A letter that could have been written by Morrissey

The Seeker of Good Songs

Well-Known Member

George Bernard Shaw explains his refusal to dine out​


"George Bernard Shaw hated, with a real passion, going out to lunch and dinner. He loathed the disruption, the formality, and, worst of all, the risk of being stuck in a room full of people he didn’t particularly care for—especially if they were serving meat. Over the years, he became a master of the pointed decline...and rarely disguised his contempt for the absurdities of social etiquette....the year was 1901, and Lady Randolph had invited Shaw to lunch. Naturally, he declined, and in response, she accused him—via telegram—of bad manners. This letter was Shaw’s final word on the matter."

Dear Lady Randolph,

Be reasonable: what can I do?

If I refuse an invitation in conventional terms, I am understood as repudiating the acquaintance of my hostess. If I make the usual excuses, and convince her that I am desolated by some other engagement, she will ask me again. And when I have excused myself six times running, she will conclude that I personally dislike her. Of course there is the alternative of accepting; but then I shall endure acute discomfort and starvation. I shall not have the pleasure of really meeting her and talking to her any more than if we happened to lunch at the Savoy on the same day by chance. I shall get no lunch, because I do not eat the unfortunate dead animals and things which she has to provide for the other people. Of those other people, half will abuse the occasion to ask me to luncheons and dinners, and the other half, having already spread that net for me in vain, will be offended because I have done for you what I would not do for them. I shall have to dress myself carefully and behave properly, both of which are contrary to my nature.

Therefore I am compelled to do the simple thing, and when you say, “Come to lunch with a lot of people,” reply flatly, “I won’t.” If you propose anything pleasant to me, I shall reply with equal flatness, “I will.” But lunching with a lot of people—carnivorous people—is not pleasant. It cuts down my morning’s work. I won’t lunch with you; I won’t dine with you; I won’t call on you; I won’t take the smallest part in your social routine; and I won’t ever know you except on the special and privileged terms, to the utter exclusion of that “lot of other people” whose appetites you offer me as an inducement. Only, if I can be of any real service at any time, that is what I exist for; so you may command me. To which you will no doubt reply, “Thank you for nothing: you would say the same to anybody.” So I would, but it is a great comfort to write it at such length to a lady who has blest me with an invitation to lunch.

So there!

Yours sincerely,
G. Bernard Shaw


 
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