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ARS VIVENDI (ART OF LIVING)

CHAPTER 10: MANNERS

VALUE OF REPOSE

THE connection between the present chapter and the preceding ones may not on first thoughts appear evident, but a little explanation of the subject-matter will render it perfectly clear. By "manners" is meant the outward carriage or deportment of the individual; therefore, from the point of view of the preservation of energy alone, without taking into consideration the question of fashion, it will be seen that they must involve a point of great importance. From the standpoint of health, then, manners can be divided into "bad" or "good," just as the individual does or does not waste vital force unnecessarily. Prima facie, "bad manners" consist in squandering the energy which should be devoted to doing necessary work; while by "good manners" should be meant such an outward behaviour as tends to husband force as much as possible. The best behaviour is the most useful, and, vice versa, the most useful behaviour is the best.

Let us apply this criterion to ordinary behaviour. Suppose we take half a dozen persons sitting down in a railway carriage. One is fidgeting with his stick, another is fingering his hat, another is biting his nails, another is whistling, another is keeping time with his feet, while the sixth is sitting still. Which of these shows the best behaviour? Unquestionably the person who is sitting still. Why? Because he is resting while the others are wasting energy to no purpose whatever. When the time for the performance of work arrives, the person who has been keeping himself in repose will find that he rises greatly refreshed, while the others, by keeping their muscles continually on the stretch, will have expended a certain amount of energy to no purpose. If people only knew the practical value of repose, they would spare no pains in cultivating it.

LARA

Byron's heroes exhibit perfect repose of manner. They don't waste force in blustering or empty talk, but when their prey comes before them they swoop down upon it swiftly and surely as the eagle. A very fine illustration is afforded in the poem of "Lara."

After many years of wandering in foreign climes, Lara returns once more to his native land, to live a life of peace after the stormy scenes he had gone through.

"He comes at last in sudden loneliness
And whence they know not, why, they need not guess,
Not much he loved long question of the past,
Nor told of wondrous wilds and deserts vast.
But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show,
As hardly worth a stranger's care to know.
If still more prying such inquiry grew,
His brow fell darker, and his words more few."

One evening, in the midst of a gay assembly, he is confronted with one who has known him abroad, and who now, in the presence of the guests, accuses him of the crimes he had committed. It was a critical moment. Lara had thought the past buried for ever. Well might the suddenness of the charge have thrown him completely off his guard.

"But Lara stirr'd not, chang'd not; the surprise
That sprung at first to his arrested eyes
Seem'd now subsided; neither sunk nor raised
Glanced his eye round; though still the stranger gazed.
With look collected, but with accent cold,
More mildly firm than petulantly bold,
He turn'd and met the inquisitorial tone."

The host interferes, and proposes a meeting between the disputants on the morrow. Sir Ezzelin agrees.

"What answers Lara? To its centre shrunk
His soul, in deep abstraction sudden sunk.
To-morrow! Ay, to-morrow! Further word
Than those repeated none from Lara heard.
Upon his brow no outward passion spoke,
From his large eye no flashing anger broke.
Yet there was something fix'd in that low tone,
Which show'd resolve, determined though unknown,
He seized his cloak -- his head he slightly bowed,
And passing Ezzelin, he left the crowd.
And, as he passed him, smiling met the frown
With which that chieftain's brow would bear him down.
It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride,
That curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide.
But that of one, in his own heart secure
Of all that he would do, or could endure."

The above conveys a most important lesson in manners. A bad man may have far better manners than a good man; that is to say, he may know the art of husbanding vital force till he is ready to use it. The poet here presents a picture of "guilt grown old in desperate hardihood"; but Lara's behaviour is superb. He does not waste a particle of vital force in outward exhibition of flurry, or scorn, or bluster as ninety-nine out of a hundred would do in a similar predicament. He is suddenly and unexpectedly brought face to face with a terrific problem, which demands all his energy for silently thinking out. In the course of a few seconds he works out a complete plan of operation, which he executes on the first opportunity. The Byronic heroes -- Lara, Conrad, Manfred, the Giaour -- are men of few words and great action.

THE COMING RACE

Lytton, in his delineations of ideal men, is careful to point out the distinguishing features in their manners. Zanoni's "habitual mood with all who approached him was calm and gentle, almost to apathy. An angry word never passed his lips, an angry gleam never shot from his eyes"; but, all the same, his vengeance was terrible. In "The Coming Race" the Vril-ya maintain a perpetual calmness of outward demeanour, with the inborn consciousness of superior power. "My eyes opened upon a group of silent forms seated around me in the gravity and quietude of Orientals, the same Sphinx-like faces -- a race akin to man's, but infinitely stronger of form and grander of aspect, and inspiring the same unutterable feeling of dread. Yet each countenance was mild and tranquil, and even kindly in its expression. And, strangely enough, it seemed to me that, in this very calm and benignity consisted the secret of the dread which the countenances inspired. They seemed as void of the lines and shadows which care and sorrow and passion and sin leave upon the faces of men as are the faces of sculptured gods."

For the preservation of health at its very best, a quiet manner is indispensable. Hurry, bustle, and outward pompous show serve no purpose but wasting vital force.

THE LADY AND THE GENTLEMAN

If we turn from this view of manners to another standpoint -- the meaning of the word "gentleman" or "lady" -- we shall find that the very essence of "good manners" is habitual self-control on the one hand, and absence of pompous pretension on the other hand; that is to say, strict avoidance of undue expenditure of vital energy. Beauty rides on a lion.

In his essay, "On the Look of a Gentleman," Hazlitt hits the mark: "An habitual self- possession determines the appearance of a gentleman. He should have the complete command, not only over his countenance, but over his limbs and motions. He should discover in his air and manner a voluntary power over his whole body, which, with every inflexion of it, should be under the control of his will. It must be evident that he looks and does as he likes, without any restraint, confusion, or awkwardness. He is, in fact, master of his person, as the professor of any art or science is of a particular instrument: he directs it to what use he pleases and intends."

"The gentleman," said Emerson, "is a man of truth, lord of his own actions, and expressing that lordship in his behaviour, not in any manner dependent and servile, either on persons, or opinions, or possessions. I have seen manners that make a similar impression with personal beauty. But they must always show self-control. You shall not be facile, apologetic, or leaky, but king over your word, and every gesture and action shall indicate power at rest."

"You are never to forget yourself," exhorts Goethe, in describing a well-bred manner; "you are to keep a constant watch upon yourself and others; to forgive nothing that is faulty in your own conduct, in that of others neither to forgive too little nor too much. Nothing appears to touch you; nothing to agitate; you must never overhaste yourself; must ever keep yourself composed, retaining still an outward calmness, whatever storms may rage within."

I have shown that this is not merely a whim of fashion, but a dictate of reason, arising from the imperative necessity of not wasting any more vitality in outward show or appearance than is absolutely required.

Manners, of course, form a subject of unspeakable interest, and no attempt can be made here to exhaust the topic, my only object being to consider the question of manners as bearing upon individual health. Ordinary manners have only to be glanced at for a second to be unsparingly condemned as wasting vital force. People don't know how to keep still. They fidget about in an aimless way, as if they had too much vitality, and continually wanted to drain it.

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