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Etiquette

Traveling Abroad

Just as one discordant note makes more impression than all the others that are correctly played in an entire symphony, so does a discordant incident stand out and dominate a hundred others that are above criticism, and therefore unnoticed.

In every country of Europe and Asia are Americans who combine the brilliancy which none can deny is the birthright of the newer world, with the cultivation and good breeding of the old. These Americans of the best type go all over the world, fitting in so perfectly with their background that not even the inhabitants notice they are strangers; in other words they achieve the highest accomplishment possible.

But in contrast to these, the numberless discordant ones are only too familiar; one sees them swarming over Europe in bunches, sometimes in hordes, on regular professionally run tours. This, of course, does not mean that all personally conducted tourists are anything like them. The objectionables are loud of voice, loud in manner; they always attract as much attention as possible to themselves, and wave American flags on all occasions.

The American flag is the most wonderful emblem in the whole world, and ours is the most glorious country too, but that does not mean that it is good taste to wave our flag for no reason whatever. At a parade or on an especial day when other people are waving flags, then let us wave ours by all means—but not otherwise. It does not dignify our flag to make it an object of ridicule to others, and that is exactly the result of the ceaseless flaunting of it by a group of people who talk at the top of their voices, who deliberately assume that the atmosphere belongs to them, and who behave like noisy, untrained savages trying to "show off." In hotels, on excursions, steamers and trains, they insist on talking to everyone, whether everyone wants to talk or not. They are "all over the place"—there is no other way to express it—and they allow privacy to no one if they can help it.

Numberless cultivated Americans traveling in Europe never by any chance speak English or carry English books on railroad trains, as a protection against the other type of American who allows no one to travel in the same compartment and escape conversation. The only way to avoid unwelcome importunities is literally to take refuge in assuming another nationality.

Strangely enough, these irrepressibles are seldom encountered at home; they seem to develop on the steamer and burst into full bloom only on the beaten tourist trails—which is a pity, because if they only developed at home instead, we might be intensely annoyed but at least we should not be mortified before our own citizens about other fellow-citizens. But to a sensitive American it is far from pleasant to have the country he loves represented by a tableful of vulgarians noisily attracting the attention of a whole dining-room, and to have a European say mockingly, "Ah, and those are your compatriots?"

Some years ago, a Russian grand duke sitting next to Mrs. Oldname at a luncheon in a Monte Carlo restaurant, said to her:

"Your country puzzles me! How can it be possible that it holds without explosion such antagonistic types as the many charming Americans we are constantly meeting, and at the same time—" looking at a group who were actually singing and beating time on their glasses with knives and forks—"those!"

A French officer's comment to an American officer with whom he was talking in a club in Paris, quite unconsciously tells the same tale:

"You are liaison officer, I suppose, with the Americans? But may I be permitted to ask why you wear their uniform?"

The other smiled: "I am an American!"

"You an American? Impossible! Why, you speak French like a Parisian, you have the manner of a great gentleman!" (un grand seigneur,) which would indicate that the average American does not speak perfect French nor have beautiful manners. There is much excuse for not speaking foreign languages, but there is no excuse whatever for having offensive manners and riding rough-shod over people who own the land—not we, who seem to think we do.

As for "souvenir hunters," perhaps they can explain wherein their pilfering of another's property differs from petty thieving—a distinction which the owner can scarcely be expected to understand. Those who write their names, defacing objects of beauty with their vainglorious smudges and scribblings, are scarcely less culpable.

In France, in Spain, in Italy, grace and politeness of manner is as essential to merest decency as being clothed. In the hotels that are "used to us" (something of a commentary!) our lack of politeness is tolerated; but don't think for a moment it is not paid for! The officer referred to above, who had had the advantage of summer after summer spent in Europe as a boy, was charged just about half what another must pay who has "the rudeness of a savage."

But good manners are good manners everywhere, except that in Latin and Asiatic countries we must, as it seems to us, exaggerate politeness. We must, in France and Italy, bow smilingly; we must, in Spain and the East, bow gravely; but in any event, it is necessary everywhere, except under the American and British flags, to bow—though your bow is often little more than a slight inclination of the head, and a smile—and to show some ceremony in addressing people.

When you go into a shop in France or Italy, you must smile and bow and say, "Good morning, madam," or "Good evening, monsieur," and "Until we meet again," when you leave. If you can't say "Au revoir," say "Good afternoon" in English, but at all events say something in a polite tone of voice, which is much more important than the words themselves. To be civilly polite is not difficult—it is merely a matter of remembering. To fail to say "good morning" to a concierge, a chambermaid, or a small tradesman in France, treating him (or her) as though he did not exist, is not evidence of your grandeur but of your ignorance. A French duchess would not think of entering the littlest store without saying, "Good morning, madame," to its proprietress, and if she is known to her at all, without making enquiries concerning the health of the various members of her family. Nor would she fail to say, "Good morning, Auguste," or "Marie," to her own servants.


Europe's Unflattering Opinion Of Us

For years we Americans have swarmed over the face of the world, taking it for granted that the earth's surface belongs to us because we can pay for it, and it is rather worse than ever since the war, when the advantages of exchange add bitterness to irritation.

And yet there are many who are highly indignant when told that, as a type, we are not at all admired abroad. Instead of being indignant, how much simpler and better it would be to make ourselves admirable, especially since it is those who most lack cultivation who are most indignant. The very well-bred may be mortified and abashed, but they can't be indignant except with their fellow countrymen who by their shocking behavior make Europe's criticism just.

Understanding of, and kind-hearted consideration for the feelings of others are the basic attributes of good manners. Without observation, understanding is impossible—even in our own country where the attitude of our neighbors is much the same as our own. It is not hard to appreciate, therefore, that to understand the point of view of people entirely foreign to ourselves, requires intuitive perception as well as cultivation in a very high degree.


Americans In European Society

It is only in musical comedy that one can go into a strange city and be picked out of the crowd and invited to the tables of the high of the land, because one looks as though one might be agreeable! To see anything of society in the actual world it is necessary to have friends, either Americans living or "stationed" or married abroad; or to take letters of introduction. Taking letters of introduction should never be done carelessly, because of the obligation that they impose. But to go to a strange country and see nothing of its social life, is like a blind person's going to the theater, and the only way a stranger can know people is through the letters he brings.

Under ordinary circumstances no knowledge whatsoever beyond the social amenities the world over are necessary. A dinner abroad is exactly the same as one here. You enter a room, you bow, you shake hands, you say, "How do you do." You sit at table, you talk of impersonal things, say "Good-by" and "Thank you" to your hostess, and you leave.

The matter of addressing people of title correctly is of little importance. The beautiful Lady Oldworld (who was Alice Town) was asked one day by a fellow countryman, what she called this person of title and that one, and she replied:

"I'm not sure that I know! Why should I call them at all?" which was a perfectly sensible answer. One never says anything but "you" to the person spoken to; and it might be an excellent thing not to know how to speak about anyone with a title, as it would prevent one's mentioning them.

Having gone into the subject thus far, however, it may be added that if at a dinner you are put next to a Duke, if it is necessary to call him anything except "you," you would say "Duke." Unless you are waiting on the table instead of sitting at it, you would not say, "Your Grace" and not even then "My Lord Duke." Neither, unless you are a valet or a chambermaid, would you say "Your Lordship" to an Earl! If you are a lady, you call him "Lord Arlington." If you know him really well, you call him "Arlington." To a knight you say, "Sir Arthur," which sounds familiar, but there is nothing else you can call him.

In England a stranger is not supposed to introduce anyone, so that titles of address are not necessary then either; but if you happen to be the hostess and French or Americans are present, who like introductions, you introduce Sir Arthur Dryden to the Duke and Duchess of Overthere, or to Prince and Princess Capri. In talking to her, the latter would be called "Princess" and her husband "Prince Capri" or "Prince" or by those who know him well, "Capri."


Presentation At Court

Frequently American men are presented at the British Court at levees held by the King for the purpose. Such men are of course distinguished citizens who have been in some branch of public service, or who have contributed something to art, science, history or progress.

An American lady to be eligible for presentation at a foreign Court should be either the wife or daughter of a distinguished American citizen or be herself notable in some branch of learning or accomplishment.

It is absolutely necessary that such a candidate take letters of introduction to the American Ambassador,[C] or Minister if in a country where we have a Legation instead of an Embassy. She would enclose her letters in a note to the Ambassadress asking that her name be put on the list for presentation. The propriety of this request is a very difficult subject to advise upon, in that it is better that the suggestion come from the Ambassador rather than from oneself. It is, however, perfectly permissible for one whose presentation is appropriate, but who may perhaps not know the Ambassador or his wife personally, to do as suggested above. It must also be remembered that rarely more than three or perhaps five persons are presented at any one time, so that the difficulty of obtaining a place on the list is obvious.

An American lady is presented by the American Ambassadress (or the wife of the American Minister) or by the wife of the Chargé d'Affaires if the Ambassadress be absent; or occasionally by the Doyenne of the diplomatic corps at the request of the American Embassy.

It would be futile to attempt giving details of full court dress or especial details of etiquette, as these vary not alone with countries, but with time! If you are about to be presented, you will surely be told all that is necessary by the person presenting you. These details, after all, merely comprise the exact length of train or other particulars of dress, the hour you are to be at such and such a door, where you are to stand, and how many curtsies or bows you are to make. In all other and essential particulars you behave as you would in any and every circumstance of formality. In general outline, however, it would be safe to say that on the day of the ceremony you drive to the Palace at a specified hour, wearing specified clothes and carrying your card of invitation in your hand. Your wraps are left in the carriage (or motor-car), you enter the Palace and are shown into a room where you wait, and wait and WAIT! until at last you are admitted to the Audience Chamber where you approach the receiving Royalties; you curtsy deeply before them and then back out.

Or else—you stand on an assigned spot while the King or Queen or both make the tour of those waiting, who curtsy (or bow) deeply at their approach and again at their withdrawal.

If you are spoken to at length, you answer as under any other circumstances, exactly as a polite child answers his elders. You do not speak unless spoken to. If your answer is long you need say nothing except the answer; if short, you add "Sir" to the King and "Madam" to the Queen. This seemingly democratic title is as a matter of fact the correct one for all Royalty. "Yes, sir." "Very much indeed, Madam." "I think so, Madam."


[C] In South America alone, where out of courtesy to those who also consider themselves "Americans," the Embassies and Legations of our country are known as those of The United States of America. But in all other countries of the world we are known simply as "Americans"—it is the only name we have. We are not United Staters or United Statian—there is not even a word to apply to us! To speak of the American Minister to this country or that, and of the American Embassy in Paris for instance, is entirely correct.


Foreign Languages

In the Latin countries, grace and facility of speech is an object of lifelong cultivation—and no one is considered an educated person who can not speak several languages well. Those who speak many fluently, by the way, are seldom those who constantly interlard their own tongue with words from another.

Not to understand any foreign languages would be a decided handicap in European society, where conversation is very apt to turn polyglot, beginning in one tongue and going on in a second and ending in a third. So that one who knows only English is often in the position of a deaf person, even though Europeans are invariably polite and never let a conversation run long in a language which all those present do not understand. It might easily happen that a French lady and an American, neither understanding the tongue of the other, meet at the house of an Italian, where there is also an Italian monolinguist, so that the hostess has to talk in three languages at once.

It is unreasonable to expect the average American to be a linguist; we are too far removed from foreign countries. As a matter of fact, if you would make yourself agreeable, it is much better (unless your facility was acquired as a child or you have a talent amounting to genius for accent and construction), to make it a rule when you lunch or dine with Europeans to talk English, since all Latins acutely suffer at hearing their language distorted. English, on the other hand, is not beautiful in sound to the foreign ear; it is a series of esses and shushes, lumped with consonants like an iron-wheeled cart bumping over a cobble-stoned street. The Latin's accent in English is annoying even to us at times, but the English accent in French, Italian or Spanish is murderous! Furthermore, the Latin passionately loves his language in the way the Westerner loves his city; he simply can not endure to have it abused, and execrates the person who does so. And, proportionately, he loves the few who prove they share his love by speaking it creditably.


To Improve One's Accent

If you want to improve your accent, nothing can so help you as going to the theater abroad until your ears literally absorb the sounds! All people are imitative. There are few who do not gradually lose the purity of a good foreign accent when long away from Europe, and all speak more fluently when their ears become accustomed to the sound.

The theater is not only the best possible place to hear correctly enunciated speech, but a play of contemporary life is equally valuable as a study in manners. There is also a suavity of grace in the way Europeans bow and stand and sit, and in the way they speak, that is unconsciously imitated. These "manners" need not—in fact, should not—be gushing or mincing, but you gradually perceive that jerking ramrod motions and stalking into a drawing-room like a grenadier are less impressive than awkward.


The Spoiled American Girl

The subject of American manners, as they appear to Europeans, cannot be dismissed without comment on a reprehensible type of American girl who flourishes on shipboard, on tours, and in public places generally—but most particularly in the large and expensive hotels of Continental resorts.

If she and her family have a "home," they are never in it, and if they have any object in life other than letting her follow her own unhampered inclinations, it is not apparent to the ordinary observer. Such a girl is always over-dressed, she wears every fashion in its extremest exaggeration, she sparkles with jewelry, and reeks of scent, she switches herself this way and that, and is always posing in public view and playing to the public gallery. She generally has a small brother who refuses to go to bed at night, or to stop making the piazza chairs into a train of cars, or to use the public halls as a skating rink. When he is not making a noise, he is eating. And his "elegant" sister looks upon him with disdain.

Sister, meanwhile, jingling with chains and bangles, decked in scarfs and tulle and earrings, leans on or against whatever happens to be convenient, flirting with any casual stranger who comes along. She invariably goes to her meals alone—evidently thinking her parents should be kept apart from her. She is never away from the Kurhaus or Casino, abroad or the hotel lobby in America. She is nearly always alone, and the book she is perpetually reading is always opened at the same page, and she is sure to look up as you pass. She is very ready to be "picked up" and to confide her life's history, past, present and future, to any stranger, especially a young one of the opposite sex. She is rude only to her mother and father. She is also (we know, but Europe doesn't) a perfectly "good" girl. Her lack of etiquette is shocking, but her morals are above reproach. She does not even mean to be rude to her parents, and she has no idea that the things she does are exactly those which condemn her in the opinion of strangers. If she were constantly with, and obviously devoted to her mother, she would make an infinitely better impression, both as to good form and as to heart, than by segregating herself so that she can be joined by any haphazard youth who strolls into view, and thereby cheapening not only herself but the name of the American girl in general.

Curiously enough, if she marries in Europe, she is apt to "settle down" and become an altogether admirable example of American-European womanhood, because she is sound fruit at heart—merely wrapped in tawdry gilt paper trimming by her adoring but ignorantly unwise parents who, in their effort to show her off, disguise the very qualities which should have been accentuated.


Ladies Traveling Alone In Europe.

Europeans can not possibly understand how any lady of social position can be without a maid. A lady traveling alone, therefore, has this trifling handicap to start with. It is a very snobbish opinion, and one who has the temerity to attempt traveling all by herself has undoubtedly the ability to see it through. She need after all merely behave with extreme quietness and dignity and she can go from one end of the world to the other without molestation or even difficulty—especially if she is anything of a linguist.

In going from one place to another, it is wiser to write as long as possible ahead for accommodations—possibly giving the name of the one (if any) who recommended the hotel. But in going far off into Asia or other "difficult" countries, she would better join friends or at least a personally conducted tour, unless she has the mettle of a Burton or a Stanley.


Motoring In Europe

Motoring in Europe is perfectly feasible and easy. A car has to be put in a crate to cross the ocean, but in crossing the channel between England and France, no difficulty whatever is experienced. All information necessary can be had at any of the automobile clubs, and in going from one country to another, you have merely to show your passports at the border properly viséd and pay a deposit to insure your not selling the car out of the country, which is refunded when you come back.

Garage charges are reasonable, but gasoline is high. Roads are beautiful, and traveling—once you have your car—is much cheaper than by train.

Once off the beaten track, a tourist who has not a working knowledge of the language of the country he is driving through, is at a disadvantage, but plenty of people constantly do it, so it is at least not insurmountable. With English you can go to most places—with English and French nearly everywhere. The Michelin guide shows you in a little drawing, exactly the type of hotels you will find in each approaching town and the price of accommodation, so that you can choose your own stopping places accordingly.

"And etiquette?" you ask. There is no etiquette of motoring that differs from all other etiquette. Except of course not to be a road hog—or a road pig! People who take up the entire road are not half the offenders that others are who picnic along the side of it and leave their old papers and food all over everywhere. For that matter, any one who shoves himself forward in any situation in life, he who pushes past, bumping into you, walking over you, in order to get a first seat on a train, or to be the first off a boat, any one who pushes himself out of his turn, or takes more than his share, anywhere or of anything—is precisely that sort of an animal.


On A Continental Train

Europeans usually prefer to ride backwards, and as an American prefers to face the engine, it works out beautifully. It is not etiquette to talk with fellow passengers, in fact it is very middle-class. If you are in a smoking carriage (all European carriages are smoking unless marked "Ladies alone" or "No smoking") and ladies are present, it is polite to ask if you may smoke. Language is not necessary, as you need merely to look at your cigar and bow with an interrogatory expression, whereupon your fellow passengers bow assent and you smoke.


The Perfect Traveler.

One might say the perfect traveler is one whose digestion is perfect, whose disposition is cheerful, who can be enthusiastic under the most discouraging circumstances, to whom discomfort is of no moment, and who possesses at least a sense of the ridiculous, if not a real sense of humor! The perfect traveler furthermore, is one who possesses the virtue of punctuality; one who has not forgotten something at the last minute, and whose bags are all packed and down at the hour for the start. Those who fuss and flurry about being ready, or those whose disposition is easily upset or who are inclined to be gloomy, should not travel—unless they go alone. Nothing can spoil a journey more than some one who is easily put out of temper and who always wants to do something the others do not. Whether traveling with your family or with comparative strangers, you must realize that your personal likes and dislikes have at least on occasion to be subordinated to the likes and dislikes of others; nor can you always be comfortable, or have good weather, or make perfect connections, or find everything to your personal satisfaction; and you only add to your own discomfort and chagrin, as well as to the discomfort of every one else, by refusing to be philosophical. Those who are bad sailors should not go on yachting parties; they are always abjectly wretched, and are of no use to themselves or any one else. Those who hate walking should not start out on a tramp that is much too far for them and expect others to turn back when they get tired. They need not "start" to begin with, but having once started, they must see it through.

There is no greater test of a man's (or a woman's) "wearing" qualities than traveling with him. He who is always keen and ready for anything, delighted with every amusing incident, willing to overlook shortcomings, and apparently oblivious of discomfort, is, needless to say, the one first included on the next trip.





CHAPTER XXXVIII

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GROWTH OF GOOD TASTE IN AMERICA


Good taste or bad is revealed in everything we are, do, or have. Our speech, manners, dress, and household goods—and even our friends—are evidences of the propriety of our taste, and all these have been the subject of this book. Rules of etiquette are nothing more than sign-posts by which we are guided to the goal of good taste.

Whether we Americans are drifting toward or from finer perceptions, both mental and spiritual, is too profound a subject to be taken up except on a broader scope than that of the present volume. Yet it is a commonplace remark that older people invariably feel that the younger generation is speeding swiftly on the road to perdition. But whether the present younger generation is really any nearer to that frightful end than any previous one, is a question that we, of the present older generation, are scarcely qualified to answer. To be sure, manners seem to have grown lax, and many of the amenities apparently have vanished. But do these things merely seem so to us because young men of fashion do not pay party calls nowadays and the young woman of fashion is informal? It is difficult to maintain that youth to-day is so very different from what it has been in other periods of the country's history, especially as "the capriciousness of beauty," the "heartlessness" and "carelessness" of youth, are charges of a too suspiciously bromidic flavor to carry conviction.

The present generation is at least ahead of some of its "very proper" predecessors in that weddings do not have to be set for noon because a bridegroom's sobriety is not to be counted on later in the day! That young people of to-day prefer games to conversation scarcely proves degeneration. That they wear very few clothes is not a symptom of decline. There have always been recurring cycles of undress, followed by muffling from shoe-soles to chin. We have not yet reached the undress of Pauline Bonaparte, so the muffling period may not be due!

However, leaving out the mooted question whether etiquette may not soon be a subject for an obituary rather than a guide-book, one thing is certain: we have advanced prodigiously in esthetic taste.

Never in the recollection of any one now living has it been so easy to surround oneself with lovely belongings. Each year's achievement seems to stride away from that of the year before in producing woodwork, ironwork, glass, stone, print, paint and textile that is lovelier and lovelier. One can not go into the shops or pass their windows on the streets without being impressed with the ever-growing taste of their display. Nor can one look into the magazines devoted to gardens and houses and house-furnishings and fail to appreciate the increasing wealth of the beautiful in environment.

That such exquisite "best" as America possessed in her Colonial houses and gardens and furnishings should ever have been discarded for the atrocities of the period after the Civil War, is comparable to nothing but Titania's Midsummer Night's Dream madness that made her believe an ass's features more beautiful than those of Apollo!

Happily, however, since we never do things by halves, we are studying and cultivating and buying and making, and trying to forget and overcome that terrible marriage of our beautiful Colonial ancestress with the dark-wooded, plush-draped, jig-sawed upstart of vulgarity and ignorance. In another country her type would be lost in his, forever! But in a country that sent a million soldiers across three thousand miles of ocean, in spite of every obstacle and in the twinkling of an eye, why even comment that good taste is pouring over our land as fast as periodicals, books and manufacturers can take it. Three thousand miles east and west, two thousand miles north and south, white tiled bathrooms have sprung like mushrooms seemingly in a single night, charming houses, enchanting gardens, beautiful cities, cultivated people, created in thousands upon thousands of instances in the short span of one generation. Certain great houses abroad have consummate quality, it is true, but for every one of these, there are a thousand that are mediocre, even offensive. In our own country, beautiful houses and appointments flourish like field flowers in summer; not merely in the occasional gardens of the very rich, but everywhere.

And all this means? Merely one more incident added to the many great facts that prove us a wonderful nation. (But this is an aside merely, and not to be talked about to anyone except just ourselves!) At the same time it is no idle boast that the world is at present looking toward America; and whatever we become is bound to lower or raise the standards of life. The other countries are old, we are youth personified! We have all youth's glorious beauty and strength and vitality and courage. If we can keep these attributes and add finish and understanding and perfect taste in living and thinking, we need not dwell on the Golden Age that is past, but believe in the Golden Age that is sure to be.





INDEX

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