Table Etiquette In England of 1876

Poor M. St. Beuve…. Forever known for his poor table manners. It is alleged that during an impressive ceremonial, he spread his napkin over both his knees; he crushed the shells of two boiled eggs which he had eaten; he had asked for a second service of chicken; he touched the bones of the chicken with his fingers; he said “thank you” to one of the servants; he left his knife and fork on the cloth; he peeled a pear latitudinally instead of longitudinally, and, worst of all, he sniffed his wine before drinking it. — Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, French writer (1804 - 1869). Image date circa 1860’s — Public Domain Photo

Olive Logan is compensating the country for sending her husband as Consul to Cardiff by some frank confessions of experience in English society. She has got as far as the dinner-table, and tells us how the English conduct themselves in that trying ordeal. They do not vary much from ourselves, of course, though in some respects they improve on the old New England regime. 

Punctuality in the guests at the dinner is imperative; he who goes before the hour is advised to prolong his walk or even sit in his carriage before the door until the proper moment, while he who goes late is advised to turn back home again. This regulation is certainly very considerate to the hostess. At table the guest who is helped first does not wait for his fellows to be helped before falling to. This seems less decorous and only consistent with a state of society where the servants are numerous enough to nearly equalize the moment of service to all the guests. 

At the same time it is aggravating to the guest already served to hang over his savory portion while a slow host deals round the board. We are reminded in this connection of one ancient New England practice which ought to be generally abandoned, and that is the service of the invited guests at the family table before the children. Infancy (God bless it!) has a healthful appetite, or ought to have, and deserves the attention.

The next rule of the English is excellent, and that is that the guest, if he be offered “the last on the plate,” should take it without scruple. Of course this is the true courtesy, for to refuse it presumes that the hostess cannot fill up again, and, if by accident she cannot, subjects her to the further annoying consciousness of not having satisfied her guests even to the extent to which she had it in her power.

These things are of the kernel of good manners, not the shuck. They concern the ease of mind and comfort of the guest and host. Not so the trifles in which the “Almanac de Savoir-Vivre” charges Saint Beuve with negligence. The accusation is that the great essayist who devoted his life to give a literary association to washing-day was guilty of no less than eight offenses at the Emperor Napoleon's dinner table. 

He spread his napkin over both knees instead of half unfolding and draping one therein; he omitted to crush the egg-shells he left; “he asked for more” chicken and “touched the bones with his fingers;” he thanked a servant; he left his knife and fork on the cloth, instead of upon his plate; peeled a pear cross-wise and offered half to a lady, and, finally, sniffed his wine before drinking! 

An unmannerly dog, in the opinion of the “Almanac,” this essayist of Monday, who had ventured to assert that a man of genius could not have bad manners. We confess we do not “catch as to all the points.” Why should the Emperor insist on the pulverization of the egg-shells on the one hand, and, on the other, on the inviolateness of the chicken bones? Did he suspect the Imperial commissioners of the Tuileries hennery of dealing in second hand egg-shells, and thus corrupting the morals of young pullets, who should have produced their own? 

And as to the bones on the other hand, did his Majesty know a soup-house around the corner where, if they were not well picked, a smart bit could be realized on them for the privy purse? And the napkin– but when we think of Napoleon's napkins we associate with them a dingy little auction room in the Rue – the Winter of 1871, and a rock of democrats from across the sea, and those bidding off the fine linens wrought with an ‘N’ surmounted with the Imperial coronet. Whatever became of the egg-shells, the Empire has been crushed. Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher. – Philadelphia Republican, 1876

 🍽Etiquette Enthusiast, Maura J. Graber, is the Site Editor or the Etiquipedia© Etiquette Encyclopedia 

Etiquette and Art of Living in 1876

It is alleged that during this impressive ceremonial, M. St. Beuve spread his napkin over both his knees; he admitted to crush the shells of two boiled eggs which he had eaten; he had asked for a second service of chicken; he touched the bones of the chicken with his fingers; he said “thank you” to one of the servants; he left his knife and fork on the cloth; he peeled a pear latitudially instead of longitudinally, and, worst of all, he sniffed his wine before drinking it. — Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, French writer (1804 - 1869). Date circa 1860’s

— Public Domain Photo

A World of  Table Manners

It was reported of Lord Byron that he said that the most ungraceful act which a woman could perform was the eating of an egg. Commenting on this, a calm Western observer said that Byron had probably never seen an American woman hanging on by the teeth to a blazing hot corn-cob. To many nice people, this will be a shocking story. But the vast majority will see no suggestion of any breach of good manners in the practice of extricating the kernels of corn from their natural place of growth in the fashion so rudely described by the Western observer. However, it is a fair illustration of our idea of table etiquette. 

It was a transatlantic visitor who, following the custom of the country in the manner of eating green corn, was deluded into asking the hotel waiter to, “Put some more beans on that stick,” as he extended to him the exhausted corn cob, to which he had been hanging on. As the refinement of manners is, after all, purely relative. It may be edifying to know what would be thought of our table manners by a very imminent French critic. 

An Arab Sheik, who has more family antiquity at his back than the most ancient of Parisian nobility, would think it is the height of rudeness for an entertainer to omit to proffer to his guest, between thumb and finger, a choice bit stripped from the roasted sheep before them. He would be justly offended if the guest refused the offered token of hospitality. But the eminent French critic who has just fallen foul of M. St. Beuve for his ill-breeding, would be sure to enrage and disgust the high-bred Arabian. Nevertheless, the Frenchman talks as if he were giving laws to a world. 

For example, M. St. Beuve has declared that a man of genius cannot possess bad manners — a statement which is as dangerous as it is dogmatic. Whereupon the editor of a Paris publication, the title of which may be freely translated as “The Almanac of the Art of Living,” convicts St. Beuve of no less than eight offenses at table. These offenses, it should be said, were noted by the Master of Ceremonies of the household of the late-Emperor Napoleon. It adds to their heinousness that they were committed at the Imperial table, where, in his double capacity of Senator and man of letters, the author of “Causeries du Lundi’ was wont to break his fast. 

It is alleged that during this impressive ceremonial, M. St. Beuve spread his napkin over both his knees; he admitted to crush the shells of two boiled eggs which he had eaten; he had asked for a second service of chicken; he touched the bones of the chicken with his fingers; he said “thank you” to one of the servants; he left his knife and fork on the cloth; he peeled a pear latitudially instead of longitudinally, and, worst of all, he sniffed his wine before drinking it. If the hapless Senator had said that he would have “some more wine” instead of “some wine,” or had drank his coffee with a spoon in his cup, the deep damnation of his offenses could not have been more fully established. Let the profligate American who seeks to justify his blazing hot corn-cob read the explanation and rebuke of the editor of the “Almanac de Savior-Vivre” and despair.

This imminent authority declares that it is necessary that the napkin should be nicely adjusted. It is horrible to spread it over the knees or to open it all together. It should be partly unfolded, and posed “negligently upon the knee.” Could this critic behold the capacious breast of an English Milord or American Alderman, whitened by the snowy fall of his napkin, his consternation would be absolute. The other crimes of which M. St. Beuve was convicted are duly specified, so that the anxious reader may see how much he must himself avoid.

To peel a pear circumferentially, if we may use that phrase, is so manifestly bad form, that we take it for granted that even people who seize their corn by the ear will be warned. The editor from whose criticism we have quoted finds it necessary to tell the French people how to behave at table; which ought to be a consolation to the Centennial visitors at New-York hotels, when they do not know whether they should drink or wash the spoons in the water which they find in their finger glasses. 

The French (and therefore the world), are told that to eat sparingly when dining out is a reflection on the quality of the feast. To dine abundantly is to confess that one has a lean larder of his own. The happy medium is commended to the anxious diner-out. If one is afflicted with a large appetite, he may take off its edge at home. If he has no hunger, he may say that he is “indisposed.” These are only a few of the multifarious rules which are laid down for students in the art of living well. How much occasion there is for the dissemination of such knowledge in our own unhappy country, let those who affect the blazing hot corn-cob consider. — The New York Times, 1876

Etiquette Enthusiast, Maura J. Graber, is the Site Editor for the Etiquipedia© Etiquette Encyclopedia