My last paper on the rules of Society ended with some remarks upon
dinner-parties and the conversation thereat; but although the article
thus finished, my observations did not, and must therefore be continued
into this chapter. A silent dinner is a very depressing function, so
much so indeed that among the disadvantages of living alone must be
counted solitary meals, as not only saddening in their effect upon
the mind, but provocative of bad digestion in the body; and even if
we dine in company, but the company of dull, stupid, or at any rate
unconversable people, the result is much the same as though we had sat
down in solitude. It behoves us therefore, each and all, to try and
prevent this evil and also make the dinner pleasant by taking a middle
course--as is usually wisest with regard to most things in life--and
neither to be like a ghost, speechless and casting the metaphorical wet
blanket over the assembled guests; nor, on the other hand, to remind
everybody of the whirling of a mill by the never-ceasing clatter of our
tongue.
A clever hostess will do her best to secure some few good talkers at
her table, in order that no pauses of sufficient length to give a sense
of uncomfortable silence may occur; nothing more than those little gaps
in conversation poetically supposed to be caused by "Angels passing."
We are not all geniuses in the talking line, but we are bound to take
our share, so far as in us lies, in contributing to brightness and
cheerfulness at table; only, of course, young girls are not expected
to bring themselves prominently forward in that way, and young or old
it should not be forgotten that a "voice soft, gentle and low, is an
excellent thing in woman," and that a shrill laugh, or an exclamation
so highly pitched that it pierces through the ordinary hum of sound,
is anything but agreeable or attractive. Also, it should be remembered
that dinners are meant to be enjoyed, and men especially feel aggrieved
if they are exposed to a constant fire of words, worst of all if those
words resolve themselves into questions which require answers. Chilly
soup, tepid fish, and entrées bolted for want of time to eat them
properly, produce feelings of anger which even beauty itself can hardly
stand against, if the beauty's chatter has caused the annoyance, that
is to say. So it is wise to let your neighbour on either hand enjoy his
dinner in peace, undisturbed by too much conversation, although at the
same time he must not be allowed to suppose that a dumb doll dressed in
pretty clothes is sitting beside him.
Do not crumble your bread over the tablecloth by way of inspiration,
if you think you ought to say something and can find nothing; do not
play with your wine-glasses either, until, very likely, you upset one
of them; nor drop your dinner-napkin, gloves, etc., which makes a
commotion and is rather a bore.
Such small things seem hardly worth mentioning, but tricks of any kind
are to be avoided, as they generally give the impression of awkwardness.
Should you happen to go down to dinner with the master of the house,
it is as well to let your hostess have a chance of catching your eye
to give the signal when she wishes to leave the table, but never on
any account fall into the mistake which I once heard was made by a
woman who ought to have known better. She imagined that the lady of the
house was very inexperienced and was sitting on an unconscionable time
because she did not know when to go, and so she, the guest, actually
took it upon herself to push her own chair back a little, with a glance
at her hostess; but the latter, looking steadily at her presuming
acquaintance, said very quietly, "I do not think I made a move, Mrs.
----" and sat on for another ten minutes.
As regards evening parties there is not much to say. You speak to the
hostess at the head of the stairs where she stands to receive her
guests, and then you wander through the rooms, and enjoy yourself, till
you descend for supper or depart altogether. There is no need to look
for the lady of the house to say good-bye. She has, most probably, left
her post long before and is wandering about among the company.
The next thing I will mention is country house visiting, which is very
pleasant as a rule, especially to people young enough not to mind the
open doors and windows, the large rooms--innocent of fires sometimes
when dwellers in towns would have lit them--and long corridors down
which a fine north-easter pursues you.
Take plenty of wraps, therefore, unless it is the very middle of
summer; but this is by the way.
I will suppose that you arrive at your destination dressed in a neat
travelling costume all in good order; no buttons off gloves or boots,
no untidy straps about the handbag--of splendid dressing-bags I am not
speaking.
You are shown into an apartment--very likely a big hall used in the
day as a drawing-room--where you find perhaps several, perhaps only one
or two, people, and the mistress of the house may ask whether you would
like to see your room at once, or, if it is near tea-time, if you will
stay and have a cup first? I believe that in New York and other places
in America the custom in this respect differs from our own, and that
the newly-arrived visitor is not brought face to face with the house
party until she has had an opportunity of tidying her hair, brushing
her gown, and generally smartening herself up, after which she can
appear with an "equal mind," untroubled by any misgivings as to the
results of the journey upon her looks. In my opinion, that arrangement
is a great improvement on our way of doing things; but, however, as
it is, you sit travel-tossed and more or less crumpled up, talking to
anybody you know, and possibly, if by nature shy, with an embarrassing
consciousness of being mentally criticised by some of those present
whom you do not know. In such circumstances the most important matter
is to keep still. If you have ever watched actors on the stage, you
must have noticed that they never shuffle and move about without
intending it. It is one of the first lessons, in fact, that amateurs
have to learn, simply to stand or sit still. Nothing has a worse effect
than the look of "not knowing what to do with your arms and legs," so
do, therefore, refrain from twisting your feet about under your chair,
fidgeting with your bracelets, or letting the spoon fall out of your
saucer. If your gloves are off, do not begin to think about your hands
getting red, for, if you do, they are pretty certain to fulfil your
fears by becoming so. Nervousness has more to do with that than is
generally imagined.
Whoever saw a pair of scarlet hands before them when they were alone?
Just call to mind the fact that there is no real reason why you should
feel "all anyhow" because you are in a strange house among strangers,
and try to be natural in manner and pleasant to everybody.
One thing very necessary to cultivate when on a visit is the habit of
punctuality. In London, where people come long distances, with the
chance of a "block," or finding the street up, or some other obstacle
to progress, a liberal margin is allowed as to time, and dinner at a
quarter to eight means eight. But in the country the hour named is
the hour intended, and in some houses the striking of the gong and
the appearance of the butler throwing open the doors for dinner are
nearly simultaneous, while in others the guests have five minutes'
grace after the gong sounds in which to get downstairs and into the
drawing-room. In any case they should all have assembled before dinner
is announced, for few things annoy the master of the house more than to
see stragglers come in when the soup, and perhaps even the fish, has
been already served.
The same rule applies to all arrangements which are not "movable
feasts." Luncheon, for instance, is usually at a fixed hour, and so
is breakfast in some houses, though not in all. If you are to ride
or drive, or whatever it is, be ready to the minute, and do not give
trouble by having to be sent for. To give no unnecessary trouble either
to guests or servants is, indeed, a good motto to bear in mind, for
nobody likes to be "put about," and a woman who gives a lot of trouble,
whether from thoughtlessness or from an idea that by requiring a great
deal of attention and waiting upon she makes herself interesting and
of more importance, will find out her mistake sooner or later, and
learn that fetching cushions and smelling-bottles is not an amusing
occupation for her friends, and that ringing the bell without good
reason only sends servants, especially other people's servants, into a
bad temper.
When you come down to breakfast you need not go round and shake hands
with everybody. Speak to the lady of the house and anybody you know
close by, and a few little bows and smiles will do the rest. Be careful
in going to or from the dining-room to wait your turn, and not walk out
before those who ought to precede you. Sometimes when the same people
are making a longish stay in the house, they draw lots to decide who
shall go in with whom by way of variety instead of having always the
same partner. Pieces of paper are numbered, two sets alike, and drawn
just before dinner, the guests then pairing off according to their
numbers, so that a woman or girl with no particular position may find
herself in the place of honour at the table, but even so it would be
extremely bad taste in her to leave the dining-room first.
When talking do not mention the name of the person you are addressing
every time you speak. It has a tiresome effect upon the ear to hear
perpetually "Yes, Mrs. ----" "No, Mr. ----" "Do you think so, Lady ----?"
"How fine it is to-day, Mr. ----!"
No hard-and-fast rule can be laid down as to how often the name should
be mentioned--for, of course, it must be sometimes--but a little
careful attention to ordinary conversation will teach you more than any
written remarks could, and your own instinct must guide you further in
the avoidance of little faults of the kind.
A matter of importance when visiting is to try never to be in the
way when you are not wanted, and never out of it when you are
wanted. Do not, for example, sit down and make an unrequired third
in a conversation carried on between two people who are evidently
quite content with each other's society, for they will only wish you
anywhere, and, unless you have the constitution of a rhinoceros, the
freezing atmosphere will soon bring to your mind a certain proverb
which says that "Two's company, but three's none."
Do not insist upon speaking of something which interests you
specially when, perhaps, nobody else cares very much about it; and,
more than all, do not talk about yourself, your likes and dislikes,
your health, etc., etc. It may not be pleasant, but the fact remains
that nineteen people out of twenty feel not the smallest interest in
you or your concerns except in so far as the outcome is agreeable to
them, and this not exactly from want of heart so much as from want
of time to stop and consider you, when there are so many others near
and dear to them to be thought of. At all events, so it is, and any
person who hangs about a room when she might as well go out of it, or
worries people by airing her own opinions when nobody wishes to hear
them, is decidedly in the way, and neither more nor less than a bore.
This rock, _i.e._, being _de trop_, may be called the Scylla, while
another of quite a contrary kind may be styled the Charybdis in the
sea of Society, and both must be steered clear of if the voyage is to
be pleasant and successful. The former is the rock on which active
and energetic people split, and the latter often makes shipwreck of
the more meditative and indolent natures, inclined to let things slip
by, unobservant of what is required of them, or, if aware of it, too
fond of their own comfort and repose to respond. Judgment and tact
are essential in order to avoid running against one or other of these
rocks, and perhaps the best preventive of mistakes in the matter will
be found in remembering to "do as you would be done by," because,
keeping that in mind, you will have only to make a shrewd guess as
to what others would like in the same circumstances. Now and then
doubtless in carrying out this rule some self-denial is involved,
as, for instance, when lawn-tennis, or croquet, or even a walk, is
proposed, and you, caring little for physical exertion at any time,
and very anxious, moreover, to finish a book you are deep in, feel for
a moment disposed to be churlish and refuse to join. Well, then comes
in the remembrance of what is due to others, and you put the best face
you can on it, get your hat, and go. Or on a wet day somebody wants
to play billiards, or battledore and shuttlecock, or something, and
you would rather work at a drawing or run through a song or two in the
little boudoir where you will disturb nobody, but you are wanted to
help brighten up the dreary day, and your private inclinations have to
be sacrificed to the good of others. Another thing---- But my paper is
growing rather lengthy, and, lest I should be voted a bore and go to
pieces on the rock Scylla, I think my remarks had better end here for
to-day, the remainder of them, not many now, being laid by for another
occasion.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
LETTERS FROM A LAWYER.