CHAPTER XXII

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_Assigning Guests at Dinner--The Boston fashion dying out--The approved Manner--Going in to Dinner--Time to be spent at table--Table Decoration--Too many flowers in bad taste--Simplicity the best style--Queen Victoria’s table--Her Dinner served at 8:15, but she eats her best meal at_ 2 P.M.--_Being late at Dinner a breach of good Manners--A Dinner acceptance a sacred Obligation--A Visite de digestion._

The Boston fashion adopted here for years, of one’s finding, on entering the house in which he was to dine, a small envelope on a silver salver in which was inclosed a card bearing on it the name of the lady assigned to him to take in to dinner, though still in use, is, however, going out of fashion. We are returning to the old habit of assigning the guests in the drawing-room.

In going in to dinner, there is but one rule to be observed. The lady of the house in almost every case goes in last, all her guests preceding her, with this exception, that if the President of the United States dines with you, or Royalty, he takes in the lady of the house, preceding all of the guests. When no ladies are present, the host should ask the most distinguished guest, or the person to whom the dinner is given, to lead the way in to dinner, and he should follow all the guests. The cards on the plates indicate his place to each one. By gesture alone, the host directs his guests to the dining-room, saying aloud to the most distinguished guest, “Will you kindly take the seat on my right?”

The placing of your guests at table requires an intimate knowledge of society. It is only by constant association that you can know who are congenial. If you are assigned to one you are indifferent to, your only hope lies in your next neighbor; and with this hope and fear you enter the dining-room, not knowing who that will be. At the table conversation should be crisp; it is in bad taste to absorb it all. Macaulay, at a dinner, would so monopolize it that the great wit, Sydney Smith, said he did not distinguish between monologue and dialogue.

When the President of the United States goes to a dinner, all the guests must be assembled; they stand in a horseshoe circle around the _salon_; the President enters; when the lady of the house approaches him, he gives her his arm, and they lead the way to the dining-room, the President sitting in the host’s place, with his hostess on his right. On arriving at the house where he is to dine, if the guests are not all assembled, he remains in his carriage until he is notified that they are all present. No one can rise to leave the table until the President himself rises. If he happens to be deeply interested in some fair neighbor, and takes no note of time, the patience of the company is sadly tried.

On entering a _salon_ and finding yourself surrounded by noted or fashionable people, you are naturally flattered at being included; if the people are unnoted, you are annoyed. The surprise to me is that in this city our cleverest men and politicians do not oftener seek society and become its brilliant ornaments, as in England and on the Continent of Europe. Disraeli, Mr. Gladstone, Lord Palmerston, all were in society and were great diners out. In fact, all the distinguished men of Europe make part and parcel of society; whilst here, they shirk it as if it were beneath their dignity. They should know that there is no power like the social power; it makes and unmakes. The proverb is that, “The way to a man’s heart is through the stomach.”

Now as to the length of a good dinner. Napoleon the Third insisted on being served in three-quarters of an hour. As usual here we run from one extreme to another. One of our most fashionable women boasted to me that she had dined out the day before, and the time consumed from the hour she left her house, until her return home, was but one hour and forty minutes. This is absurd. A lover of the flesh pots of Egypt grumbled to me that his plate was snatched away from him by the servant before he could half get through the appetizing morsel on it. This state of things has been brought about by stately, handsome dinners, spun out to too great length. One hour and a half at the table is long enough.

A word about the decoration of the table. In this we are now again running from one extreme to the other. A few years ago, the florist took possession of the table, and made a flower garden of it, regardless of cost. Now, at the best dinners, you see perhaps in the centre of the table one handsome basket of flowers; no _bouquets de corsage_ or _boutonnières_; the table set with austere simplicity; a few silver dishes with bonbons and _compotiers_ of fruit, that is all. Now, nothing decorates a dinner table as flowers do, and of these I think the _Gloire de Paris_ roses, the Rothschild rose, and Captain Chrystie’s the most effective. A better result is produced by having all of one kind of flower, be it roses, or tulips, or carnations.

It is now the fashion to have the most superb embroidered table-cloths from Paris, in themselves costing nearly a year’s income. But it is to be remembered that thirty years ago we imported from England the fashion of placing in the centre of the table a handsome piece of square scarlet satin, on which to place the silver. At the dinner the eye should have a feast as well as the palate. A beautifully laid table is very effective. I have seen Her Majesty’s table at Windsor Castle all ready for her. I have heard her footmen, in green and gold, re-echo from hall to kitchen the note that “dinner is served,” and then I was told to go; but I saw all I wanted to see. Her six footmen placed their hands on the little velvet Bishop’s cap, which covered the lion and the unicorn in frosted gold on the cover of her six _entrée_ dishes; as dinner was announced, this velvet cap was removed. The keeper of her jewel room has a large book of lithographs of just the pieces of gold plate that are to decorate Her Majesty’s table on different occasions, all regulated by the rank of her guest. Her Majesty, in the time of Prince Albert, dined at 8:15. Her head _chef_ informed me then that her real dinner was eaten at 2 P.M., with the Prince of Wales, and it was for this he exercised his talent. At eight and a quarter she took but soup and fish.

It is to be borne in mind that a host or hostess cannot be too courteous or gracious to their guests; and again, that guests in being late at dinner oftentimes commit a breach of politeness. Apropos of this, whilst in Paris one of our Ministers to the French Court related to me the following anecdote, illustrating true French politeness. His daughter arrived late at the dinner of a high personage. When her father remonstrated, she replied, “Did you not see that one of the family arrived after us?” The next day our Minister heard that the Duchess, with whom he had dined, had sent her daughter out of the room to come in after them, to relieve them of any embarrassment at being late.

Another point has had some discussion. At a large dinner, where the only lady is the hostess, should she rise and receive each guest? This is still a vexed question. Again, at a large dinner of men, is it incumbent on every one present to rise on the entrance of each guest? On one occasion I failed myself to do this, not thinking it necessary. The distinguished man who entered said afterwards that I had “slighted him.” It was certainly unintentional. In a small room, if all get up, it must create confusion.

If you intend to decline an invitation to dinner, do so at as early a date as possible. A dinner invitation, once accepted, is a sacred obligation. If you die before the dinner takes place, your executor must attend the dinner. (This is not to be taken literally, but to illustrate the obligation.) The person to whom the dinner is given takes in the hostess, if she is present, going in first with her; that is, if it is only men (no ladies present but the hostess). Should there be ladies, he still takes in the hostess, but then follows all the guests; going in with the hostess after all the guests. The only exception to this rule is where the President of the United States, or Royalty dines with you.

In England, in the note of invitation to dinner, you are never asked _to meet any one_ but Royalty. The distinction of rank makes the reason for this obvious. If Royalty dines with you, at the top of the note of invitation, in the left hand corner, it is written: “To meet His Royal Highness,” or other Royalty. Our custom is otherwise. It is to invite you to meet Mr. Robinson, or Mrs. Robinson, or Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. This is accepted and approved by all in this country, for in this way you are privileged to invite, at a day’s notice, any number of guests; for one sees it is to meet a stranger, temporarily here; a sufficient reason for so short a notice to a large dinner; besides which you have it in your power to pay the stranger or strangers a compliment in a pointed way, by making them or him the honored guest of that dinner.

If you propose accepting, your note of acceptance should be sent the day after the invitation has been received. After dining at a ladies’ dinner it is obligatory that you leave your card at the house where you have dined, either the next day or within a day or two. This is called, by the French, a _visite de digestion_. In England, this custom is dying out, for men have not the time to do it.

I would here compare society to a series of intersecting circles; each one is a circle of its own, and they all unite in making what is known as general society. Meeting people at a large ball is no evidence of their being received in the smaller circles. What the French call the _petit comité_ of good society is the inmost circle of all, but, naturally, it is confined to a very few. Meeting a person constantly at dinner, at the most exclusive houses, should be sufficient evidence to you that he or she is received everywhere, and if you find people persistently excluded from the best houses at dinners, you may be satisfied that there is some good reason for it.

When you introduce a man into the sanctuary of your own family, it is supposed by a fiction to be the greatest compliment you can pay him; but do not be misled by this, for there is nothing more trying to the guest than to be the one outsider. A friend of mine invariably refuses such invitations. “Why,” said he, “my dinner at home is sufficiently good; I am called out with my wife,--both of us compelled to don our best attire, order the carriage, and go to see and be with, whom? A family whose members are not particularly interesting to us.” Men with whom you are only on a business footing you should dine at your Club, and not inflict them on your family.

COOKS AND CATERING.

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