OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES.
"No, no," said Miss Eustasia Pallas. "You misapprehend me. It is not
because it would be necessary to have a husband and a home of one's own,
that I object to marriage, but because it would be impossible to do
without servants. While a girl lives at home, she can cultivate her soul
while her mother attends to the _ménage_. But after marriage, the higher
life is impossible. You must have servants. You cannot do your own dirty
work--not merely because it is dirty, but because it is the thief of
time. You can hardly get literature, music, and religion adequately into
your life even with the whole day at your disposal; but if you had to
make your own bed, too, I am afraid you wouldn't find time to lie on
it."
"Then why object to servants?" inquired Lillie.
"Because servants are the asphyxiators of the soul. But for them I
should long since have married."
"I do not quite follow you. Surely if you had servants to relieve you of
all the grosser duties, the spiritual could then claim your individual
attention."
"Ah, that is a pretty theory. It sounds very plausible. In practice,
alas! it does not work. Like the servants. I have kept my eyes open
almost from the first day of my life. I have observed my mother's
household and other people's--I speak of the great middle-classes,
mainly--and my unalterable conviction is, that every faithful wife who
aspires to be housekeeper too, becomes the servant of her servants. They
rule not only her but all her thoughts. Her life circles round them. She
can talk of nothing else. Whether she visits, or is visited, servants
are the staple of her conversation. Their curious habits and customs,
their love-affairs, their laches, their impertinences, these gradually
become the whole food of thought, ousting every higher aim and idea. I
have watched a girl--my bosom-friend at Girton--deteriorate from a
maiden to a wife, from a wife to a bondswoman. First she talked Shelley,
then Charley, then Mary Ann. Gradually her soul shrank. She lost her
character. She became a mere parasite on the servant's kitchen, a slave
to the cook's drink and the housemaid's followers. Those who knew my
mother before she was married speak of her as a bright, bonny girl, all
enthusiasm and energy, interesting herself in all the life of her day
and even taking a side in politics. But when I knew her, she was haggard
and narrow. She never read, nor sang, nor played, nor went to the
Academy. The greatest historical occurrences left her sympathies
untouched. She did not even care whether Australia or England conquered
at cricket, or whether Browning lived or died. You could not get her to
discuss Whistler or the relations of Greek drama to Gaiety Burlesque, or
any other subject that interests ordinary human beings. She did not want
a vote. She did not want any alteration in the divorce laws. She did not
want Russia to be a free country or the Empire to be federated. She did
not want darkest England to be supplied with lamps. She did not want the
working classes to lead better and nobler lives. She did not want to
preserve the Commons or to abolish the House of Lords. She did not want
to do good or even to be happy. All she wanted was a cook or a housemaid
or a coachman, as the case might be, and she was perpetually asking all
her acquaintance if they knew of a good one, or had heard of the
outrageous behavior of the last.
"In her early married days, my father's income was not a twentieth of
what it is to-day, and so she was fairly happy, with only one servant to
tyrannize over her. But she always had hard mistresses, even in those
comparatively easy years. Poor mother! One scene remains vividly stamped
upon my mind. We had a girl named Selina who would not get up in the
morning. We had nothing to complain of in the time of her going to
bed--I think she went about nine--but the earliest she ever rose was
eight, and my father always had to catch the eight-twenty train to the
City, so you may imagine how much breakfast he got. My mother spoke to
Selina about it nearly every day and Selina admitted the indictment. She
said she could not help it, she seemed to dream such long dreams and
never wake up in the middle. My mother had had such difficulty in
getting Selina that she hesitated to send her away and start hunting for
a new Selina, but the case seemed hopeless. The winter came on and we
took to sending Selina to bed at six o'clock, that my father might be
sure of a hot cup of coffee before leaving home in the morning. But she
said the mornings were so cold and dark it was impossible to get out of
bed, though she tried very hard and did her best. I think she spent only
nine hours out of bed on the average. My father gave up the hope of
breakfast. He used to leave by an earlier train and get something at a
restaurant. This grieved my mother very much--she calculated it cost her
a bonnet a month. She became determined to convert Selina from the error
of her ways. She told me she was going to appeal to Selina's higher
nature. Reprimand had failed, but the soul that cannot be coerced can be
touched. That was in the days when my mother still read poetry and was
semi-independent. One bleak bitter dawn my mother rose shivering,
dressed herself and went down into the kitchen, to the entire
disconcertion of the chronology of the black-beetles. She made the fire
and put the kettle on to boil and swept the kitchen. She also swept the
breakfast-room and lighted the fire and laid the breakfast. Then she sat
down, put on a saintly expression and waited for Selina.
"An hour went by, but Selina did not make her appearance. The first
half-hour passed quickly because my mother was busy thinking out the
exact phrases in which to touch her higher nature. It required tact--a
single clumsy turn of language--and she might offend Selina instead of
elevating her. It was really quite a literary effort, the adequate
expression of my mother's conception of the dignity and pathos of the
situation, in fact it was that most difficult branch of literature, the
dramatic, for my mother constructed the entire dialogue, speaking for
Selina as well as for herself. Like all leading ladies, especially when
they write their own plays, my mother allotted herself the 'tag,' and
the last words of the dialogue were:--
"'There! there! my good girl! Dry your eyes. The past shall be
forgotten. From to-morrow a new life shall begin. Come, Selina! drink
that nice hot cup of tea--don't cry and let it get cold. That's right.
"The second half-hour was rather slower, my mother listening eagerly for
Selina's footsteps, and pricking up her ears at every sound. The mice
ran about the wainscoting, the kettle sang blithely, the little flames
leaped in the grate, the kitchen and the breakfast-room were cheerful
and cosy and redolent of the goodly savors of breakfast. A pile of hot
toast lay upon a plate. Only Selina was wanting.
"All at once my mother heard the hall-door bang, and running to the
window she saw a figure going out into the gray freezing fog. It was my
father hurrying to catch his train. In the excitement of the experiment
my mother had forgotten to tell him that for this morning at least,
breakfast could be had at home. He might have had such beautiful tea and
coffee, such lovely toast, such exquisite eggs, and there he was
hastening along in the raw air on an empty stomach. My mother rapped on
the panes with her knuckles but my father was late and did not hear. Her
own soul a little ruffled, my mother sat down again in the kitchen and
waited for Selina. Gradually she forgot her chagrin, after all it was
the last time my father would ever have to depart breakfastless. She
went over the dialogue again, polishing it up and adding little touches.
"I think it was past nine when Selina left her bedroom, unwashed and
rubbing her eyes. By that time my mother had thrice resisted the
temptation to go up and shake her, and it was coming on a fourth time
when she heard Selina's massive footstep on the stair. Instantly my
mother's irritation ceased. She reassumed her look of sublime martyrdom.
She had spread a nice white cloth on the kitchen table and Selina's
breakfast stood appetizingly upon it. Tears came into her eyes as she
thought of how Selina would be shaken to her depths by the sight.
"Selina threw open the kitchen door with a peevish push, for she
disliked having to get up early in these cold, dark winter mornings and
vented her irritation even upon insensitive woodwork. But when she saw
the deep red glow of the fire, instead of the dusky chillness of the
normal morning kitchen, she uttered a cry of joy, and rushing forwards
warmed her hands eagerly at the flame.
"'Oh, thank you, missus,' she said with genuine gratitude.
"Selina did not seem at all surprised. But my mother did. She became
confused and nervous. She forgot her words, as if from an attack of
stage-fright. There was no prompter and so for a moment my mother
remained speechless.
"Selina, having warmed her hands sufficiently, drew her chair to the
table and lifted the cosy from the tea-pot.
"'Why, you've let it get cold,' she said reproachfully, feeling the side
of the pot.
"This was more than my mother could stand.
"'It's you that have let it get cold,' she cried hotly.
"Now this was pure impromptu 'gag,' and my mother would have done better
to confine herself to the rehearsed dialogue.
"'Oh, missus!' cried Selina. 'How can you say that? Why, this is the
first moment I've come down.'
"'Yes,' said my mother, gladly seizing the opportunity of slipping back
into the text. 'Somebody had to do the work, Selina. In this world no
work can go undone. If those whose duty it is do not do it, it must fall
on the shoulders of other people. That is why I got up at seven this
morning instead of you and have tidied up the place and made the
master's breakfast.'
"'That was real good of you!' exclaimed Selina, with impulsive
admiration.
"My mother began to feel that the elaborate set piece was going off in a
damp sort of way, but she kept up her courage and her saintly expression
and continued,
"'It was freezing when I got out of my warm bed, and before I could get
the fire alight here I almost perished with cold. I shouldn't be
surprised if I have laid the seeds of consumption.'
"'Ah,' said Selina with satisfaction. 'Now you see what I have had to
put up with.' She took another piece of toast.
"Selina's failure to give the cues extremely disconcerted my mother.
Instead of being able to make the high moral remarks she had intended,
she was forced to invent _repartées_ on the spur of the moment. The
ethical quality of these improvisations was distinctly inferior.
"'But you are paid for it, I'm not,' she retorted sharply.
"'I know. That is why I say it is so good of you,' replied Selina, with
inextinguishable admiration. 'But you'll reap the benefit of it. Now
that I've had my breakfast without any trouble I shall be able to go
about my work a deal better. It's such a struggle to get up, I assure
you, missus, it tires me out for the day. Might I have another egg?'
"My mother savagely pushed her another egg.
"'I'm thinking it would be a good plan,' said Selina, meditatively
opening the egg with her fingers, 'if you would get up instead of me
every morning. But perhaps that was what you were thinking of.'
"'Oh, you would like me to, would you?' said my mother.
"'I should be very grateful, I should indeed,' said Selina earnestly.
'And I'm sure the work would be better done. There don't seem to be a
speck of dust anywhere,'--she rubbed her dirty thumb admiringly along
the dresser--'and I'm sure the tea and toast are lots nicer than any
I've ever made.'
"My mother waved her hand deprecatingly, but Selina continued:
"'Oh yes, you know they are. You've often told me I was no use at all in
the kitchen. I don't need to be told of my shortcomings, missus. All you
say of me is quite true. You would be ever so much more satisfied if you
cooked everything yourself. I'm sure you would.'
"'And what would _you_ do under this beautiful scheme?' inquired my
mother with withering sarcasm.
"'I haven't thought of that yet,' said Selina simply. 'But no doubt, if
I looked around carefully, I should find something to occupy me. I
couldn't be long out of work, I feel sure.'
"Well, that was how mother's attempt to elevate Selina by moral means
came to be a fiasco. The next time she tried to elevate her, it was by
physical means. My mother left the suburb, and moved to a London flat
very near the sky. She had given up hopes of improving Selina's
matutinal habits, and made the breakfast hour later through my father
having now no train to catch, but she thought she would cure her of
followers. Selina's flirtations were not confined to our tradespeople
and the local constabulary. She would exchange remarks about the weather
with the most casual pedestrian in trousers. My mother thought she would
remove her from danger by raising her high above all earthly
temptations. We made the tradesmen send up their goods by lift and the
only person she could flirt with was the old lift attendant. My father
grumbled a good deal in the early days because the lift was always at
the other extreme when he wanted it, but Selina's moral welfare came
before all other considerations.
"By and by they began to renovate the exterior of the adjoining mansion.
They put up a scaffolding, which grew higher and higher as the work
advanced, and men swarmed upon it. At first my mother contemplated them
with equanimity because they were British working-men and we were
nearest heaven. But as the months went by, they began to get nearer and
nearer. There came a time when Selina's smile was distinctly visible to
the man engaged on the section of the scaffolding immediately below.
That smile encouraged him. It seemed to say 'Excelsior.' He was a
veritable Don Juan, that laborer. At every flat he flirted with the maid
in possession. By counting the storeys in our mansion you could
calculate the number of his _amours_. With every rise he left a
love-passage behind him. He was a typical man--always looking higher,
and, when he had raised himself to a more elevated position, spurning
yesterday's love from beneath his feet. He seemed to mount on broken
hearts. And now he was aspiring to the highest of all--Selina. Oh it is
cruel! My mother had secluded Selina like a virgin Princess in an
enchanted inaccessible tower and yet here was the Prince calmly scaling
the tower, without any possibility of interference. Long before he had
reached the top the consumption of Bass in our flat went up by leaps and
bounds. Selina, my mother ultimately discovered, used to lower the beer
by strings. It appeared, moreover, that she had two strings to her bow,
for a swain in a slouch hat had been likewise climbing the height, at an
insidious angle which had screened him from my mother's observation
hitherto. Neither of these men did much work, but it made them very
thirsty.
[Illustration: _Lowering the Beer._]
"That destroyed the last vestige of my mother's faith in Selina's soul.
Like all disappointed women, she became crabbed and cynical. When my
father's rising fortunes brought her more and more under the dominion of
servants, the exposure and out-manoeuvring of her taskmasters came to be
the only pleasure of her life. She spent a great deal of time in the
police-courts--the constant prosecution she suffered from, curtailed the
last relics of her leisure. Everybody has heard of the law's delay, but
few know how much time prosecutors have to lose, hanging about the Court
waiting for their case to be called. When a servant robbed her, my
mother rarely got off with less than seven days. The moment she had
engaged a servant, she became morbidly suspicious of him or her. Often,
when she had dressed for dinner, it would suddenly strike her that if
she ransacked a certain cupboard something or other would be discovered,
and off she would go to spoil her spotless silks. She had a mania for
'Spring cleanings' once a month, so as to keep the drones busy. Often I
would bring a friend home, only to find the dining-room in the hall and
the drawing-room on the landing. And yet to the end she retained a
certain guileless, girlish simplicity--a fresh fund of hope which was
not without a charm and pathos of its own. To the very last she believed
that, faultless, flawless servants existed somewhere and she didn't
intend to be happy till she got them; so that it was said of her by my
sister's intended that she passed her life on the doorstep, either
receiving an angel or expelling a fiend. It showed what a fine trustful
nature had been turned to gall. She is at rest now, poor mother, her
life's long slavery ended by the soft touch of all-merciful Death. Let
us hope that she has opened her sorrow-stricken eyes on a brighter land,
where earthly distinctions are annulled and the poor heavy-laden
mistress may mix on equal terms with the radiant parlor-maid and the
buxom cook."
The tears were in Lillie's eyes as Miss Eustasia Pallas concluded her
affecting recital.
"But don't you think," said the President, conquering her emotion, "that
with such an awful example in your memory, you could never yourself sink
into such a serfage, even if you married?"
"I dare not trust myself," said Eustasia. "I have seen the fall of too
many other women. Why should I expect immunity from the general fate? I
think myself strong--but who can fathom her own weakness. Why, I have
actually been talking servants to you all the time. Think how continuous
is the temptation, how subtle. Were it not better to possess my soul in
peace and to cultivate it nobly and wisely and become a shining light of
the higher spinsterhood?"
Eustasia passed the preliminary examination and also the viva voce, and
Lillie was again in high feather. But before the election was formally
confirmed, she was chagrined to receive the following letter.
[Illustration: _Drew up the Advertisement._]
"MY DEAR MISS DULCIMER.
"I have good news for you. Knowing your anxiety to find for me a
way out of my matrimonial dilemma, I am pleased to be able to
inform you that it has been found by my friend and literary
adviser, Percy Swinshel Spatt, the well known philosopher and
idealist. I met him writing down his thoughts in Bond Street. In
the course of a dialogue upon the Beautiful, I put my puzzle to
him and he solved it in a moment. 'Why _must_ you keep a
servant?' he asked, for it is his habit to question every
statement he does not make. 'Why not rather keep a mistress?
Become a servant yourself and all your difficulties vanish.' It
was like a flash of lightning. 'Yes,' I said, when I had
recovered from the dazzle, 'but that would mean separation from
my husband.' 'Why?' he replied with his usual habit. 'In many
houses they prefer to take married couples.' 'Ah, but where
should I find a man of like mind, a man to whom leisure for the
cultivation of his soul was the one great necessity of life?'
'It is a curious coincidence, Eustasia,' he replied, 'that I was
just myself contemplating keeping a master and retiring into a
hermitage below stairs, to devote myself to philosophical
contemplation. As a butler or a footman in a really aristocratic
establishment, my duties would be nominal, and the other
servants and my employers would attend to all my wants. Abstract
speculation would naturally indue me with the grave silence and
dignity which seem to be the chief duties of these superior
creatures. It is possible, Eustasia, that I am not the first to
perceive the advantages of this way of living and that plush is
but the disguise of the philosopher. As for you, Eustasia, you
could become a parlor-maid. Thus we should live together
peacefully, with no sordid housekeeping cares, no squalid
interests in rates or taxes, devoted heart and soul to the
higher life.' 'You light up for me perspectives of Paradise,' I
cried enthusiastically. 'Then let us get the key of the garden
at once,' he replied rapturously, and turning over a new leaf of
his philosophical note-book, he set to work then and there to
draw up the advertisement: 'Wanted--by a young married couple,
etc.' Of course we had to be a little previous, because I could
not consent to marry him unless we had a situation to go to. We
were only putting what the Greek grammars call a proleptic
construction upon the situation. Well, it seems good servants
are so scarce we got a place at once--the exact thing we were
looking for. We are concealing our real names (lest the
profession be overrun by jealous friends from Newnham and Girton
and Oxford and Cambridge) so that I was able to give Percy a
character and Percy to give me a character. We are going into
our place next Monday afternoon, so, to avoid obtaining the
situation by false pretences, we shall have to go before the
Registrar on the Monday morning. Our honeymoon will be spent in
the delightful and unexploited retreat of the back kitchen.
"Yours, in the higher sisterhood,
"EUSTASIA PALLAS."