Chapter 7
The guest should avoid giving extra trouble to the hostess, or to the servants. She may offer assistance when circumstances warrant her doing so, but must refrain from meddling with household matters when her help is evidently not desired. She should entertain herself easily when the hostess is otherwise busy, yet never seem to have any absorbing occupation that would prevent her from being ready at once to join the family in any project. If there are children in the house, she should be cordial and affectionate with them, without gushing insincerity or indiscreet petting, and she should not betray any annoyance if they are noisy and occasionally troublesome--as the best of children will be at times. She should aim to feel and act as though the interests and pleasures of the family were her own, and not make remarks that are tacit comparisons to their disadvantage. If there are glaring faults in the domestic management, it is not her province to correct them, except so far as a quiet example may be subtly influential, as it will be, if at heart she makes herself a part of the circle of sympathy. After her return to her own home, she should write a letter to her hostess, expressing the pleasure which the memory of her visit gives her, and gracefully thanking her friend for all that made the sojourn so restful and happy.
There is something singularly inspiring in the idea of "making one's self at home," in the sense of finding the _value_ in every environment which fate, or chance, or Providence may place us in. And when, as welcome guests, we listen to this hearty greeting, we resolve that in all ways consistent with our duty to our entertainers, and with all grateful appreciation of their kindness to us, we will "make ourselves at home."
"AS THE TWIG IS BENT"
Every one theoretically admits the importance of early training. It is demonstrated in the animal and the vegetable kingdoms, wherever organic life unfolds and grows; and that the human child is no exception is promptly recognized in theory, however fatally practice ignores it.
Not that parents mean to ignore it; but there is a "happy-go-lucky" impression that somehow "he will come out all right;" that "as he gets older, his own good sense will assert itself," and so on. Happily, this is partly true. A native good disposition and good sense saves many a child from the ruin which an unwise course of training has done its best to precipitate. The wonder is that they "turn out" as well as they do. Perhaps Providence, in visiting its judgments, is lenient to the young and inexperienced parents, themselves undisciplined; to the helpless child, at the mercy of his blind guides.
There is too much negative, too little positive, in child-training; too much querulous reiteration of "don't," too little intelligent teaching how to _do_. Little children like to be "shown how;" they are fascinated with the games and gifts of the kindergarten, which aims to _teach something_, not to _repress everything_. Children are delighted to learn little polite phrases; to make a bow; to hold a fork daintily; to offer little courtesies, and to receive a smiling approbation. They would rather do things prettily than not. They are _not "contrary,"_ exceptional cases of hereditary ugliness aside. They are apt pupils, whether their tutor be a philosopher or a fool. And if a faulty example be a child's most constant and influential teacher, what wonder that the lessons, well-learned, are put in practice? And just then, if you listen, you will hear some one issue the emphatic but vacuous command, "Don't!" And the baby _doesn't_, for the space of a few seconds; after which, unable to get any new suggestions out of the idea-less instructions given him, he proceeds to do the same thing over, only to be again commanded to desist, a spanking for "disobedience" this time varying the monotony of the universal prohibition.
The profane poll-parrot is not a more startling witness to the character of its surroundings than the "terrible infant," whose rude snatchings, pert contradictions, and glib slang phrases are sure to be most effectively "shown off" in the presence of visitors. It is of little use to affect grieved surprise, or stern reprobation, when one's children are merely exhibiting their daily discipline. Most parents feel keenly the embarrassment of having the infant misbehave so inopportunely, and they are apt to offer a tacit apology and a vague self-defense by sharply reprimanding the child in words that are meant to give the visitor the idea that they--the parents--never _heard_ or _saw_ such conduct before, and are now frozen with amazement. The nonchalant or incredulous or impish way in which the children receive these reproofs only confirms the suspicion that such scenes have been frequent, and the discipline attending them has been inconsequent.
One parent I have heard acknowledge the truth of the matter. An elderly clergyman was his guest, and the four-year-old daughter of the house was entertaining the "grandpa" with a toy puzzle, which he fumbled with in vain, unable to put it together or to take it apart. Impatient at last, the little girl hastily snatched it from his hand with a childish growl of contempt, and proceeded to show him the trick, saying, with an airy mingling of criticism and condescension, "By Jove! your name is Dennis; _you_ are not in it!" The old gentleman paused, instinctively prepared to hear the usual "Why, daughter! papa is _astonished_ to hear his little girl," etc, etc., after the fashion of the parental hypocrite. But this candid young father met the dignified eyes squarely, and said promptly, "I'm sorry, Doctor, but there's no use denying it; she is just giving _me_ away." He had the sense to recognize his own teaching, the honesty to admit it. Whether he has the discretion to reform his methods remains to be seen.
For right here is another point: that people think it is "cute" for a _little_ child to say and do things that in a child a few years older would be most unattractively rude. But they must reflect that this same cute little child will soon be a few years older, and will carry into that riper age the fixed habits that are forming now; and it will not be so easy a task to transform the child's manners as it is to dress him in a larger suit of clothes.
A choice rose was grafted upon a wild, thorny stock, and planted beside a veranda trellis. The owner watched it carefully for a year or so, cutting down the rank shoots of the wild stock as they sprang aggressively from the root, allowing the grafted branch to grow in full luxuriance, bearing carmine clusters that filled the garden with spicy odor. The next spring an ignorant gardener pruned away the branches, cutting down the slenderest and leaving what to his unpracticed eye were the most desirable, because the thriftiest, shoots; and when the time of blossoms came, nothing appeared but the ragged petals of the wild thorn.
So, in "the rosebud garden of girls"--or boys. If the choice graft of cultured manners (for it _is_ a graft on the sturdy but wayward stock of human nature) is left to be choked out by the rank, wild growth of impulse, or if by some flagrant error in example and discipline it is practically cut down at the main branch, what can the careless trainer expect? He may weep to find no velvet-petaled rose when he comes to look for it; but he has no right to blame the rose-bush, nor can he, at this late day, hide the tact of his blundering pruning by righteously affirming that he is "perfectly astonished." His neighbors, who have quietly noted the methods pursued in his kindergarten, are not in the least surprised.
Another resource for escaping blame is that of explaining that the children "learn these things at school." Presumably they do not mean from the teachers. It is "from the other children," who seem to be a most injurious class of society. It is their influence which makes _our_ children so rude and so ungrammatical; and, strangely enough, though these other children never dine with our children, so subtle and far-reaching is their baleful influence that our children's defective manners at the table are directly traceable to the same evil source.
Granted, a measure of truth in the charge; for large mirthfulness and large imitation lead children to do things "just for fun," which all the time they know better than to persist in. But, as a fact, demonstrated by observation, a very small percentage of the children who are habituated to correct behavior at home are ever seriously affected by outside influences. A superficial effect may show in little things; but such lapses of speech or manner are transient, and in no degree control the development of the child when his home training is irreproachable. On the other hand, the efforts of an untiring teacher, laboring five hours a day to teach correct language and enunciation, may be of little permanent value, when the remaining hours of the day are spent in a home where the English grammar hourly meets a violent death.
And what is true of grammar is equally true of morals and manners. The school and society may be measurably influential; but the home casts the deciding vote. And when people note the manners--good or bad--of your boys and girls, they do not ask, "What school do they attend?" "What children do they associate with?" but, "_Whose children are they?_"
Would you have them mannerly? Teach them; by precept, certainly; but above all things, by example.
SOCIAL YOUNG AMERICA
Henry the Fifth, of England, disposed of certain troublesome restrictions of etiquette by remarking that "nice customs curtsey to great kings:" but in the twentieth century, customs are more likely to curtsey to the common sense of the community at large.
City codes and country customs present some contradictious. The exact rules of etiquette in social formalities, which are derived from the established usage of fashionable circles in the city, are constantly subject to modifications when they are applied under the conditions found in rural neighborhoods. This is plainly illustrated in the comminglings of social "Young America." Whereas the city-bred girl is carefully chaperoned, the village girl of equal social standing, intrinsically speaking, is accustomed to go about unconcernedly, either alone or under the escort of some youth, with whom she makes engagements to drive, or walk, or row, or attend picnics, without either of them, as a rule, thinking it necessary to ask her mother to join them, or even to give her permission, that being taken for granted, since it has probably never been denied. And the question naturally arises, Why _should_ it be denied, when the young man is a trusted chum of her brother, and as safe an escort for her as her own father would be? It is a very different case from the similar instance in the city, where the gallant is a comparative stranger, who may or may not be reliable, and where a conventional world is coldly looking on.
But, moreover, if this young country girl chooses, she goes alone to a little evening party a few doors away, or to the evening "meeting" at the village church, and this same youth, or some other one, escorts her home in an impromptu fashion. The young lady probably invites him into the house, if the hour is early and the family are still circled about the parlor lamp. Or, if it is late, she does not ask him in, but invites him to call. She does not thank him for his escort, unless it has been given at obvious inconvenience to himself or others, and is therefore not so much a matter of gallantry as of neighborly accommodation. In the latter case she does thank him frankly for his trouble.
When the young man calls to see her, she receives him with or without the presence of her mother or other members of the family. She may invite him to tea, with her mother's serene but passive approval; and, in fact, the goings and comings of these young people are more like the comradery of two girls than like the formal association of a young man and young woman in society.
We are accustomed to call such a code a country code, because of its almost universal following in small towns and villages. But similar freedom of association is also observed in city circles outside of the exclusive bounds of fashionable life. Indeed, some of the fashions called "countryfied" are equally "cityfied," if we judge by the extent of the usage. But what has been quite safe and sensible and refined in the particular instance in the country, may be a most unsafe freedom in the city, where every circle is constantly being invaded, more or less, by new-comers and by a floating contingent of transient people, whose record is not known even to the people who introduce them. The frank friendliness that is usually good form in the village circle is usually a great mistake in the city. It is better that young ladies, whether nominally chaperoned or not, should be guarded against making acquaintances too readily, especially among young men. If a young man is deserving of social recognition, let the young lady's mother grant it to him by inviting him to her house and permitting his association with her own young people.
A young girl should not extend these invitations to call unless she is well acquainted with the young man, or unless she gives the invitation in her mother's name, and with the understanding that he will be received by her mother as well as herself. Usually, the mother should be the one to extend the hospitality.
In the case of an unmarried woman who is no longer young, it is presumed that discretion will guide her as to when it is dignified and proper to give invitations to call, the conservative side being the safe side where strangers are concerned.
The ideal condition of Americanized chaperonage is far from being realized in the great mass of American society. A small and exclusive circle observes the English code in this matter; the rest of society ignore the whole idea--as an idea--though the thoughtful mother instinctively guards her daughter in a desultory way, perhaps meeting the spirit of the idea in the main, but flagrantly disregarding the letter of the formal code. The two extremes we have; but a real, systematic code of chaperonage that is not French, nor English, nor Spanish, but wholesome, sensible, thorough-going American _mother's_ guardianship we are yet to see definitely carried out. The occasional instance of it which we now and then observe has taught us to appreciate what would be the happiest development in our social life, if once attained.
Meanwhile, the average American girl will probably continue to shine as the startling exception to the rule; and in her remarkable escapes from serious blunders, will continue to bear the palm for self-command and good sense. Her ability to ignore a law, while consciously cherishing all that the law was devised to protect, is a flattering indication of her mental and moral integrity. Even a dull-witted person can follow a set rule; it requires some genius to make a legitimate exception, and it also involves some temerity. It is like gathering mushrooms; perhaps they are edible, perhaps they are poisonous; for the various fungi look very much alike. If it happens to be right, it is right; if it happens to be wrong, it is sheer disaster.
A social code that borrows no artifice from foreign lands and institutions, but which, true to the spirit of our own country, guards the liberty of young girls on the one hand, while on the other it shields them from license, will be welcomed by all thoughtful people. The American chaperone is the coming woman. The girls of the next generation will rise up and call her blessed.
THE AMERICAN CHAPERONE
The question of the chaperone in America is peculiarly perplexing. The consternation of the hen whose brood of ducklings took to the water is a fit symbol of the horrified amazement with which an old-world "duenna" would be filled if she attempted to "look after" a bevy of typical American girls, with their independent--yet confused--ideas of social requirements in the matter of chaperonage.
In Europe, where social lines are distinctly drawn, a young woman either belongs "in society" or else she does not. In the former case she is constantly attended by a chaperone. In the latter case she is merely a young person, a working girl, for whom "society" makes no laws. In our country there is a leisure class of "society women," so recognized. If these alone constituted good society in America, we might simply adopt the European distinctions, and settle the chaperone question by a particular affirmative referring to these alone. But we reflect that our thoughts throughout this little volume are mainly for those who dwell within the broad zone of the average heretofore referred to. In this republican land no one can say that the bounds of good society lie arbitrarily here and there; certainly they are not marked by a line drawn between occupation and leisure. The same young girl--after leaving school, at the period when society life begins--may be "in society" during leisure hours and in business during working hours. It is accounted perfectly lady-like and praiseworthy for a young woman, well born and bred, to support herself by some remunerative employment that holds her to "business hours." She may be a teacher, an artist, a scribe, an editor, a stenographer, a book-keeper--what may she _not_ do, with talent, training, and good sense? And she may do this without being one iota less a lady--_if she is one to begin with_.
Now appears the complication. As a business woman, the self-reliant young girl does not need a chaperone. As a society woman, this inexperienced, sensitive, human-nature-trusting child _does_ need a chaperone. She is, therefore, subject to what we may call intermittent chaperonage. Business, definite, serious occupation of any kind, is a coat of mail. The woman or girl who is plainly absorbed in some earnest and dignified _work_ is shielded from misinterpretation or impertinent intrusion while engaged in that work. She may go unattended to and from her place of business, for her destination is understood, and her purpose legitimate. She needs no guardian, for her capacity to take care of herself _under these conditions_, is demonstrated to a respectful public. The spectacle of a stately middle-aged woman accompanying each girl book-keeper to her desk every morning would be burlesque in the extreme. The girl who is thus allowed to go alone to an office in business hours, sometimes thinks it absurd for any one to say that she must not go alone to a drawing-room, and she _does_ go alone. Right here this independent girl makes a mistake. It is granted that the girl with brains and principle to bear herself discreetly during office hours is probably able--in the abstract--to exercise the same good sense at a party.
But _the conditions are changed_ to the eye of the onlooker. The girl who went to the office wearing the shield and armor of her work, now appears in society _without that shield_. To the observer she differs in no wise from the banker's daughter, who "toils not." Like the latter, she needs on social occasions the watchful chaperonage that should be given to all young girls in these conditions. The woman who is in society at all must conform to its conventional laws, or lose caste in proportion to her defiance of these laws. She cannot defy them without losing the dignity and exclusiveness that characterize a well-bred woman, and without seeming to drift into the careless and doubtful manners of "Bohemia." The fairy-story suggests the principle; Cinderella could work alone in the dust and ashes undisturbed; but the fairy-god-mother must needs accompany her when she went to the ball. In the best circles everywhere, at home and abroad, every young girl during her first years in society is "chaperoned." That is to say, on all formal social occasions she appears under the watch and ward of an older woman of character and standing--her mother, or the mother's representative. The young woman's calls are made, and her visits received, in the company of this guardian of the proprieties; and she attends the theatre or other places of amusement, only under the same safe conduct.
Society to the young girl is May-fair. With the happy future veiled just beyond, she goes to meet a possible romance, and to traverse a circle of events that may haply round up in a wedding-ring. It is of the utmost importance that she shall not be left at the mercy of accidental meetings, indiscreet judgments, and the heedless impulses of inexperienced youth, which may effectually blight her future in its bud. A parent or guardian does a girl incalculable injury in allowing her to enter upon society life without chaperonage, and the unremitting watch-care and control which only a discreet, motherly woman can give to girlhood. Men respect the chaperoned girl. Honorable men respect her as something that is worth taking care of; men who are not honorable respect her as something with which they dare not be unduly familiar--though they account it "smart" to be "hail fellow well met" with the girl who ignorantly goes about unattended, or with other unchaperoned girls, on social occasions. A girl must have an unusual measure of native dignity, as well as native innocence, always to escape the disagreeable infliction of either "fresh" or _blase_ impertinence, if she has no mother's wing to flutter under.
This absolute condition of chaperonage exists during the novitiate of the young society woman. The requirement grows less and less rigid as the young woman grows more and more experienced, and learns to meet social emergencies for herself. That delicate ignoring of a woman's age which is shown in calling her a "girl" until she is married also permits her to be a chaperoned member of society until that event. But when obviously past her youth, it is no longer required that she shall wear the demeanor of a _debutante_. Nor does propriety demand her mother's constant presence, when years of training have taught the daughter her mother's discretion, and when the mother's own serene dignity looks out of the daughter's eyes.
We are proud of the ideal American girl. I mean the one _who is essentially a lady_, whether rich or poor, the one whose sterling good sense is equal to her emergencies; the one who is self-reliant without being bold, firm without being overbearing, brainy without being masculine, strong of nerve--"but yet a woman." Let her be equipped for the battle of life, which in our state of society so many girls are fighting single-handed. Instruct her in business principles; teach her to use the discretion needed to move safely along the crowded thoroughfare and to follow the routine of the office or the studio, trusting that with busy head and busy hands she may be safe wherever duty leads her tireless feet. But in her hours of social recreation, when she will meet and solve the vital problems of her own personal life, she needs a subtle _something more_; the mother's wisdom to supply the deficiencies of her inexperience, the mother's love to enfold her in unspoken sympathy, the mother's approbation to rest upon her dutiful conduct like a benediction.