§ 34. These last remarks are very applicable to the case next before us,
when conversation is among a few—say from four to eight people—a form of
society the best and most suitable for talk, but which is now rather the
exception, from the common habit of crowding our rooms or our tables,
and getting rid of social obligations as if they were commercial debts.
Indeed many of our young people have so seldom heard a general
conversation that they grow up in the belief that their only duty in
society will be to talk to one man or woman at a time. So serious are
the results of the fashion of large dinner-parties. For really good
society no dinner-table should be too large to exclude general
conversation, and no couples should sit together who are likely to lapse
into private discourse.
It is generally thought the fault of the host or hostess if such an
evening turns out a failure;[9] and indeed it is possible to bring one
incongruous person into a small company, who will so chill or disturb
the rest that conversation languishes. But this case is rare, and the
fault usually lies with the company, none of whom take the trouble to
tide over any difficulty, or seek to draw out from those present what
they like or want to say. I am now looking at the thing from the point
of view of the man or woman who comes in as a guest, and whose duty it
is to make the evening, or the period of time during which the company
is assembled, pass in a pleasant way. Perhaps it is the practical course
to consider the usual form in modern society, that of the small
dinner-party, and then apply what is to be said upon it to analogous
cases.
Footnote 9:
It is right to add that there are hosts, and hostesses so anxious for
the good entertainment of their friends that this preoccupation spoils
their own enjoyment, and so far defeats the very object they have in
view. But people so truly desirous of giving pleasure can hardly avoid
being pleasant in a better sense than those who do not feel their
responsibilities so acutely.
In the very forefront there stares us in the face that very awkward
period which even the gentle Menander notes as the worst possible for
conversation, the short time during which people are assembling, and
waiting for the announcement of dinner. If the witty man were not
usually a selfish person, who will not exhibit his talent without the
reward of full and leisurely appreciation, this is the real moment to
show his powers. A brilliant thing said at the very start, which sets
people laughing, and makes them forget that they are waiting, may alter
the whole complexion of the party, may make the silent and distant
people feel themselves drawn into the sympathy of common merriment, and
thaw the iciness which so often fetters Anglo-Saxon society. But as this
faculty is not given to many, so the average man may content himself
with having something ready to tell, and this, if possible, in answer to
the usual question expressed or implied: Is there any news this
afternoon? There are few days that the daily papers will not afford to
the intelligent critic something ridiculous either in style or matter
which has escaped the ordinary public; some local event, nay, even some
local tragedy, may suggest a topic not worth more than a few moments of
attention, which will secure the interest of minds vacant, and perhaps
more hungry to be fed than their bodies. Here then, if anywhere in the
whole range of conversation, the man or woman who desires to be
agreeable may venture to think beforehand, and bring with them something
ready, merely as the first kick or starting point to make the evening
run smoothly.
§ 35. When the company has settled down to dinner, the first care should
be to prevent it breaking into couples, and for that purpose some one
opposite should be addressed or some question asked which may evoke
answers from various people. Above all, however, the particular guest of
the night, or the person best known as a wit or story-teller, should
_not_ be pressed or challenged at the outset—a sort of vulgarity which
makes him either shy or angry at being so manifestly _exploité_ by the
company, so that he is likely either to turn silent or say some
ill-humoured things.
The main advice to be given to women to help them in making such a small
company agreeable, is to study politics. A vast number of clever and
well-read women exclude themselves from a large part of the serious talk
of men by neglecting this engrossing and ever-fruitful topic of
conversation. Literature, of course, is a still more various and
interesting subject; but here perhaps the defect lies with men, who are
so devoted to practical life that they lose their taste for general
reading. Except for politics, the daily papers seldom afford any
literary food fit for good conversation.
The topic which ought to be common to both and always interesting, is
the discussion of human character and human motives. If the novel be so
popular a form of literature, how can the novel in real life fail to
interest an intelligent company? People of serious temper and
philosophic habit will be able to confine themselves to large ethical
views, and the general dealings of men; but to average people, both men
and women, and perhaps most of all to busy men, who desire to find in
society relaxation from their toil, that lighter and more personal kind
of criticism on human affairs will prevail which is known as _gossip_.
§ 36. This may, therefore, be the suitable moment to consider the place
of gossip in the theory of conversation; for though gossip is not only
possible but usual in the private discourse of two people, and possible
too in a large society, its real home and natural exercising ground is
the society of a few people intimate with the same surroundings.
It is usual for all people, especially those who most indulge in it, to
censure gossip as a crime, as a violation of the Ninth Commandment, as a
proof of idleness and vain curiosity, as a frivolous waste of the time
given us for mental improvement. Yet the censure is seldom serious.
These people cannot but feel obscurely what they are either afraid to
speak out or have not duly considered, that the main object of
conversation is neither instruction nor moral improvement but
_recreation_. It is of course highly desirable that all our amusements
should be both intellectually and morally profitable, and we may look
back with special satisfaction upon any conversation which included
these important objects. But the main and direct object is recreation,
mental relaxation, happy idleness; and from this point of view it is
impossible for any sound theory of conversation to ignore or depreciate
gossip, which is perhaps the main factor in agreeable talk throughout
society.
The most harmless form is the repeating of small details about
personages great either in position or intellect, which give their empty
names a personal colour, and so bring them nearer and more clearly into
view. The man who has just come from the society of kings and queens, or
great generals, or politicians, or literary men whose names are
exceptionally prominent at the time, can generally furnish some personal
details by which people imagine they can explain to themselves great and
unexpected results. Who has not heard with interest such anecdotes about
Mr. Gladstone, or Prince Bismarck, or Victor Emanuel? And what book has
ever acquired more deserved and lasting reputation than Boswell’s _Life
of Johnson_?
The latest development of the literary side of gossip is to be seen in
what are called the ’society papers,’ which owe their circulation to
their usefulness in furnishing topics for this kind of conversation.[10]
All the funny sketches of life and character which have made _Punch_ so
admirable a mirror of society for the last fifty years, are of the
character of gossip, subtracting the mischievous element of personality;
and though most people will think this latter an essential feature in
our meaning when we talk of gossip, it is not so; it is the trivial and
passing, the unproven and suspected, which is the main thing, for it is
quite possible to bring any story under the notion while suppressing the
names of the actors.
Footnote 10:
I only speak of the _fact_ that they are useful in supplying a want.
Whether they are or are not corrupting the public mind is another and
a very serious question.
Next to the retailing of small personal points about great people comes
the narrating of deeper interests belonging to small people, especially
the affairs of the heart, which we pursue so assiduously even in feigned
characters. But here it is that all the foibles of our neighbours come
under survey, and that a great deal of calumny and slander may be
launched upon the world by mere shrug and innuendo. The reader will
remember with what effect this side of gossip is brought out in
Sheridan’s _School for Scandal_.
§ 37. It is idle to deny that there is no kind of conversation more
fascinating than this, but its immorality may easily become such as to
shock honest minds, and the man who indulges in it freely at the expense
of others, will probably have to pay the cost himself in the long run;
for those who hear him will fear him, and will retire into themselves in
his presence. On the other hand, nothing is more honourable than to
stand forth as the defender or the palliator of the faults imputed to
others, and nothing is easier than to expand such a defence into general
considerations as to the purity of human motives, which will raise the
conversation from its unwholesome ground into the upper air.
If the company be fit for it, no general rule is more valuable than that
of turning the conversation away from people and fixing it on things;
but, alas! how many there are who only take interest in people, and in
the weakest and most trivial aspects of people! Few things are more
essential and more neglected in the education of children than to
habituate them to talk about things, and not people; yet, what use is
there in urging these more special rules, when the very idea of teaching
them to converse at all is foreign to the minds of most parents and of
all educators? Let me illustrate this by one grotesque fact.
It will be conceded that the one thing absolutely essential to the
education of a lady is that she should talk agreeably at meals. It is
the natural meeting time, not only of the household, but of friends, and
conversation is then as essential as food. Yet, what is the habit of
many of our schools? They either enforce silence at this period, or they
compel the wretched pupils to speak in a foreign language, in which they
can only labour out spasmodic commonplaces, without any interchange or
play of thought. Consequently many of our girls drift into the habit of
regarding meal-times as the precise occasion when conversation is
impossible. How far this mis-education, during some of the most critical
years of their lives, affects them permanently it is not easy to
over-estimate. If parents were decently intelligent in this matter they
should ascertain clearly the practice of a school, and the schoolmaster
or schoolmistress who is obtuse and mischievous enough to practise this
crime should at once lose every pupil.
The only excuse I can find for this widespread outrage upon the social
rights of the young, is the old tradition of universities, still pursued
in convent schools and Roman Catholic seminaries, that a portion of
scripture, or of some edifying book, should be read out during meals, so
that the pupils may take in spiritual food along with their dinners, and
avoid the crime of light and trivial conversation. A clever Jesuit
educator whom I knew, went so far within the letter of the law as to
substitute the _Saturday Review_ for the usual work of edification, the
_Lives of the Saints_! This worthy man did his best under a system
devised to bring up young people in silence and in fear, not in free and
friendly intercourse with their instructors. But why should we, with our
spiritual liberty, retain these mischievous and antiquated shackles?
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