Etiquette, Emily Post [read people like a book txt] 📗

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.

In Confidence To A Débutante

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