Etiquette

A young girl who goes to a ball without a chaperon (meaning of course a private ball), takes a maid with her who sits in the dressing-room the entire evening. Not only is it thought proper to have a maid waiting, but nothing can add more to the panic of a partnerless girl than to feel she has not even a means of escape by going home; she can always call a taxi as long as her maid is with her, and go. Otherwise she either has to stay in the ballroom or sit forlorn among the visiting maids in the dressing-room.

Much of the above is so pessimistic one might suppose that a ballroom is always a chamber of torture and the young girl taken as an example above, a very drab and distorted caricature of what "a real young girl" should be and is. But remember, the young girl who is a "belle of the ballroom" needs no advice on how to manage a happy situation; no thought spent on how to make a perfect time better. The ballroom is the most wonderful stage-setting there is for the girl who is a ballroom success. And for this, especial talents are needed just as they are for art or sport or any other accomplishment.

The great ballroom success, first and foremost, dances well. Almost always she is pretty. Beauty counts enormously at a ball. The girl who is beautiful and dances well is, of course, the ideal ballroom belle. But—this for encouragement—these qualities can in a measure at least be acquired. All things being more or less equal, the girl who dances best has the most partners. Let a daughter of Venus or the heiress of Midas dance badly, and she might better stay at home.

To dance divinely is an immortal gift, but to dance well can (except in obstinate cases, as the advertisements say) be taught. Let us suppose therefore, that she dances well, that she has a certain degree of looks, that she is fairly intelligent. The next most important thing, after dancing well, is to be unafraid, and to look as though she were having a good time. Conversational cleverness is of no account in a ballroom; some of the greatest belles ever known have been as stupid as sheep, but they have had happy dispositions and charming and un-self-conscious manners. There is one thing every girl who would really be popular should learn, in fact, she must learn—self-unconsciousness! The best advice might be to follow somewhat the precepts of mental science and make herself believe that a good time exists in her own mind. If she can become possessed with the idea that she is having a good time and look as though she were, the psychological effect is astonishing.

When one of the "stags" standing in the doorway sees a girl dance past whom he wants to dance with, he darts forward, lays his hand on the shoulder of her partner, who relinquishes his place in favor of the newcomer, and a third in turn does the same to him. Or, the one, who was first dancing with her, may "cut in on" the partner who took her from him, after she has danced once around the ballroom. This seemingly far from polite maneuver, is considered correct behavior in best society in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Chicago, San Francisco, and therefore most likely in all parts of America. (Not in London, nor on the Continent.)

At dances organized during the War in the canteens for soldiers and sailors on furlough, the men refused to "cut in" because they thought it was rude and undoubtedly it is, except that custom has made it acceptable. If, however, it still seems "rude" to the young men of Othertown to "cut in," then they should not do so.

On the other hand, if a girl is sitting in another room, or on the stairs with a man alone, a second one should not interrupt, or ask her to dance. If she is sitting in a group, he can go up and ask her, "Don't you want to dance some of this?" She then either smiles and says, "Not just now—I am very tired," or if she likes him, she may add, "Come and sit with us!"

To refuse to dance with one man and then immediately dance with another is an open affront to the first one—excusable only if he was intoxicated or otherwise actually offensive so that the affront was both intentional and justifiable. But under ordinary circumstances, if she is "dancing," she must dance with everyone who asks her; if she is "not dancing," she must not make exceptions.

An older lady can very properly refuse to dance and then perhaps dance briefly with her son or husband, without hurting her guest's proper pride, but having refused to dance with one gentleman she must not change her mind and dance later with another.

A young girl who is dancing may not refuse to change partners when another "cuts in." This is the worst phase of the "cutting in" custom; those who particularly want to dance together are often unable to take more than a dozen steps before being interrupted. Once in a while a girl will shake her head "No" to a "stag" who darts toward her. But that is considered rude. A few others have devised dancing with their eyes shut as a signal that they do not want to be "cut in on." But this is neither customary nor even a generally known practise.

A lady never asks a gentleman to dance, or to go to supper with her, though she may if she is older, or if she is a young girl who is one of a "flock," she may say "Come and sit at our table!" This however would not imply that in sitting at "their" table he is supposed to sit next to her.

Since a girl may not without rudeness refuse to dance with a man who "cuts in," a man who does not know how to dance is inexcusably inconsiderate if he "cuts in" on a good dancer and compels a young girl to become instructress for his own pleasure with utter disregard of hers. If at home, or elsewhere, a young girl volunteers to "teach" him, that is another matter, but even so, the ballroom is no place to practise—unless he is very sure that his dancing is not so bad as to be an imposition on his teacher.

"The scene represents the palace and garden at Versailles. There were only four tables. Singers appeared on the balcony during dinner, other performers danced, sang and juggled on the pathways. After the dinner the pathways of grass were taken up to permit dancing by the guests." [Page 271.]

Formal occasions demand strict conventions. At an important wedding, at a dinner of ceremony, at a ball, it is not only bad form but shocking to deviate from accepted standards of formality. "Surprize" is an element that must be avoided on all dignified occasions. Those therefore, who think it would be original and pleasing to spring surprizes on their guests at an otherwise conventional and formal entertainment, should save their ideas for a children's party where surprizes not only belong, but are delightedly appreciated. To be sure, one might perhaps consider that scenic effects or unusual diversions, such as one sees at a costume ball or a "period" dinner, belong under the head of "surprize." But in the first place such entertainments are not conventional; and in the second, details that are in accordance with the period or design of the ball or dinner are "conventions" after all.

On the other hand, in the country especially, nothing can be more fun or more appropriate than a barn dance, or an impromptu play, or a calico masquerade, with properties and clothes made of any old thing and in a few hours—even in a few minutes.

Music need not be an orchestra but it must be good, and the floor must be adequate and smooth. The supper is of secondary importance. As for manners, even though they may be "unrestrained," they can be meticulously perfect for all that! There is no more excuse for rude or careless or selfish behavior at a picnic than at a ball.

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.

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.

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.

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.