Martine's Hand-book of Etiquette, and Guide to True Politeness Part 1

Martine's Hand-book of Etiquette, and Guide to True Politeness.

by Arthur Martine.

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.

Politeness has been defined as an "artificial good-nature;" but it would be better said that _good-nature is natural politeness_. It inspires us with an unremitting attention, both to please others and to avoid giving them offence. Its code is a ceremonial, agreed upon and established among mankind, to give each other external testimonies of friends.h.i.+p or respect. _Politeness_ and _etiquette_ form a sort of supplement to the law, which enables society to protect itself against offences which the _law_ cannot touch. For instance, the law cannot punish a man for habitually staring at people in an insolent and annoying manner, but _etiquette_ can banish such an offender from the circles of good society, and fix upon him the brand of vulgarity. _Etiquette_ consists in certain forms, ceremonies, and rules which the _principle of politeness_ establishes and enforces for the regulation of the manners of men and women in their intercourse with each other.

Many unthinking persons consider the observance of etiquette to be nonsensical and unfriendly, as consisting of unmeaning forms, practiced only by the _silly_ and the idle; an opinion which arises from their not having reflected on the _reasons_ that have led to the establishment of certain rules indispensable to the well-being of society, and without which, indeed, it would inevitably fall to pieces, and be destroyed.

The true aim of politeness, is to make those with whom you a.s.sociate as well satisfied with themselves as possible. It does not, by any means, encourage an impudent self-importance in them, but it does whatever it can to accommodate their feelings and wishes in social intercourse.

Politeness is a sort of social benevolence, which avoids wounding the pride, or shocking the prejudices of those around you.

The principle of politeness is the same among all nations, but the ceremonials which etiquette imposes differ according to the taste and habits of various countries. For instance, many of the minor rules of etiquette at Paris differ from those at London; and at New York they may differ from both Paris and London. But still the polite of every country have about the same manners.

Of the manners and deportment of both ladies and gentlemen, we would remark that a proper consideration for the welfare and comfort of others will generally lead to a greater propriety of demeanor than any rules which the most rigid master of etiquette could supply. This feeling, however, is one that must be cultivated, for the promptings of nature are eminently selfish, and courtesy and good-breeding are only attainable by effort and discipline. But even courtesy has limits where dignity should govern it, for when carried to excess, particularly in manner, it borders on sycophancy, which is almost as despicable as rudeness. To overburden people with attention; to render them uncomfortable with a prodigality of proffered services; to insist upon obligations which they do not desire, is not only to render yourself disagreeable, but contemptible. This defect of manners is particularly prevalent in the rural districts, where the intense effort to render a visitor comfortable has exactly the contrary effect; besides, there are those whose want of refinement and good breeding often leads them to an unwarrantable familiarity, which requires coldness and indifference to subdue.

Much misconstruction and unpleasant feeling arises, especially in country towns, from not knowing what is "_expected_," or necessary to be done on certain occasions, resulting sometimes from the prevalence of local customs, with which the world in general are not supposed to be acquainted. "To do in Rome as the Romans do," applies to every kind of society. At the same time, you can never be expected to commit a serious breach of manners because your neighbors do so.

But what you should do, and what not, in particular cases, you will learn in the following chapters. I have only now to say, that if you wish to be agreeable, which is certainly a good and religious desire, you must both study how to be so, and take the trouble to put your studies into constant practice. The fruit you will soon reap. You will be generally liked and loved. The grat.i.tude of those to whom you have devoted yourself will be shown in speaking well of you; you will become a desirable addition to every party, and whatever your birth, fortune, or position, people will say of you, "He is a most agreeable and well-bred man," and be glad to introduce you to good society. But you will reap a yet better reward. You will have in yourself the satisfaction of having taken trouble and made sacrifices in order to give pleasure and happiness for the time to others. How do you know what grief or care you may not obliterate, what humiliation you may not alter to confidence, what anxiety you may not soften, what--last, but really not least--what intense dullness you may not enliven? If this work a.s.sist you in becoming an agreeable member of good society, I shall rejoice at the labor it has given me.

THE ART OF CONVERSATION.

As the object of conversation is pleasure and improvement, those subjects only which are of universal interest can be made legitimate topics of pleasantry or discussion. And it is the gift of expressing thoughts and fancies in a quick, brilliant, and graceful manner on such topics,--of striking out new ideas, eliciting the views and opinions of others, of attaching the interest of all to the subject discussed, giving it, however trifling in itself, weight and importance in the estimation of the hearers, that const.i.tutes the great talent for conversation. But this talent can never, we may safely aver, be displayed except in a good cause, and when conversation is carried on in a spirit of genuine charity and benevolence.

We should meet in society to please and be pleased, and not to display cold and stately dignity, which is as much out of place, as all attempts to s.h.i.+ne by a skillful adherence to the fantastic rules of the silver-fork school, are puerile and ludicrous. Such little things are great to little persons, who are proud of having acquired by rote, what the naturally elegant derive, in sufficient measure, from naturally just feeling.

The power of preserving silence is the very first requisite to all who wish to s.h.i.+ne, or even please in discourse; and those who cannot preserve it, have really no business to speak. Of course, I do not mean the dull, ignorant, sulky, or supercilious silence, of which we see enough in all conscience; but the graceful, winning and eloquent silence. The silence that, without any deferential air, listens with polite attention, is more flattering than compliments, and more frequently broken for the purpose of encouraging others to speak, than to display the listener's own powers. This is the really eloquent silence. It requires great genius--more perhaps than speaking--and few are gifted with the talent; but it is of such essential advantage, that I must recommend its study to all who are desirous to take a share in conversation, and beg they will learn to be silent, before they attempt to speak.

Notwithstanding the praise here bestowed on silence, it must still be explained that there are various modes of being silently rude. There is the rude silence of disdain--of not hearing, of not even deeming your words deserving attention or reply. These are minor and mere pa.s.sive modes of impertinence; the direct and active sort of silent rudeness is to listen with a fixed and attentive stare on the speaker, and without any necessity of raising the eyebrows--for that might be precarious--show your utter amazement, that any one should think of thus addressing a person of your rank, wealth, genius, or greatness. There are of course various styles and degrees in all these modes of impertinence, but they all originate in the same cause: ignorance of the real facility of being rude, and a wish to acquire distinction by the practice. It is idle to a.s.sert that every one can be rude if he likes; for, if such were the fact, we should not see hosts of persons belonging to what is termed good society, seeking fame and renown by various shades and degrees of mere impertinence.

Never give short or sharp answers in ordinary conversation, unless you aspire to gain distinction by mere rudeness; for they have in fact no merit, and are only uncivil. "I do not know," "I cannot tell," are the most harmless words possible, and may yet be rendered very offensive by the tone and manner in which they are p.r.o.nounced. Never reply, in answer to a question like the following, "Did Mrs. Spitewell tell you how Miss Rosebud's marriage was getting on?" "I did not ask." It is almost like saying, I never ask impertinent questions, though you do; we learn plenty of things in the world without having first inquired about them.

If you must say, you did not ask, say, that "you forgot to ask,"

"neglected it," or "did not think of it." We can always be ordinarily civil, even if we cannot always be absolutely wise.

Except in mere sport and raillery, and where a little _extravaganza_ is the order of the moment, always when you answer, or speak in reply to an observation made, speak to the true and just import of what is said.

Leave quibbling of every kind to lawyers pleading at the bar for the life of a culprit; in society and conversation it is invariably out of place, unless when Laughter is going his merry round. At all other times it is a proof of bad breeding.

You must not overstretch a proposition, neither must you overstretch or spin out a jest, that has done its duty; for few can be made to rebound after they have once come to the ground.

Another mode of being rude, is to collect, and have at command, all the set phrases used by uncivil persons, in order to say what they fancy very sharp and severe things. Such a collector, jealous perhaps of the attention with which a pleasant guest is listened to, may break in upon the most harmless discourse with the words, "I think you _lie_ under a mistake." The term may in itself be harmless, but its application is at all times rude, coa.r.s.e and decidedly vulgar.

La Bruyere tells us that "rudeness is not a fixed and inherent vice of the mind, but the result of other vices; it springs," he says, "from vanity, ignorance, laziness, stupidity, jealousy, and inattention. It is the more hateful from being constantly displayed in exterior deportment and from being thus always visible and manifest; and is offensive in character and degree according to the source from which it takes its rise."

We next come to the loud talker, the man who silences a whole party by his sole power of lungs. All subjects are alike to him; he speaks on every topic with equal fluency, is never at a loss, quotes high authority for every a.s.sertion, and allows no one else to utter a word; he silences, without the least ceremony, every attempt at interruption, however cleverly managed;--calls out, "I beg your pardon," in a tone that shows how ill-used he thinks himself,--or shuts your mouth with--"One minute, if you please, sir!" as much as to say, you are surely a very ill-bred fellow. Great, and especially loud and positive talkers, have been denounced by all writers on manners as shallow and superficial persons. And P. Andre, the author of a French Essay on the Beautiful, declares distinctly, that "no man of sense was ever a great talker."

Next to the talker, we have the man who gives an account of his dogs, horses, lands, books, and pictures. Whatever is his, must, he thinks, interest others; and listen they must, however resolutely they may attempt to change the current of his discourse.

Women of this cla.s.s are sometimes too fond of praising their children.

It is no doubt an amiable weakness; but I would still advise them to indulge as little as possible in the practice; for however dear the rosy-cheeked, curly-headed prattlers may be to them, the chances are, that others will vote the darlings to be great bores; you that have children, never speak of them in company. You must not even praise your near relations; for the subject deprives the hearer of all power to dissent, and is therefore clearly objectionable.

In the same line is the clever bore, who takes up every idle speech, to show his wisdom at a cheap rate. If you say, "Hang the weather!" before such a man, he immediately proves, by logical demonstrations, that the weather has no neck by which it can be suspended. The grave expounder of truisms belongs to this cla.s.s. He cannot allow the simplest conversation to go on, without entering into proofs and details familiar to every child nine years of age; and the tenor of his discourse, however courteous in terms and manner, pays you the very indifferent compliment, of supposing that you have fallen from some other planet, in total and absolute ignorance of the most ordinary and every-day things connected with this little world of ours. All foreigners are particularly great at this style of boring.

Then you have the indifferent and apathetic bore, who hardly condescends to pay the least attention to what you say; and who, if he refrains from the direct and absolute rudeness of yawning in your face, shows, by short and drawling answers, given at fits and starts, and completely at variance with the object of the conversation, that he affects at least a total indifference to the party present, and to the subject of discourse. In society, the absent man is uncivil; he who affects to be so, is rude and vulgar. All persons who speak of their ailings, diseases, or bodily infirmities, are offensive bores. Subjects of this sort should be addressed to doctors, who are paid for listening to them, and to no one else. Bad taste is the failing of these bores. Then we have the ladies and gentlemen who pay long visits, and who, meeting you at the door prepared to sally forth, keep you talking near the fire till the beauty of the day is pa.s.sed; and then take their leave, "hoping they have not detained you." Bad feeling or want of tact here predominates.

"Hobby-riders," who constantly speak on the same eternal subject,--who bore you at all times and at all hours,--whether you are in health or in sickness, in spirits or in sorrow, with the same endless topic, must not be overlooked in our list; though it is sufficient to denounce them.

Their failing is occasioned by a total want of judgment.

The _Malaprops_ are also a numerous and unhappy family, for they are constantly addressing the most unsuitable speeches to individuals or parties. To the blind they will speak of fine pictures and scenery; and will entertain a person in deep mourning with the antic.i.p.ated pleasures of to-morrow's ball. A total want of ordinary thought and observation, is the general cause of the _Malaprop_ failing.

Let us add to this very imperfect list the picture of a bore described by Swift. "Nothing," he says, "is more generally exploded than the folly of talking too much; yet I rarely remember to have seen five people together, where some one among them hath not been predominant in that kind, to the great constraint and disgust of all the rest. But among such as deal in mult.i.tudes of words, none are comparable to the sober, deliberate talker, who proceedeth with much thought and caution, maketh his preface, brancheth out into several digressions, findeth a hint that putteth him in mind of another story, which he promises to tell you when this is done, cometh back regularly to his subject, cannot readily call to mind some person's name, holdeth his head, complaineth of his memory; the whole company all this while in suspense; at last says, it is no matter, and so goes on. And to crown the business, it perhaps proveth at last a story the company has heard fifty times before, or at best some insipid adventure of the relater."

To this we may add, that your cool, steady talkers, who speak with the care and attention of professors demonstrating mathematical problems,--who weigh, measure and balance every word they utter,--are all decided objectionables in society. It is needless to say, that such persons never blunder, and never "stumble over a potato;" a matter of little recommendation. In conversation there must be, as in love and in war, some hazarding, some rattling on; nor need twenty falls affect you, so long as you take cheerfulness and good humor for your guides; but the careful and measured conversation just described is always, though perfectly correct, extremely dull and tedious--a vast blunder from first to last.

There are also many persons who commence speaking before they know what they are going to say. The ill-natured world, who never miss an opportunity of being severe, declare them to be foolish and dest.i.tute of brains. I shall not go so far; but hardly know what we should think of a sportsman who would attempt to bring down a bird before he had loaded his gun.

I have purposely reserved the egotistical bore for the last on this short and imperfect list. It is truly revolting, indeed, to approach the very _Boa-constrictor_ of good society; the snake who comes upon us, not in the natural form of a huge, coa.r.s.e, slow reptile, but Proteus-like, in a thousand different forms; though all displaying at the first sight the boa-bore, ready to slime over every subject of discourse with the vile saliva of selfish vanity. Pah! it is repulsive even to speak of the species, numerous, too, as the sands along the sh.o.r.e.

Some of the cla.s.s make no ceremony of immediately intruding themselves and their affairs on the attention of a whole party; of silencing every other subject started, however interesting to the company, merely that they may occupy the prominent and most conspicuous position. Others again are more dexterous, and with great art will lie on the watch to hook in their own praise. They will call a witness to remember they always foretold what would happen in such a case, but none would believe them; they advised such a man from the beginning, and told him the consequences just as they happened; but he would have his own way.

Others make a vanity of telling their own faults; they are the strangest men in the world; they cannot dissemble; they own it is a folly; they have lost abundance of advantages by it; but if you would give them the world, they cannot help it; there is something in their nature that abhors insincerity and constraint, with many other insufferable topics of the same alt.i.tude. Thus, though bores find their account in speaking ill or well of themselves, it is the characteristic of a gentleman that he never speaks of himself at all.

La Bruyere says, "The great charm of conversation consists less in the display of one's own wit and intelligence, than in the power to draw forth the resources of others; he who leaves you after a long conversation, pleased with himself and the part _he_ has taken in the discourse, will be your warmest admirer. Men do not care to admire you, they wish you to be pleased with them; they do not seek for instruction or even amus.e.m.e.nt from your discourse, but they do wish you to be made acquainted with their talents and powers of conversation; and the true man of genius will delicately make all who come in contact with him feel the exquisite satisfaction of knowing that they have appeared to advantage."

I have no desire to condemn my readers to eternal silence; but must inform them that it is not so easy to _s.h.i.+ne_ in conversation as many suppose. Fluency of tongue and a little modest a.s.surance, though very well for imposing on the unwary, go but a short way when you have to deal with those who are really worth pleasing.

How can a person _s.h.i.+ne_ by conversation in elegant and educated society, whose thoughts have never ranged beyond the gratification of foolish vanity and mean selfishness; who has never reflected on life, men and manners; whose mind has not turned to the contemplation of the works and wonders of nature; and who, in the events of his own time, has not seen the results of the many deeds of sorrow, shame, greatness, and glory, that crowd the pages of the world's variegated annals? Whoever would _s.h.i.+ne_ in polite discourse must at least be well versed in the philosophy of life, and possess a fair acquaintance with general and natural history, and the outlines of science. And though he need be neither a poet nor an artist, he must be well read in poetry and acquainted with fine arts; because it is only by their study that taste can be cultivated and fancy guided. A familiarity with the fine arts is necessary, in fact, to give him a just perception of the sublime and beautiful, the very foundation whence our emotions of delight must arise. Any one attempting to _s.h.i.+ne_ in conversation, without possessing the trifling acquirements here mentioned,--for I have said nothing of learning and science,--will most a.s.suredly make an indifferent figure, and had better therefore content himself with simply pleasing by unaffected cheerfulness and good humor, which is within reach of all.

As to subjects for conversation, what difficulty can there be about them? Will not books, b.a.l.l.s, bonnets and metaphysics furnish pleasant topics of discourse? Can you not speak of the

"Philosophy and science, and the springs Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world?"--

Are flirtations, traveling, love and speech-making at an end; or is the great globe itself and the weather on its surface so perfectly stationary that you can find nothing to say about them? No, no, let us not deceive ourselves; we never want subjects of conversation; but we often want the knowledge how to treat them; above all, how to bring them forward in a graceful and pleasing manner. We often want observation and a just estimate of character, and do not know how, in the present defective state of society, any pa.s.sing remark intended to open a conversation may be received.

Cheerfulness, unaffected cheerfulness, a sincere desire to please and be pleased, unchecked by any efforts to s.h.i.+ne, are the qualities you must bring with you into society, if you wish to succeed in conversation.

Under the influence of their recommendation, you may safely give the rein to fancy and hilarity, certain that, in a well-a.s.sorted party, you will make at least a favorable impression, if not a brilliant one. I do not of course mean by cheerfulness any outbreaking of loud and silly mirth, nor what the world sometimes calls a "high flow of spirits," but a light and airy equanimity of temper,--that spirit which never rises to boisterousness, and never sinks to immovable dullness; that moves gracefully from "grave to gay, from serious to serene," and by mere manner gives proof of a feeling heart and generous mind.

Franklin says, that you must never contradict in conversation, nor correct facts if wrongly stated. This is going much too far; you must never contradict in a short, direct, or positive tone; but with politeness, you may easily, when necessary, express a difference of opinion in a graceful and even complimentary manner. And I would almost say, that the art of conversation consists in knowing _how_ to contradict, and _when_ to be silent; for, as to constantly acting a fawning and meanly deferential part in society, it is offensive to all persons of good sense and good feeling. In regard to facts wrongly stated, no well-bred man ever thinks of correcting them, merely to show his wisdom in trifles; but with politeness, it is perfectly easy to rectify an error, when the nature of the conversation demands the explanation.

Whenever the lady or gentleman with whom you are discussing a point, whether of love, war, science or politics, begins to sophisticate, drop the subject instantly. Your adversary either wants the ability to maintain his opinion,--and then it would be uncivil to press it--or he wants the still more useful ability to yield the point with unaffected grace and good-humor; or what is also possible, his vanity is in some way engaged in defending views on which he may probably have acted, so that to demolish his opinions is perhaps to reprove his conduct, and no well-bred man goes into society for the purpose of sermonizing.

All local wits, all those whose jests are understood only within the range of their own circle or coterie, are decided objectionables in general society. It is the height of ill-breeding, in fact, to converse, or jest, on subjects that are not perfectly understood by the party at large; it is a species of rude mystification, as uncivil as whispering, or as speaking in language that may not be familiar to some of the party. But you must not make a fool of yourself, even if others show themselves deficient in good manners; and must not, like inflated simpletons, fancy yourself the object of every idle jest you do not understand, or of every laugh that chance may have called forth. _Ladies and gentlemen_ feel that they are neither laughed at nor ridiculed.

In society, the object of conversation is of course entertainment and improvement, and it must, therefore, be adapted to the circle in which it is carried on, and must be neither too high nor too deep for the party at large, so that every one may contribute his share, just at his pleasure, and to the best of his ability. Let no two or three old Indians, old school-fellows, or old brother campaigners, seize upon the conversation to themselves, discuss their former adventures, and keep the rest of a party listening silently to an animated conversation about exploded stories, of which they know nothing and care as little.