Many were of Huguenot origin, others of the first English blood. Among the managers were signers of the Declaration of Independence, and names which still govern the social register of to-day in Carolina, such as Ravenel, Prioleau, Pringle, Drayton, Rhett, Huger, Middleton, Fraser, Legare, Porcher, Miles, Calhoun and Pinckney.
These are not even a quarter of the names that before and after the Revolution were an open sesame to American and European society.
As near as possible, the sixteen managers of the St. Cecilia have borne the same name as the original managers. When one died, another of the same name was put in his place, if he could be found in the United States. No innovation has been permitted in the management regarding admission, rules or customs of this delightful ball since its inception.
The person who is not on the list of the St. Cecilia is not “in society” in Charleston, and the rest of America accepts this judgment of the arbiters as regards Carolinians.
The aristocracy of the most exclusive city in America is on that list. By strangers, it is said to be the best managed ball in America. Everything moves like clockwork, because nothing is theoretical, nothing is experimental. It was arranged in the early days of elegance, when manners were supreme.
No one tries to break the rules, which are unique. Possibly the most peculiar one is the refusal of the managers to allow women to sit outside the ballroom with men. Stairway flirtations, cozy-corner tête-à-têtes, are simply not allowed. The rest of the civilized world may consider these elegant, the St. Cecilia does not. From this verdict there is no appeal.
One woman, known throughout American society as one of the potential leaders of the smart Newport set, thought herself above the traditions of the Carolina ball. She was a guest at this dance when in Charleston, and began the evening by sitting out dances in secluded corners outside the ballroom. Comment ran rife. The sixteen managers consulted together. The president, a man of great manner and unfailing elegance, took upon himself the duty to correct the New York woman.
Finding her in a secluded corner, as usual, he kindly informed her of the comment she brought upon herself by breaking the best-known rule of the society. She was inclined to be ungracious about it, and intimated that the managers were old fogies, and that any ball with such a tradition would be unbearable.
“It is done in London and New York,” she defiantly said.
“But not in Charleston, madam,” answered the president, as he offered her his arm, which he never removed until she took it. He then led her back to the ballroom and offered her a chair.