to "get into" the real society of the Faubourg St. Germain; a relatively great number of quarterings are needed, a certain tradition, a certain habit of mind, a certain, let us say, inanity. It is also relatively impossible in Berlin to "get into" the military, or the blood aristocracies. Money cannot do it, or personal charm, or immense talents. It is absolutely impossible in Vienna where society is ruled by a Court, and that Court absolutely insists on quarterings as a social qualification. It is, I should say, with certain modifications the same in St. Petersburg and in Rome. It is almost more markedly so in Madrid and Lisbon. In all these places a man is "placed"; he knows his place and it is known for him.
But in London, comparatively speaking, a man stands pretty well by what he is or by what he has. He cannot, or course, occupy the throne but, given the temperament or the wealth he can sit in almost any other chair. Essentially, the other capitals ask a man to be something; London society asks him to give something—whether dinners or personal charm, whether financial tips or a soothing personal effacement.
It is probably this last characteristic that is the most essential, or, at least, the most attainable. It is that that, as it were, gives every man his chance. Paradoxically enough the reason for it is that London society is made up of such intensely individual types that the comparatively characterless man is absolutely essential. He fills up holes, he tones down dinner parties, he may be relied on not to jar, not to shine—not to worry one's
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