Do not criticize the person in whose honor the entertainment is given.
Make no remarks about his equipment. If the handles are plated, it is best to seem to not observe it.
If the odor of the flowers is too oppressive for your comfort, remember that they were not brought there for you, and that the person for whom they were brought suffers no inconvenience from their presence.
Listen, with as intense an expression of attention as you can command, to the official statement of the character and history of the person in whose honor the entertainment is given; and if these statistics should seem to fail to tally with the facts, in places, do not nudge your neighbor, or press your foot upon his toes, or manifest, by any other sign, your awareness that taffy is being distributed.
If the official hopes expressed concerning the person in whose honor the entertainment is given are known by you to be oversized, let it pass—do not interrupt.
At the moving passages, be moved—but only according to the degree of your intimacy with the parties giving the entertainment, or with the party in whose honor the entertainment is given. Where a blood relation sobs, an intimate friend should choke up, a distant acquaintance should sigh, a stranger should merely fumble sympathetically with his handkerchief. Where the occasion is military, the emotions should be graded according to military rank, the highest officer present taking precedence in emotional violence, and the rest modifying their feelings according to their position in the service.
Do not bring your dog.
Form of Tender of Rescue from Strange Young Gentleman to Strange Young Lady at a Fire.
Although through the fiat of a cruel fate, I have been debarred the gracious privilege of your acquaintance, permit me, Miss [here insert name, if known], the inestimable honor of offering you the aid of a true and loyal arm against the fiery doom which now o’ershadows you with its crimson wing. [This form to be memorized, and practiced in private.]
Should she accept, the young gentleman should offer his arm—bowing, and observing “Permit me”—and so escort her to the fire escape and deposit her in it (being extremely careful, if she have no clothes on but her night dress, not to seem to notice the irregularity). No form of leavetaking is permissible, further than a formal bow, accompanied by a barely perceptible smile of deferential gratitude for the favor which the young lady has accorded—this smile to be completed at the moment the fire escape starts to slide down, then the features to be recomposed instantly.
A compulsory introduction at a fire is not binding upon the young lady. The young gentleman cannot require recognition at her hands when he next meets her, but must leave her unembarrassed to decide for herself whether she will continue the acquaintanceship or ignore it.
To return to the fire. If the boarding house is not provided with a fire escape, the young gentleman will use such other means of rescue as circumstances shall afford. But he will not need to change the form of his proffer of assistance; for this speech has been purposely framed in such a way as to apply with equal felicity to all methods of rescue from fire. If egress may be had to the street by the stairway, the young gentleman will offer his arm and escort the young lady down; if retreat in that direction is cut off by the fire, he will escort her to the floor above and lower her to the street by a rope, fastening it by slip-noose under her armpits, with the knot behind (at the same time bowing and saying “Permit me”); or if no rope be procurable, he will drop her from the balcony upon soft substances to be provided by the populace below—always observing “Permit me,” and accompanying the remark with a slight inclination of the head. In either ascending or descending the stairs, the young gentleman shall walk beside the young lady, if the stairs are wide enough to allow it; otherwise he must precede her. In no case must he follow her. This is de rigueur.
MEM. In rescuing a chambermaid, presentation of card is not necessary, neither should one say “Permit me.” The form of tender of service should also be changed. Example:
Form of Tender of Rescue from Young Gentleman to Chambermaid at a Fire.
There is no occasion for alarm, Mary [insertion of surname not permissible]; keep cool, do everything just as I tell you, and, D.V., I will save you.
Anything more elaborate than this, as to diction and sentiment, would be in exceedingly bad taste, in the case of a chambermaid. Yet at the same time, brusqueries are to be avoided. Such expressions as “Come, git!” should never fall from the lips of a true gentleman at a fire. No, not even when addressed to the humblest domestic. Brevity is well; but even brevity cannot justify vulgarity.
In assisting at a fire in a boarding house, the true gentleman will always save the young ladies first—making no distinction in favor of personal attractions, or social eminence, or pecuniary predominance—but taking them as they come, and firing them out with as much celerity as shall be consistent with decorum. There are exceptions, of course, to all rules; the exceptions to this one are:
Partiality, in the matter of rescue, to be shown to:
1. Fiancées.
2. Persons toward whom the operator feels a tender sentiment, but has not yet declared himself.
3. Sisters.
4. Stepsisters.
5. Nieces.
6. First cousins.
7. Cripples.
8. Second cousins.
9. Invalids.
10. Young-lady relations by marriage.
11. Third cousins, and young-lady friends of the family.
12. The Unclassified.
Parties belonging to these twelve divisions should be saved in the order in which they are named.
The operator must keep himself utterly calm, and his line of procedure constantly in mind; otherwise the confusion around him will be almost sure to betray him into very embarrassing breaches of etiquette. Where there is much smoke, it is often quite difficult to distinguish between new Relatives by Marriage and Unclassified young ladies; wherefore it is provided that if the operator, in cases of this sort, shall rescue a No. 12 when he should have rescued a No. 10, it is not requisite that he carry No. 12 back again, but that he leave her where she is without remark, and go and fetch out No. 10. An apology to No. 10 is not imperative; still, it is good form to offer it. It may be deferred, however, one day—but no longer. [In a case of this nature which occurred during the first day of the Chicago fire, where the operator saved a No. 7 when a No. 6 was present but overlooked in the smoke, it was held by competent authorities, that the postponement of the apology for the extraordinary term of three days was justified, it being considered that the one-day term during which the apology must be offered means the day after the fire, and therefore does not begin until the fire is out. This decision was sustained by the several Illinois courts through which it was carried; and experts are confident that it will also be sustained, eventually, in the Supreme Court of the United States—where it still lingers.]
To return to the fire.
Observe: 1’s, 3’s, 4’s, and 5’s may be carried out of the burning house, in the operator’s arms—permission being first asked, and granted; 7’s and 9’s may be carried out without the formality of asking permission; the other grades may not be carried out, except they themselves take the initiative, and signify, by word or manner, their desire to partake of this attention.
Form for Requesting Permission to Carry a No. 1, 3, 4, or 5, out of a Boarding House Which Is on Fire.
The bonds of [here insert “tenderness,” in the case of No. 1; or “blood,” in the other cases] which enfold us in their silken tie, warrant me, my dear [here insert given name, in all cases; and without prefix], in offering to you the refuge of my arms in fleeing the fiery doom which now, with crimson wing, o’ershadows us.
In cases where a member of one of the prohibited grades signifies a desire to be carried out of the fire, response should be made in the following form—accompanied by a peculiarly profound obeisance:
Form of Response to Indication on the part of a 2, 6, 8, 10, 11, or 12 that she Desires to be Carried Out of a Fire in Arms of Young Gentleman.
In view of the circumstance, Madmoselle [insert name only in cases where the party is a 6 or an 8—be careful about this], that but fragile and conventional [here—in case of a No. 2—insert “Alas!”] are the bonds which enfold us in their silken tie, it is with deepest sense of the signal distinction which your condescension has conferred upon me, that I convey to you the refuge of my arms in fleeing the fiery doom which now, with crimson wing, o’ershadows us.
Other material in boarding house is to be rescued in the following order:
13. Babies.
14. Children under 10 years of age.
15. Young widows.
16. Young married females.
17. Elderly married ditto.
18. Elderly widows.
19. Clergymen.
20. Boarders in general.
21. Female domestics.
22. Male ditto.
23. Landlady.
24. Landlord.
25. Firemen.
26. Furniture.
27. Mothers-in-law.
Arbitrary introductions, made under fire, to 12’s through the necessity of carrying them out of the conflagration, are not binding. It rests with the young lady to renew the acquaintanceship or let it drop. If she shall desire the renewal, she may so signify by postal card; by intimation conveyed through friend of family; or by simple recognition of operator, by smile and slight inclination of head, the first time she meets him after the fire. In the resulting conversation the young gentleman must strictly refrain from introducing the subject of fire, or indeed of combustibles of any kind, lest he may seem to conceive and remember that he has lately done a heroic action, or at least an action meriting complimentary acknowledgment; whereas, on the contrary, he should studiedly seem to have forgotten the circumstance, until the young lady shall herself—if she so please—refer to it; in which case he will bow repeatedly, smiling continuously, and accompanying each bow with the observation (uttered in a soft, apparently embarrassed, yet gratified voice), “ ’m very glad, ’m sure, ’m very glad, ’m sure.”
Offers of marriage to parties who are being carried out from a boarding house on fire are considered to be in questionable taste, for the reason that the subject of the proposition is not likely to be mistress of her best judgment at so alarming and confusing a time, and therefore it may chance that she is taken at a disadvantage. Indeed, the most authoritative canons of high breeding limit such offers inflexibly to cases where the respondent is a No. 2. In these instances, the following form should be observed:
Form of Offer of Marriage from Young Gentleman to a No. 2, during Process of Extracting Her from Boarding House on Fire; and Conveying Her out of the Same in His Arms.
Ah, I supplicate, I beseech, I implore thee, dearest [here insert given name of party only], to have compassion upon thy poor kneeling henchman [do not attempt to kneel—this is but a figure of speech] and deign to be his! Deign to engender into bonds of tenderness those bonds of chill conventionality which enfold us in their silken tie, and he will ever bless the day thou didst accept the refuge of his arms in fleeing the fiery doom which now, with crimson wing, o’ershadows us.
Enough has been said, now, as to the conduct which a young gentleman of culture and breeding should observe in the case of a boarding house on fire. The same rules apply, with but slight variations (which will suggest themselves to the operator), to fire in a church, private house, hotel, railway train, or on shipboard—indeed to all fires in the ordinary walks of life.
In the case of a ship on fire, evening dress must be omitted. The true gentleman never wears evening dress at sea, even in case of a fire.
The speeches to be used at a fire may also, with but slight alteration, be wielded with effect upon disastrous occasions of other sorts. For instance, in tendering rescue from destruction by hurricane, or earthquake, or runaway team, or railway collision (where no conflagration ensues), the operator should merely substitute “fatal doom” for “fiery doom”; and in cases of ordinary shipwreck or other methods of drowning, he should say “watery doom.” No other alterations are necessary, for the “crimson wing” applies to all calamities of a majestic sort, and is a phrase of exceeding finish and felicity.
Observe, in conclusion: Offers of marriage, during episode of runaway team, are to be avoided. A lady is sufficiently embarrassed at such a time; any act tending to add to this embarrassment is opposed to good taste, and therefore reprehensible.
One of the ablest of our recent works on Deportment* has this remark:
To the unrefined or the underbred person, the visiting-card is but a trifling and insignificant bit of paper; but to the cultured disciple of social law it conveys a subtle and unmistakable intelligence.
Its texture, style of engraving, and even the hour of leaving it, combine to place the stranger whose name it bears in a pleasant or a disagreeable attitude, even before his manners, conversation, and face have been able to explain his social position.
The receiver of a visitor’s card makes a careful study of its style. If it is in perfect taste, she admires him unconsciously for this evidence of excellent style, refinement, and familiarity with the details of a high social position and delicate breeding.
All this is wisely conceived, and well said. For the cultured, these hints are sufficient; but some elaboration of the matter seems worth while, in the interest of the partly cultured and the ignorant. Now observe, the points noted as concerns the card—and they are exceedingly important—are as follows:
1. Its texture.
2. Style of engraving.
3. Hour of leaving it.
If these fall short of the standard established by social law, the visitor is placed in a “disagreeable attitude”; but if, after a careful study of card and hour, the lady finds in them the regulation evidences of the visitor’s perfect taste, she “admires him unconsciously.” Let us now enter, carefully and orderly, upon particulars.
As to texture. Always use linen cards—never the cheap cotton styles. This is de rigueur.
If you are a mere “Mr.,” let your name be engraved in a delicate script; your address, in the same script, must be at the bottom of the card, in the left-hand corner; that is, if you are a bachelor; but if you are married, it must be placed in the right-hand corner.
If you bear a title, you should use a German text of a somewhat bold and pronounced character. In America (but in America only), your wife may be referred to by your title—and she may also put it on her card. Examples:
Mrs. Superintendent-of-Public-Instruction Jones
The Rocks, Hogback-on-the-Hudson
Mrs. Clerk-of-the-Board-of-Aldermen Hooligan
The Tombs, 2d Floor, New York
Mrs. 2d-Lieut.-Co.-B.,-42d-Regt.-N.Y.-Mounted-Militia Baggs
64 Thompson St., New York
Thursdays
“Thursdays” means that that is her reception day—a reminder that formal calls are not received there on any other day of the week.
The placing of the name is a matter of moment. It should be engraved on the back of the court cards; and on the front of the spot-cards and the joker. For obvious reasons the ace of spades is an exception to this rule—the name goes on the back of it.
A single remark, here, may not be out of place: Never use a second-hand deck, when making a ceremonious call. And never use what in vulgar parlance is called an old greasy deck, except in the case of social inferiors and poor kin.
Now as to the hour. Never pay a morning call (of ceremony) before breakfast. Figuratively speaking, this law, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, is written in blood. To call before breakfast would in many cases subject the stranger to the suspicion of desiring to compel an invitation to that meal; and would as often subject the host to the necessity of withholding such invitation—for the reason that the European breakfast (now the only correct thing in our higher circles) bars all sudden additions, there not being enough of it for the family. Now inasmuch as the stranger cannot know everybody’s breakfast hour, and therefore is liable to infringe the rule innocently, the canons of fashion have provided for him a simple and at the same time sufficient protection: when he has the slightest reason to fear that he has called too early, he must write “B.T.B.” in the upper left-hand corner of his card—which signifies Been to breakfast.
Do not make an evening visit of ceremony after bedtime. One is liable to be shot. This is on account of the prevalence of burglars. But aside from this consideration, a visit at so late an hour would amount to a familiarity, and would therefore place the stranger in a disagreeable attitude.
Between the limits above defined, visits may be paid at any hour you may choose; though of course one must not wittingly intrude at luncheon or dinner.
Signification, etc., of the Cards
Diamonds—Independent means, and no occupation.
Hearts—Love.
Clubs—Ultra fashion.
Spades—Neutral.
In houses of the best fashion, at the present day, you will find an ornamental table in the hall, near the front door. Deposit your card upon this.
A word just here: Make no unnecessary remarks to the servant. Do not ask him How’s the family; nor How’s things; nor What’s up—nor any such matter. It is but a transparent artifice, whose intent is to move such as are within hearing to admire how easy, and unembarrassed, and veteran to the ways of society the visitor is. All exhibitions of this sort are low. And do not shake hands with the servant, either coming or going; it is an excess of familiarity, and hence is in bad taste. If you know the servant, you may speak his Christian name, if you so desire, but you must not abbreviate it. You may address him as Thomas or William; but never as Tom or Tommy, or as Bill, Buck, or Billy. In the best society one goes even further, and studiedly miscalls the name, substituting William for Thomas, and Thomas for William. This is quite good form, since it gives one the appearance of not charging his mind with things of trifling importance. When one moves in the supremest rank of fashion, and has an assured place there, it is his right, sanctioned by old custom, to call all servants Thomas, impartially. When the Thomas is a female, the designation stands for her surname.
Now as to a discriminating use of the visiting card—a very important matter since this utensil—so to call it—is capable of expressing quite nice shades of sentiment or purpose.
On a first visit, the person of independent means will indicate this fact by depositing a diamond on the table above referred to. If he is worth only about $200,000, he will deposit a deuce; if he is worth more than this sum, he will indicate it by depositing the proper card, guiding himself by the following table of values.
|
Denomination |
Value |
|
Trey |
$ 300,000 |
|
Four |
400,000 |
|
Five |
500,000 |
|
Six |
600,000 |
|
Seven |
700,000 |
|
Eight |
800,000 |
|
Nine |
900,000 |
|
Ten |
1,000,000 |
|
Jack |
3,000,000 |
|
Queen |
8,000,000 |
|
King |
20,000,000 |
|
Ace |
The Ace has no limit. It means that the visitor owns a bonanza, or a railway system, or a telegraph system, or a Standard Oil monopoly.
Having once indicated, by your diamond lead, your financial standing, you will not lead from that suit any more, upon subsequent visits. In cases, later, of great enlargement of capital, one may play another diamond to indicate it, but it is not good form, except where the tender passion is concerned. It is permissible, then, if the tenderness has not been mutual, but has been mainly concentered in the male; for if a suitor who has led a trey or a four of diamonds in the beginning, and the tenderness, after due assiduity, has not been mutual, he will often find that the acquired ability to play a jack, by and by, has a tendency to mutualize it. Indeed, it is held by some authorities that no unmutualness is so unmutual that it cannot be mutualized by an ace.
Since the club is the symbol of the highest heaven of fashion and style, it necessarily stands at the top of the deck. By virtue of this precedence the club is always trump. It not only holds over the other suits, but one may play it whenever he chooses. Remember these things. And also this: one should not lead a club, except upon the occasion of a first visit. It is necessary then—for these reasons: it indicates that the visitor is of high fashion; and it also indicates, by the denomination of the card, how high up, or how low down, in the fashionable system he belongs. If you are of new date in high circles, and not conspicuous, lead a small spot-card; if new but conspicuous, play a five or a seven, or along there somewhere; if you are of a fine old fashionable family, and personally distinguished, lead a high spot-card gauged to the size of the circumstances; if you are not distinguished, but had a distinguished grandfather, lead the jack; for distinguished great-great-great grandfather, lead the queen; for distinguished ancestor (“ancestor” means foreign and away back) propagated by titled personage, lead the king; for ancestor derived from Lady Portsmouth or other friend of royalty, lead the ace. If your sister, or other lady relative, has elevated you to connection with nobility by marrying a foreign person of title, this is the grandest of all distinctions, and takes easy precedence of each and every other claim in our upper society, and gives you right and privilege to lead the “Joker.” N.B.—Since clubs are trumps always, it follows that the “Joker” always stands for a club.
The spade being neutral and noncommittal, we always use that suit when our visit is not one of a deep or peculiar significance. Hence we play the spade very much oftener than any other card. Naturally, therefore, it is called our long suit.
Now we come to the hearts. Of course this is a most important card, since its peculiar province is to lead us along the primrose path whose sweet goal is matrimony.
In opening the delicate game of love, you should lead a low card—your lowest, indeed—the deuce. How exquisitely this expresses a budding affection! You should say but little, on this first love-visit; on the contrary you should appear pensive and distraught, and seem to suffer. Do not forget to seem to suffer—this is important. Observe the effect of your card upon the lady. If she blushes, though ever so faintly, it is an elegant sign.
Be wary, be watchful, upon subsequent visits. Confine yourself strictly to the deuce; venture no farther while things seem to go well and pleasure mantles in her eye upon reception of card. Meanwhile, continue to seem to suffer, as before. But the moment you detect indifference in her face, the time has come for you to change your lead. Keep your own counsel; but the next time you come, play a low spade—an ultra neutral card. You will discover in a moment whether the lady’s indifference was assumed or real. If the former, she will blench a little, and perhaps falter in her greeting. [Follow up this advantage; use first opportunity to press hand; if pressure returned, sigh; if sigh returned, appear transfigured; if cannot appear transfigured, approximate it. If pressure not returned, sigh anyhow, as above; take opportunity to speak of shortness of life—brevity of existence is better; refer to morning of life overshadowed, cold world, blighted young hopes, etc., and do the early grave business and “soon be at rest,” and that sort of thing. Note effect. If evidently touched, lay into this line pretty strong; keep right along, spread it on thick. Introduce topic of sick mother (sick mother admirable material); get her to sympathize. Work in other sick relatives, as opportunity offers—but not too many; better leave three out than have one left over. Keep sharp lookout, and at right time, draw on your dead. Early dead most pathetic, perhaps, and therefore preferable. But be careful; do not overdo this feature; the first sample that palls on her, close the cemetery, and shade off onto suicide. MEM.—Leave her in tears, if it takes till breakfast.]
Next time you come, play the trey of hearts. Play it confidently—there is no occasion for fear.
You are fairly launched now, on the sweet voyage, and with a fair wind. But be ever wary; do not go too fast. Do not lead your four spot till you are sure you have gotten far enough along to warrant it. By and by, venture your five—and so on. If ever you discover that you have added a spot too soon, show instant repentance and deep humility by receding a spot or two—set yourself back a whole month, even—it will have a good effect.
Meantime, keep always prepared for rivals. For instance, if you are at the five-spot stage, and you perceive that a rival has deposited the six on the hall table, don’t hesitate—play the seven and take it. Your boldness will please the lady and win your forgiveness. If your rival’s heart is the biggest one in the deck, trump it—never weaken. From time to time, cases of doubt will turn up, but let them not confuse you, for there is one general law which covers these emergencies: When you are in doubt, take the trick.
By and by—let us suppose—you have at last climbed through all the stages, and the blissful moment has come for the playing your last and highest heart. You should agree upon a day and hour, with the lady, beforehand, because proposal of marriage must follow immediately upon this final play.
Let us consider that everything has been done and that the proposal is the next thing on the docket. Always propose in evening dress, if you are a civilian; in uniform, if you are in the army or navy—with sword or saber, but without revolver or spurs. The Masonic or Odd Fellows’ regalia should be superadded, in both cases, if you hold the privilege. [The lady should wear orange buds which are still green and have not begun to open. And other clothing, of course.]
You should make your proposal kneeling upon one knee—using hassock or handkerchief.
Form of Proposal to Spinster—and Responses.
HE: Oh, dearest [insert given name only], will thou join thy sweet destiny to mine, and, hand in hand, journey with me adown life’s tranquil stream, sharing its storms and calms, its labor and pain, its joy and sorrow, its poverty and wealth, its sickness and health, its beauteous paths, its arid wastes, and all that the inscrutable hand of fate shall pour out upon us, of sweet and bitter, till death do us part? [Weep, here.]
SHE: Oh, darling [insert given name, if handsome one—otherwise say Reginald], truly will thy [insert own given name] journey with thee, hand in hand, adown life’s tranquil stream, sharing its storms and calms, its labor and pain, its joy and sorrow, its poverty and wealth, its sickness and health, its beauteous paths, its arid wastes, and all that the inscrutable hand of fate shall pour upon us, of sweet and bitter, till death do us part. [Weep, here.]
HE: Oh, mine own!
SHE: Ah, mine own! [Rise and embrace—but carefully, being regardful of her toilet.]
In case of a widow, proposer will use same form, merely inserting word or two of kindly reference to deceased. Widow will use same form, merely acknowledging kindly notice of deceased with sob, if affliction recent; simple sigh, if more remote.
If proposer is defeated, he may throw up his hand or call a new deal, just as he shall prefer, or as circumstances may dictate.
But if he is elected, he must now drop into the beautiful French custom of fetching a bouquet every day. His first bouquet must be entirely white; after that, a faint shade of color (red) must be added daily. Let the tint deepen gradually day by day, and with such careful precision that there shall still remain a perceptible trace of white down to the very day before the wedding. On that day the last bouquet is delivered—and it must be absolutely red—no suggestion of other color in it anywhere.
It is an admirable custom, because it is stylish, and troublesome, and instinct with delicate sentiment, if one ignores the significance which the French people attach to it. But it is going out—at least in some sections of America. In some of our best circles a new custom has already taken its place—and yet it is substantially the French one in a new guise. It is as follows. As a starter, the bridegroom-elect fetches a handkerchief; then a napkin; then a towel—and so on, gradually enlarging, by degrees; and the day before the wedding he winds up with a blanket. The sentiment is the same, and the things keep better.
We do not need to say anything about marriage settlements. Among the French and Comanches, where a bride is a mere thing of barter, worth so much cash, or so many yellow dogs or wildcat skins, the marriage settlement is necessarily a very important matter; but this is not the case with us, so we will not discuss the subject.
c. 1881