MANNERS AND MORALS
By
Richard Duffy
Written in 1910
Many who scoff at a book of etiquette would be shocked to hear the least
expression of levity touching the Ten Commandments. But the Commandments
do not always prevent such virtuous scoffers from dealings with their
neighbor of which no gentleman could be capable and retain his claim to
the title. Though it may require ingenuity to reconcile their actions with
the Decalogue--the ingenuity is always forthcoming. There is no intention
in this remark to intimate that there is any higher rule of life than the
Ten Commandments; only it is illuminating as showing the relationship
between manners and morals, which is too often overlooked. The polished
gentleman of sentimental fiction has so long served as the type of smooth
and conscienceless depravity that urbanity of demeanor inspires distrust
in ruder minds. On the other hand, the blunt, unpolished hero of melodrama
and romantic fiction has lifted brusqueness and pushfulness to a pedestal
not wholly merited. Consequently, the kinship between conduct that keeps
us within the law and conduct that makes civilized life worthy to be
called such, deserves to be noted with emphasis. The Chinese sage,
Confucius, could not tolerate the suggestion that virtue is in itself
enough without politeness, for he viewed them as inseparable and "saw
courtesies as coming from the heart," maintaining that "when they are
practised with all the heart, a moral elevation ensues."
People who ridicule etiquette as a mass of trivial and arbitrary
conventions, "extremely troublesome to those who practise them and
insupportable to everybody else," seem to forget the long, slow progress
of social intercourse in the upward climb of man from the primeval state.
Conventions were established from the first to regulate the rights of the
individual and the tribe. They were and are the rules of the game of life
and must be followed if we would "play the game." Ages before man felt the
need of indigestion remedies, he ate his food solitary and furtive in some
corner, hoping he would not be espied by any stronger and hungrier fellow.
It was a long, long time before the habit of eating in common was
acquired; and it is obvious that the practise could not have been taken up
with safety until the individuals of the race knew enough about one
another and about the food resources to be sure that there was food
sufficient for all. When eating in common became the vogue, table manners
made their appearance and they have been waging an uphill struggle ever
since. The custom of raising the hat when meeting an acquaintance derives
from the old rule that friendly knights in accosting each other should
raise the visor for mutual recognition in amity. In the knightly years, it
must be remembered, it was important to know whether one was meeting
friend or foe. Meeting a foe meant fighting on the spot. Thus, it is
evident that the conventions of courtesy not only tend to make the wheels
of life run more smoothly, but also act as safeguards in human
relationship. Imagine the Paris Peace Conference, or any of the later
conferences in Europe, without the protective armor of diplomatic
etiquette!
Nevertheless, to some the very word etiquette is an irritant. It implies a
great pother about trifles, these conscientious objectors assure us, and
trifles are unimportant. Trifles are unimportant, it is true, but then
life is made up of trifles. To those who dislike the word, it suggests all
that is finical and superfluous. It means a garish embroidery on the big
scheme of life; a clog on the forward march of a strong and courageous
nation. To such as these, the words etiquette and politeness connote
weakness and timidity. Their notion of a really polite man is a dancing
master or a man milliner. They were always willing to admit that the
French were the politest nation in Europe and equally ready to assert that
the French were the weakest and least valorous, until the war opened their
eyes in amazement. Yet, that manners and fighting can go hand in hand
appears in the following anecdote:
In the midst of the war, some French soldiers and some non-French of the
Allied forces were receiving their rations in a village back of the lines.
The non-French fighters belonged to an Army that supplied rations
plentifully. They grabbed their allotments and stood about while hastily
eating, uninterrupted by conversation or other concern. The French
soldiers took their very meager portions of food, improvised a kind of
table on the top of a flat rock, and having laid out the rations,
including the small quantity of wine that formed part of the repast, sat
down in comfort and began their meal amid a chatter of talk. One of the
non-French soldiers, all of whom had finished their large supply of food
before the French had begun eating, asked sardonically: "Why do you
fellows make such a lot of fuss over the little bit of grub they give you
to eat?" The Frenchman replied: "Well, we are making war for civilization,
are we not? Very well, we are. Therefore, we eat in a civilized way."
To the French we owe the word etiquette, and it is amusing to discover its
origin in the commonplace familiar warning--"Keep off the grass." It
happened in the reign of Louis XIV, when the gardens of Versailles were
being laid out, that the master gardener, an old Scotsman, was sorely
tried because his newly seeded lawns were being continually
trampled upon. To keep trespassers off, he put up warning signs or
tickets--_etiquettes_--on which was indicated the path along which to
pass. But the courtiers paid no attention to these directions and so the
determined Scot complained to the King in such convincing manner that His
Majesty issued an edict commanding everyone at Court to "keep within the
_etiquettes_." Gradually the term came to cover all the rules for correct
demeanor and deportment in court circles; and thus through the centuries
it has grown into use to describe the conventions sanctioned for the
purpose of smoothing personal contacts and developing tact and good
manners in social intercourse. With the decline of feudal courts and the
rise of empires of industry, much of the ceremony of life was discarded
for plain and less formal dealing. Trousers and coats supplanted doublets
and hose, and the change in costume was not more extreme than the change
in social ideas. The court ceased to be the arbiter of manners, though the
aristocracy of the land remained the high exemplar of good breeding.
Yet, even so courtly and materialistic a mind as Lord Chesterfield's
acknowledged a connection between manners and morality, of which latter
the courts of Europe seemed so sparing. In one of the famous "Letters to
His Son" he writes: "Moral virtues are the foundation of society in
general, and of friendship in particular; but attentions, manners, and
graces, both adorn and strengthen them." Again he says: "Great merit, or
great failings, will make you respected or despised; but trifles, little
attentions, mere nothings, either done or reflected, will make you either
liked or disliked, in the general run of the world." For all the wisdom
and brilliancy of his worldly knowledge, perhaps no other writer has done
so much to bring disrepute on the "manners and graces" as Lord
Chesterfield, and this, it is charged, because he debased them so heavily
by considering them merely as the machinery of a successful career. To the
moralists, the fact that the moral standards of society in Lord
Chesterfield's day were very different from those of the present era
rather adds to the odium that has become associated with his attitude. His
severest critics, however, do concede that he is candid and outspoken, and
many admit that his social strategy is widely practised even in these
days.
But the aims of the world in which he moved were routed by the onrush of
the ideals of democratic equality, fraternity, and liberty. With the
prosperity of the newer shibboleths, the old-time notion of aristocracy,
gentility, and high breeding became more and more a curio to be framed
suitably in gold and kept in the glass case of an art museum. The crashing
advance of the industrial age of gold thrust all courts and their sinuous
graces aside for the unmistakable ledger balance of the counting-house.
This new order of things had been a long time in process, when, in the
first year of this century, a distinguished English social historian, the
late The Right Honorable G.W.E. Russell, wrote: "Probably in all ages of
history men have liked money, but a hundred years ago they did not talk
about it in society.... Birth, breeding, rank, accomplishments, eminence
in literature, eminence in art, eminence in public service--all these
things still count for something in society. But when combined they are
only as the dust of the balance when weighed against the all-prevalent
power of money. The worship of the Golden Calf is the characteristic cult
of modern society." In the Elizabethan Age of mighty glory, three hundred
years before this was said, Ben Jonson had railed against money as "a thin
membrane of honor," groaning: "How hath all true reputation fallen since
money began to have any!" Now the very fact that the debasing effect of
money on the social organism has been so constantly reprehended, from
Scriptural days onward, proves the instinctive yearning of mankind for a
system of life regulated by good taste, high intelligence and sound
affections. But, it remains true that, in the succession of great
commercial epochs, coincident with the progress of modern science and
invention, _almost_ everything can be bought and sold, and so _almost_
everything is rated by the standard of money.
Yet, this standard is precisely not the ultimate test of the Christianity
on which we have been pluming ourselves through the centuries. Still, no
one can get along without money; and few of us get along very well with
what we have. At least we think so--because everybody else seems to think
that way. We Americans are members of the nation which, materially, is
the richest, most prosperous and most promising in the world. This idea is
dinned into our heads continually by foreign observers, and publicly we
"own the soft impeachment." Privately, each individual American seems
driven with the decision that he must live up to the general conception of
the nation as a whole. And he does, but in less strenuous moments he might
profitably ponder the counsel of Gladstone to his countrymen: "Let us
respect the ancient manners and recollect that, if the true soul of
chivalry has died among us, with it all that is good in society has died.
Let us cherish a sober mind; take for granted that in our best
performances there are latent many errors which in their own time will
come to light."
America, too, has her ancient manners to remember and respect; but, in the
rapid assimilation of new peoples into her economic and social organism,
more pressing concerns take up nearly all her time. The perfection of
manners by intensive cultivation of good taste, some believe, would be the
greatest aid possible to the moralists who are alarmed over the decadence
of the younger generation. Good taste may not make men or women really
virtuous, but it will often save them from what theologians call
"occasions of sin." We may note, too, that grossness in manners forms a
large proportion of the offenses that fanatical reformers foam about.
Besides grossness, there is also the meaner selfishness. Selfishness is at
the polar remove from the worldly manners of the old school, according to
which, as Dr. Pusey wrote, others were preferred to self, pain was given
to no one, no one was neglected, deference was shown to the weak and the
aged, and unconscious courtesy extended to all inferiors. Such was the
"beauty" of the old manners, which he felt consisted in "acting upon
Christian principle, and if in any case it became soulless, as apart from
Christianity, the beautiful form was there, into which the real life might
re-enter."
As a study of all that is admirable in American manners, and as a guide to
behavior in the simplest as well as the most complex requirements of life
day by day, whether we are at home or away from it, there can be no
happier choice than the present volume. It is conceived in the belief that
etiquette in its broader sense means the technique of human conduct under
all circumstances in life. Yet all minuti? of correct manners are included
and no detail is too small to be explained, from the selection of a
visiting card to the mystery of eating corn on the cob. Matters of clothes
for men and women are treated with the same fullness of information and
accuracy of taste as are questions of the furnishing of their houses and
the training of their minds to social intercourse. But there is no
exaggeration of the minor details at the expense of the more important
spirit of personal conduct and attitude of mind. To dwell on formal
trivialities, the author holds, is like "measuring the letters of the
sign-boards by the roadside instead of profiting by the directions they
offer." She would have us know also that "it is not the people who make
small technical mistakes or even blunders, who are barred from the paths
of good society, but those of sham and pretense whose veneered vulgarity
at every step tramples the flowers in the gardens of cultivation." To her
mind the structure of etiquette is comparable to that of a house, of which
the foundation is ethics and the rest good taste, correct speech, quiet,
unassuming behavior, and a proper pride of dignity.
To such as entertain the mistaken notion that politeness implies all give
and little or no return, it is well to recall Coleridge's definition of a
gentleman: "We feel the gentlemanly character present with us," he said,
"whenever, under all circumstances of social intercourse, the trivial, not
less than the important, through the whole detail of his manners and
deportment, and with the ease of a habit, a person shows respect to others
in such a way as at the same time implies, in his own feelings, and
habitually, an assured anticipation of reciprocal respect from them to
himself. In short, the gentlemanly character arises out of the feeling of
equality acting as a habit, yet flexible to the varieties of rank, and
modified without being disturbed or superseded by them." Definitions of a
gentleman are numerous, and some of them famous; but we do not find such
copiousness for choice in definitions of a lady. Perhaps it has been
understood all along that the admirable and just characteristics of a
gentleman should of necessity be those also of a lady, with the charm of
womanhood combined. And, in these days, with the added responsibility of
the vote.
Besides the significance of this volume as an indubitable authority on
manners, it should be pointed out that as a social document, it is without
precedent in American literature. In order that we may better realize the
behavior and environment of well-bred people, the distinguished author has
introduced actual persons and places in fictional guise. They are the
persons and the places of her own world; and whether we can or can not
penetrate the incognito of the Worldlys, the Gildings, the Kindharts, the
Oldnames, and the others, is of no importance. Fictionally, they are real
enough for us to be interested and instructed in their way of living. That
they happen to move in what is known as Society is incidental, for, as the
author declares at the very outset: "Best Society is not a fellowship of
the wealthy, nor does it seek to exclude those who are not of exalted
birth; but it is an association of gentlefolk, of which good form in
speech, charm of manner, knowledge of the social amenities, and
instinctive consideration for the feelings of others, are the credentials
by which society the world over recognizes its chosen members."
The immediate fact is that the characters of this book are thoroughbred
Americans, representative of various sections of the country and free from
the slightest tinge of snobbery. Not all of them are even well-to-do, in
the postwar sense; and their devices of economy in household outlay, dress
and entertainment are a revelation in the science of ways and means. There
are parents, children, relatives and friends all passing before us in the
pageant of life from the cradle to the grave. No circumstance, from an
introduction to a wedding, is overlooked in this panorama and the
spectator has beside him a cicerone in the person of the author who clears
every doubt and answers every question. In course, the conviction grows
upon him that etiquette is no flummery of poseurs "aping the manners of
their betters," nor a code of snobs, who divide their time between licking
the boots of those above them and kicking at those below, but a system of
rules of conduct based on respect of self coupled with respect of others.
Meanwhile, to guard against conceit in his new knowledge, he may at odd
moments recall Ben Jonson's lines:
"Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy, and mere borrowed thing,
From dead men's dust, and bones: And none of yours
Except you make, or hold it."