More from my archive of dance articles! Here's a trenchant little commentary on ballroom etiquette and society manners, thinly disguised as an "overheard conversation" between two young women, a first-year debutante (Mamie) and her more experienced mentor (Clara). It was published in the Boston Daily Globe on December 23, 1888.
While Clara is genuinely trying to be helpful with her advice on how to become popular, the author's disapproval of the entire system is quite apparent in the "provoking" questions asked by innocent-but-observant Mamie.
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Clara wants Mamie to dance less with the interesting and courteous Frank Harrington and more with the inspid "beau" Arthur Jones:
"But there's something to Frank Harrington, while Arthur Jones is insipid. He doesn't know anything but the inane society gossip."
"But he's one of the beaux, Mamie; you must remember that."
"Why, he's not entertaining, is he?"
"No-o; I can't say that I ever found him so. But he always dances with the swellest girls. You never saw him with a wall-flower, did you?"
A little probing by Mamie reveals the circular nature of popularity: Arthur does not dance with wall-flowers, so if she dances with him, she will be perceived as one of the popular "belles". Frank is polite and dances with wall-flowers, so dancing with him will imply that she is in need of social assistance and make her less popular. Mamie bluntly points out the underlying nastiness:
"Then, because they are not polite enough to pay a little attention to a girl who lacks it I am to reward them by being particularly gracious."
"Why, Mamie --"
"Their selfishness makes the beaux."
"Mamie Browne, you surprise me!"
"The fact that a man whose politeness consists solely in looking out for his own pleasures asks me to dance should so flatter me that I must encourage him in being impolite to my less fortunate sisters."
And the shallowness of how one qualifies as a beau or belle:
"Would I be any less entertaining as a wall-flower than as a belle?"
"Of course not, Mamie; what a foolish question."
"Wouldn't I dance just as well?"
"Certainly. But, you see, if they were dancing with wall-flowers all the time they could hardly be beaux."
"They would descend to the level of courtesy and Frank Harrington."
The social divisions become self-perpetuating:
"How did Arthur Jones get to be one of the 'swell fellows' as we call them?"
"I'm sure I don't know. The first season he somehow got to dancing with the acknowledged belles of the season before and then all the other girls were only too glad to dance with him."
"I think I understand it," thoughtfully. "A man has push. He insists on dancing exclusively with the acknowledged belles and ignores the wall-flowers. The debutantes are then crazy to dance with him, and the next season he helps to make the belles."
Clearly there is something wrong with the society's priorities:
"You provoke me again. Arthur Jones has perfect ball-room manners."
"Of course; that's a requisite. So must a belle be pretty and bright. But his manners do not necessarily make him a beau, nor does her beauty make her a belle. Doesn't it take a little gram of selfishness, Clara?"
"Mamie!"
"Oh; I beg your pardon. I was just thinking aloud."
The piece ends with no need to further belabor the point: society's definition of "perfect ball-room manners" is seriously deficient, and true courtesy is actually penalized by those more conscious of their social position than of any obligation to the less fortunate.
I wish I could say this sort of problem was entirely an artifact of the nineteenth century, but the valuing of surface over substance seems very much the definition of today's "celebrity culture" and reminds me rather unpleasantly of the cruelty of junior high school. And, sadly, I can't say I haven't seen elements of Arthur and Clara's "society" manners at balls today. Those are not an element of nineteenth-century society that I feel any need to recreate. I would rather encourage my students to think and act like Frank and Mamie.
The entire piece is transcribed below.
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From the Boston Daily Globe, December 23, 1888, p. 17.
Ballroom Manners.
How to Become a Belle -- A Conversation Overheard Between a Debutante and Her Mentor
[Chicago Tribune.]
"Mamie."
"Yes, Clara."
"I've been thinking about you. You won't mind if I speak plainly, will you, my dear? This is your first season, you know, and it's my third."
"Oh, dear, what have I been doing now?"
"Only showing your inexperience, Mamie, and I want you to be a belle."
"And I want to be one, of course."
"Then you must be more careful. I saw you dance twice with Frank Harrington last night, and you didn't once dance with Arthur Jones."
"But there's something to Frank Harrington, while Arthur Jones is insipid. He doesn't know anything but the inane society gossip."
"But he's one of the beaux, Mamie; you must remember that."
"Why, he's not entertaining, is he?"
"No-o; I can't say that I ever found him so. But he always dances with the swellest girls. You never saw him with a wall-flower, did you?"
"Never."
"And you've seen Frank Harrington often?"
"Yes."
"Well, would you rather be classed with the belles or the wall-flowers? Arthur Jones and Tom White can make you one of the belles of the season if they like you, and you'll let them. No one will ever think you're a wall-flower if you're with them a good deal."
"Because they never dance with wall-flowers?"
"Yes."
"Then, because they are not polite enough to pay a little attention to a girl who lacks it I am to reward them by being particularly gracious."
"Why, Mamie --"
"Their selfishness makes the beaux."
"Mamie Browne, you surprise me!"
"The fact that a man whose politeness consists solely in looking out for his own pleasures asks me to dance should so flatter me that I must encourage him in being impolite to my less fortunate sisters."
"How can you put such an interpretation on what I said? I mean, don't you see, that if you dance much with Frank Harrington and that class of men people will think that you stand in need of attention."
"That I am a wall-flower?"
"Yes."
"And then in time that will make me one?"
"Yes."
"For when Arthur Jones and the other beaux get the idea that I am a wall-flower they will let me severely alone."
"They won't pay much attention to you."
"Why?"
"My dear, what makes you analyze everything in this way? When I came out I was satisfied to know that things were as they are."
"But I'm curious to know why they are so. Would I be any less entertaining as a wall-flower than as a belle?"
"Of course not, Mamie; what a foolish question."
"Wouldn't I dance just as well?"
"Certainly. But, you see, if they were dancing with wall-flowers all the time they could hardly be beaux."
"They would descend to the level of courtesy and Frank Harrington."
"You provoke me, Mamie."
"I don't mean to. I only have a way of always trying to get at the reason of things. But it seems to me that I am to reward one man for being selfish and snub another for being courteous."
"No, no, no! I never said that. Dance with Frank Harrington if you want to. I never meant that you should ignore him entirely. But dance with him less and with Arthur Jones more."
"But I like him better."
"So do I."
"Well, it's all quite odd, and gives me some new ideas about society. But tell me, Clara, if dancing almost exclusively with the beaux makes a belle what makes a beaux? Is the situation just reversed?"
"Y-e-s, I guess so."
"Then where does it all begin?"
"Dear me! you ask such queer questions. I have never thought about it."
"How did Arthur Jones get to be one of the 'swell fellows' as we call them?"
"I'm sure I don't know. The first season he somehow got to dancing with the acknowledged belles of the season before and then all the other girls were only too glad to dance with him."
"I think I understand it," thoughtfully. "A man has push. He insists on dancing exclusively with the acknowledged belles and ignores the wall-flowers. The debutantes are then crazy to dance with him, and the next season he helps to make the belles."
"You provoke me again. Arthur Jones has perfect ball-room manners."
"Of course; that's a requisite. So must a belle be pretty and bright. But his manners do not necessarily make him a beau, nor does her beauty make her a belle. Doesn't it take a little gram of selfishness, Clara?"
"Mamie!"
"Oh; I beg your pardon. I was just thinking aloud."
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