Ball-Room Tactics
Joaquín Telesforo de Trueba y Cosío
It is really surprising that in these march-of-intellect times, when useful information is offered, propounded, and promulgated in a thousand shapes, no one has thought of opening a school for the acquisition of a most valuable branch of human knowledge, which, for want of a better name, I have denominated as above. Every one knows, or ought to know, that a ball-room is a bona fide mart for the disposal of that valuable commodity, woman —that a knowledge of the goods is first acquired there, and that many a bargain is struck after the whirling of a waltz, or the trotting of a gallopade. A ball-room is indeed a locality of far higher moment than the country at large is apt to imagine. To simple country folks, a ball-room is nothing more than a ball-room; and a dance is merely a dance, and so forth. Preposterous error! To the ball-room three-fourths of the guests repair with certain settled views, and plans of operations in their wise noddles. The other remaining fourth may be divided into the martyrs and the desœuvrès.
The martyrs are those who go, because they cannot help themselves —they must go, and so they go.
The desœuvrès, or idlers, are those who simply go to kill time, and because they have nothing else to do.
Few persons attend a ball-room for the mere sake of passing a few hours in social intercourse.
The motives for giving dancing-parties are the following:—
1. Parties are given for the sake of vanity and ostentation, should no other more imperative interest counsel such a course.
The dancing-party world may be divided into the party-givers and the party-goers; both are influenced by much the same motives, interest and vanity.
We subjoin a correct list of both classes.
Party-givers
1. A mother with one, two, three, four, &c. daughters to settle. The dancing bolus is more or less strong in proportion to the number of disposable damsels.
2. A lady gives a dancing-party to exhibit her splendid apartments to her acquaintance, to dazzle the eyes with her plate, and to show her taste and liberality in the general arrangements of music, wines, and supper.
3. A lady gives a dancing-party, because her friend, or her neighbour, or her enemy, gave one some days before; and of course she has no notion of being less than the said friend, or enemy, or neighbour. Indeed, we see no reason why Mrs. Smith should not give a party as well as Mr. Jones, or Mrs. Brown as well as Mrs. Green.
Party-goers
1. Mammas and chaperons, who have daughters, or nieces, and protegées, to settle.
2. A fashionable lady to display her diamonds, and excite a world of envy and spite.
3. A would-be fashionable lady to get on in her profession.
4. Ladies and gentlemen of capacious appetites, and most inordinate demolishers of lobsters, salad, sandwiches, jellies —and unconquerable takers of ices— insatiate swallowers of tea and coffee —incorrigible bibblers of champagne, hock, and moselle— ardent admirers of pastry, fruits, and preserves. All these may be classed in the general denomination of crammers and swallows.
5. Young ladies go to parties to catch a good husband.
6. Some gentlemen go to procure a desirable wife.
Nota Bene. Now, reader, pray do not fall into a strange mistake with regard to the words good and desirable, which, for obvious reasons, we have written in italics. In the ball-room vocabulary, a good husband does not mean a man, whose sterling worth of character is calculated to insure the happiness of a woman; but one whose worldly advantages may procure the said woman a greater proportion of luxuries, and mere sensual enjoyments. In the same manner, a desirable wife, does not mean a well-educated, strictly-virtuous, and amiable female; but simply a fortune, or the medium for obtaining one. This once established, we may define the number of good husbands, and desirable wives, in the following manner:
A title is always a good husband —an earl is a most excellent husband— a marquis is really an unexceptionable husband; but a duke, a duke is a perfect one —the very completion of the word husband. For example, take a duke with seventy years to his back, and seventy more trifling imperfections, such as damaged constitution, general bad health, gout, asthma, &c. &c. Don't you think he would make a good husband? No. Well, then, go and ask a mamma with a portionless daughter, and if that don't convince you, ask the young lady herself, provided she be not under eighteen or above twenty-eight. These ten years are material for the solution of the question, and simply because the education of the young lady, however well appointed, cannot be so well finished before eighteen, as to bring her reasoning faculties into full play, and enable her to keep her feelings, if she has any, under proper behaviour. If she be above twenty-eight, why then she no longer expects to catch a duke of seventy. Her expectations are then lowered to a younger man with lesser greatness. It is generally observed, that dukes and other titles of seventy, prefer eighteen to twenty-eight or thirty. Why or wherefore I cannot tell; but experience shows it is so. Probably there is some hidden virtue in eighteen that enables females to be better nurses at that age than at thirty. But let us resume.
7. A woman goes to a dancing-party to purchase a husband, and a man to buy a wife.
This transaction is the most simple of all the various and very intricate affairs carried on in the ball-room. There is no humbug, no deception, no nonsense in this operation. A formidable scarecrow —a monster— a bore —a fool, walks coolly into the ball-room in all the consciousness and pride of wealth, and casts his eye around, till at length the said supercilious, and probably gooseberry eye, falls with an inexplicable expression on some hapless specimen of the feminine gender. Supposing the monster, say Sir Rupee Yellowman, the rich nabob —his age sixty-five— his fortune twice as many thousand pounds —his personal appearance hideous— his personal accomplishments great powers of prosing —a nasal voice, and an inveterate cough. Well, then, Sir Rupee Yellowman directs his shuffling, shambling, sliding, palsied course, to the mamma of the favoured beauty. Now it so happens that the mamma, whose name is Mrs. Tomkins Clifford, or Mrs. de Courcy Smith —(commend me always to that friendly partnership of aristocratical and plebeian cognomens)— it so happens, I repeat, that the said mamma has been watching with a most active eye, the eyes belonging to the venerable nabob. This watch has been kept up for the last half hour with extraordinary assiduity. There was a moment when a most insidious glance from the laughing eyes of Miss Caroline Stapletonford —a glance most significantly directed towards the man of India— came to derange the equanimity of temper, and cloud the rising hopes of the provident Mrs. Tomkins Clifford. «For», said she to herself, «that Miss Caroline Stapletonford is a most forward hussy; it is really shameful how she courts the men». But no, the fears of the provident and censorious mamma were soon dispelled: the glance of the forward hussy fell harmless on the venerable nabob. One moment more, and the interesting Sir Rupee stands close by Miss Tomkins Clifford. The mother summons up one of her very best, most conciliatory, and most approving smiles: the daughter looks bewitchingly modest, and pretty, and well-behaved. Sir Rupee is pleased, very much pleased —he is going to speak. The mother is all ears and eyes, and the daughter is already thinking of the blushes she is to spend on the occasion. The amiable nabob is going to speak; but, lo! how provoking! a fit of coughing claims most unwarrantable precedence, and then the two ladies are treated to the interesting sound for the space of five minutes. Well, in the expectation that the nabob, when he has done coughing, will begin to speak, mother and daughter wait. At last, the interesting man of India thinks he may venture to begin. He begins somewhat in this way, «I believe I had the pleasure of being introduced to you, ma'am, at Lady Cringingall's party last week».
«Yes, Sir Rupee, we felt the honour of such an introduction».
A most benignant, encouraging, and expansive smile.
«Mrs. Mrs.—»
«Mrs. Tomkins Clifford».
«Exactly —Mrs. Tomkins Clifford», returned the baronet; most conveniently recollecting a name which he had never heard before in all his life.
A pause.
There was nothing particularly interesting or profound in the words of the nabob, yet the lady to whom they were addressed, welcomed them as if they had been the outpourings of an oracle. The conversation was now likely to be fairly established, when Tom Ramble was seen making his way (by dint of elbowing, and pushing, and sliding sideways amidst the crowd) towards the charming Miss Tomkins Clifford. This was no doubt with the intention of asking her hand for the next quadrille. The active mother perceived with horror the intended attack; with the skill of an old tactician, and before poor Tom had time to put forth the usual, «Miss, may I have the pleasure?» &c. the mother took the answer upon herself ere the question had arrived at its proper termination.
«Miss Clifford, may I have the pleasure—»
«Nancy, my dear, you must not fatigue yourself —you know you are asked out for every day in the week— you look shockingly feeble to-night, child».
There was a withering look shot from the very expressive eyes of Mrs. Tomkins Clifford, which clearly demonstrated to Mr. Tom Ramble that he was quite de trop; and that his talkatory accomplishments were not to figure away that night in amiable conjunction with the tom-tit hopping of the gentle Nancy. Tom was no fool: he saw the venerable form of Sir Rupee Yellowman standing close by, and the riddle was explained; for be it known to the reader, that Tom Ramble was not precisely what can be called a bad future husband. He had uncles and aunts who possessed considerable property; and Tom, if not rich in actual wealth, was at least rich in expectation. Now, it is well known, that expectations rank next to positive fortune in the formation of what is called a good husband; therefore, Mrs. Tomkins Clifford, in the absence of a positive fortune, had condescendingly allowed her fair daughter to carry on a tolerable flirtation with Tom, of course merely en attendant mieux. But from the moment that so large a fish as Sir Rupee was likely to come to net, surely Tom's good sense would suggest the impropriety of his claiming further acquaintance with the young lady angler, than one of a purely and strictly polite nature; and be it here properly understood, that Mrs. Tomkins Clifford had a horror of flirtations merely for flirting's sake. She tolerated, and even encouraged, these pastimes, then, only as they might be conducive to more grave and important terminations.
To cut the matter short, the train was very scientifically laid by the mother; and, as the daughter was rather a good pupil both by nature and education, in process of time Sir Rupee Yellowman was linked in holy bonds of matrimony to Miss Tomkins Clifford. Every one exclaimed that Miss Tomkins Clifford had made an excellent match.
But Mrs. Stapletonford declared, with a prolonged sneer, that it was a shameful transaction —that the old curmudgeon of a nabob had regularly purchased a young girl, and so forth. This might be true; but the proverb says, that two of a trade, &c. Mrs. Stapletonford had a dear Caroline to dispose of. Sir Rupee had, in the first instance, stopt at her stall in the grand bazaar1. Probably, on a closer examination of the goods, the nabob might have thought that the dear Caroline would indeed be an extremely dear commodity at any price, and so he passed on to another shop. But Caroline was not to be sneezed at neither. She had only been out three seasons, and surely the goods could not have suffered much damage in that short period. However, Sir Rupee thought otherwise, and he certainly had a right to please himself for his money.
William Cashbag, Esq. was meant by nature to be a good husband, and therefore, although the said William had been a plain Billy in the commencement of his career, which career was in principio that of a shoe-black, he still contrived to make a fortune, and consequently fitted himself for becoming a good husband. This Cashbag, one of the most disagreeable specimens of vulgarity, pushed his way into society, and became a very desirable object for speculating mammas and daughters.
Young Trotter also, a raw boy just let loose from the bogs of Allan, was intended likewise for a good husband: he was a complete noodle, but then his ancestors, in the prudent anticipation that he would be a noodle, had taken special care to leave him a splendid fortune, to provide against contingencies. Now this judicious foresight in the kind parents of young Trotter was of immense advantage, as it more than counterbalanced the oversight of the said parents, in allowing their darling boy's skull to be totally unprovided with ideas. And here I may be allowed a slight digression. People have strange notions on the value of ideas —a large stock of such commodity is only apt to hamper the possessor in his journey through life: it is very much like a traveller incumbering himself with a great quantity of luggage. A strictly philosophical and well-organized mind will reduce the number of ideas to only two —the first, to take care of oneself; and the second, to watch one's neighbours.
Young Trotter lounged into the ball-room, with that easy assurance and collected nonchalance which the possession of five thousand a year is so apt to bestow on a man, especially if he is happily (as it was in the present instance) unshackled with the idea-incumbrances. There certainly is nothing like a skull with plenty of room. We often hear of a man —«O! he possesses a clear head». Now what else is meant by a clear head but an empty one? A head crammed full of ideas is like a room thronged with furniture, you cannot make your way without stumbling or creating some confusion. Young Trotter, as we have said, lounged about the ball-room, and he was allowed a tolerably wide range of flirtations; and it was really edifying to behold the thousand and one acts of kindness, and politeness, and friendship, and so forth, exhibited on such occasions by mammas and their well-tutored daughters. Happy Trotter! if he chose he might engross a young lady for a whole night, dance, talk, smile, simper, walk, go down stairs, come up stairs, go down again, and come up again. Happy Trotter! he was smiled upon, looked upon, languished upon, hung upon, declined upon, sighed upon, &c. &c. by most amiable and fascinating young girls, all full of kindness, and good breeding, and beauty, and manner, and —and— a rage to get a husband.
But then see the advantages of being without marriage portions! Girls without marriage portions are indisputably the most amiable. Next in the scale are those who having little, long to make that little more, by a matrimonial transaction. But your girls of fortune —your heiresses— they are really most unamiable and provoking creatures. Bless me, what hauteur! what airs and graces! they positively transfix a presumptuous man with the lightning of their glances, should he, luckless wight! dare to approach their most awful and self-important ladyships, without the usual requisites of titles, parchments, and rent-rolls.
But we must postpone the continuation of this highly momentous subject to a future number. The subject is indeed one of an interest too great to society at large, not to demand careful and mature attention.