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THE ART OF CONVERSATION

Twelve Golden Rules

by

JOSEPHINE TURCK BAKER

Author of Correct English: a Complete Grammar Ten Thousand Words: How To Pronounce Them and Editor of the Magazine Correct English: How To Use It

Published by Correct English Publishing Company Evanston, Illinois

Copyright, 1907 by Josephine Turck Baker

THE ART OF CONVERSATION

TWELVE GOLDEN RULES

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER I

_Avoid unnecessary details._

He.--Do you know that what you say always interests me?

She.--That is because we are such good comrades.

He.--Not altogether. I think that it is because you never dwell upon details.

She.--Then, one is interesting in conversation according as one omits details?

He.--Unnecessary details.

She.--I remember that, when visiting some friends whom I had not seen for several years, my hostess said to me, "Ever since your arrival, I have been trying to discover why you are so interesting in conversation, and I have decided that it is because you omit unnecessary details." I felt that my hostess had paid me a high compliment.

He.--Yes; but one that you deserve. Now, even in telling this incident, you were direct. The bore would have "side-tracked," and would have told innumerable and irrelevant details. I don't believe you could bore a person if you were to try.

She.--I am quite sure that I could. Listen to this: "Several years ago,--four years ago just,--this last June; no, it was only three years ago, because I remember now that four years ago I did not attend the alumnae reunion of our college, and so it must have been three years ago,--I was the guest of one of the members of my class,--I was attending the annual reunion of the alumnae of our college,--almost every year I attend the alumnae reunion of our college,--and on this occasion, I was the guest of one of the members of my class. She had not been attending the reunions, and so I had not seen her for several years,--five years at least, and----"

He.--Pardon my interruption, but you are a success.

She.--As a bore?

He.--No; as an imitator. I think that you should have been an actress.

She.--Yes; I think that Nature intended me for one; and I could have "acted." Indeed, I usually find it difficult not to act; that is, I find it difficult to be myself.

He.--Like "Sensational Tommy" in "Tommy and Grizel"?

She.--Yes; in a way.

He.--And why were you not an actress? Was it because you did not know that you had talent?

She.--From an opposite reason. I had so many talents that, like the woman in "Mother Goose," I hardly knew what to do.

He.--That sounds modest. You probably would have been a great actress.

She.--I might not have been. Sometimes, you know, persons who are very gifted seem to miss the best that life has to offer.

He.--I have decided that you are interesting, not because you do not "sidetrack," but because you have such a stupendous amount of conceit. You seem to be fully aware of what you possess. It is delightful.

She.--My talent or my conceit?

He.--Both.

She.--I am sure that if any one else possessed my talents, I should not hesitate to speak of them. Why should I not speak of mine?

He.--That is one way to look at it. Now, I suppose if I were to tell you that you were very gifted, you would say, "Thank you; I think that I am, too,"--or words to that effect.

She.--Yes; I think that I should respond in some such way. Why should I not? Why shouldn't I recognize my gifts and be thankful for them?

He.--Well, usually, you know, when any one receives a compliment, he is apt to regard it as flattery, and to treat it accordingly; or, if he thinks the praise is merited, his words are apt to belie his thoughts.

She.--Yes, but that brooks of insincerity. However, we are a long way from our subject. We were wondering why some persons "bore" and why some do not. We decided that one must under no circumstances enter into too many details.

He.--They are ruinous. If a person is very polite, he will feign an interest that he does not feel. Often, however, he betrays, by an absent expression, that the "details" have done their "deadly work." You always seem interested, I notice, even when the narrator has wandered from the main road into innumerable by-paths.

She.--I appear interested, because I am interested, for I am continually on the alert to find out just how he is going to get back to the main road. I find, however, that in the majority of cases, he never gets back. He is lost in such a labyrinth that, as compared with it, the Garden of Versailles and the "maze" of Hampton Court are as naught; and just as these world-famed networks have a kind of attraction for the curious, so I find it interesting to follow the bore as he goes from one intricate passage into another in his endeavor to find an exit. But I must leave him to his fate, or I, too, shall be lost in a "maze" and shall not be able to find the main path.

He.--Then, Golden Rule Number I is: AVOID UNNECESSARY DETAILS. I shall try to remember the rule, and profit by its significance.

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER II

_Do not ask question number two until number one has been answered._

He.--Since our last visit, I have been noticing the faults of my friends in conversation, and I have concluded that the most glaring fault one can have is to ask questions and then not wait for the answers. I have one friend in particular who, whenever he meets me asks in the most solicitous way about my family, my health, etc., and then before I have an opportunity to respond, he proceeds to tell me about himself, his family, his ills, and the like.

She.--I know the species very well. In fact, I have classified my friends according to their respective merits as listeners.

He.--And where have you placed me?

She.--At the head of the list.

He.--As the greatest offender?

She.--No; as the least. You always wait until I answer one question before you ask another.

He.--Thank you. Do I ask many questions?

She.--Not too many. You may have noticed that there are as many persons who ask too few questions as there are who ask too many.

He.--I must say that I had never thought of that.

She.--To ask many questions often indicates an undue amount of curiosity on the part of the questioner; to ask too few, a lack of interest. The reason why some persons are so very prosaic and uninteresting is that they are entirely absorbed in themselves; in consequence, they ask few or no questions whatever, showing that they are not in the least concerned in what interests their friends. There is a happy mean where one shows neither curiosity nor disinterest.

He.--In asking questions, we are apt to stir up a hornet's nest, so to speak, for our friends sometimes respond at such length that we are inclined to wish that we had shown less interest.

She.--That is where it is so necessary to remember the golden rule that we spoke of in our last conversation, namely, AVOID UNNECESSARY DETAILS.

He.--Yes; and as I have already told you, that is why you are always interesting; you never bore one with a "long story."

She.--I usually try to treat all my friends as carefully as if each one bore a tag marked, "THIS IS MY BUSY DAY; MAKE IT SHORT."

He.--Yes; or, "IF YOU HAVE ANY TIME TO KILL, KILL YOUR OWN." At what a rapid pace we live, anyway. People in the country--the peasant class--are never in a hurry. They talk slowly, eat slowly, and work at the same laggard pace.

She.--In other words, they exist, but do not live. They do not enjoy what we enjoy. A daily feast is spread before them, but they do not partake of it. What do they know of glowing sunsets and of moonlit waves; of shaded walks through pathless woods; of narrow streams in-walled with trees? The sunset tells the peasant only of what the weather will bring to his crops; the stretch of velvet through which the streamlet winds, of green pastures for his flocks. But I have gotten away from my subject. In other words, like the bore, I have "side-tracked."

He.--Only what you say does not bore.

She.--You mean, not you.

He.--Nor any one else.

She.--Thank you.

He.--I should thank you, instead. Now, I am to remember, first, that Golden Rule Number I is.: AVOID UNNECESSARY DETAILS. Rule Number II.: DO NOT ASK QUESTION NUMBER TWO UNTIL QUESTION NUMBER ONE HAS BEEN ANSWERED; and, furthermore, one must be neither too curious nor too disinterested; that is, one must not ask too few nor too many questions; just enough. I fear that I shall find it difficult to observe this rule, but I shall try to acquire the tact that is necessary for one to have. May I practice the art when with you?

She.--That will be charming, and you may begin at once.

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER III

_Do not interrupt another while he is speaking._

He.--So we agree that the greatest fault that a person can have is to ask questions, and then, without waiting for the answers, to plunge at once into a detailed account of his own doings. I have discovered another fault, and one, I fear, that I, too, possess; that is, to ask questions concerning the welfare of my friend and of his family, and then after he has gotten fairly under way in the recital of his woes, to interrupt him with irrelevant remarks.

She.--I am sure that you haven't this fault, although it is very common. It is based upon the principle that people, as a rule, are vitally concerned only in what concerns themselves. I have a friend who maintains that no one really enjoys listening to what another has to say. He says that the interested (?) listener is interested only in having the other person finish in order that he may have the opportunity to tell his story.

He.--I note, however, that, as a rule, people recite their woes, and not their "weals." But, of course, that depends upon the individual. Some persons always have a "hard luck story;" others, dwell upon the bright happenings in their lives.

She.--I think we each can recall some friend whose greatest pleasure is to pose as a martyr; another, who, no matter what are his ills, has always something of interest to impart pertaining to some good fortune, fancied or otherwise, which has befallen him.

He.--Speaking of our faults, I think that the best way to correct them is to notice them in our friends, and then to try to avoid them. But, of course, you haven't any.

She.--Any friends?

He.--Any faults, of course.

She.--I fear that you are not a good critic.

He.--I may not be; but you certainly have none of the bad habits that we have enumerated.

She.--Oh! you couldn't see them if I had.

He.--From sheer stupidity?

She.--Hardly; only as far as I am concerned, you have become accustomed to think of me as did Dick of Maisie, in "The Light that Failed" that "The Queen can do no wrong."

He.--That reminds me--I have just finished reading "The Light that Failed," and I am sure that I shall never get away from the awfulness of it--the awfulness of having the light go out forever.

She.--Kipling makes one see it all so vividly, where he says:

"'I shan't.' The voice rose in a wail, 'My God! I'm blind, and the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the bed, but Torpenhow's arms were around him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, 'Blind!'"

He.--And again, the picture that Kipling draws of the blind man who suddenly finds himself unable to do that which he has been accustomed to do. I have the book with me:

"A wise man (who is blind) will keep his eyes on the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick coal, lump by lump, out of a light scuttle, with the tongs, and pile it in a little heap by the fender, keeping count of the lumps, which must all be put back again, one by one, and very carefully. He may set himself sums if he cares to work them out; he may talk to himself, or to the cat if she chooses to visit him; and if his trade has been that of an artist he may sketch in the air with his forefinger: but that is too much like drawing a pig with his eyes shut. He may go to his bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of their size; or to his wardrobe and count out his shirts, laying them in piles of two or three on the bed, as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, very long."

I suppose that this portrayal is true to life.

She.--Undoubtedly, in a way; but I had a novel experience when traveling East this summer. While on the train, I saw a gentleman, who was trying to interest a little boy, who did not respond to his advances. I heard him ask the child whether he was a little boy, and how old he was. I saw then that the gentleman was blind, and thinking that he might prefer to talk with me, I introduced myself to him and found him a most delightful conversationalist. He told me that he had become blind very suddenly five years ago, but that his work had not been interrupted for a day since. His position as manager of a large corporation necessitated his frequent journeying in railroad trains, but he had continued to travel as before, sometimes with his secretary, and sometimes alone. He was alone when I met him. He was certainly delightfully cheerful and entertaining; and withal, he was fully informed on current topics of interest. It seemed almost impossible to realize that he was blind.

He.--His case is extraordinary; but, of course, he was not an artist, as was poor Dick, before the "light went out."

I have just discovered another reason why you are so very interesting. It is because you always have some novel experience to recount.

She.--Yes; but you know, we decided that people did not care, as a rule, to hear others talk.

He.--Well, I shall retract my decision. I have concluded that we usually like to hear others talk, if they have something interesting to tell.

She.--Yes; we are all children, in a sense. Tell us a story, and we will listen, provided the story-teller knows how to tell it.

He.--Do you know what I have been thinking of while you were telling me this incident?

She.--That we had gotten a long way from our original subject?

He.--No; I was thinking of how much you had said in comparatively few words, and that in telling this incident, you had certainly conformed to Golden Rule Number I.: AVOID UNNECESSARY DETAILS.

She.--And you have conformed to both the rules that we have learned.

He.--Thank you. Let me see, Golden Rule Number I. is: "AVOID UNNECESSARY DETAILS." Rule Number II.: "NOT TO ASK QUESTION NUMBER TWO UNTIL QUESTION NUMBER ONE HAS BEEN ANSWERED, nor be too curious nor too disinterested;" that is, "do not ask too few nor too many questions; just enough."

She.--And our new rule, Golden Rule Number III.: DO NOT INTERRUPT ANOTHER WHILE HE IS SPEAKING.

He.--How frequently this rule is broken! Many persons, who ordinarily are well bred, have the very bad habit of interrupting others. But I deserve no credit for observing Golden Rule Number III., for you are never tiresome; you never tell a long story.

She.--No; I don't do that. I knew a gentleman once who used to say with a groan, to his niece, who was rather verbose, "O Alma! You tell such a long story. Make it short;" and so I always try to _make my story short_.

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER IV

_Do not contradict another, especially when the subject under discussion is of trivial importance._

He.--We always seem to drift back to our favorite topic, "How not to bore." At least, we discuss it so frequently, that I assume we are mutually interested.

She.--I assure you that I am very much interested in everything that assists me in making myself more pleasing to my friends.

He.--If you would not regard my compliments so dubiously, I should say that that would be impossible.

She.--Another case of the infallibility of the queen? But to go back to our subject, I often wonder whether this pleasure that we take in receiving the approval of others, is not virtually the root of all good. It is certainly most fortunate that we do care for the good opinion of our fellow-beings, and especially where we strive to merit it.

Somehow, we never seem to outgrow our childish love for rewards. I suppose that if the truth were told, much that we think we do for the sake of culture, is really done for the sake of Dame Grundy. Of course, I do not mean as applied to vain self-glorification, but rather to our higher aims and purposes. Most of us, for example, think that we make great efforts along the lines of self-improvement for the soul-satisfaction that our efforts may give us; but I wonder how steadfastly one would work--each at his chosen calling--if one were on a desert island, remote from "all the haunts of men." But to return to our subject, you say that your latest discovery is that even grown persons contradict one another. I thought that only children had this fault.

He.--So did I; but my attention was called to this a few days since when visiting my sister. While she was telling me something of great interest to us both, her little daughter contradicted her several times in the course of our conversation. Partly because I was annoyed, and partly because I wished to teach the child a lesson, I said to my sister, "Have you ever noticed how frequently children contradict their elders? It is certainly one of the greatest faults that a child can have." "Yes," she answered, "but many grown persons have the same fault." And when I expressed surprise, she added, "If you are inclined to doubt the truth of this assertion, just try to tell something in the hearing of others who are familiar with the story, and you will soon discern that the fault is not confined to children." And then I discovered this fault not only in others, but also in myself.

She.--Oh, dear! maybe I, too, am guilty of the same offence.

He.--I am sure that you never contradict any one in the way that I mean. It is certainly very embarrassing to make a statement, and then to have it contradicted, even though the matter is of little consequence.

She.--How many rules have we learned so far?

He.--Golden Rule Number I. is: "AVOID UNNECESSARY DETAILS." Rule Number II.: "DO NOT ASK QUESTION NUMBER TWO UNTIL NUMBER ONE HAS BEEN ANSWERED"; DO NOT BE TOO CURIOUS NOR TOO DISINTERESTED; that is, do not ask too many questions nor too few; just enough. Rule Number III.: DO NOT INTERRUPT ANOTHER WHILE HE IS SPEAKING.

She.--And our new rule, Golden Rule Number IV.: DO NOT CONTRADICT ANOTHER, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE SUBJECT UNDER DISCUSSION IS ONE OF TRIVIAL IMPORTANCE.

He.--So, if Mrs. Van Stretcher tells us that Mrs. De Waters has crossed the ocean a dozen times in as many years, we are not to say, "Pardon us, only six, as she goes abroad only once in two years, which makes just--Oh, yes! just twelve times."

She.--Yes, the person who contradicts, frequently restates the matter merely in another way.

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER V

_Do not do all the talking; give your tired listener a chance._

He.--You haven't asked me about my golden discovery.

She.--Oh, dear! is there still another rule to learn? You know, we have already had four.

He.--No; this isn't a rule. I have about come to the conclusion that people are charming in proportion as they can rise above the commonplace. Of course they must observe all our golden rules, but this observance alone will not make them interesting in conversation. Last night, for example, I never was so greatly bored as when talking with a young lady to whom I had been recently introduced. She was so well bred that she observed all the golden rules from A to Z, and yet she was tiresome beyond endurance, simply _because she hadn't a soul_. She was a Philistine of the deepest dye. I must say that I am so conventional, in a way, that I eschew Bohemianism, but an out-and-out Philistine,--give me a Bohemian every time.

She.--Then, I suppose that Golden Rule Number V. would be: "ACQUIRE A SOUL,--AND ASSUME ONE IF YOU HAVE IT NOT."

He.--I suppose it is innate--one's soul, which to me stands for one's love of the beautiful--for the ideal. You see, whatever you speak about, you lift out of the commonplace. Life seems quite "worth the while," when I am with you. All the inspiring things--books, music, painting--take on a new meaning when we talk about them. Last evening my newly-made acquaintance and I discussed these subjects, but they did not interest me. Julia Marlowe, whom she had just seen, was merely a pretty woman who dressed perfectly; the latest book was something that bored, but that had to be read because everybody else was reading it. Music was an unknown quantity. What shall we do with Philistines like this?

She.--Leave them to their idols. They will not be alone, for there are many to keep them company. The trouble with many persons is that they do not cultivate an admiration for the beautiful--beautiful pictures, exquisite music, delightful books. They live in a world of materialism. Handsome houses, exquisite paintings, well-filled libraries are to them mere possessions--valuable because they are the embodied insignia of wealth. The person of high ideals delights in the beautiful, because it brings him into harmony with that perfection for which he strives. In a beautiful painting, he sees the reaching out of the artist to produce not what is, but what should be; in a great literary production, the master intellect that can mold words as wax in the hands of an artisan; in beautiful music, the soul of the composer who can make one feel all that he has felt when under the magic sway of harmony; and, so, beautiful things are loved, not alone for themselves, but for what they represent; for nothing beautiful has ever existed without its master creator--the power behind the throne--where the monarch beauty is at the beck and call of that giant--intellect.

He.--Then, if we are to belong to the class who love the beautiful or what it represents, we are to cultivate our souls--that part of us which brings us _en rapport_ with the divine in the universe. We are not to be sordid; we must not wish simply to possess--we must cultivate a love for the ideal--for what the beautiful represents.

She.--Yes; and this can be done. In our modern schools, the best in literature, in art, in music, is brought to the children. The child of to-day learns of Mozart, of Handel, of Wagner, and hears their music. He sees representations of great masterpieces of art, and learns to love the beautiful Madonnas of Raphael--to know the paintings of Rosa Bonheur--of Jean Francois Millet. This education can not fail to instill in children a love for the beautiful. To them the world takes on a roseate tinge, while their minds eventually become store-houses in which are garnered the treasured thoughts of the ages. Nothing in every-day life can be wholly commonplace; each peculiar incident in life, each peculiar mood of nature brings its accompanying suggestion.

He.--Do you know, you are saying what I should like to say, but what I cannot find words to express. Possibly, that is one reason why I enjoy your society more than that of all others--because you say the things that I would say, if I could but express my thoughts. It is for this reason that we admire an author, because he puts into words what we think; what we feel.

She.--I think we should add Golden Rule Number V. to our list, namely, DO NOT DO ALL THE TALKING; GIVE YOUR TIRED LISTENER AN OPPORTUNITY TO SPEAK.

He.--I am sure that I would rather listen than talk when you are with me.