How to Behave: A Pocket Manual of Republican Etiquette, and Guide to Correct Personal Habits / Embracing an Exposition of the Principles of Good Manners; Useful Hints on the Care of the Person, Eating, Drinking, Exercise, Habits, Dress, Self-culture, and Behavior at Home; the Etiquette of Salutations, Introductions, Receptions, Visits, Dinners, Evening Parties, Conversation, Letters, Presents, Weddings, Funerals, the Street, the Church, Places of Amusement, Traveling, Etc., with Illustrative Anecdotes, a Chapter on Love and Courtship, and Rules of Order for Debating Societies

by Samuel R. Wells

III.—A LEARNED MAN AT TABLE.

Some of the many errors which are liable to be committed through ignorance of usage, are pleasantly pointed out in the following story, which is related by a French writer:

The Abbé Cosson, professor in the Collége Mazarin, thoroughly accomplished in the art of teaching, saturated with Greek, Latin, and literature, considered himself a perfect well of science: he had no conception that a man who knew all Persius and Horace by heart could possibly commit an error—above all, an error at table. But it was not long before he discovered his mistake. One day, after dining with the Abbé de Radonvilliers at Versailles, in company with several courtiers and marshals of France; he was boasting of the rare acquaintance with etiquette and custom which he had exhibited at dinner. The Abbé Delille, who heard this eulogy upon his own conduct, interrupted his harangue by offering to wager that he had committed at least a hundred improprieties at the table. "How is it possible?" exclaimed Cosson. "I did exactly like the rest of the company."

"What absurdity!" said the other. "You did a thousand things which no one else did. First, when you sat down at the table, what did you do with your napkin?" "My napkin! why, just what everybody else did with theirs. I unfolded it entirely, and fastened it to my button-hole." "Well, my dear friend," said Delille, "you were the only one that did that, at all events. No one hangs up his napkin in that style; they are contented with placing it on their knees. And what did you do when you took soup?" "Like the others, I believe. I took any spoon in one hand and my fork in the other—" "Your fork! Who ever ate soup with a fork? But to proceed: after your soup, what did you eat?" "A fresh egg." "And what did you do with the shell?" "Handed it to the servant who stood behind my chair." "Without breaking it, of course?" "Well, my dear Abbé, nobody ever eats an egg without breaking the shell." "And after your egg—?" "I asked the Abbé Radonvilliers to send me a piece of the hen near him." "Bless my soul! a piece of the hen! You never speak of hens excepting in the barn-yard. You should have asked for fowl, or chicken. But you say nothing of your mode of drinking." "Like all the rest, I asked for claret and champagne." "Let me inform you, then, that persons always ask for claret wine and champagne wine. But tell me, how did you eat your bread?" "Surely I did that properly. I cut it with my knife in the most regular manner possible." "Bread should always be broken, not cut. But the coffee, how did you manage it?" "It was rather too hot, and I poured a little of it into my saucer." "Well, you committed here the greatest fault of all. You should never pour your coffee into the saucer, but always drink it from the cup." The poor Abbé was confounded. He felt that though one might be master of the seven sciences, yet that there was another species of knowledge which, if less dignified, was equally important.

This occurred many years ago, but there is not one of the observances neglected by the Abbé Cosson which is not enforced with equal rigidness in the present day.