(_Concluded from page 332._)
The operation of the habits of fashionable life upon the class of
tradesmen whose custom lies in that direction, is not less injurious.
People of fashion are for the most part improvident: but even when
they are not so in the long run, it seems to be their pride to be
wantonly and perversely disorderly in the conduct of their pecuniary
transactions. The result of this to themselves is not here the point in
question, although there are few things which in their effects are more
certain to pervade the entire moral structure of the mind than habits
of order and punctuality, especially in money matters; nor is there
anything to which character and honour are more likely to give way than
to pecuniary difficulties. But we would speak of the consequences to the
tradesmen with whom they deal. In proportion to the delays which the
tradesman has had to contend with in procuring payment of the account,
is the degree of laxity with which he may expect to be favoured in the
examination of the items; especially if he have not omitted the visual
means of corrupting the fidelity of the servants. The accuracy of a bill
of old date is not in general very easily ascertainable, and it would
seem to be but an ungracious return for the accommodation which the
creditor has afforded, if the debtor were to institute a very strict
inquisition into the minutiæ of his claims. These considerations concur
with the habitual carelessness and indolence of people of fashion, as
inducements to them to lead their tradesmen into temptation.
Again, people of fashion, though (with occasional coarse exceptions)
very _civil-spoken_ to their tradesmen, are accustomed to show in their
conduct an utter disregard of what amount of trouble, inconvenience, and
vexation of spirit they may occasion, either by irregularity in paying
their bills, by requiring incessant attendance, or by a thousand
fanciful humours, changes of purpose, and fastidious objections.
Possibly, indeed, they are very little aware of the amount of it; so
inconsiderate are they of everything which is not made to dance before
their eyes, or to appeal to their sensibilities through their senses.
Their tradesmen, and the workmen whom their tradesmen employ, are
compelled, those by the competition they encounter in their business,
these by the necessities of their situation in life, to submit to all
the hardships and disquietudes which it is possible for fashionable
caprice to impose, without showing any sign of disturbance or
discontent; and because there is no outcry made, nor any pantomime
exhibited, the fashionable customer may possibly conceive that he
dispenses nothing but satisfaction among all with whom he deals. He
rests assured, moreover, that if he gives more trouble and inconvenience
than others _he pays for it_; the charges of the tradesmen of
fashionable people being excessively high. Here, however there is a
distinction to be taken. There is no doubt that all the fantastical
plagues and preposterous caprices which the spirit of fashion can
engender, will be submitted to for money; but he who supposes that the
outward submission will be accompanied by no inward feelings of
resentment or contempt, either is wholly ignorant of human nature, or
grossly abuses his better judgment. Between customer and tradesman the
balance is adjusted; between man and man there is an account which money
will not settle. It is not indeed to be desired, that any class of men
should be possessed With such a spirit of venal servility, as to be
really insensible to the folly and oppression which enters into the
exactions of fashionable caprice; or that, however compelled to be
obsequious in manner, they should altogether lose their perception of
what is due to common sense and to common consideration for others--
"And by the body's action teach the mind
A most inherent baseness."
If such be the actual result in some instances, then is that consequence
still more to be regretted than the other.
Moreover, if the master-tradesmen are willing to sell themselves into
this slavery, the consequence, to the much more numerous classes of
apprentices and journeymen, remains to be taken into the account. The
apprentices, at least, are not paid for the hardships which ensue to
them. There is an occurrence mentioned by George Alexander Steevens, of
a fashionable frequenter of taverns in his time, who threw the waiter
out of the window, and told the landlord to put him into the bill. Had
the landlord himself been the party ejected, this might or might not
have been a satisfactory proceeding, according to the light in which he
might be disposed to regard a contusion or a fracture. But it will
hardly be contended that such a proceeding could be satisfactory to the
waiter. Yet, we may seriously say, that the fate of the waiter was not
more to be deprecated, than that of some descriptions of the apprentices
of the trades-people who contend for the custom of the fashionable
world.
Many is the milliner's apprentice whom every London season sends to
her grave, because the dresses of fine ladies must be completed with a
degree of celerity which nothing but night-labour can accomplish. To the
question, "When must it be done?" "Immediately;" is the readiest answer;
though it is an answer which would perhaps be less inconsiderately and
indiscriminately given, if it were known how many young creatures have
come to a premature death in consequence of it, and how many hearts have
been hardened by the oppression which it necessitates. Nor does the evil
stop there. The dressmakers' apprentices in a great city have another
alternative; and it is quite as much to escape from the intolerable
labours which are imposed upon them in the London season, as from any
sexual frailty, that such multitudes of them adopt a vocation which
affords some immediate relief, whilst it ensures a doubly fatal
termination of their career. The temptations by which these girls are
beset might be deemed all-sufficient, without the compulsion by which
they are thus as it were, driven out into the streets. Upon them, "the
fatal gift of beauty" has been more lavishly bestowed than upon any
other class--perhaps not excepting even the aristocracy. They are many
of them, probably, the spurious offspring of aristocratical fathers,
and inherit beauty for the same reason as the legitimate daughters of
aristocrats, because the wealth of these persons enables them to select
the most beautiful women either for wives or for concubines. Nor are
they wanting in the grace and simplicity of manner which distinguish the
aristocracy; whilst constant manual occupation produces in them more
vacuity of mind than even that which dissipation causes in their sisters
of the superior class. They are thus possessed of exterior attractions,
which will at any moment place them in a condition of comparative
affluence, and keep them in it so long as those attractions last,--a
period beyond which their portion of thought and foresight can scarcely
be expected to extend: whilst, on the other hand, they have before them
a most bitter and arduous servitude, constant confinement, probably
a severe task-mistress (whose mind is harassed and exacerbated by the
exigent and thoughtless demands of her employers), and a destruction of
health and bloom, which the alternative course of life can scarcely make
more certain or more speedy. Goethe was well aware how much light he
threw upon the seduction of Margaret, when he made her let fall a hint
of discontent at domestic hardships:--
"Our humble household is but small,
And I, alas! must look to all.
We have no maid, and I may scarce avail
To wake so early and to sleep so late;
And then my mother is in each detail
So accurate."[3]
If people of fashion knew at what cost some of their imaginary wants
are gratified, it is possible that they might be disposed to forego the
gratification: it is possible, also, that they might not. On the one
hand they are not wanting in benevolence to the young and beautiful; the
juster charge against them being, that their benevolence extends no
farther. On the other hand, unless there be a visual perception of the
youth and beauty which is to suffer, or in some way a distinct image of
it presented, dissipation will not allow them a moment for the feelings
which reflection might suggest:
"Than vanity there's nothing harder hearted;
For thoughtless of all sufferings unseen,
Of all save those which touch upon the round
Of the day's palpable doings, the vain man,
And oftener still the volatile woman vain,
Is busiest at heart with restless cares,
Poor pains and paltry joys, that make within
Petty yet turbulent vicissitude."
[3] Faust: Lord F.L. Gower's translation.
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