Etiquette - Emily Post (english novels for students TXT) 📗

steward. Your tip to the head steward and to one of the chefs depends on whether they have done anything especial for you. If not, you do not tip them. If you are a bad sailor and have been taking your meals in your room, you give twenty shillings ($5.00) at least to the stewardess (or steward, if you are a man). Or if you have eaten your meals on deck, you give twenty shillings to the deck steward, and ten to his assistant, and you give five to the bath steward. To any steward who takes pains to please you, you show by your manner in thanking him that you appreciate his efforts, as well as by giving him a somewhat more generous tip when you leave the ship.

If you like your bath at a certain hour, you would do well to ask your bath steward for it as soon as you go on board (unless you have a private bath of your own), since the last persons to speak get the inconvenient hours—naturally. To many the daily salt bath is the most delightful feature of the trip. The water is always wonderfully clear and the towels are heated.

If you have been ill on the voyage, some ship's doctors send in a bill; others do not. In the latter case you are not actually obliged to give them anything, but the generously inclined put the amount of an average fee in an envelope and leave it for the doctor at the purser's office.

Dress On The Steamer

On the de luxe steamers nearly every one dresses for dinner; some actually in ball dresses, which is in worst possible taste, and, like all over-dressing in public places, indicates that they have no other place to show their finery. People of position never put on formal evening dress on a steamer, not even in the à la carte restaurant, which is a feature of the de luxe steamer of size. In the dining saloon they wear afternoon house dresses—without hats—for dinner. In the restaurant they wear semi-dinner dresses. Some smart men on the ordinary steamers put on a dark sack suit for dinner after wearing country clothes all day, but in the de luxe restaurant they wear Tuxedo coats. No gentleman wears a tail-coat on shipboard under any circumstances whatsoever.

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