The Gentleman and Lady's Book of Politeness and Propriety of Deportment, Dedicated to the Youth of Both Sexes

CHAPTER I.

Of Deportment in the Street.

Some readers will perhaps be surprised to see me commence a chapter with the duty we owe to persons passing the street; but if they reflect upon it, they will see that there are, even on this subject, a sufficient number of things proper to be mentioned.

When you are passing in the street, and see coming towards you a person of your acquaintance, whether a lady, a man raised to dignity, or an elderly person, you should offer them the wall, that is to say, the side next the houses.

If stormy weather has made it necessary to lay a plank across the gutters, which have become suddenly full of water, it is not proper to crowd before another, in order to pass over the frail bridge.

Further,—a young man of good breeding should promptly offer his hand to ladies, even if they are not acquaintances, when they pass such a place.

You must pay attention to your manner of walking, for fear of throwing mud around you, and spattering yourself as well as those who accompany you, or who walk behind you. Any person, particularly a lady, who walks in this improper manner, whatever her education may be in other respects, will always appear awkward and clumsy.

Every one knows that the Parisian ladies are celebrated for their skill in walking: we see them in white stockings and thin shoes, passing through long, dirty, and blocked up streets, gliding by careless persons, and by vehicles crossing each other in every direction, and yet return home after a walk of several hours, without soiling their clothes in the least.

This manner of walking is strictly necessary when you offer your arm to any one. When tripping over the pavement, (as the saying is) a lady should gracefully raise her dress a little above her ancle. With the right hand she should hold together the folds of her gown, and draw them towards the right side. To raise the dress on both sides, and with both hands, is vulgar. This ungraceful practice can be tolerated only for a moment, when the mud is very deep.

To make our way along, becomes more difficult when we have a packet or an umbrella to carry, especially if the latter is open. It is then necessary to lower or raise it, or to turn it on one side. If you neglect these precautions, you run the risk of striking it against those who are coming and going, or of seeing it twirled round, and of being thrown against a carriage, or against some one who will complain bitterly of your incivility and awkwardness.

If you have no umbrella, and find yourself overtaken by a sudden shower, and any person provided with one is going in the same direction, you may request them to shelter you; they should receive your request with much politeness, inform themselves of the place where you wish to stop, and offer to conduct you there, unless it is too much out of the way, or they be pressed for business; in this case, they should express their regret at not being able to accompany you so far as you wish.

There are some ill-mannered and malicious persons, who take pleasure in misleading strangers by wrong directions. It will be enough to mention such impertinence in order to despise it as we ought.

As to those young men who entertain a false idea that Parisian ladies are coquettes or forward in their manners, and besides, that everything is allowable in a large city, let them be assured that a man who dares (as often happens) to address improper compliments to ladies, to follow them, to listen to their conversation, or to finish a sentence which they have begun, is a model of rudeness, an object of aversion to ladies, and of contempt to gentlemen. A young man of good manners ought not to look at a lady too narrowly, or he will pass for an impertinent fellow, who, as the saying is, stares people full in the face, (sous le nez.)

If a person of your acquaintance is at a window, and you are thought to perceive them, you ought to address a salutation to them. But it is necessary to avoid speaking to them from the street, or of making signs to them, for this is a custom of bad ton.

To enter into a long conversation with common and low people, who make their door-step their parlor, is to be almost as ill bred as they themselves are.

Visits are a very important part of the social relations; they are not merely the simple means of communication established by necessity, since they have at once for their object, duty and pleasure, and they enter into almost all the acts of life.

There are many kinds of visits, but we shall confine ourselves to the principal ones; as for those which only occur under peculiar circumstances, the reader will find them mentioned in the course of this work. The first are the visits on new year’s day; next, visits of friendship and of ceremony: we shall not speak of visits of business; what we have said in speaking of propriety in relation to different professions, will dispense with our entering into new details.

At the return of each new year, custom and duty require us to present ourselves to our relations first; afterwards to our patrons, our friends, and those who have done any kindness for us.

We should appear ridiculous to wish persons a happy new year, in ceremonious visits.

I shall not mention friendly calls, except to remind my readers, that almost all ceremony should be dispensed with. They are made at all hours, without preparation, without dressing; a too brilliant attire would be out of place, and if the engagements of the day carry you in such a costume at the house of a friend, you ought obligingly to make an explanation. Should you not find them at home, do not leave a card; such useless ceremony would astonish your friends. Merely remind the domestics to mention your calling, and do not leave your card, except the servants are absent; then the card should be rolled up, and put in the key-hole. It will be well to call again soon.

On the contrary, a visit of ceremony should never be made without keeping an account of it, and we should even remember the intervals at which they are returned; for it is indispensably necessary to let a similar interval elapse. People in this way give you notice whether they wish to see you often or seldom. There are some persons whom one goes to see once in a month, others once a fortnight, &c.; others, however, less frequently. In order not to omit visits, which are to be made, or to avoid making them from misinformation, when a preceding one has not been returned, persons who have an extensive acquaintance, will do well to keep a little memorandum for this purpose.

To take a suitable time, is as indispensable in visiting, as in any thing else.

One can attain this, by remembering the habits of the person he is going to see; by making your arrangements so as not to call at the time of taking meals, in moments of occupation, and when our friends are walking. This time necessarily varies; but as a general rule we must take care not to make ceremonious visits, either before the middle of the day, or after five o’clock. To do otherwise would, on the one hand, look like importunity, by presenting one’s-self too early; and on the other, might interfere with arrangements that had been made for the evening.

After making one’s toilet with care, visiters should furnish themselves with cards, that is with small pieces of card or pasteboard, upon which their name is printed or well written. Gentlemen ought simply to put their cards in their pocket, but ladies may carry them in a small elegant portfolio, called a card case. This they can hold in their hand, and it will contribute essentially (with an elegant handkerchief of embroidered battise,) to give them an air of good taste.

The title is usually placed under the name, and, in large cities, the address, at the bottom of the card and in smaller letters. Mourning cards are surmounted with a black margin, half mourning ones are of a bright gray.

If the call is made in a carriage, the servant will ask if the lady you wish to see is at home. If persons call in a hired carriage, or on foot, they go themselves to ask the servants. Servants are considered as soldiers on duty; if they reply that the person has gone out, we should by no means urge the point, even if we were certain it was not the case; and if by chance we should see the person, we should appear not to have noticed it, but leave our card and retire. When the servant informs us that the lady or gentleman is unwell, engaged in business, or dining, we must act in a similar manner.

If, before this tacit invitation to retire, other visiters are announced, you should adroitly leave them without saying anything. In case the master of the house, in waiting upon you to the door, should ask you to remain longer, you should briefly reply to him, that an indispensable engagement calls you, and you must entreat him with earnestness not to detain you. You should terminate your visit by briskly shutting the door.

To carry children or dogs with one on a visit of ceremony, is altogether vulgar and provincial. Even in half-ceremonious visits, it is necessary to leave one’s dog in the ante-room, as well as the nurse who holds the infant, for this circumstance alone excuses such a suite. As to animals, it is a thousand times better not to have them at all.

In works devoted to the instruction of the laws of propriety, we think only of fortune and affluence; we entirely forget people of a more modest condition, and when we find ourselves in connexion with them, we cry out against their impoliteness. It is an injustice, and in my opinion, a false calculation. An injustice, because true politeness pertains less to rank, than to uprightness and goodness of heart; a false calculation, for to refuse to initiate people into what renders the social relations easy and agreeable, is to prepare for ourselves collision and vexation, and to retard as much as is in our power, the practice of the forms of civilization.

This digression naturally leads us to the second part of our task relative to visits, concerning the duties which politeness imposes as to receiving them, for it is not less important to receive people well, than to present ourselves well to them.

Before passing to this important subject, it would seem my duty to finish what remains for me to say concerning visits, by the mention of visits of audience, of congratulation, of condolence, and of repast; but except the first, to which I am going to devote a few words, details of all the others will be found in the chapters devoted to conversation, to formalities of repasts, of mourning, &c.

We should not merely call upon ministers, heads of the public administration, and very distinguished persons; we must beforehand request of them by writing a place of meeting and must specify the object of our visit. We must call upon them at the appointed hour; we must abstain from inquiring after their health, and observe strictly the obligations of decorum. These visits, which are the acme of ceremony, ought necessarily to be very short.

To receive visitors with ease and elegance, and in such a manner that everything in you, and about you, shall partake of propriety and grace, to endeavor that people may always be satisfied when they leave you, and desirous to come again,—such are the obligations of the master, and especially of the mistress of a house.

Everything in the house, ought, as far as possible, to offer English comfort, and French grace. Perfect order, exquisite neatness and elegance which easily dispenses with being sumptuous, ought to mark the entrance of the house, the furniture and the dress of the lady.

To receive company in a dining-room, is not allowed except among those persons who cannot bear the expense of furnishing a parlor or drawing-room. Simplicity, admitted into an apartment of this kind, suited to the smallness of their means, we cannot but approve, while we regret nevertheless, the disagreeable things to which such a residence subjects them. But we have, in this respect, an express warning to make to people who give themselves up to it unnecessarily, for it is altogether opposed to the received usages of good society to put yourselves in a situation which you cannot adorn, where you cannot place arm-chairs, a chimney-piece, a glass, a clock, and all things useful to persons who come to see you; where you are exposed to receiving twenty visits during dinner; of seeing as many interruptions during the setting of your table, since it is impossible to spread the cloth while strangers remain; finally, of making them witnesses of your domestic cares while removing the remains of a repast, the table-cloth, dishes, &c.

Unless from absolute inability, you ought to light your staircase. If the practices of good domestic economy regulated by the cares of civilization, were more generally extended, a staircase not lighted would not often be found.

After having thus cast a rapid glance into the interior of the house, let us see in what manner it is necessary to receive visitors.

A mistress of a house ought to watch anxiously that they experience no restraint before her; consequently, she will take care to present screens to the ladies seated in front of the fire; she will move under their feet tabourets, or what is better, pads, (coussins) but never foot-stoves. If she is alone with an intimate acquaintance, she will request her to take hers, but she will never extend this politeness to a gentleman.

If a lady who receives a half ceremonious visit is sewing, she ought to leave off immediately, and not resume it except at the request of the visitor. If they are on quite intimate terms, she ought herself to request permission to continue. If a person visits in an entirely ceremonious way, it would be very impolite to work even an instant. Moreover, even with friends, we should hardly be occupied with our work, but should seem to forget it on their account.

In proportion as the visitor is a stranger, the master or mistress of the house rises, and any persons who may be already there are obliged to do the same. Some of them then withdraw; in this case, if the master and the mistress of the house have with them any persons of their family, after having conducted as far as the door those who are going, they request one of their relations to take their place. If the case be otherwise, it is necessary to choose between the persons who remain and those who retire. If the latter are superior in rank, age or consideration, we must give them the preference, and vice versa. But however respectable the person be who departs, we may dispense with conducting them farther than the door of the room.

In the provincial towns, they conduct all or almost all visitors, as far as the street door, unless they are gentlemen and have visited a lady. She ought then to accompany them, as is always done in Paris, that is to say, as far as the door of the room, or the head of the stairs. Parisians add to this custom an agreeable civility; they hold the door open, and standing upon the threshold or edge of the staircase, follow with their eyes the visitor until he turns round to make the last salutation or adieu, or to request the host to return.

The carriage of the body seems so simple, so common, and so easy a thing, that undoubtedly on seeing this title, many readers will think I design to send them back to puerile and plain civility. But if they will take the pains to reflect upon the numberless violations of propriety in the carriage of the body, of which they are daily witnesses; if they will call to the mind the many strange motions, ridiculous gestures, pretending attitudes, affected looks, and clownish movements; if they will recollect that the carriage of the body ought to be in perfect harmony with the situation, age, mind and sex, and a distinguishing trait of the physiognomy; if they will consider the unfavorable prejudices to which a disdainful, immodest, or vulgar deportment give rise, they will understand my anxiety in this respect.

It is without doubt impossible to notice all faults in the carriage of the body. This volume would not be sufficient for it; we must be satisfied therefore with designating the principal ones.

The carriage of the body is as expressive as the tone of voice, and perhaps more so, because it is more constant; it betrays to the observer all the shades of character, and we ought to be very careful of thus making a general confession, by affected manners, a pretending deportment, sneering ways, rough movements, a hard countenance, impertinent signs and looks, simpering smiles, clownish gestures, a nonchalant and effeminate posture, or a carriage of the body distinguished by prudery and stiffness.

Propriety in the carriage of the body is especially indispensable to ladies. It is by this that, in a walk, a ball, or any assembly, people who cannot converse with them, judge of their merit and their good education. How many dancers move off, and how many persons sigh with pity, at the sight of a beautiful woman who has a mincing way, affects grace, inclines her head affectedly, and who seems to admire herself incessantly, and to invite others to admire her also. Who ever makes up his mind to enter into conversation with an immovable lady, and one who is formal and precise, lengthening out the body, pressing the lips, and carrying back the elbows as if they were fastened to her side?

It is not in good ton for a lady to speak too quick or too loud. When seated, she ought neither to cross her legs, nor take a vulgar attitude. She should occupy her chair entirely, and appear neither too restless, nor too immovable. It is altogether out of place for her to throw her drapery around her in sitting down, or to spread out her dress for display, as upstarts do in order to avoid the least rumple.

But what is especially insupportable in this sex is, an inquiet, bold, and imperious air; for it is unnatural, and not allowable in any case. If a lady has cares, let her conceal them from the world, or not go into it. Whatever be her merit, let her not forget that she may be a man by the superiority of her mind and decision of character, but that externally she ought to be a woman! She ought to present herself as a being made to please, to love, and to seek a support; a being inferior to man, and near to angels. An affectionate, complying, and almost timid aspect, a tender solicitude for those who are about her, should be shown in her whole person. Her face should breathe hope, gentleness and satisfaction; dejection, anxiety, and ill-humor should be constantly banished.

The other is an awkward person, with his feet drawn together and placed upon the round of the chair, his hands spread out upon his knees, his shoulders sunk, and his mouth half open. Between these two caricatures there are many degrees which are ridiculous, but which we leave to the sagacity of our readers to appreciate. We come now to our instructions in respect to conversation. They are so important, that we think it our duty to divide them into two parts, namely; physical proprieties, and moral proprieties.

This first division will comprehend the physical care of the organs we use in conversation, our movements, the manner of listening, pronunciation, and purity of speech in a grammatical view.

Conversation is the principal, not to say the only means of pleasing, and making our way in the world. How does it happen then, that so many persons converse, without being troubled at the ridicule thrown upon themselves, and the ennui they occasion their hearers; without going into the inquiry, whether they have not some physical qualities which present more or less obstacles to the art of conversing well, or without thinking of the means of correcting them!

To open the mouth widely when one speaks, especially when making an exclamation of wonder or surprise; to draw the mouth on one side to give ourselves the air of an original; to contract it, in order to make it small; to laugh violently in an unmeaning and boisterous manner; to impart to the lips, trembling and convulsive motions when any one relates or reads something sad or terrible; to force our breath into the face of the person we are conversing with—all these are shocking faults, and insupportable grimaces.

SECTION II.

Of Gestures.

We should not absolutely condemn gestures, which, according to the Abbé Delille, give physiognomy to our conversation. Moderate action corresponding to our words, and by turns a little comic, lively, and graceful, are allowable, and even indispensable. The left hand must not move, but a significant and exact co-operation of the right hand, should never be wanting in conversation: but I must censure dialogists, who put their hand into their pockets or work-bags, who always rest them joined or crossed, without making any gesture. Such persons give themselves the air of automatons, while, on the other hand, excessive gesticulators, have the appearance of madmen.

SECTION III.

Of the Talent of Listening to Others.

If a person shall relate anything to you, who, without having any pleasantry, makes attempts at it; and without being affecting, endeavors to move you, however wearied you may be, appear pleased and assume an air of interest. If the narrator wanders into long digressions, have patience to let him extricate himself alone from the labyrinth of his story. If the history is interminable, be resigned, and do not appear less attentive. This condescension is especially to be observed, if you are listening to an elderly or respectable person. If the merciless story-teller is your equal or friend, you may say to him, in order to induce him to finish his narration, and finally—

When a person relates to you a plain falsehood, the art of listening becomes embarrassing, for if you seem to believe it, you would pass for a fool, and if you appear to doubt it, you will pass for an uncivil person. An air of coldness, a slight attention, an expression like the following, That is astonishing, will extricate you honorably from your embarrassment; but when an event is narrated which is only extraordinary, or not improbable, your manner should be otherwise. Your countenance should express astonishment, and you should reply by a phrase of this kind; If I did not know your strict regard for the truth, or if any person but you had told me this, I should have hardly believed it. Under no circumstances should you interrupt him.

The worst kind of interruption of all others, is that which hauteur dictates. A clever person seizing hold of a story which another is telling, and with the intention of making it more lively, becomes, notwithstanding his eloquence, a model of impertinence and vulgarity.

Interruption is pardonable if it is made to prove or clear up a fact in favor of a person who is absent. When they accuse you, you can, according to strict rules, interrupt by an exclamation, but it is better to do it by a gesture.

There is often much art and grace in listening, while you gesticulate gently; for example, by counting upon the fingers; by making a gesture of surprise; by a motion of assent, or an exclamation. This is a tacit manner of saying, ah, I recollect, you are right, and charms the narrator without interrupting him.

In a lively, animated and friendly dialogue, we can interrupt each other by turns, in order to finish a sentence which is begun, or to improve an epithet; this contributes to vivacity in discourse, but it ought not, however, to be too often repeated.

SECTION IV.

Of Pronunciation.

Pronunciation is still more indispensable in conversation than elocution; for indeed before selecting our expressions, we must make them understood, and one can do this but imperfectly if he pronounces badly. From this fault arise forced repetitions, the loss of what is appropriate, fatigue, disgust, the impatience of the two persons speaking, and in fine, all the sad results of deafness. Should we not use every effort to rid ourselves of this?

Next comes hesitancy, which is little less troublesome, for it fills the conversation with ridiculous and painful efforts. This defect which is sometimes owing to the organization, happens still more frequently from neglecting to think before we speak, from timidity, from some lively emotion which obliges us to stammer, or from a formal anxiety to make use of select terms. This last motive is almost an excess. With the intention of pleasing persons, you weary them by repetitions, by far-fetched mincing words, and in order to appear clever, you render yourself excessively annoying.

We cannot judge by the accent of a person who speaks too high or too low, but we decide, in the first case, that he is vulgar, and in the second, that he is disdainful.

SECTION V.

Of Correctness in Speaking.

‘Surtout qu’en vos discours la langue révérée.’

In addressing this advice to readers, we shall beware of considering them as strangers to the rules of grammar; it is so shameful at the present day to be ignorant of one’s own language, that it would not be less so, to suspect others of not knowing it; but although we may not be deprived of this indispensable knowledge, it is still necessary carefully to beware of contracting bad habits in language; of using bad phrases, and even of using terms of which we know not the import; a little study and attention will afford a certain remedy to the embarrassment which we might experience.

If, in the silence of the study, we have much trouble in rendering correctly a long sentence, how must it be in the world, when the earnestness of conversation prevents us from reflecting? To make long phrases, is to be willing to make mistakes in language; and if we take time to present these interminable sentences in a correct form, we only appear the more clumsy, or the more pretending, for conversation ought never to seem labored, and the expression and the thoughts ought to be of a simultaneous casting.

Avoid the pronouns who, which, particularly when they are interrogatives; for although the grammar does not absolutely condemn their frequency, yet as it is useless and disagreeable to the ear, we should endeavor to avoid it. Thus, instead of who is it who did such a thing?—what is this thing that is here? say, who did such a thing?—what is this thing?

These scrupulous and privileged talkers are particularly careful of the connecting particles, for they know how much their omission injures euphony; how it causes persons who are little charitable, to believe that it is a covering, under which are adroitly concealed doubt or ignorance, and this opinion is not always a prejudice.