SOME years ago—more than I care to count over—I read a lively little
book entitled, “The Greatest Plague of Life.” I have forgotten who
wrote it, if I ever knew. It was in the form of an autobiography; the
heroine called herself, with an amusing affectation of disguise, Mrs.
S-k-n-s-t-n,“ and it was illustrated by George Cruikshank. I read it
aloud in my home-circle, and many a hearty laugh we had over the poor
lady’s perplexities and calamities.
Regarding the history as a clever burlesque, I suffered no appreciable
draught upon my sympathies until time and experience brought me in
contact with so many who echoed her plaint, that I could not but recur,
now and then, with a half-sad smile, to her sufferings under the rule
of Norah, who chased her up-stairs with a carving-knife; with Mary,
who drank up the cherry-brandy, filled the bottle with cold weak tea,
and kept her pitying employers up all night to pull her through an
epileptic fit; with John, who never answered the parlor bell “unless
they persewered;” whose stomach could not bear cold meat at dinner,
but rallied bravely under a couple of pounds at supper. There was one
nursery-maid who whipped Mrs. S-k-n-s-t-n’s child, and another who
upset the perambulator in the park, and, too much absorbed in the suit
of a whiskered Guardsman to note what had happened, went on dragging
the carriage upon its side until the baby’s cheek was cruelly scarified
by the gravel—besides a host of other _un_worthies set for the distress
of Mrs. S-k-n-s-t-n’s mind, body, and estate.
“Douglas Jerrold wrote that book,” interrupts a friend at my elbow.
“And, _apropos de bottes_, have you seen Punch’s recent article,
‘Servantgalism; or, What Shall Be Done With the Missusses?’”
“The malady in America must bear another name,” remarks a lady, gayly.
“We have no servants—at least in this region. My cook is forty-seven
years old, and my chambermaid a widow, who has buried two children;
yet they would be highly affronted were I to speak of them except as
‘girls.’ It is a generic term that belongs to the class ‘who live out,’
from sixteen up to sixty. I had a lesson on this head not a month
since. My laundress, who has lived with me six years, was thanking me
for a service I had done her brother.
“‘I’ll never forget you for it, mem,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ll bless you for
it, on me knees, night and morning.’
“I am glad I have been able to help your friends, Katy,” I said. “You
have been a faithful servant to me——”
She cut my sentence in the middle by walking out of the room—I
supposed, to conceal her emotions. I was undeceived, five minutes
later, when her angry tones reached me from the kitchen, the door of
which she had left open.
“I’ll never believe a person has a good heart, or deserves to be called
a Christian, who names an honest, respectable girl, who tries to do her
duty, a _servant!_ ‘A faithful servant!’ says she; ‘as if she was a
queen, and meself a beggar!’”
“What did you say to the ungrateful wretch?” asks a listener,
indignantly.
“Nothing. I went quietly out of hearing, reminded, for the hundredth
time, of Solomon’s warning, ‘Take no heed unto all words that are
spoken, lest thou hear thy servant curse thee.’ I recalled, too, the
saying of a mightier than the Royal Preacher: ‘Whosoever will be
greatest among you, let him be your _servant_.’”
“I thought you were one of the favored few who had no trouble
with them,” says another housekeeper, sighingly. “There is real
comfort,—excuse me, my dear Mrs. Sterling—but it is refreshing to a
wearied soul to know that you have felt some of our tribulations. It
seems to me, at times, that there is no other affliction worthy the
name when compared with what we endure from the ‘Necessary Evil.’
I have tried all sorts—the representatives from every nation under
heaven, I verily believe—and _they are all alike_! They will wear me
into an untimely grave yet.”
“I wouldn’t let them, my dear Martha,” replies Mrs. Sterling, with
her sunny smile. “If evils, they are surely minor afflictions. And,
after all, I imagine ‘they’ are a good deal like the rest of man and
womankind—pretty much as you choose to take them. The truth is, there
is no justice in wholesale denunciation of any class. You recollect
the Western orator’s truism, ‘Human nature, Mr. President, nine cases
out of ten, is human nature.’ When I consider the influences under
which a majority of our servants have been reared—ignorance, poverty,
superstition, often evil example in their homes—my wonder is, not at
the worthlessness of some, but that so many are virtuous, honest, and
orderly. You will allow that, as a general thing, they are quite as
industrious as their mistresses, and control their tempers almost as
well. And we make so many mistakes in our dealings with them!”
My old friend does not often lecture, but she has something to say now,
and forgets herself in her subject.
“We err so grievously in our management, that a sense of our failures
should teach us charity. Do we understand, ourselves, what is
the proper place of a hired ‘help’ in our families? If it is the
disposition of Mrs. Shoddy to trample upon them as soulless machines,
Mrs. Kindly makes a sort of elder daughter of her maid; indulges,
consults, and confides in her, and wonders, by-and-by, to find herself
under Abigail’s thumb—her husband and children subject to the caprices
of a pampered menial. I never hear a lady say of a valued domestic, ‘I
could not get along without her,’ without anticipating as a certainty
the hour when she shall announce, ‘There _is_ such a thing as keeping a
servant too long.’ The crisis comes, then, to Mrs. Kindly. In a moment
of desperation she frees her neck from the yoke. Abigail packs her six
trunks, having entered Mrs. Kindly’s service, seven years before, with
her worldly all done up in a newspaper, shakes the dust off the neat
Balmoral boots which have replaced her brogans, against the heartless
tyrant who sits crying, in her own room up-stairs, over thoughts of how
Abigail has been so clean, quick, and devoted to her interests; how she
has nursed her through a long and dangerous illness, and had the charge
of Emma and Bobby from their birth. She has prepared a handsome present
for her in memory of all this, and is hurt more than by anything else
when she learns that the girl has taken her final departure without
even kissing the baby.
“It is not strange that the deceived mistress should, from that day,
write down Abigail a monster of ingratitude, and forget the faithful
service of years in the smart of wounded feeling; when the truth is
that she did the maid more injury by injudicious petting, than the
latter could do her mistress had she absconded with all the plate in
the house. She has, as might have been expected, proved Abigail’s
unfitness to be her confidante and co-adviser; but, at the same time,
she has filled her brain with notions of her superiority to her
fellow-servants, her heart with burnings for the higher station she can
never occupy.
“I speak feelingly upon this subject,” continues Mrs. Sterling, with
a laugh; “for I was once led into this very mistake myself, by the
attractive qualities of a young woman who lived with me nine years as
seamstress and chambermaid. She was so even-tempered, so sensible,
industrious, and respectful, that she gained upon the esteem of us
all. One day, while we sat together at work, I told her of some family
changes in prospect, prefacing the communication by the remark, ‘I want
to speak to you of something, Eliza, which you must not mention to any
one else at present. The interests of an employer and a servant should
be the same.’
“Then, very foolishly, I opened up my mind freely on the subject
that engaged it. She answered modestly, but intelligently, entering
into my plans with such cordial interest and pledges of co-operation,
that I went to prepare for a walk, feeling really strengthened and
cheered by the talk. At the front door I was met by a letter requiring
an immediate reply. Returning to my chamber to lay off my hat and
shawl, I heard Eliza talking loudly and gleefully in the adjoining
sewing-room, with the cook, whom she must have called up-stairs through
the speaking-tube. You cannot imagine, nor I describe, my sensations at
listening, against my will, to an exaggerated account of the interview
which had just taken place. Not only my language, but my tones were
mimicked with great gusto and much laughter by my late confidante—the
phrase ‘The interests of the employer and the servant should be the
same’ occurring again and again, and forming, apparently, the cream
of the joke. I was very angry. But for the rule adopted early in my
married life, never to reprove a servant when out of humor, I should
instantly have ordered the treacherous creature—as I named her—from the
house. I sat down instead, to cool off and to think. With reflection,
common sense rallied to my aid.
“‘The girl does well enough in her place, which is that of a hired
chambermaid and seamstress,’ said this monitor. ‘She knew her position,
and would have kept it, but for your folly in dragging her up to
temporary equality with yourself. You made yourself ridiculous, and she
was shrewd enough to see it. Take the lesson to heart; write it out in
full for future guidance, and keep your own counsel.’
“Eliza never suspected my discovery. She remained with me until her
marriage a year afterward, and we parted upon good terms.”
I have quoted from my friend at length, because I honor her excellent
judgment and mature experience, and because I agree so fully with her
touching the evil of so-called confidential servants. The principle
of acknowledged favoritism is ruinous to domestic comfort, let who
may be the object thus distinguished. Rely upon it, my dear lady, at
least one third of home-wrangles and social scandal arises from this
cause. Be assured, also, that if you do not perceive the impropriety of
lowering yourself to the level of your subordinates, _they_ will, and
gauge their behaviour accordingly. The connection is an unnatural one,
and, like all others of the kind, must terminate disastrously in time.
Then the discarded favorite, aggrieved and exasperated, leaves your
house to tattle in the ears of some other indiscreet mistress, of your
sayings and doings. Show your servant that you respect yourself and
her too truly to forget what is due to both. Be kind, pleasant, always
reasonable and attentive to her needs, willing to hearken to and meet
any lawful request. Make her comfortable, and, so far as you can, happy.
Excuse one more quotation from Mrs. Sterling, whom, when I was much
younger than I am now, I consulted with regard to the just medium
between familiarity and austerity.
“Remember they are human beings, and treat them as such,” she said.
“Not that you are likely to reap a large reward in their gratitude,
but because it is right, and because you find no exceptions to the
practice of the Golden Rule laid down in the Bible. Be faithful in your
obedience to the law of kindness. With the return tide you have nothing
to do. This is a safe and straight path. I believe it to be also the
smoothest. You will be better and more cheerfully served than your
neighbor, who, recognizing in every hireling a natural enemy, is always
on the defensive.”
I have found the most serious obstacle to a comfortable pursuance of
her safe path, to lie in this same prejudice—rooted by centuries of
misunderstandings and caste-wars—the belief of necessary antagonism
between employers and employed. Mrs. Sterling’s Eliza only expressed
the prevailing sentiment of her class, when she ridiculed her mistress’
proposition that their interests ought to be identical. I have failed
so often and so signally in the endeavor to impress the merits of
this policy upon domestics, that I rarely attempt it now. There is
always a suspicion—more or less apparent—that you have a single eye
to self-interest in all your regulations and counsels. “What does she
hope to gain? What am I in danger of losing?” are the queries that
invariably present themselves to the subordinate’s mind. The arguments
by which your plans are supported are thrown away upon ignorant and
illogical listeners—your array of facts totally disbelieved. Your
auditor does not say this, but in divers and ingenious ways she
contrives to let you know that she is not so silly as to be imposed
upon by the specious array of evidence.
For how much of this are mistresses responsible? Has this creed of
distrust been learned by experience of injustice or exaction, or is
it one of the popular prejudices, which are harder to overthrow than
sound and well-established principle? Of one thing I am certain:
Mistresses and maids would more speedily come to a right understanding
of oneness of interest but for the influence exerted over the former
by Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Robinson, and Mrs. Brown, who don’t allow this,
and couldn’t think of that, and never heard of the other privilege or
immunity being granted to servants. Before they would yield such a
point, or submit to one syllable of dictation, they would do all their
own work, etc., etc. Poor Mrs. Pliable, listening dumbly and meekly,
goes home with a low-spirited sense of her own pusillanimity upon her,
and tries to assert her authority and redeem past faults by a sudden
tightening of the reins, that results in a runaway and general smash-up.
Cannot we remember—you and I, my dear reader—that we may sometimes be
as nearly right as those who talk more loudly and strongly than we upon
domestic economy, laying down rules we never thought of suggesting;
splitting into ninths a hair our short-sighted eyes cannot make out
when whole, and annihilating our timid objections with a lordly “_I_
always do so,” which is equal to a decree of infallibility? Cannot we
make up our minds, once and for all, to be a law unto ourselves in all
matters pertaining to our households? Mrs. Jones’ rule may be good for
her; Mrs. Robinson’s better than any other in her particular case, and
Mrs. Brown’s best of all for one in her peculiar circumstances; yet any
one or all of them be unsuitable for our use.
Avoid talking about your domestic affairs with people whose gossip on
these topics is incessant. You are angry when a whiff of some such
discussion as enlightened Mrs. Sterling, with regard to her mistake,
is wafted to you through the dumb-waiter or register, an accident that
will occur while the tones of the plaintiffs are loud and untrained by
education or policy. It is mean and unkind—traitorous, in fact, you
say, for them so to misrepresent and revile you—after all the kindness
you have showed to them, too! Bridget, Chloe, or Gretchen, passing the
parlor-door and catching the sound of her name as roughly handled,
may have her own sensations, and draw her own inferences—_being human
like yourself_. It is tiresome and vulgar, this everlasting exchange
of experiences about “my girl,” and “your girl,” and everybody else’s
“girl.” It is time sensible women ceased, in this respect, to imitate
the fashion of the class they censure, and put down the bootless
tattle with a strong will. Order your household, then, so far aright
as you can by the help of common sense and grace from on high, and let
Mesdames Jones, Robinson, and Brown look to the ways of their own, and
expend their surplus energies upon their neighbors’ concerns—counting
you out.
(I believe that is slang, but let it stand!)
These worthy and fussy housewives act upon the supposition that all
“girls” are cast in the same mould. Being human (do not let us forget
that!), the probability is, that there are varieties of the species.
But, if the mistresses are led by their associates, the “girl’s”
“acquaintances” sway her yet more powerfully. Every conscientious,
well-meaning housewife knows what a brake is this informal, but
terrible “Union” upon her endeavors to improve and really benefit those
under her direction. I have been amazed and disgusted at the tyranny
exercised by this irresponsible body over the best servants I have ever
seen.
“We would be hooted at, ma’am, if we didn’t give in to them,” said
one, when I represented how senseless and almost suicidal was the
course recommended by these evil advisers. “There’s not a girl in the
town would speak to us if we didn’t join in with the rest. It’s like a
strike, you see—awful upon them as holds back.”
Do not, then, my discouraged fellow-laborer, imagine that I am ignorant
of your trials, your doubts, your disheartening experiences. If I
disagree with Mrs. S-k-n-s-t-n and do not pronounce our servants to be
the greatest plague of life, inclining rather to the belief that—always
allowing for human nature and the drawbacks I have enumerated—good
mistresses are apt to make good servants, it is in consequence of
long and careful study and observation of the practical working of
Mrs. Sterling’s rule. Like begets like. Pleasant words are more likely
to be answered by pleasant than are tart or hasty ones. If you would
have your servants respectful to you, be respectful to them. The best
way to teach them politeness is by example. It should not cost you an
effort to say, “Thank you,” or “If you please.” The habit exerts an
unconscious refining influence upon them, and you dignify instead of
degrading your ladyhood by being pitiful and courteous to all. If you
can only maintain your position by haughtiness and chilling disregard
of the feelings of inferiors, your rank is false, or you unfit to hold
it.
To begin, then: Be mistress of yourself. Amid all your temptations to
angry or sarcastic speech (and how many and how strong these are, you
and I know), curb yourself with the recollection that it is despicable,
no less than useless, to say cutting things to one who has no right to
retort upon you in kind.
“Ma’,” says Miss Aurelia in Miss Sedgwick’s admirable story, “Live and
let Live”—“how can you let your help be so saucy to you?”
Master Julius, who was standing by, took a different view of the matter.
“If Ma’ doesn’t want her help to be _sarcy_ to her,” he said, “she
hadn’t ought to be _sarcy_ to them.”
Teach your children the like forms of kindly speech and habits of
consideration for the comfort and happiness of your domestics, checking
with equal promptness undue freedom and the arrogance of station. It is
as graceful to bend as it is mean to grovel.
Learn not to see everything, and, so soon as you can, put far from you
the delusive hope that anybody else—unless it be dear old John—will
ever serve you as well as you would serve yourself. This failure is
attributable to some one of the nine-tenths we spoke of just now. She
is a prudent housekeeper who can wink at trifling blemishes without
effort or parade. There is one text which has come into my troubled
mind hundreds of times on such occasions, calming perturbation into
solemnity, and bringing, I hope, charity with humility—
“If _Thou_, Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?”
But if your hold of the rein be gentle, let it also be firm. Never
forget that the house is yours, and that you—not hirelings—are
responsible for the disposition of the stores purchased with John’s
money.
“I was much amused the other day,” said an easy-tempered lady to me,
“at a talk that passed under my window between my new cook and one of
her visitors.
“‘And how are ye gitting along?’ asked the guest.
“‘Oh! pretty well-ish, now,’ was the reply. ‘I was a-feard, when I
first come, that _she_ would bother me a-trotting down into the kitchen
so constant. But I give her a hint as how that wasn’t the trick of a
raal lady, and she’s kep’ out nicely sence then. You’ve got to stand up
for your own rights in this wurrld, or you’ll be trod upon.’”
Now, it would be throwing away words to reason with a woman like that
cook, or a mistress might show that in no other department of labor
would such a principle be tolerated—that from the Secretary of State
down to the scavenger who empties your ash-pan, every employé who draws
wages has an overlooker, to whom he is accountable for the manner in
which his work is done and his money earned; and that the fact that she
is an ignorant, high-tempered woman is no just cause of exemption. Yet
in how many families is this point tacitly yielded, and the mistress
admitted upon sufferance to her own kitchen—the room furnished with
her money, and in which she hardly dare touch or look at the articles
intended for the consumption of her own family?
One often hears such remarks as, “It isn’t every girl who will stand
having the mistress popping in and out while she is at work.” When,
in any other situation, the very fact of this unwillingness to have
the owner of the materials used in that work present, would be strong
presumptive proof of negligence or dishonesty. The principle is
pernicious from beginning to end, and should not be tolerated for an
instant.
It gives me pleasure to state here, that I know nothing personally of
this curious reversal of the rights of employer and domestic. I am
inclined to believe, if one-half I hear of other housewives’ trials
be true, that I have been highly favored among American women. My
authority in the kitchen, as in other parts of the household, has never
been disputed—in my hearing or presence, that is. I have always met
with a cheerful reception below-stairs when I appeared there to direct
or share the labors of my cooks; have found them willing to undertake
new dishes, and ready to learn my “way,” however unlike it might be to
their own. As a rule, also,—to which the exceptions have been few and
very far between—those employed by me have been cleanly, industrious,
kind-hearted, and respectful; patient under inconveniences, and
attentive in sickness. I should not, therefore, do my duty, did I not
lift my voice in a plea for charitable judgment, just and generous
treatment of a class which, however faulty, have much to do and to
endure. Mrs. Skinflint’s grocer’s account may be less than yours, if
you adopt this policy—Mrs. Sharp’s coal-cellar be better dusted, and
the paint in her attic scrubbed oftener; but I believe, in the long
run, you will be the most comfortable in body, as in conscience. Your
machinery will move with fewer jerks and less friction. Your servants
will remain with you longer, and be better-tempered while they stay,
if you show that you appreciate the fact of a common humanity; that
you owe them duties you are resolved to fulfil during their sojourn
under your roof, however mercenary may be their performance of those
devolving upon them.
Finally, dear sister, do not add to the real miseries of life by
regarding the annoyance of a careless, slothful, or impertinent
domestic as a real trouble. Class it with petty vexations which
are yet curable as well as endurable, and live above it—a noble,
beneficent existence in the love of your fellow-creatures and the fear
of GOD—a life that can not suffer perceptible disturbance from such a
contemptible rootlet of bitterness as this. It is only the feeble, the
inefficient, or the indolent mistress whose peace of mind is dependent
upon such casualties as a breeze, a hurricane, or a sudden vacancy in
the department of the interior.
Recollect, when the infliction is sharpest, that brier-pricks are
disagreeable, but never serious, unless the blood be _very_ impure.