TWO WAYS WITH DOMESTICS.
"AH, good morning, dear! I'm really glad to see you," said Helen
Armitage to her young friend Fanny Milnor, as the latter came in to
sit an hour with her. "I just wanted a little sunshine."
"There ought to be plenty of sunshine here," returned Fanny smiling.
"You always seem happy, and so does your mother and sister Mary,
whenever I meet you abroad."
"Abroad, or at home, makes quite a difference, Fanny. Precious
little sunshine have we here. Not a day passes over our heads, that
we are not thrown into hot water about something or other, with our
abominable servants. I declare! I never saw the like, and it grows
worse and worse every day."
"Indeed! That is bad, sure enough. But can't you remedy this defect
in some way?"
"We try hard enough, dear knows! I believe we have had no less than,
six cooks, and as many chambermaids in the last three months. But
change only makes the matter worse. Sometimes they are so idle and
dirty that we cannot tolerate them for a week. And then again they
are so ill-natured, and downright saucy, that no one can venture to
speak to them."
As Helen Armitage said this, she arose from her chair, and walking
deliberately across the room, rang the parlor bell, and then quietly
walked back again and resumed her seat, continuing her remarks as
she did so, upon the exhaustless theme she had introduced. In a
little while a domestic entered.
"That door has been left open by some one," the young lady said, in
a half vexed tone of authority, and with a glance of reproof, as she
pointed to the door of the back parlor leading into the passage.
The servant turned quickly away, muttering as she did so, and left
the parlor, slamming the door after her with a sudden, indignant
jerk.
"You see that!" remarked Helen, the color deepening on her cheeks,
and her voice indicating a good deal of inward disturbance. "That's
just the way we are served by nine out of ten of the people we get
about us. They neglect every thing, and then, when reminded of their
duty, flirt, and grumble, and fling about just as you saw that girl
do this moment. I'll ring for her again, and make her shut that door
as she ought to do, the insolent creature!"
Helen was rising, when Fanny laid her hand on her arm, and said, in
a quiet persuasive tone,
"No--no--don't, Helen. She is out of temper, and will only retort
angrily at further reproof. The better way is to pass over these
things as if you did not notice them."
"And let them ride over us rough shod, as they most certainly will!
The fact is, with all our efforts to make them know and keep their
places, we find it impossible to gain any true subordination in the
house."
"We never have any trouble of this kind," Fanny said.
"You must be very fortunate then."
"I don't know as to that. I never recollect an instance in which a
domestic opposed my mother or failed to obey, cheerfully, any
request. And we have had several in our house, within my
recollection. At least half a dozen."
"Half a dozen! Oh, dear! We have half a dozen a month sometimes! But
come, let us go up to my room; I have some new prints to show you.
They are exquisite. My father bought them for me last week."
The two young ladies ascended to Helen's chamber in the third story.
But the book of prints was not to be found there. "It is in the
parlor, I recollect now," said Helen, ringing the bell as she spoke,
with a quick, strong jerk.
In about three or four minutes, and just as the young lady's
patience was exhausted and her fingers were beginning to itch for
another pull at the bell rope, the tardy waiting women appeared.
"Hannah--Go down into the parlor, and bring me off of the piano a
book you will find there. It is a broad flat book, with loose sheets
in it."
This was said in a tone of authority. The domestic turned away
without speaking and went down stairs. In a little while she came
back, and handed Helen a book, answering the description given. But
it was a portfolio of music.
"O no! Not this!" said she, with a curl of the lip, and an impatient
tossing of her head. "How stupid you are, Hannah! The book I want,
contains prints, and this is only a music book! There! Take it back,
and bring me the book of prints."
Hannah took the book, and muttering as she went out, returned to the
parlor, down two long flights of stairs, and laid it upon the piano.
"If you want the pictures, you may get them yourself, Miss; you've
got more time to run up and down stairs than I have."
As she said this Hannah left the parlor, and the book of prints
lying upon the piano, and went back to the chamber she had been
engaged in cleaning up when called away by Helen's bell. It was not
long after she had resumed her occupation, before the bell sounded
loudly through the passages. Hannah smiled bitterly, and with an air
of resolution, as she listened to the iron summons.
"Pull away to your heart's content, Miss!" she said, half audibly.
"When you call me again take care and know what you want me for.
I've got something else to do besides running up and down stairs to
bring you pictures. Why didn't you look at them while you were in
the parlor, or, take them up with you, if you wanted them in your
chamber?"
"Did you ever see the like!" ejaculated Helen, deeply disturbed at
finding both her direction and her subsequent summons unattended to.
"That's just the way we are constantly served by these abominable
creatures."
Two or three heavy jerks at the bell rope followed these remarks.
"Pull away! It's good exercise for you!" muttered Hannah to herself.
And this was all the notice she took of the incensed young lady, who
was finally compelled to go down stairs and get the prints herself.
But she was so much disturbed and caused Fanny to feel so
unpleasantly that neither of them had any real enjoyment in
examining the beautiful pictures. After these had been turned over
and remarked upon for some time, and they had spent an hour in
conversation, the bell was again rung. Hannah, who came with her
usual reluctance, was directed to prepare some lemonade, and bring
it up with cake. This she did, after a good deal of delay, for which
she was grumbled at by Helen. After the cake bad been eaten, and the
lemonade drank, Hannah was again summoned to remove the waiter. This
was performed with the same ill grace that every other service had
been rendered.
"I declare! these servants worry me almost to death!" Helen again
broke forth. "This is just the way I am served whenever I have a
visiter. It is always the time Hannah takes to be ill-natured and
show off her disobliging, ugly temper."
Fanny made no reply to this. But she had her own thoughts. It was
plain enough to her mind, that her friend had only herself to blame,
for the annoyance she suffered. After witnessing one or two mote
petty contentions with the domestic, Fanny went away, her friend
promising, at her particular request, to come and spend a day with
her early in the ensuing week.
It can do no harm, and may do good, for us to draw aside for an
instant the veil that screened from general observation the domestic
economy of the Armitage family. They were well enough off in the
world as regards wealth, but rather poorly off in respect to
self-government and that domestic wisdom which arranges all parts of
a household in just subordination, and thus prevents collisions, or
encroachments of one portion upon another. With them, a servant was
looked upon as a machine who had nothing to do but to obey all
commands. As to the rights of servants in a household, that was
something of which they had never dreamed. Of course, constant
rebellion, or the most unwillingly preformed duties, was the
undeviating attendant upon their domestic economy. It was a maxim,
with Mrs. Armitage, never to indulge or favor one of her people in
the smallest matter. She had never done so in her life, she said,
that she had got any thanks for it. It always made them presumptuous
and dissatisfied. The more you did for them, the more they expected,
and soon came to demand as a right what had been at first granted as
a favor. Mrs. Armitage was, in a word, one of those petty domestic
tyrants, who rule with the rod of apparent authority. Perfect
submission she deemed the only true order in a household. Of course,
true order she never could gain, for such a thing as perfect
submission to arbitrary rule among domestics in this country never
has and never will be yielded. The law of kindness and consideration
is the only true law, and where this is not efficient, none other
will or can be.
As for Mrs. Armitage and her daughters, each one of whom bore
herself towards the domestics with an air of imperiousness and
dictation, they never reflected before requiring a service whether
such a service would not be felt as burdensome in the extreme, and
therefore, whether it might not be dispensed with at the time.
Without regard to what might be going on in the kitchen, the parlor
or chamber, bells were rung, and servants required to leave their
half finished meals, or to break away in the midst of important
duties that had to be done by a certain time, to attend to some
trifling matter which, in fact, should never have been assigned to a
domestic at all. Under this system, it was no wonder that a constant
succession of complaints against servants should be made by the
Armitages. How could it be otherwise? Flesh and blood could not
patiently bear the trials to which these people were subjected. Nor
was it any wonder, that frequent changes took place, or that they
were only able to retain the most inferior class of servants, and
then only for short periods.
There are few, perhaps, who cannot refer, among their acquaintances,
to a family like the Armitages. They may ordinarily be known by
their constant complaints about servants, and their dictatorial way
of speaking whenever they happen to call upon them for the
performance of any duty.
In pleasing contrast to them were the Milnors.
Let us go with Helen in her visit to Fanny. When the day came which
she had promised to spend with her young friend, Helen, after
getting out of patience with the chambermaid for her tardy
attendance upon her, and indulging her daily murmurs against
servants, at last emerged into the street, and took her way towards
the dwelling of Mr. Milnor. It was a bright day, and her spirits
soon rose superior to the little annoyances that had fretted her for
the past hour. When she met Fanny she was in the best possible
humor; and so seemed the tidy domestic who had admitted her, for she
looked very cheerful, and smiled as she opened the door.
"How different from our grumbling, slovenly set!" Helen could not
help remarking to herself, as she passed in. Fanny welcomed her with
genuine cordiality, and the two young ladies were soon engaged in
pleasant conversation. After exhausting various themes, they turned
to music, and played, and sang together for half an hour.
"I believe I have some new prints that you have never seen," said
Fanny on their leaving the piano, and she looked around for the
portfolio of engravings, but could not find it.
"Oh! now I remember--it is up stairs. Excuse me for a minute and I
will run and get it." As Fanny said this, she glided from the room.
In a few minutes she returned with the book of prints.
"Pardon me, Fanny--but why didn't you call a servant to get the
port-folio for you? You have them in the house to wait upon you."
"Oh, as to that," returned Fanny, "I always prefer to wait upon
myself when I can, and so remain independent. And besides, the girls
are all busy ironing, and I would not call them off from their work
for any thing that I could do myself. Ironing day is a pretty hard
day for all of them, for our family is large, and mother always
likes her work done well."
"But, if you adopt that system, you'll soon have them grumbling at
the merest trifle you may be compelled to ask them to do."
"So far from that, Helen, I never make a request of any domestic in
the house, that is not instantly and cheerfully met. To make you
sensible of the good effects of the system I pursue of not asking to
be waited on when I can help myself, I will mention that as I came
down just now with these engravings in my hand, I met our
chambermaid on the stairs, with a basket of clothes in her
hands--'There now, Miss Fanny,' she said half reprovingly, 'why
didn't you call me to get that for you, and not leave your company
in the parlor?' There is no reluctance about her, you see. She knows
that I spare her whenever I can, and she is willing to oblige me,
whenever she can do so."
"Truly, she must be the eighth wonder of the world!" said, Helen in
laughing surprise. "Who ever heard of a servant that asked as a
favor to be permitted to serve you? All of which I ever saw, or
heard, cared only to get out of doing every thing, and strove to be
as disobliging as possible."
"It is related of the good Oberlin," replied Fanny, "that he was
asked one day by an old female servant who had been in his house for
many years, whether there were servants in heaven. On his inquiring
the reason for so singular a question, he received, in substance,
this reply--'Heaven will be no heaven to me, unless I have the
privilege of ministering to your wants and comfort there as I have
the privilege of doing here. I want to be your servant even in
heaven.' Now why, Helen, do you suppose that faithful old servant
was so strongly attached to Oberlin?"
"Because, I presume, he had been uniformly kind to her."
"No doubt that was the principal reason. And that I presume is the
reason why there is no domestic in our house who will not, at any
time, do for me cheerfully, and with a seeming pleasure, any thing I
ask of her. I am sure I never spoke cross to one of them in my
life--and I make it a point never to ask them to do for me what I
can readily do for myself."
"Your mother must be very fortunate in her selection of servants.
There, I presume, lies the secret. We never had one who would bear
the least consideration. Indeed, ma makes it a rule on no account to
grant a servant any indulgences whatever, it only spoils them, she
says. You must keep them right down to it, or they soon get good for
nothing."
"My mother's system is very different," Fanny said--"and we have no
trouble."
The young ladies then commenced examining the prints, after which,
Fanny asked to be excused a moment. In a little while she returned
with a small waiter of refreshments. Helen did not remark upon this,
and Fanny made no allusion to the fact of not having called a
servant from the kitchen to do what she could so easily do herself.
A book next engaged their attention, and occupied them until dinner
time. At the stable, a tidy domestic waited with cheerful alacrity,
so different from the sulky, slow attendance, at home.
"Some water, Rachael, if you please." Or, "Rachael, step down and,
bring up some hot potatoes." Or--"Here, Rachael," with a pleasant
smile, "you have forgotten the salt spoons," were forms of
addressing a waiter upon the table so different from what Helen had
ever heard, that she listened to them with utter amazement. And she
was no less surprised to see with what cheerful alacrity every
direction, or rather request, was obeyed.
After they all rose from the table, and had retired to the parlor, a
pleasant conversation took place, in which no allusions whatever
were made to the dreadful annoyance of servants, an almost unvarying
subject of discourse at Mr. Armitage's, after the conclusion of
nearly every badly cooked, illy served meal.--A discourse too often
overheard by some one of the domestics and retailed in the kitchen,
to breed confirmed ill-will, and a spirit of opposition towards the
principal members of the family.
Nearly half an hour had passed from the time they had risen from the
table, when a younger sister of Fanny's, who was going out to a
little afternoon party, asked if Rachael might not be called up from
the kitchen to get something for her.
"No, my dear, not until she has finished her dinner," was the mild
reply of Mrs. Milnor.
"But it won't take her over a minute, mother, and I am in a hurry."
"I can't help it, my dear. You will have to wait. Rachael must not
be disturbed at her meals. You should have thought of this before,
dinner. You know I have always tried to impress upon your mind, that
there are certain hours in which domestics must not be called upon
to do any thing, unless of serious importance. They have their
rights, as well, as we have, and it is just as wrong for us to
encroach upon their rights, as it is for them to encroach upon
ours."
"Never mind, mother, I will wait," the little girl said, cheerfully.
"But I thought, it was such a trifle, and would have taken her only
a minute."
"It is true, my dear, that is but a trifle. Still, even trifles of
this kind we should form the habit of avoiding; for they may
seriously annoy at a time when we dream not that they are thought of
for a moment. Think how, just as you had seated yourself at the
table, tired and hungry, you would like to be called away, your food
scarcely tasted, to perform some task, the urgency of which to you,
at least, was very questionable?"
"I was wrong I know, mother," the child replied, "and you are
right."
All this was new and strange doctrine to Helen Armitage, but she was
enabled to see, from the manner in which Mrs. Milnor represented the
subject, that it was true doctrine. As this became clear to her
mind, she saw with painful distinctness the error that had thrown
disorder into every part of her mother's household; and more than
this, she inwardly resolved, that, so far as her action was
concerned, a new order of things should take place. In this she was
in earnest--so much so, that she made some allusion to the
difference of things at home, to what they were at Mrs. Milnor's,
and frankly confessed that she had not acted upon the kind and
considerate principles that seemed to govern all in this
well-ordered family.
"My dear child!" Mrs. Milnor said to her, with affectionate
earnestness, in reply to this allusion--"depend upon it, four-fifths
of the bad domestics are made so by injudicious treatment. They are,
for the most part, ignorant of almost every thing, and too often,
particularly, of their duties in a family. Instead of being borne
with, instructed, and treated with consideration, they are scolded,
driven and found fault with. Kind words they too rarely receive; and
no one can well and cheerfully perform all that is required of her
as a domestic, if she is never spoken to kindly, never
considered--never borne with, patiently. It is in our power to make
a great deal of work for our servants that is altogether
unnecessary--and of course, in our power to save them many steps,
and many moments of time. If we are in the chambers, and wish a
servant for any thing, and she is down in the kitchen engaged, it is
always well to think twice before we ring for her once. It may be,
that we do not really want the attendance of any one, or can just as
well wait until some errand has brought her up stairs. Then, there
are various little things in which we can help ourselves and ought
to do it. It is unpardonable, I think, for a lady to ring for a
servant to come up one or two pairs of stairs merely to hand her a
drink, when all she has to do is to cross the room, and get it for
herself. Or for a young lady to require a servant to attend to all
her little wants, when she can and ought to help herself, even if it
takes her from the third story to the kitchen, half a dozen times a
day. Above all, domestics should never be scolded. If reproof is
necessary, let it be administered in a calm mild voice, and the
reasons shown why the act complained of is wrong. This is the only
way in which any good is done."
"I wish my mother could only learn that," said Helen, mentally, as
Mrs. Milnor ceased speaking. When she returned home, it was with a
deeply formed resolution never again to speak reprovingly to any of
her mother's domestics--never to order them to do any thing for
her,--and never to require them to wait upon her when she could just
as well help herself. In this she proved firm. The consequence was,
an entire change in Hannah's deportment towards her, and a cheerful
performance by her of every thing she asked her to do. This could
not but be observed by her mother, and it induced her to modify, to
some extent, her way of treating her servants. The result was
salutary, and now she has far less trouble with them than she ever
had in her life. All, she finds, are not so worthless as she had
deemed them.