WE live in an age which may well be called the age of the purveyor;
and, if we continue travelling along the road upon which we have
entered, the time cannot be far distant when it will be held ridiculous
to do anything at all for ourselves. To appreciate, to criticize, to
display taste in selection—these are the hall-marks of to-day, and home
is but another name for a private restaurant. Homes such as those in
which Goldsmith and Dickens delighted are now calculated to bring a
blush to the cheeks of the superior and the “artistic.” Of few of our
fine ladies can it be said that “they are excellent Housewives, and as
capable of descending to the kitchen with propriety as of acting in
their exalted stations with dignity.”
We are nowadays far more willing to applaud and reward the woman who
throws her “Letters”—real or imaginary—before the eyes of the bored and
lazy world, than the one who is merely efficient in the sphere allotted
to her sex by nature. An occasional grant, such as Stow records as
being made by Henry VIII., would do much to remedy the position of the
housewife. King Henry’s grant was of an estate in Leadenhall Street
to “_Mistris Cornewallies, widdow, and her heires, in reward of Fine
Puddings by her made_.”
[Illustration: SYMBOLS OF DISTILLATION.
(_From Baker’s “Jewell of Health,” 1576._)]
But suppers have gone out—not the midnight meals of the Strand and
Piccadilly—cider has gone out, and home-cured hams, with home-brewed
ale and home-stilled cordials, have gone the way of Mrs. Primrose’s
gooseberry wine and Mr. Frank Churchill’s spruce beer.
Little economies are now as unfashionable as quiet generosity,
hospitality, and comfort. If it is not beneath the dignity of a
man to spend enjoyable hours of labour in laboratory or malthouse,
in sick-ward or workshop, woman need not feel degraded by the
apportionment to her of those duties which are more immediately bound
up with the creation of happy and refreshing homes.
A private latch-key is no doubt part of the universal birthright, but
it does not in itself afford a sufficient aim in life. To be able to
discourse cleverly of Browning and Wagner is an accomplishment easily
acquired, and affords pleasure to no one. To acquire a reputation for
the excellence of our home-made gooseberry wine, of our home-baked
bread, or of our home-brewed beer is much more difficult and much more
worthy. There is more scope for the use of brains in housewifery than
in almost any of the other careers open to women, and this possibly is
why so many women are fighting shy of it. In housewifery there can
be but little pretence, for no ignorance may remain hid. Bluff and a
ready tongue or pen go a long way towards creating many a “brilliant
reputation” in the “artistic” and vapid world which lives at clubs
and restaurants, and runs societies for improving other people. But
no bluff will ever avail in the presence of the food or drink in the
preparation of which our skill has been employed. The products of
housewifery speak for themselves; they are no empty expressions of
sentiments which may be false or true.
[Illustration: ALCHEMIST IN HIS LABORATORY.
(_From Baker’s “Jewell of Health,” 1576._)]
In no way, indeed, can affection be displayed with more subtle grace
and delicacy than by the thoughtfulness of the housewife. The greatest
of poets has no such instrument at his command. Not that women, in
order to be efficient in their homes, need be ignorant of the events
and thoughts which are in progress outside. Quite otherwise, they
should be able to be the boon companions of men. But what I would urge
is that they should take over as their share of the necessary work
of mankind the management of that department which is immediately
associated with domestic life. In this there is nothing degrading. For,
after all, it is housewifery to which nearly all the arts and sciences
bring their secrets. Home and comfort, food and drink—it will be a
long time before we can get quite away from the need of these things.
To introduce science and order into the domestic kingdom is a task
worthy of the finest intellect; and that woman who by the use of brains
organizes and systematizes her household work is she who can best front
with a smiling face the difficulty of obtaining servants—which appears
to be the great omnipresent trouble of Englishwomen.
[Illustration: ALCHEMIST PERFORMING MYSTIC RITES.
(_From Baker’s “Jewell of Health,” 1576._)]
In his summary of the “inward and outward vertues which ought to be in
a compleate woman,” Gervase Markham laid it down that she must be “of
chast thought, stout courage, patient, untyred, watchfull, diligent,
witty, pleasant, constant in friendship, full of good Neighbourhood,
wise in discourse, but not frequent therein, sharpe and quicke of
speech, but not bitter or talkative, secret in affaires, comfortable
in her counsels, and generally skilfull in the worthy knowledges which
doe belong to her Vocation.” Later he says that, of all these “outward
and active knowledges,” “the first and most principall is a perfect
skill and knowledge in Cookery, together with all the secrets belonging
to the same, because it is a duty rarely belonging to a woman; and
shee that is utterly ignorant therein, may not by the Lawes of strict
Justice challenge the freedome of marriage, because indeede shee can
then but performe halfe her vow; for she may love and obey, but shee
cannot cherish, serve, and keepe him with that true duty which is ever
expected.” The work that is most personal and nearest to our hand may
be the most important and most valuable after all. It may also, as has
been said, be the finest and most dignified if we approach it in the
right spirit.
The chipping away of the gross and unessential, with the consequent
liberation of the true and fine, is as noble a process in cookery as
in sculpture. Yet how different is the attitude of even the humblest
artist in words or marble or paint towards his material and his work
from that of the average housewife towards the flavours and fragrances
which she is privileged to elucidate and to blend. It is a ludicrous
thing that women cry out for spheres in which to display their power.
And all these centuries they have been entrusted with the practice of
an art with almost boundless possibilities, yet scarcely any of them
have proved capable of rising above the status of artisans in that
craft. Equally, one looks in vain for the Roger Bacons, the Harveys,
the Darwins, or the Hubers of the kitchen. The processes of cooking
do not seem to inspire women with any of the wonder, religion, and
scientific zeal such as almost every branch of labour has inspired in
man. Mechanically and brainlessly the recipes of the cookery books are
followed by myriads of women everywhere, so that the compounding of
foods and drinks is usually as uninteresting a piece of drudgery as can
be conceived. One may well pray for a reaction, if indeed the art of
housewifery is not past praying for.