Chic, bon ton, fashion, "good manners" are undoubtedly law-like psycho-social categories. The 1900 society man had to abide by an incredible host of gospel-truths written down in the code of manners: assiduous frequentation of dancing parties, fencing and gentlemen's clubs, horse races and theaters; membership with committees and commissions, and philanthropic organizations; yearly voyages abroad, summer retirement to the "estate", or nearby the royal castle of Peleş in wintertime; fashion, gossip, flirting, five-o'clock teas, au jour readings, skating in Cişmigiu Gardens, the art and customs of dueling, pigeon shooting, charity balls, whist, patronage of the arts, weddings-baptisms-funerals, varnishing days and opening nights, dinner parties, horseback riding, court trials, flower fights in public parks, spiritualism seances, palmistry, Masonic lodges, oneiromancy, physiognomy, the almanack of the nobility, the rules of cotillon, the philosophy of gastronomy, gilded visiting cards, season tickets (and first-tier seats) at the National Theater, heraldry, and so on and so forth. What did the Chic Bucarestois consist of in the late 19th century? Under this title, Claymoor (Mişu Văcărescu) published the complete Tables of the Law of what was then known as "un homme de monde accompli," with a more or less visible touch of dandyism (L'Indépendance Roumaine, no. 6902 of 11/23 September 1899). It was, of course, a frolicsome syllabus, the conditions/requirements being far more numerous. Thus, first thing in the morning, one needed Le Figaro and L'Indépendance Roumaine while having one's coffee, next to a bunch of fresh flowers. The newspaper, the aroma of tea and the scent of flowers guaranteed a smooth sliding into the fortifying pool of the day. One had to play tennis, necessarily leave Bucharest on the 15th of June only to regain it in September, open garden parties, know how to read between the lines in the newspapers, go to church on Sundays, but also ride bicycles. Be informed on current gossips, be able to match one's apparel on any occasion, be interested in the elections, have a government minister as a close friend, pretend to be nuts about politics, and never miss an important party. Likewise: wink at journalists, just in case, so as to ask them a favor sometime. Eat only at select restaurants, own a purebred, hence expensive, dog, wear one's own hat model, ring, and baggy (but "retroussés") trousers. Also, have a pocket watch without a chain and an opinion about every little thing. Be clean-shaven, but always look a bit weary – this makes a good impression, shows one's very busy, on an upward trend, worthy, hence attendable and spoilable. Keep informed about the changes in fashion, show that one understands everything and turns down nobody, leaving behind only hopes of a solution, without ever making firm promises.There is this oddity too: never be punctual on one's appointments (well, here Claymoor is ironic), avoid polemics, and take life in jest. Having one's own favorite wine is a must, just like never showing one's actual age: "On n'a pas d'âge à Bucarest." One must avoid sentimental effusions ("always keep within the bounds of temperance"), and never disclose what is behind the scenes of one's affairs, except to those who are in a position to help. Read the magazines, learn a few Symbolist stanzas by heart, always complain about time, and give the impression that one is on intimate terms with the political and artistic celebrities of the day. Finally, have one's own watchword and a few aphorisms to bring up in a conversation, two friends at the most, a favorite color and, of course, a mistress (the "eternal triangle" was very much in vogue; in 1889 Paul Hervieu published an article dedicated to it in Almanach du high-life). The savoir vivre was a sweet, yet strict law of the gens du monde.
by Dan C. Mihăilescu
