[Illustration: _Nearly “worried to Death" by the “Greatest Plagues of
one’s Life”._]
THE
GREATEST PLAGUE OF LIFE:
OR
The Adventures of a Lady
IN SEARCH OF A GOOD SERVANT.
BY
ONE WHO HAS BEEN “ALMOST WORRIED TO DEATH.”
[Illustration]
EDITED BY THE BROTHERS MAYHEW.
Illustrated by George Cruikshank.
LONDON: DAVID BOGUE, 86, FLEET STREET.
THE
GREATEST PLAGUE OF LIFE:
OR
The Adventures
OF
A LADY IN SEARCH OF A GOOD SERVANT.
INTRODUCTION I.
HOW I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH THE SUBJECT OF MY LITTLE BOOK.
“Is there a heart that never loved,
Or felt soft Woman’s sigh?
Is there a man can mark unmoved
Dear Woman’s tearful eye?
Oh, bear him to some distant shore,
Or solitary cell:
Where none but savage monsters roar,
Where love ne’er deigned to dwell.”
POPULAR BALLAD.
It has been as wisely as beautifully remarked by the Rev. Robert
Montgomery, in his delightfully truthful and sweet, pretty Poem,
entitled “Woman an Angel!” that the lovely daughters of Eve (I quote
from memory, giving rather the sentiment than the words of that talented
and elegant divine,) were born to suffer; for not only have they their
own severe afflictions to put up with, but they are expected also to
become willing partners in those of the sons of Adam by whom they have
been led to the altar, and whose hands and fortunes they have consented
to accept and share. Without lovely Woman to soothe, restrain, and look
after them, I should like to know what would be the fate of those
impatient, obstinate, selfish, and poor helpless creatures--Men? Would
they not unpick every social tie? and go about like the brutes of the
fields, with scarcely a thing fit to put on, and their stockings all
full of holes--a prey to their all-devouring appetites--the slaves of
their ungovernable passions, and be robbed right and left by their
servants? And why, I ask, would this be the case?--why, because every
Woman, with her proper feelings about her, knows as well as I do that it
certainly would.
The immortal Swan of Avon has somewhere charmingly said--
“Give me that man who is not passion’s slave,
And I will wear him in my heart of hearts;”
and if such a being was ever created, I certainly must say that I should
not hesitate to follow so worthy an example as that of the immortal
Swan,--that is, indeed, were I not a married woman.
Yes, lovely daughters of Eve! ours is a horrid, bitter cup. To us the
Earth is truly a Vale of Tears, without e’en one pretty flower growing
up among the shoals and quicksands that beset our briery path, to
gladden us on our way. Indeed, the trials of us poor, dear, confiding
Women form a sad--sad history; and, Goodness knows! that the humble
individual who is now addressing the courteous Reader has had her share
of worldly troubles to bear up against. What I have suffered in my time
few would believe, and none but myself can tell. In fact, if I had not
had a very fine constitution of my own, my frame must have given way
under it,--for I am sure the heart-rending ordeals that I have been
condemned to go through with--in a word, the overwhelming--but more of
this hereafter.
* * * * *
It was a cold Autumnal midnight, and the wind was blowing frightfully,
and the rain was beating against the windows, and not a sound was to be
heard in the streets, unless I mention the noise of some two or three
cabs tearing past the house, and bearing homewards their gay and
youthful votaries of fashion from some festive ball or joyous theatre.
Indeed, it was just such a night as makes the sympathizing heart of
Woman, when seated quietly by her own comfortable fire-side, bleed with
pity to think of the poor houseless wanderer, who is obliged to pace the
streets without e’en so much as a shoe to his feet, or anything to live
upon. I was sitting up-stairs, in my snug little bed-room, my thoughts
fixed only on Edward’s (that is, my husband’s) return; for having a
heavy cause which stood for trial in the Exchequer on the morrow, he
was, I knew, detained at his Chambers, in L--nc--n’s I--n, on important
business.
I always made it a rule, even when I had an establishment of my own,
(why I have not one now, the reader shall learn by-and-by,) of sitting
up for Edward myself, in preference to letting the servants do so. For,
in the first place, we never dine until six o’clock, although I am
naturally a small eater; and, secondly, it is unreasonable to expect
that, if the servants are kept up over-night, they can be down stairs in
the morning, in time to get through with their next day’s work; and,
thirdly, I have always found Edward come home much earlier when he knew
that I was staying up for him, instead of the maid.
I was then, as I said before, sitting up for my husband; and, to pass
the time, I was unpicking my green silk pelisse, with the view of making
it into a couple of best frocks for my sweet little pets, Kate and Annie
(my two dear good girls); and as I had worn it, I should think, not more
than one or two winters altogether, and it was getting to look quite
old-fashioned, I thought it would be better to make it up for my darling
girls, and try and prevail upon dear Edward to buy me a new one next
time we went out for a walk together.
So, as I said before, I was sitting up for my husband, and whilst I was
busy at work, I could not help contrasting my then new situation in life
(I had been in the house only one day,--but more of this hereafter,)
with the domestic comfort I once thought I should have enjoyed. “Here am
I,” (I said to myself,) “closely connected with one of the oldest
families in the kingdom,--the wife of a highly respectable professional
man,--the mother of five strong and (thank Heaven!) healthy
children,--and three of whom are boys, and the other two girls,--without
an establishment that I can call my own,--positively driven from my
home,--obliged to sell my elegant furniture at a sacrifice of five
hundred and eighty pounds and odd,--glad to take refuge in the venal
hospitality of a Boarding House!! in G--ldf--rd St--t, R--ss--ll Sq--re,
near the F--ndl--ng H--sp--t--l, and at the mercy of a set of people
that one really knows little or nothing about.” And why is this?--alas!
why? Why, because we were obliged to leave our own house, and all
through a pack of ungrateful, good-for-nothing things called servants,
who really do not know when they are well off.
Ever since we first commenced housekeeping, I cannot say the creatures
have let me know one day’s perfect peace. A more indulgent master and
mistress I am sure they never could have had. For myself, if they had
been my own children I could not have looked after them more than I
did--continually instructing them, and even sometimes condescending to
do part of their work for them myself, out of mere kindness, just to
show them how; and never allowing a set of fellows from those dreadful
barracks in Alb--ny Str--t to come running after them, turning the heads
of the poor ignorant things, and trifling with their affections, and
borrowing their wages, and living upon me. And yet the only return the
minxes made me was to fly in my face directly my back was turned, and to
drive me nearly mad; so that at times I have been in that state of mind
that I really did not know whether I was standing on my head or my
heels. For what with their breakages--and their impudence--and their
quarrelling among themselves--and their followers--and their dirt and
filth--and their turning up their noses at the best of food--and their
wilful waste and goings on--and their neglect and ill treatment of the
dear children--and their pilferings--and their pride, their airs, and
ill tempers--and those horrid soldiers--(but more of this
hereafter)--I’m sure it was enough to turn the head of ten Christians.
But I do verily believe that both my body and mind were giving way under
it; and, indeed, our medical adviser, Mr. J----pp, (as I afterwards
learnt,) told Edward as much, and that if he did not get me away, he
wouldn’t answer for the consequences; adding, that it was only the very
fine constitution I had of my own that had kept me alive under it all.
So that when Edward communicated to me what our medical adviser had
said, and proposed that we should break up our establishment, and retire
to a boarding-house, where at least we might enjoy peace and quiet, I
told him that I had long felt (though I never liked to confess as much
to him) that my domestic cares had been making inroads upon my health
and constitution that I never could restore, and that I would gladly
give my consent to any course that he thought might add to his comfort;
that all my anxiety had been to protect his property, and prevent his
furniture from going to rack and ruin before my very eyes, but that if
he wished to part with it, I would not stand in the way; for, to tell
the truth, I was sick and tired of house-keeping and servants, and only
too glad to wash my hands of them altogether.
And now that they have driven me and my husband to seek an asylum in a
respectable boarding-house, (and where, thank goodness! I have nothing
at all to do with the creatures, or the furniture--for as the things
about one are not one’s own, why, of course it’s no matter to me whether
they’re broken to bits or not; and it isn’t likely, indeed, that I
should be quite such a stupid as to go putting myself out of the way
about another person’s property,) I suppose I shall be allowed to taste
a little peace, and quiet, and comfort, for the first time since my
marriage. For, indeed, such has been, as I said before, my wear and
tear, both of mind and body, that, though Edward and I have been married
scarcely fourteen summers, I’m sure that if my courteous readers could
only see me, they would take me to be at least ten years older than I
really am--which I am not.
As I was saying, then, these thoughts floated through my mind the second
night after we had entered our new abode, and I inwardly wished to
myself that I had my time to come over again--when suddenly!--all of an
instant!--a brilliant idea rushed across my brain. It was a noble
idea!--one that would have done honour to any of our great
philanthropists, or even Mrs. Ellis herself. And, yet, was I capable of
doing justice to the idea? Alas! I feared not. Then, would it not be
rashness to attempt it? Alas! I feared it would. Still, it had so
benevolent an object, that I should be ten times worse than a blind
heathen to shrink from it. But, even if I decided upon entertaining the
idea, how was I, weak, timid, and bashful as I was, (I have always been
of a retiring disposition ever since I was a child,) ever to be able to
carry it out? It seemed to be madness to think any more of the idea. It
might all come to Edward’s ears, and he would chide his dear, foolish
Caroline (that is, myself) for undertaking it. Yet I might be the proud
means of saving hundreds of my fellow-creatures, who have unfortunately
got weak constitutions of their own, from suffering as I have.
And when I thought of this, I no longer hesitated, but determined to
publish to the world all my long experience with servants of all kinds,
and countries, and colours, so that I might, as it were, become the
pilot of young wives, to steer their fragile little barks through the
rocks and precipices of domestic life, and prevent their happiness being
wrecked as mine has been--I may say, at my own fire-side--and their
household gods turned neck and crop into the streets, to wander to and
fro, without so much as a place to put their heads in.
But how was all this to be done? Who was to help me in bringing this
charitable work before the world? At length I remembered having bought
some books of a publisher in Fleet-street, who had been, on two or three
occasions, very polite to me. To him I would go in the morning, and get
him to assist me in my noble undertaking. I did so. But the courteous
reader shall learn what transpired in another chapter.
INTRODUCTION II.
HOW I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH THE PUBLISHER OF MY LITTLE BOOK.
“We met: ’twas in a crowd,
And I thought he would shun me!
He came: I could not breathe,
For his eyes were upon me.
He spoke: his words were cold;
And his smile was unalter’d.”
“WE MET.”--HAYNES BAYLY.
The next morning, as soon as ever breakfast was over, and Edward had
gone down to his office in L--nc--n’s I--n, I retired from the public
sitting-room, to my _private_ bed room; and as it was a fine morning,
and would be the first time that I had ever spoken to Mr. B----e on
business, I thought it would be better to put on my best bonnet (a black
velvet one, with a black bird of Paradise in it,) which I had worn as
yet only on Sundays, at church; and having done so, I made the best of
my way towards Fleet-street.
When I reached the door of the shop, I really had scarcely courage to
turn the handle; I had often heard of the nervousness of Genius, but
never before had experienced the feeling myself. I’m sure, I felt as if
my heart were in my mouth; and anybody that had wished, might have
knocked me down with a feather. So, to bring myself round, I looked at
some of the sweet, pretty engravings in the front of the shop; and
having just passed my handkerchief over my face, and arranged my bonnet
and hair as well as I could, in the plate-glass windows, I at last
summoned up strength to enter.
Standing by the fire, in the shop, was a good-looking young man, of a
dark complexion, and dressed in a tail-coat, who advanced towards me as
I entered. “Mr. B----e, I presume,” I said, addressing him, with an
amiable smile.
“In the next room, if you please, ma’m,” he replied, in a tone of
becoming diffidence.
“Thank you,” I replied, with a lady-like curtsey, and immediately
stepped into the room alluded to.
He was engaged in packing some elegantly bound books, and was a tall,
thin, young man, in a surtout, with not much colour in his face, which
was, nevertheless, full of meaning. As soon as I had caught his
eye--(which was a black one,)--I said, in a graceful manner, “I believe
I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. B----e.”
“In the next room, if you please, ma’m,” he replied, with charming
respect.
“You are extremely good,” I answered, curtseying, as before; and passing
on into the adjoining apartment, which was a counting-house. There I
observed a young man, with a Grecian nose, and grey Irish eyes, and a
buff kerseymere waistcoat, seated at a desk, very busy.
“Mr. B----e, if I’m not mistaken?” I asked, in an attractive, bland
voice.
He looked up, and answered, evidently moved by my manner, “That is Mr.
B----e, ma’m;” and he pointed to a gentleman, of prepossessing
exterior, who was seated on the opposite side of the desk, with his
thoughts evidently wrapt up in a brown paper parcel (probably the
manuscript of some popular author) he was undoing.
I advanced towards him, and found him to be a man, looking very young
considering all he must have upon his shoulders. As he walked across the
room to meet me, he appeared to run about upon five feet and
three-quarters, being neither tall nor short. He has got my eldest
girl’s hair, and my second boy’s eyes, (the one being gold-coloured, and
the other blue). He was dressed in an invisible green surtout, with a
black velvet collar, and seems to be naturally of a retiring
disposition, like myself: and, as far as I can judge, from appearances,
I should think he has a very fine constitution of his own. I do not know
whether he is a family man, but I must say, that he certainly does
appear to be a gentleman of very good breeding. And, though his
diffidence makes his manner, at first, appear grave, still he seems to
be naturally of a cheerful disposition; for, do what he could, it was
impossible for him to prevent his inward man from peeping out of his
expressive eyes.
“Mr. B----e, I presume,” I first began, in my quiet, lady-like way.
“Yes, ma’m,” he answered, with a bland smile; “will you take a chair, by
the fire?”
“Thank you; you are very kind,” I answered, arranging my dress as I sat
down. As he said nothing further, and evidently expected me to open the
business, I at length, after a short pause, summoned courage to break
the ice, and remarked--“It is a very fine day, Mr. B----e.”
Mr. B----e was of the same opinion, and replied--“It is, ma’m, very
fine.”
There was another pause, which made me feel (to use an expressive figure
of speech) far from at-home, and wholly drove out of my mind the
charming little address that, on my road, I had arranged, as an elegant
introduction to the business.
At length, however, having cleared my throat, I began.--“I have come to
see you, Mr. B----e, about publishing a little book I am determined to
write. The subject of it relates principally to the great plague
occasioned by servants. And, when we reflect, Mr. B----e,” I
continued, recollecting a portion of the speech I had prepared, “how
much of our happiness depends upon those persons, and that there is no
work of the kind designed to pilot the tender young wife when first
launched into the sea of domestic life, through the rocks and precipices
that beset her briary path----”
“Perhaps,” he delicately interrupted me, “you are not acquainted, ma’m,
with Dean Swift’s celebrated work on the subject.”
“No, Mr. B----e,” I answered, with a pleasing smile; “I am not
acquainted with Mr. Dean Swift’s book; but, as he never could have had
the experience of a wife, and a mother, of such long standing as myself,
I am satisfied that it will not, in any way, clash with the one I
purpose. Besides, no one, I am sure, Mr. B----e, can have suffered a
millionth part of what I have, from servants; for, what with the worry,
and vexation, and trouble that they have caused me, together with, I may
say, the wear and tear of both mind and body, it’s really, Mr. B----e,
a wonder that I’m here now. Indeed, as our medical adviser says, if I
hadn’t had a very fine constitution of my own, I should never have been
able to have gone through with it all. So that I think, Mr. B----e, my
troubles would make a very interesting and instructive little book.”
“Yes, ma’m,” he answered, hesitatingly; “but I’m sorry to say, domestic
troubles don’t go off at all in the trade; the public seem to have lost
all taste for them. Now, if you could work up any horrible fact, or make
a heroine out of some lady poisoner, ma’m, I think that might do. Sir
Edward’s book has been quite a hit, and there is a great demand with us
for lady poisoners just now.”
“Oh, indeed, Mr. B----e,” I answered; “but there will be some most
dreadful facts in my little book. Now, there was our Footman, who stole
the spoons; and an Irish Cook, who I really thought would have been the
death of the whole family. I intend to give the disclosure of all the
circumstances in my interesting little work. Do you think that would do,
Mr. B----e?”
“Yes, ma’m,” he answered: “but I’m afraid the book, although I’ve no
doubt (he was kind enough to add) it would be exceedingly interesting,
wouldn’t exactly suit me. I really should not like to risk it.”
“Oh! I perceive, now, Mr. B----e,” I returned, as, with my customary
sagacity, I at once saw the reason of his refusal. “My motives for
publishing my interesting little work are dictated purely by
benevolence, I can assure you. I hope you do not imagine I am one of the
people who write for money. No, Mr. B----e; I am happy to say, I am not
yet necessitated to fly to my pen as a means of support.”
The worthy gentleman seemed pleased with the nobility of my disposition;
and after a long talk I had with him, in which I explained to him all I
intended to do, he was so kind as to say that he thought a good deal
might be made out of the subject. So that I had the proud satisfaction
of finding that I had not used my abilities in vain, for he at last, in
a most gentlemanly way, not only consented to publish my interesting
little work for me, but was also good enough to suggest that it should
be illustrated; and actually was so polite as to give me a letter to
that highly-talented artist, Mr. George Cruikshank, though I told him
that I was afraid he would be too funny for a work of so serious a
character. But he quelled all my doubts, by telling me that Mr.
Cruikshank was a man of such versatile genius, that he was sure that the
drawings from his intellectual pencil would be quite in keeping with the
book; so, taking the letter of introduction, I left Mr. B----e, (my
publisher,) quite charmed with the conquest I had made.
* * * * *
_Moral reflection after writing the above._--It has been very truly
remarked, by the greatest philosophers of our time, and it is likewise
my opinion, that London is the finest city in this transitory world. But
I cannot help observing, that Fleet-street, as it stands at present, is
a crying evil, and a perfect disgrace to it. Is it not wonderful, that
in these enlightened times, so little attention should be paid to the
feelings of fair woman, at the crossings of this great metropolis?
Englishmen, ever since charming Raleigh took his cloak off his very
back, to prevent sweet Elizabeth soiling her lovely feet, have been
acknowledged to be a highly polite and intellectual nation; but the way
in which I was jostled and hustled, and pushed about, by a set of low
London barbarians, who once or twice knocked my beautiful best black
velvet bonnet nearly off my head, makes me fear that we are all going
backwards, (if I might be allowed the expression,) and that our boasted
civilization is only a golden dream and a fib. What the Lord Mayor can
be about, at the crossings in the City, I am at a loss to say. As they
are at present regulated, it seems to me as if the civic authorities
were all asleep at their posts. Three times did I attempt to get across
the street, from Mr. B----’s, and three times was I driven back by the
bears who are permitted to drive the omnibuses and cabs of the first
city in Europe. Though the fellows saw my distress, they never once
offered to stop and make way for a lone, unprotected female, but only
seemed to take a savage delight in my alarms. And even when I did get
across, I’m sure it was at the peril of my very life. It’s only a wonder
to me that I didn’t go into hysterics in the middle of the road; and
however people, who have weak constitutions of their own, can manage to
get over it, is an inscrutable mystery to me.
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION III.
HOW I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH THE ARTIST TO MY LITTLE BOOK.
“He shook! ’twas but an instant,
For speedily the pride
Ran crimson to his heart,
Till all chances he defied:
It threw boldness on his forehead;
Gave firmness to his breath;
And he stood like some grim Warrior,
New risen up from death.”
BARRY CORNWALL, (_The Admiral_.)
What heartfelt joy it imparts to find a gentleman willing to lend a
helping hand to the ideas of the good, and assist a virtuous female in
distress. And how true and poetic it was of the Greeks to make Charity a
woman; for does not charity begin at home, and does not the proud empire
of lovely woman begin there also. And would not every respectable female
be overflowing with goodness were it not for the harsh sway of the fell
tyrant Man, who, with a heavy hand, alas! too often skims their milk of
human kindness, and takes all the cream off the best feelings of their
nature.
When I reached Mr. Cruikshank’s door, though it was the first time I had
ever the pleasure of visiting that great person, still from the
beautiful appearance that the threshold of his establishment presented,
I at once knew my man. The door-step was so sweetly white and clean that
one might have been tempted to eat one’s dinner off of it, while the
brass plate was as beautiful a picture as I ever remember to have seen.
In that door-plate I could see the workings of a rightly-constituted
mind. And here let me remark to my courteous Reader, by what slight
incidents we deduce----(but I will reserve my observations on
door-plates in general for my moral reflections at the end of this
chapter).
When the door was opened, I was delighted to find that everything within
bore out the conclusion I had drawn of this great man’s character from
his simple door-step. Though it could scarcely have been more than
half-past twelve in the day, I was agreeably surprised to find that the
maid who let me in had cleaned herself, and was dressed in a nice, neat
cotton gown, of a small pattern, and anything but showy colour, ready to
answer the door. I was truly charmed to see this; and indeed, from the
young woman’s whole appearance and manner, which was very respectful, I
saw at once that Mr. Cruikshank was rich in being possessed of a
treasure. What would I not have given once for such a being----but,
alas! I am digressing.
Although I looked everywhere, I could not find a speck of dust or dirt
anywhere, not even in the corners. “Ah!” (I said to myself, as I was
going up the stairs,) “how different is this from the common run of
artists.” When I went to have my portrait painted by Mr. Gl--k, in
N--wm--n St--t, I am sure you might have taken the dust up in spoonfuls,
which convinced me that he was no Genius; for I must and will say, that
the man who does not give his mind to the smaller affairs of life, will
never succeed with the greater ones; for is it not proverbial that a
master-hand is to be seen in everything? And to prove to the courteous
Reader how correct my opinion was, Mr. Gl--k turned out to be but an
indifferent artist, after all, for he made me look like a perfect
fright.
After waiting a few minutes in a delightful ante-room, I was shown into
the Study, and for the first time stood face to face with that
highly-talented artist and charming man, George Cruikshank, Esquire,
whom, as a painter, I don’t think I go too far in calling the Constable
of the day.
Were I in this instance to adopt Dr. Watts’s beautiful standard by which
to judge of the stature of intellectual men--that is, “that the mind is
the measure of the man,” I should say that Mr. George Cruikshank is a
perfect Giant, a mental Colossus of Rhodes, or Daniel Lambert; but
viewing him in the flesh, he appeared to be of an ordinary height.
Directly I saw him, he presented to me the appearance of a fine picture
set in a muscular frame, his body being neither stout nor thin.
His features, which are strictly classical, and strike you as a piece of
antiquity, and belonging to the Ancients, appear to have been finely
chiselled, while Genius (to use an expressive figure of speech) is
carved in large, unmistakeable characters on his lofty brow, (though, of
course, I do not mean that this is literally the case.) Nature has
evidently thrown Mr. Cruikshank’s whole soul in his face; there is (if I
may be allowed the expression) a fire in his eye which is quite cheerful
to look at; and when he speaks, from the cordial tone of his discourse,
you feel as certain, as if his bosom was laid bare to you, that his
heart is in its right place. Nor can I omit to mention the picturesque
look of his whiskers, which are full and remarkably handsome, and at
once tell you that they have been touched by the hand of a great
painter.
In disposition, Mr. Cruikshank seems to be peculiarly amiable, (indeed,
he was exceedingly kind and attentive to me,) for he appears to have a
great partiality for animals of all kinds. In his room was a perfect
little love of a spaniel, (very much like our Carlo before he was stolen
from us,) and on his mantelpiece was a beautiful plaster model of a
horse trotting, while at his window hung a charming singing canary, to
all of which he seems to be very much attached.
Over the chimney-piece is a picture--the creation of his highly-talented
fingers--of Sir Robert Bruce, in a dreadful pass in Scotland, being
attacked by three men, and killing them, while mounted on his rearing
charger. It is painted in oil colours, and is a work full of spirit and
fire; though, for my own part, I must say that I do not think Mr.
Cruikshank shines so much in Oil as he does in Water.
Having in a most polite way begged that I would take a chair, which I
did with a graceful curtsey, he stated he had read Mr. B----e’s letter,
and added, that he needn’t ask if my interesting little work was to be
“moral;” on which I replied, with an agreeable smile, “Eminently so, Mr.
Cruikshank,” and told him that it purposed merely to set forth all the
plague, and worry, and trouble, which I had been put to by servants,
which seemed to please him very much; and I briefly laid before him all
I had undergone, adding, that it was a wonder to every one who knew me
how I had ever managed to battle through with it, and that our medical
adviser had declared that it was merely the very fine constitution I had
of my own that had enabled me to do so; and that it was my proud
ambition to become the pilot of future young wives in the stormy sea of
domestic life. On which he was pleased to compliment me highly, and was
kind enough to volunteer to do a sketch of me in that character, for a
frontispiece to my interesting little work.
However, I told him that I should prefer appearing in a more becoming
garb, and that I had merely used the pilot as an expressive figure of
speech; but that as doubtlessly he would like to introduce me into the
frontispiece of the book, I told him I thought the best subject would be
an engraving of myself, wishing that I was out of the world on the day
after our man-servant had run away with the plate; and I asked him if he
would like to take a portrait of me then and there, as I could easily
step into the next room, and arrange my hair in the glass. But in a most
gentlemanly way he stated that he could not think of putting me to that
trouble, especially as he had already got my whole form engraved in his
mind’s eye, for there were some people, he said, whose figure, when once
seen, was always remembered. And he was pleased to say a number of other
things equally flattering to me, but which my natural modesty, and the
inward dread I have of being thought egotistical, prevent my inserting
here.
I told him, moreover, that, from the life-like descriptions of the
different servants I had had in my time that he would find given in my
interesting little book, a man of his genius, I was sure, would
experience no difficulty in delineating their features. Upon which he
was so good as to say that he had no doubt he should find the work all I
had stated. And then, observing that I was about to depart, he opened
the door for me; on which I begged of him not to trouble himself on my
account; but he persisted, saying, in the most gentlemanly way, “that he
would see me to the door with the greatest pleasure.”
* * * * *
_My moral reflections upon the preceding chapter._--How necessary it is
for the young house-wife to pay proper attention to all outward
appearances; for is it not by them that the hollow world judges, since
it is impossible for short-sighted Man to see the secret workings of our
hearts within us. The first object that meets the stranger’s eye on
coming to our house is the door-plate, and thus a mere bit of brass is
made the index of our characters.--If it be highly polished, of course
they conclude that we are highly polished also; if, however, it be
dirty, shall we not be deprived of our fair name. What a moral duty,
then, should it be with the mistress of every establishment to see that
her brass is rubbed up regularly every morning, so that she may be able
to go through the world without ever knowing shame.
CHAPTER I.
MY APPEARANCE--MY STATION IN LIFE--MY FAMILY AND PERSONAL
CHARACTERISTICS.
“Sing! who sings
To her that weareth a hundred rings,
Ah! who is this lady fine?
* * * * *
A roamer is she,
* * * * *
And sometimes very good company.”
BARRY CORNWALL.
I was born about four o’clock in the morning, on the 23rd day of
September, 1810. I am told I was a remarkably fine child, though it is a
curious fact that my intellect was some time before it displayed itself.
But my dear mamma has since often confessed to me that this rather
pleased her than otherwise, observing, with a pardonable fondness, that
great geniuses had mostly been distinguished for their stupidity in
their youth; so that my parents felt little or no anxiety about me.
Being the only child, I was not weaned until I was more than eighteen
months--to which circumstance our medical adviser attributes, in a great
measure, the very fine constitution I have of my own. I was always a
great pet with papa; indeed, many of our oldest friends, who knew me as
a child, have since told me that he quite spoilt me. My childhood was
such a golden dream, and fleeted by so quickly, that, though I am little
more than thirty years of age, still I cannot at present call to mind
any incident that occurred in my youth which might amuse the courteous
Reader.
I was not remarkable for my beauty as a young girl, but I am told there
was something very interesting in me; and my manners were so winning,
that I was a general favourite with all, except the servants, who found
me one too many for them.
My maiden name was B--ff--n; and my father, who was a C--l M--rch--nt,
in an extensive way of business, resided in K--nt--sh T--wn, and had
dealings with some of the first families in the neighbourhood. I was
christened Caroline, after my mamma, who was nearly related to the
R--msb--tt--ms, whose noble ancestor, F--tz-R--msb--tt--m, came into
England with the Conqueror, and mamma says his name was once on the Roll
of Battle Abbey. Mr. R--msb--tt--m, who was the uncle of mamma’s first
husband’s brother’s wife, is still possessed of an extensive seat near
C--nt--rbury, remarkable for its antiquity.
My mamma, who was justly proud of the noble blood which flows in the
veins of our family, brought my father considerable property; which,
however, owing to his being of a very generous disposition, he soon ran
through. So that when I was born, he was endeavouring to recruit his
fortune, by carrying on the noble business of a merchant; and was even
then possessed of several fine vessels, which used to come up the
R--g--nt’s Canal, and be moored off the sweet, pretty little wharf of
his, studding its banks.
My education was chiefly superintended by my beloved mamma, who could
not bear to part with her little “duck’s-o’-diamonds,” (as she would
fondly call me,) until I had reached the advanced age of fourteen, when
my papa prevailed upon her to allow him to send me over to a highly
fashionable finishing academy at Boulogne-sur-mer, in _le belle France_,
where I learnt every accomplishment that can adorn a lady. I soon became
such a proficient in the tongue, and acquired so perfect an accent, that
my schoolmistress assured mamma (when she came to fetch me home) that I
could speak it “_tout-à-fait comme une natif_,” (that is, quite like a
native of the country,) and which I have found to be of great service to
me in after-life.
When I was about sixteen, my personal charms began to develop
themselves, and having a fine thick head of hair (of a rich, warm
chesnut colour) my mamma would make me wear it in long, beautiful
ringlets; and, indeed, even now my back hair is so long that it reaches
much lower than my waist. My eyes, which were of light hazel, though
small, were considered so full of expression, that they made up in
meaning what they wanted in brilliance; while I was blessed with such a
remarkably fine, clear complexion of my own, and had such an extremely
high colour, (which, indeed, I have retained to this day,) that I have
over and over again been accused of rouging; (both my little girls take
after me in this respect.) I have my papa’s nose, which is a fine Roman,
and my mamma’s mouth and dimple. My greatest drawback, as a young woman,
was my exceedingly bashful and retiring disposition, which used to
flutter me so, that whenever I was spoken to by a stranger, it
invariably threw all the blood in my body into my face; so that I seldom
had a word to say for myself--which failing, indeed, I never have been
able to get over even to this time.
Long before I was twenty-one, my papa had many advantageous offers for
my hand, but he would accept of none of them for me; as he did not then
consider me fit to enter upon the stormy path of matrimonial life, for
my dear, foolish mamma would never allow me to attend to the
housekeeping, from a pardonable pride she felt in her illustrious
descent. So that, as things turned out, perhaps it was better that I did
not get settled until I had nearly attained my twenty-sixth year.
On the 14th of May, 1840, at the ball of the Caledonians, I met my
present husband, Edward Sk--n--st--n, Esquire, who was then a widower
without encumbrance, (although, if there _had_ been any children by his
former wife, I trust I know myself too well to have done other than
treat them as my own flesh and blood.) The poor man was so taken with my
_tout ensemble_ at first sight, that he would scarcely leave me for a
moment throughout the evening, and would insist upon accompanying both
mamma and myself home.
We soon discovered that he was a lawyer, in a very excellent practice;
so that mamma, the next time he called, asked him to stop to dinner with
us, and introduced him to papa, who was very glad to see him. After
dinner, when we had gone to the drawing-room, mamma begged me to sing;
and I obliged him with one of my most admired little French “_Romans_,”
when the poor man seemed quite moved by my strains.
The next day, he came to ask mamma and myself to accompany him to
Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition; but mamma suddenly remembered a particular
call she had to make that afternoon on a friend in the opposite
direction, so I was forced to go alone with him. When we were by
ourselves, in “the Chamber of Horrors” there, Mr. Sk--n--st--n remarked,
in a low voice, choked by emotion, upon the charms of my retiring
disposition, and said that I was the very reverse of his poor, dear,
sainted wife, who he was kind enough to hope and trust was in heaven.
In about a week, his attentions to me became so marked, that it was the
common talk of all our friends, insomuch so that dear papa, out of an
over-fondness and anxiety on my account, was obliged to ask him what his
intentions were towards me; for he was fearful lest Mr. Sk--n--st--n
might be one of those monsters in human form who trifle with a young
girl’s best affections, and then fling them aside as they would a dead
pink, or any other faded flower that they had taken the bloom off of.
In this interview, Edward, whose heart I always knew was of too noble a
nature ever to deal thus vilely with a poor maid, at once declared his
passion, and demanded my hand, which my father joyfully gave him,
together with his blessing. After this, Edward became a constant visitor
at the house; and he arranged to lead me to the altar a month after the
first anniversary of his sainted wife’s death, so that the proper
decencies of society might not be violated in our case.
I shall never forget the melancholy sentiment that filled my bosom
whenever I thought of that joyful event taking place. What an awful step
I was about to take! Was it for good--or for evil? Alas! who could say?
Perhaps I might become the mother of several beauteous babes! What new
feelings and duties would then overwhelm this heart. Was I equal to the
task? Alas! who could tell? I was about to leave my dear papa’s Halls,
and to quit the embraces of an aged mamma, of noble ancestry, for the
arms of one of whom I could know but little; yet a small still voice
within me assured me that, come what might, at least Edward would treat
me well. His presents to me had already shown him to be a man of great
good nature, and I could not forget his affecting emotion when he
implored my acceptance of the jewellery that once belonged to his
sainted wife.
The night previous to the day that Edward had appointed to swear to love
and cherish me in sickness and in health, and take me for better or for
worse, as I sat with my dear mamma and the maid completing the body (the
skirt was already finished) of my bridal robe, my maternal parent, with
tears in her eyes, desired the maid to leave the room, as she wished to
speak to me alone.
As soon as the girl had gone, my mamma told me that I was about to take
an awful step, and that she hoped and trusted that it would all turn out
happily. But that there was one thing that she felt it was her duty,
upon my entrance into life as it were, to warn me against--one thing, on
which alone domestic happiness could be built--one thing, on which I
should find my comfort depended more than any other--one thing, in fact,
which might strew either my path with roses, or my bed with thorns. And
then she asked me what I thought this one thing was? Probably I might
think she meant my husband--but no! it was something of far more
consequence to me than that. Or I might think she meant fortune, or
economy, or my offspring--(if I were destined to be so blessed.) It was
none of these, she told me--nor was it amiability of temper, or a proper
pride in appearance, or marital constancy--no! these had but a trifling
connexion with the peace and quiet of my future domestic life compared
with that which she alluded to. In a word, she said, I should find the
key-stone to all my future welfare rested upon those I should have about
me. She referred to--servants. It was only by the proper management of
them, she said, that I could ever expect to taste happiness; and she
warned me not to govern with a light hand, but to do as she had done,
and which, she assured me, was the only way of making them respect and
obey me, and that was, to rule with a rod of iron. And then, telling me
that her words ought to be printed in letters of gold, she bade me dry
up my tears and resume my work.
Ha-ah!--Little did I then--giddy, inexperienced child that I was--see
the value of the jewels that fell from dear mamma’s mouth; but in my
happy innocence I inwardly set them down as the words of one whose
naturally sweet disposition had been soured in her dealings with this
empty world. Had I but treasured up her truths in my heart, I should not
have suffered as I have. (But more of this hereafter.)
It was not until nearly midnight that we had finished my wedding
garment; and when I retired to rest, I did so with a fluttering heart;
and laying my head on my pillow, I said to myself--“Ah! poor Caroline!
fond, foolish girl, what a plunge art thou about to make into the Book
of Fate! To-morrow!--to-morrow!”
The occurrences of that day I will reserve for another chapter.
* * * * *
_My moral reflections after writing the above._--How beautifully fitting
an emblem and becoming an ornament is the orange-flower for the virgin
bride! For does not its milky purity tell long--long tales of the
snow-like affection of the generous maiden who is about to give away her
heart to one whose love she has yet to try? Is it not the silver blossom
of a tree that bears rich and golden fruit? And is it not left to man to
say whether, by casting on the virgin bud the sunshine of his smiles, he
shall ripen it into sweetness; or, by withholding them, she shall remain
sour after her green youth has passed away? But, ah! how many a tender
young wife, who at the altar sighs that her budding hopes may grow into
the sweet fruit of St. Michael, finds them, in the end, alas! only
converted into the bitter ones of Seville.