrangement, and a few brief reflections, which have been derived
from the French.
The present volume is almost apart from criticism. It has no
pretensions to be judged as a literary work—its sole merit depending
upon its correctness and fitness of application. Upon these grounds he
ventures to hope for it a favourable reception.
INTRODUCTION
The great error into which nearly all foreigners and most Americans
fall, who write or speak of society in this country, arises from
confounding the political with the social system. In most other
countries, in England, France, and all those nations whose government
is monarchical or aristocratic, these systems are indeed similar.
Society is there intimately connected with the government, and the
distinctions in one are the origin of gradations in the other. The
chief part of the society of the kingdom is assembled in the capital,
and the same persons who legislate for the country legislate also for
it. But in America the two systems are totally unconnected, and
altogether different in character. In remodelling the form of the
administration, society remained unrepublican. There is perfect freedom
of political privilege, all are the same upon the hustings, or at a
political meeting; but this equality does not extend to the
drawing-room or the parlour. None are excluded from the highest
councils of the nation, but it does not follow that all can enter into
the highest ranks, of society. In point of fact, we think that there is
more exclusiveness in the society of this country, than there is in
that even of England—far more than there is in France. And the
explanation may perhaps be found in the fact which we hate mentioned
above. There being _there_ less danger of permanent disarrangement or
confusion of ranks by the occasional admission of the low-born
aspirant, there does not exist the same necessity for a jealous
guarding of the barriers as there does here. The distinction of
classes, also, after the first or second, is actually more clearly
defined, and more rigidly observed in America, than in any country of
Europe. Persons unaccustomed to look searchingly at these matters, may
be surprised to hear it; but we know from observation, that there are
among the respectable, in any city of the United States, at least ten
distinct ranks. We cannot, of course, here point them out, because we
could not do it without mentioning names.
Every man is naturally desirous of finding entrance into the best
society of his country, and it becomes therefore a matter of importance
to ascertain what qualifications are demanded for admittance.
A writer who is popularly unpopular, has remarked, that the test of
standing in Boston, is literary eminence; in New York, wealth; and in
Philadelphia, purity of blood.
To this remark, we can only oppose our opinion, that none of these are
indispensable, and none of them sufficient. The society of this
country, unlike that of England, does not court literary talent. We
have cases in our recollection, which prove the remark, in relation to
the highest ranks, even of Boston. Wealth has no pretensions to be the
standard anywhere. In New York, the Liverpool of America, although the
rich may make greater display and _bruit_, yet all of the merely rich,
will find that there does exist a small and unchanging circle, whether
above or below them, ‘it is not ours to say,’ yet completely apart from
them, into which they would rejoice to find entrance, and from which
they would be glad to receive emigrants.
Whatever may be the accomplishments necessary to render one capable of
reaching the highest platform of social eminence, and it is not easy to
define clearly what they are, there is one thing, and one alone, which
will enable any man to _retain_ his station there; and that is, GOOD
BREEDING. Without it, we believe that literature, wealth, and even
blood, will be unsuccessful. By it, if it co-exist with a certain
capacity of affording pleasure by conversation, any one, we imagine,
could frequent the very best society in every city of America, and
_perhaps the very best alone._ To obtain, then, the manners of a
gentleman is a matter of no small importance.
We do not pretend that a man will be metamorphosed into a gentleman by
reading this book, or any other book. Refined manners are like refined
style which Cicero compares to the colour of the cheeks, which is not
acquired by sudden or violent exposure to heat, but by continual
walking in the sun. Good manners can certainly only be acquired by much
usage in good company. But there are a number of little forms,
imperiously enacted by custom, which may be taught in this manner, and
the conscious ignorance of which often prevents persons from going into
company at all.
These forms may be abundantly absurd, but still they _must_ be attended
to; for one half the world does and always will observe them, and the
other half is at a great disadvantage if it does not. Intercourse is
constantly taking place, and an awkward man of letters, in the society
of a polished man of the world, is like a strong man contending with a
skilful fencer. Mr. Addison says, that he once saw the ablest
mathematician in the kingdom utterly embarrassed, from not knowing
whether he ought to stand or sit when my lord duke drank his health.
Some of the many errors which are liable to be committed through
ignorance of usage, are pleasantly pointed out in the following story,
which is related by a French writer.
The Abbé Cosson, professor in the _Collége Mazarin_, thoroughly
accomplished in the art of teaching, saturated with Greek, Latin, and
literature, considered himself a perfect well of science: he had no
conception that a man who knew all Persius and Horace by heart could
possibly commit an error—above all, an error at table. But it was not
long before he discovered his mistake. One day, after dining with the
Abbé de Radonvillers at Versailles, in company with several courtiers
and marshals of France, he was boasting of the rare acquaintance with
etiquette and custom which he had exhibited at dinner. The Abbé
Delille, who heard this eulogy upon his own conduct, interrupted his
harangue, by offering to wager that he had committed at least a hundred
improprieties at the table. “How is it possible!” exclaimed Cosson. “I
did exactly like the rest of the company.”
“What absurdity!” said the other. “You did a thousand things which no
one else did. First, when you sat down at the table, what did you do
with your napkin?” “My napkin? Why just what every body else did with
theirs. I unfolded it entire]y, and fastened it to my buttonhole.”
“Well, my dear friend,” said Delille, “you were the only one that did
_that_, at all events. No one hangs up his napkin in that style; they
are contented with placing it on their knees. And what did you, do when
you took your soup?” “Like the others, I believe. I took my spoon in
one hand, and my fork in the other—” “Your fork! Who ever eat soup with
a fork?—But to proceed; after your soup, what did you eat?” “A fresh
egg.” “And what did you do with the shell?” “Handed it to the servant
who stood behind my chair.” “With out breaking it?” “Without breaking
it, of course.” “Well, my dear Abbé, nobody ever eats an egg without
breaking the shell. And after your egg—?” “I asked the Abbé
Radonvillers to send me a piece of the hen near him.” “Bless my soul! a
piece of the _hen_? You never speak of hens excepting in the barn-yard.
You should have asked for fowl or chicken. But you say nothing of your
mode of drinking.” “Like all the rest, I asked for _claret_ and
_champagne._” “Let me inform you, then, that persons always ask for
_claret wine_ and _champagne wine._ But, tell me, how did you eat your
bread?” “Surely I did that properly. I cut it with my knife, in the
most regular manner possible.” “Bread should always be broken, not cut.
But the coffee, how did you manage it?” “It was rather too hot, and I
poured a little of it into my saucer.” “Well, you committed here the
greatest fault of all. You should never pour your coffee into the
saucer, but always drink it from the cup.” The poor Abbé was
confounded. He felt that though one might be master of the seven
sciences, yet that there was another species of knowledge which, if
less dignified, was equally important.
This occurred many years ago, but there is not one of the observances
neglected by the Abbé Cosson, which is not enforced with equal
rigidness in the present day.
CHAPTER I.
GOOD BREEDING.
The formalities of refined society were at first established for the
purpose of facilitating the intercourse of persons of the same
standing, and increasing the happiness of all to whom they apply. They
are now kept up, both to assist the convenience of intercourse and to
prevent too great familiarity. If they are carried too far, and escape
from the control of good sense, they become impediments to enjoyment.
Among the Chinese they serve only the purpose of annoying to an
incalculable degree. “The government,” says De Marcy, in writing of
China, “constantly applies itself to preserve, not only in the court
and among the great, but among the people themselves, a constant habit
of civility and courtesy. The Chinese have an infinity of books upon
such subjects; one of these treatises contains more than three thousand
articles.— Everything is pointed out with the most minute detail; the
manner of saluting, of visiting, of making presents, of writing
letters, of eating, etc.: and these customs have the force of laws—no
one can dispense with them. There is a special tribunal at Peking, of
which it is one of the chief duties, to ensure the observance of these
civil ordinances?”
One would think that one was here reading an account of the capital of
France. It depends, then, upon the spirit in which these forms are
observed, whether their result shall be beneficial or not. The French
and the Chinese are the most formal of all the nations. Yet the one is
the stiffest and most distant; the other, the easiest and most social.
“We may define politeness,” says La Bruyère, “though we cannot tell
where to fix it in practice. It observes received usages and customs,
is bound to times and places, and is not the same thing in the two
sexes or in different conditions. Wit alone cannot obtain it: it is
acquired and brought to perfection by emulation. Some dispositions
alone are susceptible of politeness, as others are only capable of
great talents or solid virtues. It is true politeness puts merit
forward, and renders it agreeable, and a man must have eminent
qualifications to support himself without it.” Perhaps even the
greatest merit cannot successfully straggle against unfortunate and
disagreeable manners. Lord Chesterfield says that the Duke of
Marlborough owed his first promotions to the suavity of his manners,
and that without it he could not have risen.
La Bruyère has elsewhere given this happy definition of politeness, the
other passage being rather a description of it. “Politeness seems to be
a certain care, by the manner of our words and actions, to make others
pleased with us and themselves.”
We must here stop to point out an error which is often committed both
in practice and opinion, and which consists in confounding together the
gentleman and the man of fashion. No two characters can be more
distinct than these. Good sense and self-respect are the foundations of
the one—notoriety and influence the objects of the other. Men of
fashion are to be seen everywhere: a pure and mere gentleman is the
rarest thing alive. Brummel was a man of fashion; but it would be a
perversion of terms to apply to him “a very expressive word in our
language,—a word, denoting an assemblage of many real virtues and of
many qualities approaching to virtues, and an union of manners at once
pleasing and commanding respect,— the word gentleman.”* The requisites
to compose this last character are natural ease of manner, and an
acquaintance with the “outward habit of encounter”—dignity and
self-possession—a respect for all the decencies of life, and perfect
freedom from all affectation. Dr. Johnson’s bearing during his
interview with the king showed him to be a thorough gentleman, and
demonstrates how rare and elevated that character is. When his majesty
expressed in the language of compliment his high opinion of Johnson’s
merits, the latter bowed in silence. If Chesterfield could have
retained sufficient presence of mind to have done the same on such an
occasion, he would have applauded himself to the end of his days. So
delicate is the nature of those qualities that constitute a gentleman,
that there is but one exhibition of this description of persons in all
the literary and dramatic fictions from Shakespeare downward. Scott has
not attempted it. Bulwer, in “Pelham,” has shot wide of the mark. It
was reserved for the author of two very singular productions,
“Sydenham” and its continuation “Alice Paulet”—works of extraordinary
merits and extraordinary faults—to portray this character completely,
in the person of Mr. Paulet.
* Charles Butler’s Reminiscences