Public Balls
A public ball is a ball given for a benefit or charity. A committee makes the arrangements and tickets are sold to the public, either by being put on sale at hotels or at the house of the secretary of the committee. A young girl of social position does not go to a public ball without a chaperon. To go in the company of one or more gentlemen would be an unheard-of breach of propriety.
These are often of greater importance in a community than any number of its private balls. In Boston and Philadelphia for instance, a person's social standing is dependent upon whether or not she or he is "invited to the Assemblies." The same was once true in New York when the Patriarch and Assembly Balls were the dominating entertainments. In Baltimore too, a man's social standing is non-existent if he does not belong to the "Monday Germans," and in many other cities membership in the subscription dances or dancing classes or sewing circles distinctly draws the line between the inside somebodies and the outside nobodies.
Subscription dances such as these are managed and all invitations are issued by patronesses who are always ladies of unquestioned social prominence. Usually these patronesses are elected for life, or at least for a long period of years. When for one reason or another a vacancy occurs, a new member is elected by the others to fill her place. No outsider may ever ask to become a member. Usually a number of names are suggested and voted on at a meeting, and whoever wins the highest number of votes is elected.
The expenses of balls such as Assemblies, are borne by the patronesses collectively, but other types of dances are paid for by subscribers who are invited to "take tickets"—as will be explained.
How Subscription Dances Are Organized
Whether in city, town or village, the organization is the same: A small group of important ladies decide that it would be agreeable to have two or three balls—or maybe only one—a season. This original group then suggests additional names until they have all agreed upon a list sufficient in size to form a nucleus. These then are invited to join, and all of them at another meeting decide on the final size of the list and whom it is to include. The list may be a hundred, or it may stay at the original group of a half dozen or so. Let us for example say the complete list is fifty. Fifty ladies, therefore, the most prominent possible, are the patronesses or managers, or whatever they choose to call themselves. They also elect a chairman, a vice-chairman, a secretary, and a treasurer. They then elect seven or eight others who are to constitute the managing committee. The other thirty-eight or forty are merely "members" who will pay their dues and have the right to a certain number of tickets for each of the balls. These tickets, by the way, are never actually sent by the members themselves, who merely submit the names of the guests they have chosen to the committee on invitations. This is the only practical way to avoid duplication. Otherwise, let us say that Mrs. Oldname, Mrs. Worldly, Mrs. Norman and Mrs. Gilding each send their two tickets to the young Smartlingtons, which would mean that the Smartlingtons would have to return three, and those three invitations would start off on a second journey perhaps to be returned again.
On the other hand, if each patroness sends in a list, the top names which have not yet been entered in the "invitation book" are automatically selected, and the committee notify her to whom her invitations went.
There is also another very important reason for the sending in of every name to the committee: exclusiveness. Otherwise the balls would all too easily deteriorate into the character of public ones. Every name must be approved by the committee on invitations, who always hold a special meeting for the purpose, so that no matter how willing a certain careless member would be to include Mr. and Mrs. Unsuitable, she is powerless to send them tickets if they are not approved of.
As a matter of fact there is rarely any question of withholding invitations, since a serious objection would have to be sustained against one to warrant such an action on the part of the committee.
With fifty members, each might perhaps be allowed, besides her own ticket, two ladies' invitations and four gentlemen's. That would make three hundred and fifty invitations available altogether. The founders can of course decide on whatever number they choose. Patronesses can also exchange tickets. One who might want to ask a double number of guests to the "First Assembly" can arrange with another to exchange her "Second Assembly" invitations for "First" ones. Also it often happens that the entire list sent in by a member has already been included, and not wanting to use her tickets, she gives them to another member who may have a débutante daughter and therefore be in need of extra ones.
Bachelor Balls (like the "Monday Germans" of Baltimore) are run by the gentlemen instead of the ladies. Otherwise they are the same as the Assemblies.
Other Forms of Subscription Dances
Other forms are somewhat different in that instead of dividing the expenses between members who jointly issue invitations to few or many guests, the committee of ten, we will say, invites either all the men who are supposed to be eligible or all the young girls, to subscribe to a certain number of tickets.
For instance, dances known usually as Junior Assemblies or the Holiday Dances are organized by a group of ladies—the mothers, usually, of débutantes. The members of the organization are elected just as the others are, for life. But they are apt after a few years, when their daughters are "too old," to resign in favor of others whose daughters are beginning to be grown. The débutantes of highest social position are invited to become members. Each one pays "dues" and has the privilege of asking two men to each dance. Mothers are not expected to go to these dances unless they are themselves patronesses. Sometimes young women go to these dances until they marry; often they are for débutantes, but most often they are for girls the year before they "come out," and for boys who are in college.
At a subscription dance where patronesses take the place of a hostess, about four of these ladies are especially selected by the ball committee to receive. They always stand in line and bow to each person who is announced, but do not shake hands. The guest arriving also bows to the hostesses collectively (not four times). A lady, for instance, is announced: she takes a few steps toward the "receiving line" and makes a slight courtesy; the ladies receiving make a courtesy in unison, and the guest passes on. A gentleman bows ceremoniously, the way he was taught in dancing school, and the ladies receiving incline their heads.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE DÉBUTANTE
How A Young Girl Is Presented To Society
Any one of various entertainments may be given to present a young girl to society. The favorite and most elaborate of these, but possible only to parents of considerable wealth and wide social acquaintance, is a ball. Much less elaborate, but equal in size, and second in favor to-day, is an afternoon tea with dancing. Third, and gaining in popularity, is a small dance, which presents the débutante to the younger set and a few of her mother's intimate friends. Fourth, is a small tea without music. Fifth, the mere sending out of the mother's visiting card with the daughter's name engraved below her own, announces to the world that the daughter is eligible for invitations.
A Ball For A Débutante
A ball for a débutante differs in nothing from all other balls excepting that the débutante "receives" standing beside the hostess, and furthest from the entrance, whether that happens to be on the latter's right or left. The guests as they mount the stairs or enter the ballroom and are "announced," approach the hostess first, who, as she shakes hands with each, turns to the débutante and says "Mrs. Worldly, my daughter." Or "Cynthia, I want to present you to Mrs. Worldly." ("Want to" is used on this occasion because "may I" is too formal for a mother to say to her child.) A friend would probably know the daughter; in any event the mother's introduction would be, "You remember Cynthia, don't you?"
Each arriving guest always shakes hands with the débutante as well as with the hostess, and if there is a queue of people coming at the same time, there is no need of saying anything beyond "How do you do?" and passing on as quickly as possible. If there are no others entering at the moment, each guest makes a few pleasant remarks. A stranger, for instance, would perhaps comment on how lovely, and many, the débutante's bouquets are, or express a hope that she will enjoy her winter, or talk for a moment or two about the "gaiety of the season" or "the lack of balls," or anything that shows polite interest in the young girl's first glimpse of society. A friend of her mother might perhaps say "You look too lovely, Cynthia dear, and your dress is enchanting!"
Personal compliments, however, are proper only from a close friend. No acquaintance, unless she is quite old, should ever make personal remarks. An old lady or gentleman might very forgivably say "You don't mind, my dear, if I tell you how sweet I think you look," or "What a pretty frock you have on." But it is bad taste for a young woman to say to another "What a handsome dress you have on!" and worst of all to add "Where did you get it?" The young girl's particular friends are, of course, apt to tell her that her dress is wonderful, or more likely, "simply divine."
It is customary in most cities to send a débutante a bouquet at her "coming out" party. They may be "bouquets" really, or baskets, or other decorative flowers, and are sent by relatives, friends of the family, her father's business associates, as well as by young men admirers. These "bouquets" are always banked near and if possible, around the place the débutante stands to receive. If she has great quantities, they are placed about the room wherever they look most effective. The débutante usually holds one of the bouquets while receiving, but she should remember that her choice of this particular one among the many sent her is somewhat pointed to the giver, so that unless she is willing to acknowledge one particular beau as "best" it is wiser to carry one sent by her father, or brother, especially if either send her one of the tiny 1830 bouquets that have been for a year or two in fashion, and are no weight to hold.
These bouquets are about as big around as an ordinary saucer, and just as flat on top as a saucer placed upside down. The flowers chosen are rosebuds or other compact flowers, massed tightly together, and arranged in a precise pattern; for instance, three or four pink rosebuds are put in the center, around them a row of white violets, around these a single row of the pink roses, surrounded again by violets, and so on for four or five rows. The bouquet is then set in stiff white lace paper, manufactured for the purpose, the stems wrapped in white satin ribbon, with streamers of white and pink ribbons about a quarter of an inch wide and tied to hang twenty inches or so long. The colors and patterns in which these little bouquets may be made are unlimited.
The Débutante Receives
At a ball, where the guests begin coming about half past ten, the débutante must stand beside the hostess and "receive" until at least twelve o'clock—later if guests still continue to arrive.
At all coming-out parties, the débutante invites a few of her best girl friends to receive with her. Whether the party is in the afternoon or evening, these young girls wear evening dresses and come early and stay late. Their being asked to "receive" is a form of expression merely, as they never stand in line, and other than wearing pretty clothes and thus adding to the picture, they have no "duties" whatsoever.
At Supper
The débutante goes to supper with a partner who has surely spoken for the privilege weeks or even months beforehand. But the rest of her own table is always made up by herself; that is, it includes the young girls who are her most intimate friends, and their supper partners. Her table is usually in the center of the dining-room, but, there is no especial decoration to distinguish it, except that it is often somewhat larger than the other tables surrounding it, and a footman or waiter is detailed to tell any who may attempt to take it, that it is "reserved."
After supper the débutante has no duties and is free to enjoy herself.
The afternoon tea with dancing is described in the chapter on Teas and needs no further comment, since its etiquette is precisely the same as that for a ball. The débutante's bouquets are arranged as effectively as possible, and she receives with her mother, or whoever the hostess may be, until the queue of arriving guests thins out, after which she need be occupied with nothing but her own good time, and that of her friends.
Those of smaller means, or those who object to hotel rooms, ask only younger people, and give the tea in their own house. Where there are two rooms on a floor—drawing-room in front, dining-room back, and a library on the floor above, the guests are received in the drawing-room, but whether they dance in the dining-room or up in the library, depends upon which room is the larger. In either case the furniture is moved out. If possible the smallest room should be used to receive in, the largest to dance in, and the tea-table should be set in the medium one.
How Many Guests May One Ask?
A hostess should never try to pack her house beyond the limits of its capacity. This question of how many invitations may safely be sent out is one which each hostess must answer for herself, since beyond a few obvious generalities no one can very well advise her.
Taking a hostess of "average" social position, who is bringing out a daughter of "average" attractiveness and popularity, it would be safe to say that every débutante and younger man asked to a party of any kind where there is dancing, will accept, but that not more than from half to one-third of the older people asked will put in an appearance.
Lavish Parties Giving Way To Simple Ones
A ball, by the way, is always a general entertainment, meaning that invitations are sent to the entire dinner list—not only actual but potential—of the host and hostess, as well as to the younger people who are either themselves friends of the débutante, or daughters and sons of the friends, and acquaintances of the hostess.
A dance differs from a ball in that it is smaller, less elaborate and its invitations are limited to the contemporaries of the débutante, or at most the youngest married set.
Invitations to a tea are even more general and should include a hostess' entire visiting list, irrespective of age or even personal acquaintance. The old-fashioned visiting list of the young hostess included the entire list of her mother, plus that of her mother-in-law, to which was added all the names acquired in her own social life. It can easily be seen that this list became a formidable volume by the time her daughter was old enough to "come out," and yet this entire list was supposed to be included in all "general" invitations!
In the present day, however, at least in New York, there is a growing tendency to eliminate these general or "impersonal" invitations. In smartest society, it is not even considered necessary that a "general" entertainment be given to introduce a daughter. In New York last winter there were scarcely a dozen private balls all told. Many of the most fashionable (and richest) hostesses gave dances limited to young girls of their daughters' ages and young dancing men. Even at many of the teas-with-dancing none but young people were asked.
Anyone who likes to sit on the bank and watch the tides of fashion rise and fall, cannot fail to notice that big and lavish entertainments are dwindling, and small and informal ones increasing. It is equally apparent, contrary to popular opinion, that extravagance of expenditure is growing less and less. It is years since any one has given such a ball, for instance, as the Venetian fête the Gildings gave to bring out their eldest daughter, when the entire first floor of the Fitz-Cherry was turned into a replica of Venice—canals, gondolas, and all. Or the Persian ball of the Vanstyles where the whole house was hung, as a background for Oriental costumes, with copper-gold draperies, against which stood at intervals Maxfield Parrish cypress trees. Or the moonlight dance of the Worldlys which was not a fancy dress one, but for which the ballroom was turned into a garden scene, lighted by simulated moonlight that would have added to the renown of Belasco.
Such entertainments as these seem almost "out of key" with the attitude of to-day. For although fancy-dress and elaborate parties are occasionally given, they are not usually given for débutantes, nor on the scale of those mentioned above.
The DéButante's Dress
At a ball, the débutante wears her very prettiest ball dress. Old-fashioned sentiment prefers that it be white, and of some diaphanous material, such as net or gauze or lace. It ought not to look overelaborate, even though it is spangled with silver or crystal or is made of sheer lace. It should suggest something light and airy and gay and, above all, young. For a young girl to whom white is unbecoming, a color is perfectly suitable as long as it is a pale shade. She should not wear strong colors such as red, or Yale blue, and on no account black! Her mother, of course, wears as handsome a ball dress as possible, and "all her jewels."
At an afternoon tea the débutante wears an evening dress—a very simple evening dress, but an evening dress all the same. Usually a very pale color, and quite untrimmed, such as she might wear at home for dinner. Her mother wears an afternoon dress, not an evening one. Both mother and daughter wear long gloves, and neither they, nor the young girls receiving, wear hats.
To describe the details of clothes is futile. Almost before this page comes from the printer, the trend may quite likely change. But the tendency of the moment is toward greater simplicity—in effect at all events.
Let us pretend a worldly old godmother is speaking, and let us suppose that you are a young girl on the evening of your coming-out ball. You are excited, of course you are! It is your evening, and you are a sort of little princess! There is music, and there are lights, and there are flowers everywhere—a great ballroom massed with them, tables heaped with bouquets—all for you! You have on an especially beautiful dress—one that was selected from among many others, just because it seemed to you the prettiest. Even your mother and married sister who, "en grande tenue," have always seemed to you dazzling figures, have for the moment become, for all their brocades and jewels, merely background; and you alone are the center of the picture. Up the wide staircase come throngs of fashionables—who mean "the world." They are coming on purpose to bow to you! You can't help feeling that the glittering dresses, the tiaras, the ropes of pearls and chains of diamonds of the "dowagers," the stiff white shirt-fronts and boutonnières and perfectly fitting coats of the older gentlemen, as well as the best clothes of all the younger people, were all put on for you.
You shake hands and smile sweetly to a number of older ladies and shake hands with an equal number of gentlemen, all very politely and properly. Then suddenly, half way up the stairs you see Betty and Anne and Fred and Ollie. Of course your attention is drawn to them. You are vaguely conscious that the butler is shouting some stupid name you never heard of—that you don't care in the least about. Your mother's voice is saying "Mrs. zzzzzz——,"
Impatiently you give your hand to someone—you haven't the slightest idea who it is. So far as your interest is concerned, you might as well be brushing away annoying flies. Your smiles are directed to Betty and Anne. As they reach the top of the stairs you dart forward and enter into an excited conversation, deliberately overlooking a lady and gentleman who, without trying further to attract your attention, pass on. Later in the winter you will perhaps wonder why you alone among your friends are never asked to Great Estates. The lady and gentleman of whom you are so rudely unaware, happen to be Mr. and Mrs. Worldly, and you have entirely forgotten that you are a hostess, and furthermore that you have the whole evening, beginning at supper, when you can talk to these friends of yours! You can dance with Fred and Ollie and Jimmy all the rest of the evening; you can spend most of your time with them for the rest of your life if you and they choose. But when you are out in public, above all at a party which is for you, your duty in commonest civility is to overcome your impulses, and behave as a grown-up person—and a well-bred grown-up person at that!
It takes scarcely more than ten seconds to listen to the name that is said to you, to look directly and attentively at the one to whom the name belongs, to put out your hand firmly as you would take hold of something you like, (not something that you feel an aversion to), and with a smile say "How do you do." At your ball your mother says "Mrs. Worldly, my daughter." You look directly at Mrs. Worldly, put out your hand, say "How do you do, Mrs. Worldly." And she passes on. It takes no longer to be cordial and attentive than to be distrait and casual and rude, yet the impression made in a few seconds of actual time may easily gain or lose a friend for life. When no other guests are arriving, you can chatter to your own friends as much as you like, but as you turn to greet another stranger, you must show pleasure, not annoyance, in giving him your attention.
A happy attitude to cultivate is to think in your own mind that new people are all packages in a grab-bag, and that you can never tell what any of them may prove to be until you know what is inside the outer wrappings of casual appearances. To be sure, the old woman of the fairy tale, who turns out to be a fairy in disguise, is not often met with in real life, but neither is her approximate counterpart an impossibility.
As those who have sent you flowers approach, you must thank them; you must also write later an additional note of thanks to older people. But to your family or your own intimate friends, the verbal thanks—if not too casually made—are sufficient.
A Few Don'ts For Débutantes
Don't think that because you have a pretty face, you need neither brains nor manners. Don't think that you can be rude to anyone and escape being disliked for it.
Whispering is always rude. Whispering and giggling at the same time have no place in good society. Everything that shows lack of courtesy toward others is rude.
If you would be thought a person of refinement, don't nudge or pat or finger people. Don't hold hands or walk arm-about-waist in public. Never put your hand on a man, except in dancing and in taking his arm if he is usher at a wedding or your partner for dinner or supper. Don't allow anyone to paw you. Don't hang on anyone for support, and don't stand or walk with your chest held in, and your hips forward, in imitation of a reversed letter S.
Don't walk across a ballroom floor swinging your arms. Don't talk or laugh loud enough to attract attention, and on no account force yourself to laugh. Nothing is flatter than laughter that is lacking in mirth. If you only laugh because something is irresistibly funny, the chances are your laugh will be irresistible too. In the same way a smile should be spontaneous, because you feel happy and pleasant; nothing has less allure than a mechanical grimace, as though you were trying to imitate a tooth-paste advertisement.
Where Are The "Belles" Of Yesterday?
In olden days and until a comparatively short while ago, a young girl's social success was invariably measured by her popularity in a ballroom. It was the girl who had the most partners, who least frequently sat "against the wall," who carried home the greatest quantity of the baubles known as "favors," who was that evening's and usually the season's belle.
But to-day although ballroom popularity is still important as a test by which a young girl's success is measured, it is by no means the beginning and end that it used to be.
As repeated several times in this book, the day of the belle is past; beaux belong to the past too. To-day is the day of woman's equality with man, and if in proving her equality she has come down from a pedestal, her pedestal was perhaps a theatrical "property" at best and not to be compared for solid satisfaction with the level ground of the entirely real position she now occupies.
A girl's popularity in a ballroom is of importance to be sure, but not greatly more so than the dancing popularity of a youth.
There was a time when "wall-flowers" went to balls night after night where they either sat beside a chaperon or spent the evening in the dressing-room in tears. To-day a young girl who finds she is not a ballroom success avoids ballrooms and seeks her success otherwhere. She does not sit in a corner and hope against hope that her "luck will turn" and that Prince Charming will surely some evening discover her. She sizes up the situation exactly as a boy might size up his own chances to "make" the crew or the football team.
To-day's Specialists In Success
The girl of to-day soon discovers, if she does not know it already, that to be a ballroom belle it is necessary first of all to dance really well. A girl may be as beautiful as a young Diana or as fascinating as Circe, but if she is heavy or steps on her first partner's toes, never again will he ask her to dance. And the news spreads in an instant.
The girl of to-day therefore knows she must learn to dance well, which is difficult, since dancers are born, not made; or she must go to balls for supper only, or not go to balls at all, unless—she plays a really good game of bridge! In which case, her chances for popularity at the bridge tables, which are at all balls to-day, are quite as good as though she were a young Pavlowa in the ballroom. Or perhaps she skates, or hunts, or plays a wonderful game of tennis or golf, each one of which opens a vista leading to popularity, and the possibilities for a "good time" which was after all the mainspring of old-fashioned ballroom success.
And since the day of femininity that is purely ornamental and utterly useless is gone by, it is the girl who does things well who finds life full of interests and of friends and of happiness. The old idea also has passed that measures a girl's popular success by the number of trousered figures around her. It is quality, not quantity, that counts; and the girl who surrounds herself with indiscriminate and possibly "cheap" youths does not excite the envy but the derision of beholders. To the highest type of young girl to-day it makes very little difference whether, in the inevitable "group" in which she is perpetually to be found, there are more men than girls or the opposite.
This does not mean that human nature has changed—scarcely! There always are and doubtless always will be any number of women to whom admiration and flirtation is the very breath of their nostrils, who love to parade a beau just as they love to parade a new dress. But the tendencies of the time do not encourage the flirtatious attitude. It is not considered a triumph to have many love affairs, but rather an evidence of stupidity and bad taste.
Frankness Of To-day
A young man playing tennis with a young girl a generation ago would have been forced patiently to toss her gentle balls and keep his boredom to himself, or he would have held her chin in his hand, while he himself stood shivering for hours in three feet of water, and tried his best to disguise his opinion as to the hopelessness of her ever learning to swim.
To-day he would frankly tell her she had better play tennis for a year or two with a "marker" or struggle at swimming by herself, and any sensible girl would take that advice!
Instead of depending upon beauty, upon sex-appeal, the young girl who is "the success of to-day" depends chiefly upon her actual character and disposition. It is not even so necessary to do something well as to refrain from doing things badly. If she is not good at sports, or games, or dancing, then she must find out what she is good at and do that! If she is good for nothing but to look in the glass and put rouge on her lips and powder her nose and pat her hair, life is going to be a pretty dreary affair. In other days beauty was worshiped for itself alone, and it has votaries of sorts to-day. But the best type of modern youth does not care for beauty, as his father did; in fact, he doesn't care a bit for it, if it has nothing to "go with it," any more than he cares for butter with no bread to spread it on. Beauty and wit, and heart, and other qualifications or attributes is another matter altogether.
A gift of more value than beauty, is charm, which in a measure is another word for sympathy, or the power to put yourself in the place of others; to be interested in whatever interests them, so as to be pleasing to them, if possible, but not to occupy your thoughts in futilely wondering what they think about you.
Would you know the secret of popularity? It is unconsciousness of self, altruistic interest, and inward kindliness, outwardly expressed in good manners.
CHAPTER XIX
THE CHAPERON AND OTHER CONVENTIONS
A Gloomy Word
Of course there are chaperons and chaperons! But it must be said that the very word has a repellent schoolteacherish sound. One pictures instinctively a humorless tyrant whose "correct" manner plainly reveals her true purpose, which is to take the joy out of life. That she can be—and often is—a perfectly human and sympathetic person, whose unselfish desire is merely to smooth the path of one who is the darling of her heart, in nothing alters the feeling of gloom that settles upon the spirit of youth at the mention of the very word "chaperon."
Freedom Of The Chaperoned
As a matter of fact the only young girl who is really "free," is she whose chaperon is never very far away. She need give conventionality very little thought, and not bother about her P's and Q's at all, because her chaperon is always a strong and protective defense; but a young girl who is unprotected by a chaperon is in the position precisely of an unarmed traveler walking alone among wolves—his only defense is in not attracting their notice.
To be sure the time has gone by when the presence of an elderly lady is indispensable to every gathering of young people. Young girls for whose sole benefit and protection the chaperon exists (she does not exist for her own pleasure, youthful opinion to the contrary notwithstanding), have infinitely greater freedom from her surveillance than had those of other days, and the typical chaperon is seldom seen with any but very young girls, too young to have married friends. Otherwise a young married woman, a bride perhaps scarcely out of her teens, is, on all ordinary occasions, a perfectly suitable chaperon, especially if her husband is present. A very young married woman gadding about without her husband is not a proper chaperon.
There are also many occasions when a chaperon is unnecessary! It is considered perfectly correct for a young girl to drive a motor by herself, or take a young man with her, if her family know and approve of him, for any short distance in the country. She may play golf, tennis, go to the Country Club, or Golf Club (if near by), sit on the beach, go canoeing, ride horseback, and take part in the normal sports and occupations of country life. Young girls always go to private parties of every sort without their own chaperon, but the fact that a lady issues an invitation means that either she or another suitable chaperon will be present.
The Best Chaperon Herself
Ethically the only chaperon is the young girl's own sense of dignity and pride; she who has the right attributes of character needs no chaperon—ever. If she is wanting in decency and proper pride, not even Argus could watch over her! But apart from ethics, there are the conventions to think of, and the conventions of propriety demand that very young woman must be protected by a chaperon, because otherwise she will be misjudged.
The Resident Chaperon
No young girl may live alone. Even though she has a father, unless he devotes his entire time to her, she must also have a resident chaperon who protects her reputation until she is married or old enough to protect it herself—which is not until she has reached a fairly advanced age, of perhaps thirty years or over if she is alone, or twenty-six or so if she lives in her father's house and behaves with such irreproachable circumspection that Mrs. Grundy is given no chance to set tongues wagging.
It goes without saying that a chaperon is always a lady, often one whose social position is better than that of her charge; occasionally she is a social sponsor as well as a moral one. Her position, if she is not a relative, is very like that of a companion. Above all, a chaperon must have dignity, and if she is to be of any actual service, she must be kind of heart and have intelligent sympathy and tact. To have her charge not only care for her, but be happy with her, is the only possible way such a relationship can endure.
Needless to say a chaperon's own conduct must be irreproachable and her knowledge of the world such as can only be gained by personal experience; but she need not be an old lady! She can perfectly well be reasonably young, and a spinster.
Very often the chaperon "keeps the house," but she is never called a "housekeeper." Nor is she a "secretary" though she probably draws the checks and audits the bills.
It is by no means unusual for mothers who are either very gay or otherwise busy, and cannot give most of their time to their grown and growing daughters, to put them in charge of a resident chaperon. Often their governess—if she is a woman of the world—gives up her autocracy of the schoolroom and becomes social guardian instead.
The Duties Of A Chaperon
It is unnecessary to say that a chaperon has no right to be inquisitive or interfering unless for a very good reason. If an objectionable person—meaning one who can not be considered a gentleman—is inclined to show the young girl attentions, it is of course her duty to cut the acquaintance short at the beginning before the young girl's interest has become aroused. For just such a contingency as this it is of vital importance that confidence and sympathy exist between the chaperon and her charge. No modern young girl is likely to obey blindly unless she values the opinions of one in whose judgment and affection she has learned to believe.
When Invitations Are Sent Out By A Chaperon
Usually if a young girl is an orphan, living with a chaperon, a ball or formal party would be given in the name of an aunt or other near relative. If her father is alive, the invitations go out in his name of course, and he receives with her. But if it should happen that she has no near family at all, or if her chaperon is her social sponsor, the chaperon's name can be put on invitations. For example:
Miss Abigail Titherington
Miss Rosalie Gray
will be at home
on Saturday the fifth of December
from four until six o'clock
The Fitz-Cherry
Rosalie has no very near relatives and Miss Titherington has brought her up.
In sending out the invitations for a dinner (a young girl would not be giving a formal dinner) Rosalie telephones her friends "Will you dine with me (or us) next Monday?" or, "On the sixteenth?" It is not necessary to mention Miss Titherington because it is taken for granted that she will be present.
It is also not considered proper for a young girl ever to be alone as hostess. When she invites young girls and men to her house, Miss Titherington either "receives" them or comes into the room while they are there. If the time is afternoon, very likely she pours tea and when everyone has been helped, she goes into another room. She does not stay with them ever, but she is never very far away.
The chaperon (or a parent) should never go to bed until the last young man has left the house. It is an unforgivable breach of decorum to allow a young girl to sit up late at night with a young man—or a number of them. On returning home from a party, she must not invite or allow a man to "come in for a while." Even her fiancé must bid her good night at the door if the hour is late, and some one ought always to sit up, or get up, to let her in. No young girl ought to let herself in with a latch-key.
In old-fashioned days no lady had a latch-key. And it is still fitting and proper for a servant to open the door for her.
A young girl may not, even with her fiancé, lunch in a road house without a chaperon, or go on a journey that can by any possibility last over night. To go out with him in a small sail-boat sounds harmless enough, but might result in a questionable situation if they are becalmed, or if they are left helpless in a sudden fog. The Maine coast, for example, is particularly subject to fogs that often shut down without warning and no one going out on the water can tell whether he will be able to get back within a reasonable time or not. A man and a girl went out from Bar Harbor and did not get back until next day. Everyone knew the fog had come in as thick as pea-soup and that it was impossible to get home; but to the end of time her reputation will suffer for the experience.
A Few Precepts Of Convention
At a dinner party given for young people in a private house, a somewhat older sister would be a sufficient chaperon. Or the young hostess' mother after receiving the guests may, if she chooses, dine with her husband elsewhere than in the dining-room, the parents' roof being supposedly chaperonage enough.
In going to tea in a college man's room, or in a bachelor's apartment, the proper chaperon should be a lady of fairly mature years. To see two or three apparently young people going into a bachelor's quarters would be open to criticism. There are many places which are unsuitable for young girls to go to whether they are chaperoned or not. No well brought up young girl should be allowed to go to supper at a cabaret until she is married, or has passed the age when "very young" can be applied to her.
Conventions That Change With Locality
In New York, for instance, no young girl of social standing may, without being criticized, go alone with a man to the theater. Absolutely no lady (unless middle-aged-and even then she would be defying convention) can go to dinner or supper in a restaurant alone with a gentleman. A lady, not young, who is staying in a very dignified hotel, can have a gentleman dine with her. But any married woman, if her husband does not object, may dine alone in her own home with any man she pleases or have a different one come in to tea every day in the week without being criticized.
A very young girl may motor around the country alone with a man, with her father's consent, or sit with him on the rocks by the sea or on a log in the woods; but she must not sit with him in a restaurant. All of which is about as upside down as it can very well be. In a restaurant they are not only under the surveillance of many eyes, but they can scarcely speak without being overheard, whereas short-distance motoring, driving, riding, walking or sitting on the seashore has no element of protection certainly. Again, though she may not lunch with him in a restaurant, she is sometimes (not always) allowed to go to a moving picture matinée with him! Why sitting in the dark in a moving picture theater is allowed, and the restaurant is tabu is very mysterious.
Older girls and young married women are beginning to lunch with men they know well in some of the New York restaurants, but not in others. In many cities it would be scandalous for a young married woman to lunch with a man not her husband, but quite all right for a young girl and man to lunch at a country club. This last is reasonable because the room is undoubtedly filled with people they know—who act as potential chaperons. Nearly everywhere it is thought proper for them to go to a dancing club for tea, if the "club" is managed by a chaperon.
As said above, interpretation of what is proper shifts according to locality. Even in Victorian days it was proper in Baltimore for a young girl to go to the theater alone with a man, and to have him see her home from a ball was not only permitted but absolutely correct.
"Mrs. Grundy"
Of course every one has his own portrait of Mrs. Grundy, and some idea of the personality she shows to him; but has any one ever tried to ferret out that disagreeable old woman's own position; to find out where she lives and why she has nothing to do but meddle in affairs which do not concern her. Is she a lady? One would imagine she is not. One would also imagine that she lives in a solid well-repaired square brown stone house with a cupola used as a conning tower and equipped with periscope and telescope and wireless. Furthermore, her house is situated on a bleak hill so that nothing impedes her view and that of her two pets, a magpie and a jackal. And the business in life of all three of them is to track down and destroy the good name of every woman who comes within range, especially if she is young and pretty—and unchaperoned!
The pretty young woman living alone, must literally follow Cinderella's habits. To be out of the house late at night or sitting up, except to study, are imprudences she can not allow herself. If she is a widow her conduct must be above criticism, but if she is young and pretty and divorced, she must literally live the life of a Puritan spinster of Salem. The magpie never leaves her window sill and the jackal sits on the doormat, and the news of her every going out and coming in, of every one whom she receives, when they come, how long they stay and at what hour they go, is spread broadcast.
No unprotected woman can do the least thing that is unconventional without having Mrs. Grundy shouting to everyone the worst possible things about her.
The bachelor girl is usually a worker; she is generally either earning her living or studying to acquire the means of earning her living. Her days are therefore sure to be occupied, and the fact that she has little time for the gaiety of life, and that she is a worker, puts her in a somewhat less assailable position. She can on occasion go out alone with a man (not a married one), but the theater she goes to must be of conventional character, and if she dines in a restaurant it is imperative that a chaperon be in the party; and the same is true in going to supper at night. No one could very well criticize her for going to the opera or a concert with a man when neither her nor his behavior hints a lack of reserve.
But a girl whose personal dignity is unassailable is not apt to bring censure upon herself, even though the world judges by etiquette, which may often be a false measure. The young woman who wants really to be free from Mrs. Grundy's hold on her, must either live her own life, caring nothing for the world's opinion or the position it offers, or else be chaperoned.