Again: The intimate relation necessarily existing between economic and social conditions would lead us to infer that conservatism was the great law of Southern society. And in truth, permanence and continuity were its most marked characteristics. The fluctuations and vicissitudes which formed so striking a feature of Northern social life were practically unknown at the South. From generation to generation, men occupied the same habitations, pursued the same callings and held the same place in the community; and, as a rule, the father’s social status determined that of the son, and the son’s son after him. Thus was created and preserved a social atmosphere only attainable under these peculiar conditions; and the effect of such a social environment upon the whole tone of the people may readily be conceived.
In the South, for example, the spirit of commercialism was noticeably absent. Wealth was not there regarded as the “be all” and the “end all” of existence—the standard by which to measure the sum of human achievement. Nor was a money value affixed to the thousand and one little services passing current in the community. These were regarded simply as small social courtesies due from neighbor to neighbor, and were freely rendered and as freely accepted, without a thought of pecuniary obligation on either side.
An equally distinguishing characteristic of Southern society was the position universally accorded to woman. Southern chivalry has frequently been made a target for ridicule, as a “survival” from the Dark Ages; but the elevating and refining influence it exercised upon the public tone was assuredly a most salutary one. And although, in the light of later developments, it must be conceded that the old Southern idea of woman’s helplessness and absolute dependence upon man for support and protection, savored somewhat of Quixotism, the spirit of knight-errantry fostered thereby was a wholesome one, in that it acted both as an incentive to exertion and as an antidote to selfishness. Even the “code of the duello,” while of course indefensible in principle, had something to be urged in its favor for, beyond doubt, it exerted a restraining influence over a hot-blooded people and made for order in the land.
I have said that as a political entity the South consisted of two classes—the governing and the governed. In its social structure, however, it was far more complex. Tier above tier rose the social pyramid, ever narrowing as it neared the apex, on which delectable elevation rested those favored mortals “born in the purple,” placidly secure in their social preeminence. Society, that inevitable product of civilization, is, all the world over, composed of orders and degrees, but whereas at the North these several gradations merged almost imperceptibly one into another, at the South they were divided by very sharply drawn lines of demarcation. The tradesman, the artisan, the mechanic stood quite apart from the professional classes and the landed-proprietors. In every age and in every clime talent will assert itself and rise to the top; and to this rule the South was no exception. But comparatively speaking, south of Mason and Dixon’s line there were to be found few “self-made” men, and those few were almost without exception, men intellectually gifted, who had climbed the social ladder by the rounds of fame rather than of fortune.
This, however, is a digression; our present purpose being, not to uncover, fold by fold, the inner intricacies of Southern society, but to present a broad and inclusive view of that society as a whole, and as contrasted with the society of other sections. Perhaps this may best be done by treating the subject somewhat in detail.
In a recent criticism of a Western poet the reviewer remarked that whatever the poet’s shortcomings might be, his descriptions of homely rural life must strike a responsive chord in the hearts of his readers all over the country, carrying them back to scenes and phases of life with which in youth they were familiar. Now, as a matter of fact, not a single one of these allusions could awaken an answering echo in a Southern breast! Descriptions of farm life with its round of labors performed by the fanner’s own hands, might be interesting reading enough to the Southerner, but the interest would be that of novelty not of familiarity. For never in the days of his youth had he himself “driven the plough,” or joined as a worker in the jocund mirth of a “harvest home.” Neither would he recognize in the portraiture of the “village worthies” the companions of his own youth; and rustic wit and rustic manners were equally apart from his personal experiences.
Not by any means that the lot of the Southern planter was always easier than that of the Northern farmer. Hard work most generally fell to his share. Early to rise and late to rest, he toiled as arduously and as unremittingly as his Northern brother, but the toil was of a different sort. It consisted not in literally putting his own shoulder to the wheel, but in training, directing, and supervising the labors of others, and often (hardest and most harassing work of all) in contriving how to supply the wants of his numerous dependants. Supreme autocrat within his own domain, the very consciousness of his power created in him a sense of responsibility, which produced a strength and gravity of character and a certain dignity of bearing. Born to control, from his cradle the Southern land owner was trained to regard himself as the natural protector, provider, and friend of the weak and the helpless. Thus, while the environment of the Northern farmer was calculated to make him think first of his own personal needs and his duty to himself, that of the Southern planter as naturally impressed upon him the duty he owed to those by whom he was surrounded.
Such was his work. His pleasures consisted chiefly in field-sports—hunting, fishing, riding, boating—he was usually a keen sportsman and a capital rider and sometimes, though not so frequently, a great reader as well.
If for the most part not scholars, however, Southern men could at least generally lay claim to a collegiate education. And whether it was due to vague recollections of classic lore, and lingering memories of Alma Mater, or to the tone of the home atmosphere by which they were surrounded (which is, after all, the truly effective educating influence), certain it is that, as a rule, their manners were polished and their modes of expression those of the “classes,” not of the “masses.”
The Southern matron was noted for her administrative rather than for her executive ability. Not that, generally speaking, her days were passed in idleness; on the contrary, her life was usually a full and beneficent one, including not only her domestic avocations—among which may be mentioned the now well-nigh forgotten accomplishments of cookery and fine needlework—but the many good offices of a Lady Bountiful which she graciously dispensed among her numerous dependants; plantation life affording ample scope for her activities in this direction. But the menial drudgery of a household did not devolve upon its mistress; and, in consequence, she had at her command an abundant portion of that leisure which—while not a sine qua non as regards strictly intellectual acquirement—is undoubtedly essential to the cultivation of the mental graces. Truth to say, as a class, Southern women were more distinguished for their soft femininity and finished refinement of manner than for their erudition. By which I am far from implying that they ignored grammar; much less that—in common with their male relatives—they used the negro-dialect. As a matter of fact indeed, by no people was purer dictionary English spoken, than by the upper-class in the Old South.