Mick Hartley

This article on manners and the art of not giving offense (via A&L Daily) reminds us of the old ways:

In his essay "On Being Polite," fellow Bloomsbury circler Harold Nicolson recalled a friend who, upon seeing two acquaintances disembark from a gondola in a scandalous tryst, averted his gaze so successfully that he plummeted into the Grand Canal. He told his rescuers that he was simply trying to spare the couple the embarrassment of being recognized. Excessive, says Nicholson, before turning to the Prince of Wales, the Shah of Persia (Nasr-ud-Din) and a dilemma over asparagus for better instruction. Given that it seems to have been plucked from PG Wodehouse rather than real life, it is not, perhaps, an anecdote that travels well over the years, but for boldly following the Shah's lead in masticating the woody end of the asparagus and ignoring the tip, the prince "earned for himself the title of the First Gentleman of Europe." Those were the days.

The asparagus anecdote is told slightly differently here:

In 1873 the Prince of Wales, the future Edward VII, King of England, invited the Shah of Persia to lunch in London with a group of notable personalities. The Shah was not accustomed to European habits. When he was served a plate of asparagus with a savory sauce, he picked up a piece between his fingers, dipped it in the sauce, tilted his head back, lowered the asparagus into it, and sucked off the outer layer and sauce. Then, with the greatest naturality in the world, he threw the remainder to the side of the chair.

There was a silent but general stupefaction at the table.

The Prince of Wales, without a moment of hesitation, did the same. Then all the guests imitated him. The servants did not know where such an unexpected bombardment of asparagus stems came from!   

It reminds me of an occasion as reported to me by my incredulous parents some years back. A couple they'd met (very possibly the usual holiday "Oh we must get together back home.." scenario, but I don't remember for sure) came round for dinner, and afterwards a game of Scrabble was agreed on. The visitors, however, had a slightly flawed understanding of the game, and assumed you could just put your new word anywhere on the board, without bothering to connect with whatever was already there. Very handy for heading straight to the triple word scores. And so the game was played, with my parents adapting, with impeccable manners, to the new rules.

On first hearing the story I shared my parents' astonishment at these people's extraordinary behaviour, but looking back on it later it occurred to me that perhaps the strangest thing was that nothing was said: that my parents didn't object, or correct the misapprehension, but, to avoid the giving of offense to these people who were, after all, their guests, they went ahead with the charade and played this different but related game: New Scrabble, as it were.

Well, as the man says, those were the days. It's difficult to imagine such a thing happening today. There's perhaps much to be said for such elaborate courtesy, even though it seems quaint to us now. What we shouldn't do though, as I think many tend to, is confuse that old person-to-person courtesy, and the understandable wish to avoid the giving of offense on a face-to-face level, with the public arena of debate where, as a result of certain subjects (religious beliefs) being prescribed as being liable to give offense should they be questioned, the decision not to criticise or ridicule is encouraged on the grounds of good manners. Yes (within reason) to the former, but a definite no to the latter.