About People/Chapter 7

No question has more servile terror or ostracizing power than this inquiry. However desirable it may be before an intimacy is formed, or copartnership in work undertaken, it has become imperative ere a nod of recognition is bestowed. Even if sudden philanthropy dictate the saving of a life, the hero and the spectators must know who has been saved. Cordiality changes its universal blandness into warmth when ancestors are well known. Not genealogical zeal or elderly kindness alone ask: Where does he belong? but fear of compromise raises the same query, and accompanies it with full notes. If we are to be known by our friends, ​we care too often about who they are, rather than what they are.

An Englishman once said he had heard more concerning first families in America than in his own country. Most naturally was it so, for our peerage is ever changing. Lowell's poems and somebody's bitters may be advertised on the same page of the "Atlantic." "Family-trees" are no longer content with the "Mayflower" as a starting-point; but seek for social status in Saxon and Norman days, and trace their coat of arms to antediluvian fancies. Better an honest modern invention, like that of the New York millionnaire, who, making his fortune by tobacco, chose for his insignia three tobacco leaves, with a Latin inscription, which, rendered into English, ran—

Select summer hotels afford the best exemplifications of self-regard, for in them each one ​feels that he pays for the liberty of not doing anything which he does not want to do. An "arrival," whose bearing or whose name is not a passport of distinction, may pass unnoticed for days or weeks, while a distinguée girl or man cannot walk the length of the piazza unremarked. Most curious are the sinuous turnings with which people who live in the same city ignore each other when in the same boarding-house, for the inconvenience of acquaintanceship on their return home would be much greater than that of any temporary avoidance. It is wonderful how quickly the desire for rest or meditation vanishes when some one arrives who is supposed to be worth knowing. Then social intercourse receives its full valuation. Those who are eagerly welcomed cannot understand the coolness and coldness of the world. Great men and women have little chance for judging society aright, for they find themselves sought, irrespective of antecedents, while average good people are left to realize ​by their own experience how much lineage adds to appreciation of good purpose. A high rate of board per day does not give absolution from daily politeness. It is ludicrous to see the perplexity of some one who has paid a big weekly bill for being in, but not of, the crowd, when, suddenly, he discovers that he has missed a social opportunity. "Blue blood" cannot mingle with anything less cerulean; next to belonging to "a family," ranks belonging to the church. A Radical, a Unitarian, a Methodist, a Baptist, is each one degree farther removed than the preceding from the high recognition of society.

Some people are so afraid of being involved that they miss the evolution of themselves. Cosmopolitan or provincial behavior in a hotel is after all each one's own affair, but when the latter extends to the personal relation of a guest to his host it becomes reprehensible. If one is not willing to enlarge his acquaintance he had better never enter society; but, being there, he ​should be the servant of all, especially of his entertainer. Introductions are too frequently matters of diplomacy rather than of good-will, and often are refused, if it is only the convenience of the host which is to be furthered thereby. As they are still required, it becomes difficult to manage a party; those invited being often preëngaged to each other for a conversation or a dance, so that there is no chance for the forced opportunities of presentations. Few people are old or free enough to speak to each other without the mediation of a third person. A most amusing instance of the consequence of such fearlessness was a scene between an elderly and middle-aged lady in a crowded supper-room on Beacon street. The younger one had eaten her salad and ices in unbroken silence; so had the elderly woman. At last the first ventured to remark that, as the room was very hot, the ice was refreshing.

"Yes," was the long-drawn reply, coupled with the words, "Have I met you before?"

​"No," was the amused answer, "and perhaps we may never meet again; but I hoped I might take the liberty of speaking to you now."

"Yes. I am Mrs. B., of D avenue. And you?"

"I am Miss W., of X street."

"Ah! indeed! The ice is cooling."

And the older lady, satisfied that the person's name and address had a familiar and correct sound to her ears, slowly drifted into a conversation which was more congealing than the ice.

When fame, however, heralds the advent of a stranger, invitations to behold and speak to him are eagerly accepted, clubs and social parties vying with each other in speeches and oysters. But, alas! if one is simply a lady or a gentleman from another city, or a side street of one's own town! Self-consciousness generally rebels at being invited for benevolent reasons, and few have the courage of a certain ​woman at a notable assembly, who, on being asked why she was present, replied: "I am next-door neighbor." But, as at most receptions one meets people like one's self, and as at least one-third of the world is plain and awkward, would it not be well to insist on a forced growth of conscience, which should deter a young man from using his eye-glass to examine a young lady before he is introduced to her; and which should compel a young lady to instantly draw the unwilling victim into conversation? It is time for hostesses and patronesses to insist on their rights if guests have become the law-givers, and decline all introductions except those they desire. Some people cannot accept an invitation without bringing their personal caprices with them. Many elderly young men decline an introduction, as they "already have such an extensive circle." Que such individual was asked to be presented to a lady who was sitting alone. He eyed her thoroughly, and declined. He ​returned half an hour later, saying: "I'll be introduced to her now. I see several of the men have been talking to her. Her profile is not bad." "No," replied the lady. "When I asked you because she was my friend, you declined. Now I decline to present you."

One of Boston's oldest families gave a reception. Two scions of other old families attended, to whom the host said: "I'll introduce you to those ladies opposite," and he moved towards them. "Excuse us," said one of the men; "the ladies are of a peasant style of beauty; it is hardly worth while." The host bowed low in recognition of their far-seeing power, adding: "Yes, they are my nieces from the country, but I will not trouble you." No apology would he receive, though one was eagerly offered. The old gentleman was right; he wished to vindicate the honor of his house.

No one has any right to accept even the most general hospitality unless he accede to reasonable demands, but the fear that a young ​man may not come again excites such mortal terror that he is allowed to do as he pleases, which means to seek the attractive girls. Then, as every woman has a number of friends as guests who are only delightful when known, she is obliged to seem unaware of their value because so many men decline introductions. The society phrase is, "I thank you; I see so many here whom I know that I will not trouble you;" and if the hostess persists, then is added, "Thanks, I'll speak to Miss ——, and come back to you." Woe to her if her persistency continues, for then must she go after the young man; he will never return to her.

The preponderance of women over men in every party is an evil which can only be remedied by the general dispersion of the men among the long trains of the ladies. In crowded receptions introductions by the hostess are impossible; the value of such parties consists in their being a full bill of discharge of social duties, at so much cost a plate or a ​head. It is no more complimentary to one's vanity to be invited to such crowds, merely to be lost in them, than it is to be invited to a family dinner because the hostess does not know exactly whom to ask to meet you.

The naïvete of one's guests is sometimes very amusing. They think one is semi-literary, and that they shall meet such persons, and they come and find real-estate men and wholesale dealers in leather, or they go especially to meet the boot and shoe trade and find an essayist and a historian. They fancy their entertainer is homœopathic, and find both old and new schools present. They consider one as pious, and the Sunday paper tells them that piety has had a dance and an elegant supper. It is considered odd when extremes meet in private houses, though it is taken as a matter of course when they come together on political occasions.

A plain lady living in an unfashionable street invited a gentleman of leisurely life ​to her home, because in her simplicity she thought he seemed lonely, though he only suffered from æstheticism. He came, and at the close of the evening observed to her: "I had no idea that I should meet so many distinguished people at your house," his voice unconsciously emphasizing the pronoun. Such a remark stands in striking contrast to that of Dr. Holmes, who said to his hostess: "Make use of me in any way I can help you most." That was high-bred courtesy; he came to serve her and make others happy. If each would believe, as simply as did the Doctor, that such ability was more or less in each one's power, how agreeable society would become, and how happy would all be! But people torment themselves by thinking that they have neither use nor beauty, therefore they stand in corners looking suspicious or bored. Young men can depart from a room when the pressure of average persons upon them becomes too ​great, but girls must wait until the hour when carriages are ordered, and patiently endure the experience of never being sought. They are wall-flowers, and as such must cultivate self-respect and remember that if they do not delight a young man's fancy, they yet are beloved in their homes. Of course there is fault all round; wall-flowers are to blame for being wall-flowers; a belle cannot appreciate the situation; it is better to go to cooking-schools and to read at Old Ladies' Homes, than to submit to being snubbed in society. If the wall-flower element is inborn it makes no matter how many elegant parties a girl may give, at the next German she may not be taken out, even once, by any of the young men who have drank her wine and fed on her boned turkey. It was not so a few years ago. Then the fact that one had given a party was full indemnification for being a wall-flower, and invitations to dance were certain for at least ​half the season. Now, "there is quite as much humiliation as fun about society."

A young girl, burdened with awkwardness, yet with capacity for gentle resentment, overheard a young man ask another to be presented to her. The latter hesitated, inspected her, and at last condescended to consent, saying: "Well, trot her out." The crowd, passing by, separated, and he was led up to her and their names were exchanged. She coolly surveyed him from head to foot, while he tried to find something to say, for her examination checked his ordinary volubility. After a moment or two, she turned to the gentleman who had brought him to her and said: "I have seen enough, trot him back." And back he went, with flushed face and dejected mien.

It would be well for wall-flowers to organize for self-protection. Toy watches might be engrafted on bracelets, and then, with one eye on the minute hand, and the other on her partner, the young lady could tell when time is up, and ​dismiss her three-minute chevalier with a knowing glance. There is as much fault to be found with grateful girls as with rude men; but the girls are grateful from humility and the men rude from selfishness.

The law of supply and demand obtains in society as well as in trade. If one is a wall-flower by necessity of her nature she cannot win the laurels of belleship; but if she is refused them because her father is neither the president of a bank nor a professional man the withholding of them is contemptible. A belle, in full possession of her faculties, can hold her court wherever she may be, in spite of inheritances of quack medicines, patents on domestic inventions, and Bonanza mines, except in the charmed circle of first families. Maryland has its Eastern Shore, Philadelphia its Walnut street, New York its Fifth avenue, and Boston the small radius on the north side of Commonwealth avenue, and the northern end of its first four or five streets crossing the ​avenue. Within these and like sacred precincts elsewhere, the answer to the question, Who's who? must be given before entrance is permitted. Once within them one would doubt if society existed elsewhere.

A matter-of-fact damsel asked a bright, jolly girl who danced every night, if she were not tired of going so much into society. "Why," she replied, "I can't do that, I only go to parties." Are all the people worth knowing or marrying limited to a certain set? A rag-picker who carried her rags on her back congratulated herself on the marriage of her daughter to a man who carried his rags in a hand-cart.

There is no single feature of American uppishness which gives more occasion for alarm than this desire to move in upper circles. It destroys simplicity, underrates home life, makes us look down on average people and value opinion as an expression of some special person rather than as of worth ​in itself. There is as much wit spoken around the table laden with crockery as at that shining with silver; as much logical reasoning, humble scientific research and reverence, out of society as in it. Three-story brick residents can discuss books as well as people. There are two facts ever to be remembered regarding society: first, that it exists everywhere; or that there is society out of society; secondly, that there is a foolish ambition everywhere, which, rightly termed, is discontented snobbishness. At a certain semi-snobbish dead-in-earnest-to-succeed literary set, the absence of well-known writers was conspicuous, while the impressiveness of rising talent was oppressive. "Is every one here a professor?" was asked. *Professors or professionals who will soon be recognized as creating Boston thought," was the reply. Such self-content is really better, happier, than distrusting aping of another. Each circle has its own public, and yet the circles intermingle.

​Snobbishness is not confined to one set of people. Emphasized by fashion or literary pretensions it spreads from village to city. It exists in sardine factories and in palatial mansions; it is met with at picnics and dances as well as at dinner or conversation parties. The links are close.

When a society young man ventures to marry a non-society girl enough comments are made to furnish Miss Braddon with material for a new novel. Is not a lady a lady anyway, whether in public or in private life, whether a school-teacher or a book-keeper, or living in a secluded street? And yet, if she marries up in the world, how fortunate she is considered! Simple, lovely, intelligent young women, respectful, upright young men still exist, and make the delight of home and society, as do the few chivalric individuals who will talk to lonely girls at parties for more than an hour rather than leave them alone, the latter in their humility never fancy​ing that they mean to offer themselves to-morrow.

Amidst the comfortable old families, who were merely born and have never risen nor fallen, a quiet laugh circulates when people like circus-dancers desire to leap through one paper circle to another, forgetting the débris they leave behind. Hundreds of persons are fortunately so far advanced that they believe a home is "good form." Society belles often marry ministers, in their efforts to embrace noble ideals. So there is reason to believe that true values will at last be estimated aright. Where there is real kindness and tact both men and women are less mindful of their social position. Agreeableness, whether in artist, editor, wholesale jobber and clerk, will make its own way, and mere exclusiveness on the score of pedigree, must, in time, yield to those who have a full mind, a noble heart, and a kindly wit.

It is said that those who are sure of the ​purity of their ancestral line are always gracious. Great is the charm of the high-bred air, the delicate features, and the clear tones of voice of one of long and high descent. Such distinction holds in age as in youth, in the wearer of black alpaca, and in her who is clothed with maroon velvet. But it is the certainty of a righteous cause which should create self-respect, and the consciousness of noble purpose in others which should make one forgetful of their ancestry. Yet by our manners are we first and most often judged. Frequently there is not time, or it seems like presumption, or it is an impossibility to try and know another; but our manners, like the markings and outlines of diatoms, will determine to what species and genera we belong. The high-bred air and the free and easy way testify of birth, the peculiar style of each person making the mould for the next generation. On his own material must each one work, and not accept his inheritance ​as an unchangeable quantity. In spite of effort to be unlike any but one's self, lineage creeps through the Puritan conscience; and energy, though softened, still lingers in many a rough reflexion of kindness, or in unnecessary activity of speech.

Manners should exist as a growth of their own, for they are needed long before complete development of the nature is attained. The foundation of the different varieties of good manners is the same. for "fine manners are the mantle of fine minds," says an old proverb. They must be established on simple, sincere purposes, else their polish will soon vanish. Affectation of every sort destroys its own intent. Any attempt at greatness of thought, extensive reading, or forced wit, which is not true, is a form of hypocrisy.

Yet it will not answer to be merely natural, for that often means having a rough, ungraceful exterior, though a kindly heart. Only polished saints can afford to always act as they ​feel. Enough personal attention should be given to manners to enable one to see his faults, but not his good points. If there is a strong desire to make everybody happier, if the beauty and joy of life are felt, feelings will naturally express themselves in manners that will be agents of peace, mirth, and comfort. They must be trained, however, by the old-fashioned means of attention to the carriage of the body; by the posture in sitting; by looking attentive when listening or pretending to listen; by bowing at the right degree of inclination, which should be neither a sweeping curve nor a right angle with eyes cast on the ground; and by regard to commas, periods, and tones of voice in conversation. Before a man has spoken he is involuntarily judged by his motions, then by modulations of his voice, next by his language, and lastly by his sense.

Manners, involuntarily, have some predominant mark. Through them is felt, at once, in ​some people, the power of noble command, of a self-poised, thinking being who can rightfully assume leadership. In others there is an exquisite grace which moulds strength into forms of beauty, that is found in persons who have an instinctive sense of proportion. Again, in others there is a pathos that recalls the tenderest part of one's experiences. The manners of a well educated circle are like a symphony, in which one takes the Andante, another the Adagio, and still another the Allegretto movement; each has its own charm, and the whole fills the observer with a sense of delicious being, with a feeling of consolation and exaltation.

The self-control that puts aside its own preferences and seems pleased, is not hypocrisy; it is the exchangeable silver coin of society, without which intercourse would become rough and snappish. It is not sufficient to stop at being good; advance must be made to fine manners. Nor need one be afraid of being too ​earnest or impassioned, for such characteristics are consistent with courtesy. What eloquence is in power to a man manners are to a woman. They must often be started on adventitious means, as when the consciousness of much soft ruffling round the neck helps in turning the head more gracefully. The art of never showing haste is one method of cultivating an outward, physical grace. Opportunities of saying kind, true words to friends should not be missed; admiration of people often leads to unconscious copying of their manners, the imitation fitting so well that it becomes rightful ownership. Even when old, and tired, and sad, the charm of pleasant manners cannot be destroyed, for all sense of self, or of endeavor to be brilliant, has been lost in the constant desire to draw out the good and bright in others. Sympathy, tact, earnestness, appreciation, cheerfulness, — a sense of humor, if possible, — grace of motion and speech, make good manners. They are as a ​halo surrounding the real person whose character still keeps its integrity.

Because, in the complexity of life, we forget that each should be a unit, working as best he can, that what he does and what he thinks and what he is, embraces all with which another is concerned, is it constantly asked, Who's who? The subtle influences of pure and high birth are never to be scorned, for they intrench their possessor within a stronghold which makes it easy for him to bear the assaults of fortune or the rudeness of men. The high-bred faces win our affection, the noble manner commands our obedience; but with refinement must go strength, else the first is insipid. No inheritance is ever a compensation for the want of self-activity. Humanity has as many insignia as there are noble individuals. A person who is only so much of himself, multiplied by imitation of others, minus somebody else, is a wearisome sum in human arithmetic. Truth and sympathy lie at the basis of all fine manner, ​and when these exist the horny hand of the farmer and the gentle palm of the aristocrat can meet in cordial grasp of inward equality.

It is snobbish, aggressive, and zealous to envy the well-born, or to speak disparagingly of another's useful qualities because his manners are delightful. Knowledge of who's who marks the careful observer; recognition of work, the honest judge. After the first question of "Where does he belong?" is answered by glancing down the vistas of inheritance, comes another, What is he in himself? On that reply alone depends fellowship. Let American aping of others and social fear never forget to profit by learning the lesson of regard for all that is noble, in answer to these inquiries. Let American independence and morality transfer what it values into its own possession, so that it may bless others with the warmth of human sympathy, and of earnest purity of purpose. Purpose makes manner; the reflected light of manner shines again on purpose, and makes intensity radiant with beauty.