SERVANTS AND POLITENESS
Right here I propose to interpolate my second dissertation on the
servant question and I can safely promise, I am sure, that it will not
be the last. One night, not long before, in dining with a certain Baron
N. and Barfleur at the Ritz in New York this matter of the American
servant came up in a conversational way. Baron N. was a young exquisite
of Berlin and other European capitals. He was one of Barfleur’s idle
fancies. Because we were talking about America in general I asked them
both what, to them, was the most offensive or objectionable thing about
America. One said, expectorating; the other said, the impoliteness
of servants. On the ship going over, at Fishguard, in the train from
Fishguard to London, at London and later in Barfleur’s country house I
saw what the difference was. Of course I had heard these differences
discussed before _ad lib._ for years, but hearing is not believing.
Seeing and experiencing is.
On shipboard I noticed for the first time in my life that there was an
aloofness about the service rendered by the servants which was entirely
different from that which we know in America. They did not look at one
so brutally and critically as does the American menial; their eyes did
not seem to say, “I am your equal or better,” and their motions did not
indicate that they were doing anything unwillingly. In America--and I
am a good American--I have always had the feeling that the American
hotel or house servant or store clerk--particularly store clerk--male
or female--was doing me a great favor if he did anything at all for me.
As for train-men and passenger-boat assistants, I have never been able
to look upon them as servants at all. Mostly they have looked on me as
an interloper, and as some one who should be put off the train, instead
of assisted in going anywhere. American conductors are Czars; American
brakemen and train hands are Grand Dukes, at least; a porter is little
less than a highwayman; and a hotel clerk--God forbid that we should
mention him in the same breath with any of the foregoing!
However, as I was going on to say, when I went aboard the English ship
in question I felt this burden of serfdom to the American servant
lifted. These people, strange to relate, did not seem anxious to
fight with me. They were actually civil. They did not stare me out of
countenance; they did not order me gruffly about. And, really, I am not
a princely soul looking for obsequious service. I am, I fancy, a very
humble-minded person when traveling or living, anxious to go briskly
forward, not to be disturbed too much and allowed to live in quiet and
seclusion.
The American servant is not built for that. One must have great social
or physical force to command him. At times he needs literally to be
cowed by threats of physical violence. You are paying him? Of course
you are. You help do that when you pay your hotel bill or buy your
ticket, or make a purchase, but he does not know that. The officials
of the companies for whom he works do not appear to know. If they did,
I don’t know that they would be able to do anything about it. You can
not make a whole people over by issuing a book of rules. Americans
are free men; they don’t want to be servants; they have despised the
idea for years. I think the early Americans who lived in America after
the Revolution--the anti-Tory element--thought that after the war
and having won their nationality there was to be an end of servants.
I think they associated labor of this kind with slavery, and they
thought when England had been defeated all these other things, such
as menial service, had been defeated also. Alas, superiority and
inferiority have not yet been done away with--wholly. There are the
strong and the weak; the passionate and passionless; the hungry and
the well-fed. There are those who still think that life is something
which can be put into a mold and adjusted to a theory, but I am not
one of them. I cannot view life or human nature save as an expression
of contraries--in fact, I think that is what life is. I know there can
be no sense of heat without cold; no fullness without emptiness; no
force without resistance; no anything, in short, without its contrary.
Consequently, I cannot see how there can be great men without little
ones; wealth without poverty; social movement without willing social
assistance. No high without a low, is my idea, and I would have the low
be intelligent, efficient, useful, well paid, well looked after. And
I would have the high be sane, kindly, considerate, useful, of good
report and good-will to all men.
Years of abuse and discomfort have made me rather antagonistic to
servants, but I felt no reasonable grounds for antagonism here. They
were behaving properly. They weren’t staring at me. I didn’t catch
them making audible remarks behind my back. They were not descanting
unfavorably upon any of my fellow passengers. Things were actually
going smoothly and nicely and they seemed rather courteous about it all.
Yes, and it was so in the dining-saloon, in the bath, on deck,
everywhere, with “yes, sirs,” and “thank you, sirs,” and two fingers
raised to cap visors occasionally for good measure. Were they acting?
Was this a fiercely suppressed class I was looking upon here? I
could scarcely believe it. They looked too comfortable. I saw them
associating with each other a great deal. I heard scraps of their
conversation. It was all peaceful and genial and individual enough.
They were, apparently, leading unrestricted private lives. However,
I reserved judgment until I should get to England, but at Fishguard
it was quite the same and more also. These railway guards and porters
and conductors were not our railway conductors, brakemen and porters,
by a long shot. They were different in their attitude, texture and
general outlook on life. Physically I should say that American railway
employees are superior to the European brand. They are, on the whole,
better fed, or at least better set up. They seem bigger to me, as I
recall them; harder, stronger. The English railway employee seems
smaller and more refined physically--less vigorous.
But as to manners: Heaven save the mark! These people are civil. They
are nice. They are willing. “Have you a porter, sir? Yes, sir! Thank
you, sir! This way, sir! No trouble about that, sir! In a moment, sir!
Certainly, sir! Very well, sir!” I heard these things on all sides and
they were like balm to a fevered brain. Life didn’t seem so strenuous
with these people about. They were actually trying to help me along.
I was led; I was shown; I was explained to. I got under way without
the least distress and I began actually to feel as though I was being
coddled. Why, I thought, these people are going to spoil me. I’m
going to like them. And I had rather decided that I wouldn’t like the
English. Why, I don’t know; for I never read a great English novel that
I didn’t more or less like all of the characters in it. Hardy’s lovely
country people have warmed the cockles of my heart; George Moore’s
English characters have appealed to me. And here was Barfleur. But
the way the train employees bundled me into my seat and got my bags
in after or before me, and said, “We shall be starting now in a few
minutes, sir,” and called quietly and pleadingly--not yelling, mind
you--“Take your seats, please,” delighted me.
I didn’t like the looks of the cars. I can prove in a moment by any
traveler that our trains are infinitely more luxurious. I can see where
there isn’t heat enough, and where one lavatory for men and women on
any train, let alone a first-class one, is an abomination, and so on
and so forth; but still, and notwithstanding, I say the English railway
service is better. Why? Because it’s more human; it’s more considerate.
You aren’t driven and urged to step lively and called at in loud,
harsh voices and made to feel that you are being tolerated aboard
something that was never made for you at all, but for the employees
of the company. In England the trains are run for the people, not the
people for the trains. And now that I have that one distinct difference
between England and America properly emphasized I feel much better.