V. AS TO GOOD MANNERS.

A wise woman of our own day has pithily asked, “Is polite society polite?” And nobody has satisfactorily made reply because, I suppose, nobody has yet decided just who is polite society, and just what is politeness. And, after all, how can anybody arbitrarily decide either question? The polite society of our American metropolis is usually described as the Four Hundred, because Mr. Ward McAllister once said that there were only four hundred people in New York who could be said to be “in society.”

But even in New York Mr. McAllister’s dictum was not received as law and gospel by all the hundreds of thousands of persons who inhabit the great city, and probably the millions who make up the rest of the population of these United States have a most republican disregard of any dictum upon the subject.

The polite society of any city, town or village in our country is its own most respected citizens. In a monarchy this is not so, for to every kingdom there is a court, and the fashions of royalty and its court are the fashions of the subjects. In other words, a kingdom has an official polite society, and the gold stick in waiting could rattle you off the names of the Four Hundred under his anxious charge as a shepherd could tell his sheep.

In such an order of society etiquette is laid down so clearly and so strictly that polite society has no choice as to its manners, and those manners are, as you may say, polite ex-officio. In our own land there is no central authority upon social subjects, and, in fact, upon a good many subjects not social—but that is neither here nor there—and with all its faults “my country, ’tis of thee” that I boast whenever I am out of it.

So let everybody corporate take its own polite society and consider whether its politeness leaves anything to be desired. Somebody has said that good manners are the expression of good feeling, and to a certain extent this is correct; for a selfish or ill-natured person, if ever so well trained in social etiquette, is liable to break down under sudden stress of circumstance, while the good heart will come to the front in an emergency and prompt the very truest acts of politeness.

The best test of good manners which I have ever seen is hunger. Take a party of travelers when the train breaks down forty miles from everywhere, and the sandwich baskets have all given out. An enterprising youth has made his way across the prairie and brought a limited amount of sustenance. Now is the time to apply the touchstone to the laborious politeness of the man who has been metaphorically spreading his velvet cloak under your feet for hundreds of miles. Does he struggle to fully supply your wants before attending to his own, or does he mysteriously disappear for a few moments and return, bringing you a small piece of gingerbread, while the crumbs of bread and meat and pastry lurk unsuspected in his beard?

I have under similar circumstances seen a gentleman, whose pretensions even Mr. McAllister would not have questioned, intercept the approaching commissary wagon and fill his own pockets to overflowing before the women and children and invalids of the party had a chance.

On the same occasion I saw a brakeman, with a quarter of a mince pie in his hand, take one heroic bite from its point, and then thrust the rest into the hand of a poor old man, who had not money to buy anything, and to whom no man had given.

But the greedy pig of a gentleman had charming manners, and the generous brakeman hadn’t a manner to his name!

In less extreme cases who has not seen men and women who claim to be the very pinks of politeness grow surly, or peevish when dinner was delayed, or when some favorite or anticipated dish was spoiled, or when the choice bit of the bird or the joint was given to some one else? A picnic or any other of those irregular and most uncomfortable al fresco meals which romantic persons are so fond of arranging, is a splendid opportunity for studying manners. Being out-of-doors and liberated from the usual environment of civilized life, seems to give the opportunity to those who wish it for a temporary return to barbarism. To sit upon the ground and eat with one’s fingers, to share a drinking vessel with several others, and to devour one’s food in a semi-raw and semi-charred condition are among the delights of the picnic, where you make a fire and cook something, a process which to many people is the acme of joyous freedom and holiday making. But all these delights we share with the savage, and in accepting them we are very apt to accept his manners as well—that is to say, those persons are apt to whose politeness is veneered upon their natural temperament, and is not its necessary outgrowth. Not only do greedy people show forth their greediness and intemperate people their intemperance, but the man radically coarse shows forth his coarseness as he never would do beneath a roof; the silly man, or more probably the silly woman, proves herself a fool; the tyrant domineers openly and rudely—every one, in fact, returns to the brutal frankness of the untutored savage, and for an hour or so throws aside the mask and domino of polite society.

So true is this criterion that I hereby advise every woman to delay accepting the man who woos her until she has spent a day with him at a picnic, or some other form of “pleasuring” under the greenwood tree.

But, short of such extreme conditions as these, is polite society polite? That is to say, I inquire confidentially, Is your polite society polite? And I will tell you if mine is.

Do you live in a great city where, at certain hours of the day, the public conveyances are crowded sometimes to excess? If so, you have an admirable opportunity to study the innate politeness of the “best people” of your acquaintance, keeping yourself well out of sight. The much argued question about a man’s right to keep his seat and let a woman stand is an excellent touchstone. I do not myself consider that every man is bound to relinquish his seat to every woman under all circumstances, but this rule of exceptions has been seized upon by the majority of the male sex as a rule of self indulgence seldom to be set aside. I frequently hear men say, with a sort of brutal pride in their frank selfishness:

“I give up my seat to a very old woman, or a very pretty woman, or an acquaintance; but as for the rest, they can stand just as well as I can.”

Another form of defense is: “I am coming home tired from my business and want to sit down and rest. Why should I give up my seat to a healthy young girl who has been down town shopping for her own amusement?”

Well, he shouldn’t; but how much is taken for granted in this argument? All young women are not healthy and strong, although they may be about and look pretty well. How is a stranger to know that the “girl” has been downtown shopping for her own amusement? And is a tired girl or woman to be refused the opportunity for rest, if she wants it, even if she has been “shopping for her own amusement?”

Shopping, as all women know, is very fatiguing, and often requires a good deal of running about and standing and waiting, and, above all, is tiring to the nerves and exhausting to the lungs, which are forced to inhale a great amount of vitiated and overheated air. If the man who makes this excuse is really too tired to stand, or too much out of health to bear the fatigue, or too much broken down by work and worry, he has the right to keep his seat, unless the woman who wants it has all these claims to indulgence to a degree exceeding his own; but then comes the question, In what character will that man appear in the evening?

Will he continue to present himself as the overworked and overweary business drudge? Will he pose contentedly as an invalid, or a broken-down, middle-aged man, one to whom his own fireside, his slippers and jacket and newspapers are the luxuries of his hours of rest? If so, all is well, and you or I, or any kindly woman, would gladly give him our own seat in the car or any other help that we could.

But if this same man, after a good dinner and a careful toilet, goes forth into society with the air of a preux chevallier, professing devotion to every woman he meets, and offering chairs that are not wanted, and an arm that is not needed to ladies quite as healthy and quite as devoted to their own amusement as those he left to stand at his elbow in the cars, why, then I say this member of polite society is not polite.

But let us be just and lay the lash upon our own shoulders if it is needed, as well as upon those of our erring brother.

When a tired man, no longer in the vigor of youth, offers a seat to a woman who is not tired and is strong and well, let her decline it, graciously but decidedly, and continue to stand, even if he does also. To take the place of a man who needs it when you do not need it proves you not truly polite, although you may be a star of the most polite society in the world. I know one young woman, and not a girl, nor a remarkably robust person either, who often declines an offered seat, saying brightly: “No, thank you. I enjoy standing. I do it from choice.”

I do not know that she is among the Four Hundred, but she is polite.

Another way in which professionally polite persons are apt to prove themselves not polite from the heart, is in the treatment of elderly or stupid or tiresome persons of no social consequence.

To converse with attention and animation is very easy if the other party is agreeable, or very pretty, or a social magnate, especially if of the opposite sex, but for a woman to bring out her best manner, or her prettiest smile, or her entire attention for the benefit of a deaf old lady, with nothing particular to recommend her, or for a man to allow a male dunce to talk politics to him and express his views on the tariff question and explain what the president ought to have said in his message, and not show signs of annoyance or contempt, is the true politeness which society does not always appreciate, or rather does not discriminate from its poor electroplate counterfeit.

Another glaring impoliteness of most polite society is its self-absorption. It is so difficult for persons who set themselves up as standards to understand that there are other standards in the world, and other people are following them, and that one class is just as important to itself as the other. Sometimes very polite persons take note of the aliens revolving in another sphere in a good-humored spirit of curiosity and indulgence, asking patronizing questions and exclaiming in pleasant astonishment at customs and phrases not their own, and feel that they are showing themselves very liberal and kindly in their ways; but that line of conduct is no more polite than it is for the other sort to ask questions and make comments and handle ornaments and laugh at fashions which they, in turn, think strange and droll.

True politeness, like true godliness, is to respect other persons, not only in their rights, but in their tastes, and to carry into practice the rugged theory that “one man is as good as another, and perhaps a good deal more so.”

It was a member of very polite society—it was, in fact, a peeress of Great Britain—who tried one Sunday to hear Spurgeon preach, but failing to find a seat, audibly remarked to her daughter:

“Come away. We’ve done the polite to God, and that’s enough.”

We all have heard of the queen among the Four Hundred, who, when a guest broke a precious plate, immediately dropped the nut crackers upon another and smashed it also, remarking, “These plates break if you touch them.” But to my mind that was not the exquisite piece of politeness it is generally considered. It was overstrained and obvious, and the guest doubtless felt herself accountable for two plates instead of one. Politeness must not be unnatural or artificial, if it is to ring true and clear. It must be the honest outcome of a sincere regard for other people.

Any reference whatever to age is a crude and dangerous compliment to man or woman. I saw a lady of eighty-five seriously annoyed lately by a young man who asked her how young men dressed when she was young.

“In motley caps and bells, with baubles in their hands, much as they do now,” replied she, glancing at the fancy cane with which the youth tapped his beardless chin.

Another impoliteness is to try too much to help those who, while actually helpless, do not wish to appear so. Do not ask a lame man if this path is not too steep or these steps too high, and propose that he take the easy road, while every one else climbs the difficult one. Let him choose for himself. Do not officiously offer to read things for persons who do not mention their want of eyesight. Do not shout at deaf persons until you find they cannot hear a low, distinct utterance. Do not look sympathetically at a hunchback, or sentimentally lower your voice and speak in a tone of plaintive indulgence to one whom you know to be unhappy, unless they talk to you of their sorrow. In one word, do not let your companion perceive that you notice his or her weak point, but conduct yourself exactly as if it did not exist.

A thoroughly polite person can look upon the most ridiculous or painful object without the slightest expression of surprise, and can listen to the most absurd mistakes or ludicrous malapropisms with eyes of serene attention and lips of gentle acquiescence. And polite society very, very often fails to be polite in those and kindred niceties of the art.