Etiquette | Page 3

Lord Chesterfield's acknowledged a
connection between manners and morality, of which latter the courts of Europe seemed
so sparing. In one of the famous "Letters to His Son" he writes: "Moral virtues are the
foundation of society in general, and of friendship in particular; but attentions, manners,
and graces, both adorn and strengthen them." Again he says: "Great merit, or great
failings, will make you respected or despised; but trifles, little attentions, mere nothings,
either done or reflected, will make you either liked or disliked, in the general run of the
world." For all the wisdom and brilliancy of his worldly knowledge, perhaps no other
writer has done so much to bring disrepute on the "manners and graces" as Lord
Chesterfield, and this, it is charged, because he debased them so heavily by considering
them merely as the machinery of a successful career. To the moralists, the fact that the
moral standards of society in Lord Chesterfield's day were very different from those of
the present era rather adds to the odium that has become associated with his attitude. His
severest critics, however, do concede that he is candid and outspoken, and many admit
that his social strategy is widely practised even in these days.
But the aims of the world in which he moved were routed by the onrush of the ideals of
democratic equality, fraternity, and liberty. With the prosperity of the newer shibboleths,
the old-time notion of aristocracy, gentility, and high breeding became more and more a
curio to be framed suitably in gold and kept in the glass case of an art museum. The
crashing advance of the industrial age of gold thrust all courts and their sinuous graces
aside for the unmistakable ledger balance of the counting-house. This new order of things
had been a long time in process, when, in the first year of this century, a distinguished
English social historian, the late The Right Honorable G.W.E. Russell, wrote: "Probably
in all ages of history men have liked money, but a hundred years ago they did not talk
about it in society.... Birth, breeding, rank, accomplishments, eminence in literature,
eminence in art, eminence in public service--all these things still count for something in
society. But when combined they are only as the dust of the balance when weighed
against the all-prevalent power of money. The worship of the Golden Calf is the
characteristic cult of modern society." In the Elizabethan Age of mighty glory, three
hundred years before this was said, Ben Jonson had railed against money as "a thin
membrane of honor," groaning: "How hath all true reputation fallen since money began
to have any!" Now the very fact that the debasing effect of money on the social organism
has been so constantly reprehended, from Scriptural days onward, proves the instinctive
yearning of mankind for a system of life regulated by good taste, high intelligence and
sound affections. But, it remains true that, in the succession of great commercial epochs,
coincident with the progress of modern science and invention, almost everything can be

bought and sold, and so almost everything is rated by the standard of money.
Yet, this standard is precisely not the ultimate test of the Christianity on which we have
been pluming ourselves through the centuries. Still, no one can get along without money;
and few of us get along very well with what we have. At least we think so--because
everybody else seems to think that way. We Americans are members of the nation which,
materially, is the richest, most prosperous and most promising in the world. This idea is
dinned into our heads continually by foreign observers, and publicly we "own the soft
impeachment." Privately, each individual American seems driven with the decision that
he must live up to the general conception of the nation as a whole. And he does, but in
less strenuous moments he might profitably ponder the counsel of Gladstone to his
countrymen: "Let us respect the ancient manners and recollect that, if the true soul of
chivalry has died among us, with it all that is good in society has died. Let us cherish a
sober mind; take for granted that in our best performances there are latent many errors
which in their own time will come to light."
America, too, has her ancient manners to remember and respect; but, in the rapid
assimilation of new peoples into her economic and social organism, more pressing
concerns take up nearly all her time. The perfection of manners by intensive cultivation
of good taste, some believe, would be the greatest aid possible to the moralists who are
alarmed over the decadence of the younger generation. Good taste may not make men or
women really virtuous, but it will often save them from what theologians call "occasions