The Potiphar Papers | Page 2

superb banquets; at which your guests laugh, and which make you
miserable; to drive a fine carriage and ape the European liveries, and
crests, and coats-of-arms; to resent the friendly advances of your
baker's wife, and the lady of your butcher, (you being yourself a
cobbler's daughter); to talk much of the "old families" and of your
aristocratic foreign friends; to despise labour; to prate of "good
society;" to travesty and parody, in every conceivable way, a society
which we know only in books and by the superficial observation of
foreign travel, which arises out of a social organization entirely
unknown to us, and which is opposed to our fundamental and essential
principles; if all this were fine, what a prodigiously fine society would
ours be!
This occurred to us upon lately receiving a card of invitation to a
brilliant ball. We were quietly ruminating over our evening fire, with
Disraeli's Wellington speech, "all tears," in our hands, with the account
of a great man's burial, and a little man's triumph across the channel. So
many great men gone, we mused, and such great crises impending!
This democratic movement in Europe; Kossuth--and Mazzini waiting
for the moment to give the word; the Russian bear watchfully sucking
his paws; the Napoleonic empire redivivus; Cuba, and annexation, and
slavery; California and Australia, and the consequent considerations of
political economy; dear me! exclaimed we, putting on a fresh hodful of
coal, we must look a little into the state of parties.
As we put down the coal-scuttle there was a knock at the door. We said,
"come in," and in came a neat Alhambra-watered envelope, containing
the announcement that the queen of fashion was "at home" that evening
week. Later in the evening came a friend to smoke a cigar. The card
was lying upon the table, and he read it with eagerness. "You'll go, of
course," said he, "for you will meet all the 'best society.'"
Shall we, truly? Shall we really see the "best society of the city," the
picked flower of its genius, character, and beauty? What makes the

"best society" of men and women? The noblest specimens of each, of
course. The men who mould the time, who refresh our faith in heroism
and virtue, who make Plato and Zeno, and Shakespeare, and all
Shakespeare's gentlemen, possible, again. The women, whose beauty,
and sweetness, and dignity, and high accomplishment, and grace, make
us understand the Greek Mythology, and weaken our desire to have
some glimpse of the most famous women of history. The "best society"
is that in which the virtues are most shining, which is the most
charitable, forgiving, long-suffering, modest, and innocent. The "best
society" is, in its very name, that in which there is the least hypocrisy
and insincerity of all kinds, which recoils from, and blasts, artificiality,
which is anxious to be all that it is possible to be, and which sternly
reprobates all shallow pretence, all coxcombry and foppery, and insists
upon simplicity as the infallible characteristic of true worth. That is the
"best society," which comprises the best men and women.
Had we recently arrived from the moon, we might, upon hearing that
we were to meet the "best society," have fancied that we were about to
enjoy an opportunity not to be overvalued. But unfortunately we were
not so freshly arrived. We had received other cards, and had perfected
our toilette many times, to meet this same society, so magnificently
described, and had found it the least "best" of all. Who compose it?
Whom shall we meet if we go to this ball? We shall meet three classes
of persons: first, those who are rich, and who have all that money can
buy; second, those who belong to what are technically called "the good
old families," because some ancestor was a man of mark in the state or
country, or was very rich, and has kept the fortune in the family; and
thirdly, a swarm of youths who can dance dexterously, and who are
invited for that purpose. Now these are all arbitrary and factitious
distinctions upon which to found so profound a social difference as that
which exists in American, or, at least, in New York society. First, as a
general rule, the rich men of every community who make their own
money are not the most generally intelligent and cultivated. They have
a shrewd talent which secures a fortune, and which keeps them closely
at the work of amassing from their youngest years until they are old.
They are sturdy men of simple tastes often. Sometimes, though rarely,
very generous, but necessarily with an altogether false and exaggerated
idea of the importance of money. They are rather rough, unsympathetic,

and, perhaps, selfish class, who, themselves, despise purple and fine
linen, and still