Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Janet Blenkinship and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections)
The
Continental Monthly:
Devoted To
Literature and National Policy
VOL. VI.--September, 1864--No. III.
OUR DOMESTIC AFFAIRS.
Not of those affairs which are domestic in a broad, national sense; not
of any of our home institutions, 'peculiar' or otherwise; not of
politics in any shape, nor of railroads and canals, nor of interstate
relations, reconstructions, amnesty; not even of the omnivorous
question, The War, do I propose to treat under the head of 'Our Domestic
Affairs;' but of a subject which, though scarcely ever discussed except
flippantly, and with unworthy levity, in that broad arena of public
journalism in which almost every other conceivable topic is discussed,
is yet second to none, if not absolutely first of all in its bearings
upon our domestic happiness. I refer to the question of domestic service
in our households.
The only plausible explanation of the singular fact that this important
subject is not more frequently discussed in public is, undoubtedly, to
be found in its very magnitude. Men and women whose 'mission' it is to
enlighten and instruct the people, abound in every walk of morals.
Religion, science, ethics, and every department of social economy but
this, have their 'reformers.' Before the great problem, How shall the
evils which attend our domestic service be removed? the stoutest-hearted
reformer stands appalled. These evils are so multiform and
all-pervading, they strike their roots so strongly, and ramify so
extensively, that they defy the attempt to eradicate them; and they are
thus left to flourish and increase. We have plenty of groans over these
evils, but scarcely ever a thoughtful consideration of their cause, or
an attempt worth noting to remove or mitigate them.
This is surely cowardly and wrong. This great question, which is really
so engrossing that it is more talked of in the family circle than any
other--this profound and intricate problem, upon the solution of which
the comfort, happiness, and thrift of every household in the land depend
more than upon almost any other--surely demands the most careful study,
and the deepest solicitude of the reformer and philanthropist. The
subject just now is receiving considerable attention in England, and the
journals and periodicals of that country have recently teemed with
articles setting forth the miseries with which English households are
afflicted, owing to the want of good servants. But, unfortunately, from
none of these has the writer been able to extract much assistance in
preparing an answer to the only practical question: How are the evils
of domestic service to be remedied? I quote, however, an extract from a
recent article in _The Victoria Magazine_, in order to show how far the
complaints made in England of the shortcomings of servants run parallel
with those of our own housekeepers. It is to be noted that the writer
confessedly holds a brief for the servants. If the facts are fairly
stated, the relation between a servant in an English family and her
employer differs widely from the like relation with us;
'The prizes in domestic service are few, the blanks many. Ladies
think only of the prizes. Needlewomen and factory girls, when they
turn their attention to domestic service, see the hardworked,
underfed scrub lacking the one condition which goes far to
alleviate the hardest lot, that of personal liberty. People who
have never known what it is to be subject to the caprices of a
petty tyrant, scarcely appreciate this alleviation at its true
value. They expatiate upon the light labors, the abundance, the
freedom from anxiety which characterize the lot of servants in good
places, with an unction worthy of Southern slaveholders. What more
any woman can want they cannot understand. They think it nothing
that a servant has not, from week to week, and month to month, a
moment that she can call her own, a single hour of the day or
night, of which she can say, 'This is mine, and no one has a right
to prescribe what I shall do with it'--that, in most cases, she has
no recognized right to invite any one to come and see her, and
therefore can have no full and satisfying sense of home--that many
mistresses go so far as to claim the regulation of her dress--that
even in mature age and by the kindest employers she is treated more
as a child to be taken care of than as a responsible, grown-up
woman, able to think and judge for herself. These are substantial
drawbacks to the lot of the pampered menial.... These complaints of
the readiness of servants to leave their places are based on the
assumption that they are under obligations to their employers. In
many cases, no doubt, they are, though probably least so where
gratitude is most expected. But, at any rate, employers are also
under obligations to them. When one thinks of all servants do for
us, and how little, comparatively, we do for them, it appears that
the demand for gratitude might come more appropriately from the
other side. It is an old saying that we value in others the virtues
which are convenient to ourselves, and this is curiously
illustrated in the popular ideal of a good servant. In the master's
estimate besides the indispensable physical qualification of
vigorous health--diligence, punctuality, cleverness, readiness to
oblige, and rigid honesty, of a certain sort, are essentials.'
We would look long through our laundries and kitchens for the
'hardworked, underfed scrub' of the above extract; and the 'servant who
has not from week to week, and month to month, a moment that she can
call her own, a single hour of the day or night, of which she can say,
This is mine,' etc., does not belong to so numerous a class that her
sorrows in this respect invoke commiseration in the public journals. But
great as is the difference still between English and American servants,
as indicated by the above extract, the former are in a steadily
'progressive' state, and every year brings them nearer in their
condition to the happy--and, fortunately for the rest of mankind, as yet
anomalous--state of American domesticdom. An article in the London
_Saturday Review_ thus comments upon this progress:
'It seems to be too generally forgotten that servants are a part of
the social system, and that, as the social system changes, the
servants change with it. In the days of our great-grandmothers, the
traditions of the patriarchal principle and the subtile influences
of feudalism had not died out. 'Servitude' had scarcely lost its
etymological significance, and there was something at least of the
best elements of slavery in the mutual relation of master and
servant. There was an identification of interests; wages were
small; hiring for a year under penal obligations was the rule of
domestic service; and facilities for changing situations were rare
and legally abridged. It was as in married life; as the parties to
the contract were bound to make the best of each other, they did
make the best of each other. Servants served well, because it was
their interest to do so; masters ruled well and considerately, for
the same practical reason. Add to this that the class of hirers was
relatively small, while the class of hired and the opportunities of
choice were relatively large. These conditions are now reversed. As
education has advanced, the social condition of the class from
which servants are taken has been elevated, and it is thought to be
something of a degradation to serve at all. 'I am a servant, not a
slave,' is the form in which Mary Jane asserts her independence;
and she is only in a state of transition to the language of her
American cousin, who observes, 'I am a help, not a servant.' It is
quite true that there are no good servants nowadays, at least none
of the old type; and the day is not perhaps so very distant when
there will be no servants at all.'
The servant classes of France, Germany, and the other Continental
countries, seem to be, to a great extent, free from the faults that
beset those of England and America. A recent number of _Bell's Weekly
Messenger_ thus discusses this difference:
'The truth is that among the Celtic and Sclavonian families service
is felt to be honorable; those engaged in it take it up as a
respectable and desirable condition. They are as willing to
acknowledge it as the physician, the lawyer, or the clergyman is to
admit and be proud of their own. A French female servant, at least
away from Paris, wears a dress which marks at once what she is. She
is not ashamed of her condition, and nowhere is there such real
attachment between servants and their employers as in France. In
England, on the other hand, it is difficult to persuade a young
girl to accept domestic service; she requires what she imagines to
be something higher, or--to use her own word--more 'genteel.' If
she be a dressmaker, or a shop girl, or a barmaid, she assumes the
title of 'young lady,' and advertises--to the disgust of all
sensible people--as such. This monstrous notion, which strikes at
the root of all social comfort, and a great deal of social
respectability, is on the increase among us. It is not quite so
rampant as it is in America, but it is tending in the same
direction. In fact, our household prospects are not promising.
Since we feel that home cookery is far from rivalling that of the
clubs, restaurants are being established in the city equal to those
of Paris, and the cartoon of _Punch_ is daily fulfilled with a
terrible accuracy. 'What has your mistress for dinner to-day?' says
the master of the house, on the doorstep, his face toward the city.
'Cold mutton, sir.' 'Cold mutton! Ah! very nice; _very_ nice. By
the by, Mary, you may just mention to your mistress that I _may_
perhaps be detained rather later than usual to-day, and she is not
to wait dinner for me.' With these things before our eyes, we
cannot but feel grateful to any one who will _bona fide_ undertake
to teach a little plain cookery. The want of this is the cause of
more waste than any other deficiency. The laboring man marries; but
he marries a woman who can add nothing to the comfort of his home;
she supplies him with more mouths to feed, and she spoils that
which is to be put into them; she becomes slatternly, feels her own
incapacity, and, finding that she can do but little of her duty,
soon leaves off trying to do it at all. As her family increases the
discomforts of her home increase, and the end is
frequently--drunkenness, violence, and appeals to the police
magistrate.'
The writer of the present article pretends to no peculiar fitness for
the investigation of this important subject, and to no more varied and
profound experience than that which has fallen to the lot of tens of
thousands of others; but much observation leads to the conviction that
the experience of any single family extending through a series of years
of housekeeping, may be taken as a type of that of all families who have
to employ servants; and if what shall be advanced in these pages shall
have the effect of stimulating others more competent to thought upon the
subject, with a view to practical suggestions for the amelioration of
the universal difficulty, much will have been gained.
The chief evils we have to consider on the part of servants are,
briefly, ignorance, wastefulness, untidiness, pertness, or downright
impudence, and what is called 'independence,' a term which all
housekeepers thoroughly understand. I leave out of the category the
vices of intemperance and dishonesty, which, although lamentably
prevalent among the class to which we are accustomed to look for our
main supply of domestics, yet do not belong, as do the other faults I
have named, to the entire class, and I gladly set them down as moral
obliquities, as likely to be exceptional in the class under
consideration as in any other. With regard to the other specified
failings, every housekeeper will allow that it is so much the rule for a
servant to be afflicted with the whole catalogue, that the mistress who
discovers her hired girl to be possessed of a single good quality, the
reverse of any I have named, as for example, economy, neatness, or a
conscientious devotion to the interests of her employers, although she
may utterly lack any other, fears to dismiss her, for fear that the next
may prove an average 'help,' and have not a solitary good point. A girl
who combines all the above-named good qualities is a rare treasure
indeed, and the possessor of the prize is an object of envy, wide and
hopeless.
In commenting upon the causes which produce bad servants, I shall
confine myself more especially to those which develop in them the faults
of wastefulness, impudence, and 'independence,' both because every
housekeeper will allow that they are the most common as well as trying
of all, and because it is only for them, I confess freely, I have any
hope of suggesting a remedy. Ignorance of their duties is chronic in all
Irish and German girls when they first go out to service, and their
acquirement of the requisite knowledge depends very much upon the amount
of such knowledge possessed by the housekeeper who has the privilege of
initiating them. Untidiness is almost equally universal among the same
classes, and, being a natural propensity, is extremely difficult of
eradication. It may be stated, however, that given an average
'greenhorn,' Irish or German, the notable and tidy housewife will make
of her a very fair servant, as well instructed as her native
intelligence will allow, and, unless a downright incorrigible, whose
natural slatternliness is beyond the reach of improvement, a certainly
tolerably neat, and possibly a very tidy servant. And just here I will
remark that it is an unquestionable fact that the good housekeeper has a
much more encouraging prospect of making a useful servant out of one of
these same 'greenhorns' than of a girl who has been longer in the
country, and who has nevertheless yet to be 'licked into shape.' Of
course this remark covers the whole ground, and it is obvious that to
_start_ a girl right in habits of economy, respectfulness, etc., is
quite as important as to start her right in any other good habit. It is
not necessary to say further that starting right is not of itself
enough: there must ever accompany the progress of the servant in
improvement, the watchful eye and guiding hand of the skilled mistress
and head of the family. I cannot, within the scope of this article,
enter into the consideration of the important correlative branch of my
subject, which includes the fitness of housekeepers to make good
servants out of the rough, to keep good what they so find, or to improve
such as they receive, be they good or bad. It is obvious that this
fitness presupposes a practical knowledge of the science of
housekeeping--(how worthy it is to be called a 'science'!)--and a
willingness to accept and carry out the responsibilities which devolve
upon the mistress of a family. I admit that very many of those who keep
servants are utterly unfit in many important senses for the
responsibilities of family economists. Yet I still believe it possible
for even the most inexperienced housekeepers to adopt and pursue, in
their management of servants, one or two cardinal principles which will
save them a vast deal of vexation. Of these, more hereafter.
The very prevalent pertness and 'independence' of servants are due,
primarily, unquestionably to the great demand for them, and the ease
with which situations are procured. This is not, in my judgment, because
the supply is inadequate; I do not believe it is. It is because the
frequent changings of servants by our families places it in the power of
every one of the former to procure a situation without the slightest
trouble. A girl about to leave a place has but to inquire for two or
three doors around, to find some family about to change 'help.' This
'independence' is also undoubtedly fostered by a false and exaggerated
idea which these girls imbibe from their brothers, 'cousins,' etc.--the
voting 'sovereigns' of the land--of the dignity of their new republican
relation. Most of the 'greenhorns' _begin_ humbly enough, but, after a
few months' tutelage of fellow servants, and especially if they pass
through the experiences of the 'intelligence offices' (of which more
anon), they are thoroughly spoiled, and become too impudent and
'independent' for endurance. The male adopted citizen, fawned upon by
demagogues for his vote, is 'as good as anybody;' and why not Bridget
and Katrina?
Now I do not broach the abstract question of equality: I am willing to
admit that in the eye of our Maker we are, and before the law ought to
be, all equal--that is to say, _ought all to have an equal chance_; but
to abolish the idea of subordination in the employed to the employer,
and to abrogate the relation of dependence of the servant upon her or
his master or mistress, would simply be to reverse the teachings of
inspiration and nature. As well say that the child shall be independent
of the parent as that the servant shall not be subject in all reasonable
things to the master.
It is worthy of remark that this spirit of insubordination spoken of is
far more rife among girls of Irish birth who go out to service than
among the Germans, Scotch, or English. Neither is there among these
latter so much clannishness, or disposition to establish the feeling
under consideration as a _class_ prejudice and principle of conduct, as
there is among the former. The absence of such a homogeneity of feeling
among German, English, and Scotch domestics makes them much more
favorable subjects for the operation of the rules I propose to suggest
for their improvement.
The clannishness just alluded to is a very important influence among
those which tend to produce insubordination and other serious faults
among servants. Every housekeeper must have observed that a marvellous
facility of intercommunication exists among the servant classes, and
more particularly among the Irish. There seems to be some mysterious
method at work, whereby the troubles and bickerings of each mistress
with her 'help' are made known through the whole realm of servantdom. It
is no uncommon thing for a mistress to have minutely detailed to her by
her hired girl the particulars of some difficulty with a previous
servant, with whom she has no reason to believe the narrator has had any
intercourse. So frequently does this happen that many housekeepers
religiously believe that the Irish servants are banded together in some
sort of a 'society,' in the secret conclaves of which the experiences of
each kitchen are confided to the common ear. This belief is not confined
to American housekeepers, but obtains very extensively in England also.
The arrest and punishment of a woman in London for giving a good
'character' to a dishonest servant, who subsequently robbed her
employer, naturally caused some excitement in housekeeping circles in
that city, and numerous communications to _The Times_ evinced the
feeling upon the subject. In one of these 'A Housekeeper' boldly asserts
that there are combinations among the servants, and that housekeepers
who refuse to give a certificate of good character are 'spotted,' and
find in consequence the greatest difficulty in obtaining any servants
thereafter. Indeed, she asserts that in some instances, so rigorously
does the system work, offending families have been compelled to
relinquish housekeeping, and go into lodgings or abroad, until their
offence was forgotten! The fundamental principle which our housekeepers
believe to pervade these societies is that employers are fair game; that
the servant has to expect nothing but to be oppressed, persecuted,
overworked, ground down, and taken advantage of at every opportunity,
and that it is her duty, therefore, to hold the employer at bitter
enmity, and to make the best fight she can.
Now such a belief can scarcely be termed absurd, and yet it is
unquestionably groundless. The mysterious 'understanding' of servants,
and their wide knowledge of each other's experiences, may be explained
upon a perfectly simple and rational theory, and I think we may venture
to reject the 'society' hypothesis altogether.
Servant life is as much a world in itself as political, religious, or
art life. Indeed, its inhabitants are even _more_ isolated and
self-existent than those of any other sphere, for while the politician,
theologian, and artist are generally, to some extent, under the
influence of interests and passions other than those which belong
exclusively to their special walk, the dwellers in kitchens have but the
one all-embracing sphere, and its incidents, which seem to us so
trivial, are to them as important as the great events which we think are
worthy of being embalmed in epics or made imperishable in history. To
them the reproof of the mistress or the loss of wages for the careless
pulverization of a soup tureen is lawful theme for the agitation of all
servantdom. Martin Luther had his tussles with pope and devil, Handel
and Gluck had their wars with the hostile cabals, Henry Clay had his
John Randolph and Andrew Jackson--and Bridget and Catharine have their
disturbing and absorbing questions of 'wages,' and 'privileges,' and
other matters; and a wrangle that the mistress forgets in a day, the
maid carefully cherishes in her memory, and makes it the theme of widest
discussion. Without resorting, then, to the improbable notion of the
existence of a secret society among the servants, through which the
knowledge of our difficulties with them is disseminated, I think the
theory above outlined sufficiently explains what seems so mysterious.
There can, however, be no question that the feeling among servants
generally is unfortunately something like that alluded to above as the
imaginary inspiration of a hypothetical society, namely, that employers
are oppressive, exacting, and utterly selfish; and there is certainly a
tacit understanding that, as between servant and mistress, it is
'diamond cut diamond;' and the habit domestics have of making common
cause with a sister in trouble, no doubt practically works as much evil
as if such a society as has been mentioned really existed. The girl,
confronting her adversary, in military phrase, feels a hundred comrades
'touching her elbow,' and her lip is wonderfully stiffened thereby. Now
it is needless for me to say that the idea that these poor girls have,
that their employers are their natural enemies, is wrong and absurd, and
every housekeeper should endeavor to make this clear to her servants. If
this false idea could be eradicated, and the true theory established
that the interests of the employer and employe are identical, much will
have been accomplished toward making better servants.
Among the influences which are at work to spoil servants, none are more
baleful than the system, as at present conducted, of 'intelligence
offices.' These agencies _might_ be and _ought_ to be among the most
useful of our social institutions: they _are_, as a class, utterly
worthless, and many of them are positively dens of thieves. Almost
without exception they are conducted upon the vicious principle I have
just above discussed, and in them the servant is confirmed in her belief
that the employing class is a class of cruel oppressors. The interest of
the _employer_ seems to be held by the managers of most of these
institutions as absolutely of no account. The following conversation,
which actually took place in one of these offices, between its
proprietor and an applicant for a domestic, will illustrate, better than
a lengthy disquisition could do, the system upon which too many of these
employment agencies are conducted:
LADY. I want a girl for general housework.
PROPRIETOR. Well, I can suit you, if you _can_ be suited. Here's a girl,
now, just out of a place, and I can recommend her (beckoning to one of
the fifty girls who are seated in full hearing of all that passes).
LADY (after a few questions addressed to the girl, who, of course, can
cook, and bake, and wash and iron, and is extravagantly fond of
'childer,' etc., etc.). Well, there is one thing I am very particular
about. I want a girl who is _honest_. The last girl I had from you I had
to discharge for making too free with my stores for the benefit of her
own family relations.
PROPRIETOR (with an insolent sneer). Honest! humph! that depends upon
what you _call_ honest. _Some_ people call a girl a thief if she takes a
bit of cake from the pantry without saying, 'By your leave.' (Chorus of
giggles and approbatory nods from the sympathizing audience of fifty.)
The crude notions of the respective rights of _meum_ and _tuum_
furnished the 'help' graduated by such an institution, may be imagined.
Some pains are occasionally taken to provide a regular customer, whose
patronage it is desirable to retain, with a good servant, but generally
all is fish that comes to their net. The business is now in such ill
odor that intelligence-office servants are proverbial for worthlessness
and all the worst qualities of the class. I have known a thief, a
drunkard, and a vixen to be sent from one of these offices in
succession, the victimized housekeeper finally begging that no more be
sent, preferring to let the retaining fee go, than to be pestered any
further. It is well known that the more decent and self-respecting of
the class of domestics rarely, now, enter their names upon the books of
intelligence offices. Indeed, such seldom have occasion to seek places;
if they do, they usually prefer to advertise.
In this employment-agency business a radical reform is needed. A
respectable and conscientious man at the head of such an institution,
managing it upon the principle that it is just as much his interest to
furnish the employer with a good servant as to provide the servant with
a good place, would be truly a public benefactor. In this, as in all
other kinds of business, honesty would be found the best _policy_. It is
a base imposition to recommend as good a servant who is known to be bad,
and it is just as dishonest to recommend as good one whose character is
totally unknown. It should be the business of every purveyor of
household 'help' to ascertain, by rigid investigation, the characters
and qualifications of those who apply for places; and they should
steadily refuse to have anything to do with any they cannot honestly
recommend. This, we repeat, they would speedily find their best policy.
In this way, and this only, can they win back the confidence and
patronage of the public; and they would soon find that the worthless
characters who now constitute their main stock in trade, would be
superseded by a much better class. There would be another important
benefit to the servants themselves in such a course. In an office thus
conducted, the known necessity of being able to show a clean record in
order to procure a place, would reform many a bad servant, who now,
knowing that her twenty-five cents will procure her a place (and no
questions asked by the agent, so that he need tell no lies), has no
incentive to improvement or good conduct. There would soon be a rivalry
among servants as to who should stand highest upon the roll of merit.
The fault which has been before alluded to under the name of
'independence,' deserves more special mention than I have yet given it.
It is probably the most exasperating, as it is the most general of all
the failings of servants. It makes the timid and sensitive housekeeper a
slave in her own house. No matter how grave may be the offences of her
hired girl, she must bear them in the meekest silence. Even the most
friendly advice, conveyed in the blandest possible tone, is often
declined with freezing dignity or repelled with tart resentment. The
cook who makes a cinder of your joint, or sends you up disgusting slops
for coffee, or the laundress between whose clean and soiled linen you
are puzzled to choose, has almost invariably the reply, uttered with a
majestic sternness that never fails to crush any but a veteran and
plucky housekeeper: 'This is the first time any mistress ever found
fault with _my_ cooking (or washing), and I have always lived with the
_best families_, too.' The cutting emphasis with which this point of the
'best families' is pushed home, is familiar to nearly every housekeeper.
It was scarcely a departure from sober truth in the lady who, on being
asked if she kept a hired girl, replied that she had an Irish lady
boarding with her, who occasionally condescended, when she had nothing
of more consequence to do, to help a little in the work of the family.
An amusing trifle is going the rounds of the papers, which well hits
off, and without much exaggeraration, the self-assumed prerogatives of
the servant girl of our great cities:
"Now, Miss Bradford, I always likes to have a good, old-fashioned
talk with the lady I lives with, before I begins. I'm awful
tempered, but I'm dreadful forgivin'. Have you Hecker's flour,
Beebe's range, hot and cold water, stationary tubs, oilcloth on the
floor, dumb waiter?' Then follows her planned programme for the
week: 'Monday I washes. I'se to be let alone that day. Tuesday I
irons. Nobody's to come near me that day. Wednesday I bakes. I'se
to be let alone that day. Thursday I picks up the house. Nobody's
to come near me that day. Friday I goes to the city. Nobody's to
come near me that day. Saturday I bakes, and Saturday afternoon my
beau comes to see me. Nobody's to come near me that day. Sunday I
has to myself."
I have now pointed out some of the principal faults of servants, and
indicated what I believe to be some of the causes of those faults.
Alluding, in passing, to some influences which it seems to me might be
made available in correcting some of these faults, I have yet to mention
what I conceive to be the most important reason of all for the general
worthlessness of the class under consideration. And in noticing this I
shall necessarily couple with that notice some suggestions which I
firmly believe, if put into practice, will be exceedingly beneficial in
producing the reform we all so ardently wish for. And I feel the less
hesitation in saying this, because they are based upon no theory of my
own devising, but upon principles which are everywhere recognized and
acted upon, except, singularly enough, in the conduct of our domestic
affairs. To be brief, then, I attribute the greatest of the evils of our
system of domestic service _to a want of business management in our
domestic affairs_.
A wife, in the truest sense, is her husband's most important business
partner--his partner in a more complete and comprehensive sense than any
other he can have. It is not, as many seem to imagine, the business of
the wife to spend the money the husband earns. She is as much bound to
forward the mutual prosperity as he is. The household is her department
of the great business of life, as her husband's is the store, the
manufactory, or the office. Her department does not embrace the conduct
of great enterprises, bargains, speculations, etc.; she has only to
remember and act upon the brief, simple maxim: 'A penny saved is a penny
earned.' In this way she can greatly advance the common weal. If she
fails to act constantly upon this principle, she is an unfaithful and
untrustworthy partner, and is as much, to blame as if her husband were
to neglect his stock, his shipping, his contract, or his clients. Why
should the husband be expected to manage _his_ part of the business upon
sound and correct business principles--system, responsibility,
economy--while his helpmeet is letting hers go at loose ends, with a
shiftlessness which if he should emulate would ruin him in a year?
Now what is the principle upon which every good business man manages his
affairs? Why, simply that of _sovereignty_. In his domain his will is
law, and no employe dare question it. He has to deal with the male
counterparts of Bridget and Catharine, as porters, laborers, sometimes
as cooks and waiters; but he has no trouble. The 'independent' man soon
goes out of the door. If he be a manufacturer, he does not allow his
employes to help themselves to his stores and material. He keeps, if he
is a sensible man, his stock under lock and key, and exacts a rigid
accountability in their use. What is to prevent the introduction of just
such a system of accountability in the family economy? 'Why,' say many
housekeepers, 'we would not _dare_ to lock up our butter, and eggs, and
flour, and sugar; we could not keep a girl a day if we doled out our
stores and held our servants responsible for their economical use.' But,
dear, doubting mesdames, your business partner does this every day, and
we should like to see the clerk or apprentice who would even 'look
black' at him for doing it. Perhaps your business partner has to employ
girls; if so, he has many Irish among them; don't _they_ stand his
manner of doing business, without grumbling? If they don't, they find
another shop, that's all. Suppose this case: A manufacturer of jewelry
reasons as you do. He says: 'I cannot keep my hands satisfied unless I
give them free access to my stock of gold, silver, and diamonds. I must
throw open my tool drawers, so that they can help themselves; and I must
not ask how much material this or that manufactured article has taken to
make.' That man would have to shut up shop in a year, even if he were
not robbed of a dollar. Now, I ask, is it fair to expect the husband to
be orderly, systematic, and business-like, and to superintend his
business himself, while the wife surrenders her legitimate affairs to
the hands of ignorant and irresponsible subordinates?
But the female partner of the shrewd man of business, or the plodding,
hardworking mechanic, may be inclined to say, 'I hate business,' and to
think it hard that she should be called upon to regulate her household
affairs upon any such severe and rigid rules. But, my dear madam, apart
from the clear fact that it is your duty to manage your household wisely
and prudently, which we have seen cannot be done without business
system, of which you must be the head, I assure you that such a system
is neither intricate nor vexatious. It does not necessarily entail upon
you the least participation in the actual _labor_ of the family. It does
not absolutely require your personal presence at the scene of those
labors, although the woman who considers it beneath her dignity to go
into her kitchen, has no more business to undertake to keep house than
the master mechanic, who is too proud to enter his workshop, has to try
to carry on a shop. The absolutely _essential_ thing is that yours
should be the directing and controlling mind, and that to you _every one
in your employ should be held rigorously responsible_. Now don't tell me
that such a system cannot be introduced with the present race of
servants; that you would be left half the time without anybody to do
your work; that until mistresses can combine to lay down rules for the
better regulation of domestic service, you must submit to the present
evils. You are not justified in assuming any of these things to be so,
until you have honestly and thoroughly tried the experiment in your
single household. To make such a system work, it is of course necessary
that your servants should be made to understand perfectly certain facts,
which you should take pains distinctly to announce to every new domestic
you engage. They are so plainly just and reasonable that the most
captious servant cannot take exception to them as a matter of principle.
It must depend upon your persevering spirit and firm hand that they do
not fail in practice. First, you should tell your servant that,
employing them at a stipulated rate of wages, to do certain, work,
_their time belongs to you_. Tell them that you insist upon their being
absolutely under your direction and control, that you expect to grant
them all reasonable privileges, but that they must be regarded _as
privileges_, and not as _rights_. Tell them distinctly that, if you
prefer to keep your stores under lock and key, it is not because you
suspect their integrity, but because you consider it as your business as
a housekeeper to know what is the cost of your living. Tell them that
you are in the habit of keeping an accurate account of your expenses,
and that, in consequence, it is necessary that you should know of every
cent that is expended. If these facts are clearly made known and
consistently acted upon, much of the trouble of managing servants is
done away with.
Although the plan of keeping a book of family accounts only belongs
incidentally to the main subject under discussion, it is so important
that I cannot refrain from a more special mention of it than is given
above. It is the simplest thing in the world, not taking more than ten
minutes on an average every day. For reference, in case of a disputed
bill, it is invaluable, while its influence in keeping down expenses is
wonderfully wholesome.
If the affairs of a family are to be conducted on business principles,
the family account book cannot be neglected. It would be just as safe
and sensible for the merchant to neglect _his_ cash book, as for his
domestic partner, who undertakes to do her business properly, to fail to
keep _her_ cash book.
One of the regulations which is proposed posed above as part of the
system of family management is, in my judgment, as important in its
bearing upon the honesty of the servant as it is upon the question of
economy. I refer to the keeping the family stores under the immediate
care of the housekeeper. It is nothing to the discredit of servants that
this is said. More people are honest _through circumstances_ than is
generally supposed. Many a servant is tempted into habits of pilfering
by the free and unquestioned access she has to the family stores. I have
before used the case of a man carrying on a business and having employes
under him, to illustrate my subject. Suppose a merchant or a bank should
allow all their clerks free access to the safe or till, they knowing no
cash account was kept. If some of these boys or young men were tempted
to steal, would not the blame lie chiefly at the door of those who,
having it in their power, yet did not remove the temptation?
Having now given a few rules for the improvement of servants, which are
easily tried, and which I know from observation of their practical
working are _worth_ a trial by every housekeeper, I wish to add a few
words concerning the material of which, our present supply of servants
consists, and to offer some observations upon the question of a
prospective supply of possibly a better material.
It is probably no exaggeration to say that four fifths of our female
servants are Irish. I have already given several reasons why this class
are more intractable and difficult to manage than any other. To apply
the rules I have given to this class will be more difficult than to the
domestics of any other nation. But, as I have said, I have seen them
enforced with success even in cases where an Irish domestic was the
subject. And here let me repeat that almost everything depends upon the
_starting right_. No Irish girl ever yet went to a new place perfectly
sure of her ground, although they generally can measure the quality of
their mistress during the negotiations which precede the engagement. In
starting with a new servant, it is emphatically the first encounter that
must decide who is to be the ruler. Dignity, coolness, and decision,
upon the first attempt to 'put on airs,' will generally bring you off
permanent conqueror.
By some housekeepers German domestics are preferred. They are naturally
less impulsive and more amenable to control than the Irish. Their class
prejudices are not so violent; there is less unity of purpose among
them, and they are, in consequence, more favorable subjects for the
application of the rules given than are generally the Irish. It is,
however, difficult to assimilate the German girls to American customs.
They are not apt to learn, and great patience is required in teaching
them. The virtues of order and cleanliness seem to be not only rare in
them, but exceedingly difficult to graft upon them. Their cooking,
especially, is generally execrable. But once properly trained, they make
the best of servants. They are generally contented, almost always
cheerful and good tempered, and have little of that irritating pertness
and 'independence' so characteristic of the Irish domestic.
That branch of the present subject which relates to the going out to
service of American women has been publicly discussed somewhat more
extensively than any of the others, particularly of late, it having
entered largely into the question of woman's labor, which has been
attracting considerable attention. It is truly a deplorable thing that
household service is so generally regarded as a menial employment, not
fit for an American woman to engage in. Our countrywomen will do almost
anything rather than go out to service. They will work ten or twelve
hours a day in close, unwholesome shops, surrounded by all the unsexing
and contaminating influences attending the customary free and easy
commingling of male and female employes in such places. They will accept
avocations from which the native delicacy and neatness of an American
girl must revolt. They will put up with wages which will barely keep
body and soul together, wear the meanest clothes, submit to the vilest
tyranny and extortion, rather than enter a position where they will have
but the natural, wholesome labor of woman to perform, that of domestic
life; accompanied by all the pure influences and comforts of a home. I
would be rejoiced if anything I could say would be useful in removing
this absurd and injurious prejudice among American women toward domestic
service. There is surely nothing menial in the work they would have to
do. It is woman's work all over the world, far more so than a hundred
other occupations they now eagerly seek. Their repugnance to the
position itself is the sticking point. This repugnance is based upon a
chimera. They are, in any position in which they labor for wages,
'servants' in as complete a sense as if they labored for wages in
household employments. Far be it from me to say a word to lower that
just and honorable pride which is the birthright of the American girl.
But in declining domestic service for that of the shops, the American
girl declines an honest, reputable, healthful, and every way elevating
employment, for, in many cases, a dwarfing, degrading, wretched slavery;
she turns from her natural and proper sphere to enter a walk of harsh
and degrading experiences, in which it is not possible she can pass her
life. A word on this latter point: Almost every young woman expects some
day to marry. Now, I ask, what sort of a fitting can a girl receive in a
shop for the serious business of homekeeping? The significance of this
word 'homekeeping' is not apparent at a glance. It means far more than
mere 'housekeeping' although the latter is one of its most essential
elements. A girl of sixteen is forced to earn her own living. She
chooses to go into a shop. Grant that she escapes contamination from the
influences heretofore alluded to; that her health bears up under
confinement, bad air, scanty food, and insufficient clothing--all of
which are experiences too familiar with women who labor at mechanical
employments;--when she reaches a marriageable age, and takes the
important step which is to 'settle her for life,' what is her condition?
The chances are that she has become the wife of some hardworking
mechanic, or man of scanty means, who cannot afford to keep a fine lady
in his domestic establishment. But she knows no more of the mysteries of
housekeeping than she does of the Latin kalends. She must keep a
servant, who will waste the common substance, and keep her husband's
nose perpetually at the grindstone, to the great wear of mutual comfort
and temper. And once more: There is far more of forecast in young men
seeking wives than they commonly get credit for. The neat, smart girl,
who works in the shop, _may_ get a good husband--the young woman who is
a notable, tidy, thrifty housewife, is _sure_ to be sought after.
I would add a remark upon another point. American girls are frequently
heard to say they would not object to going out to service could they be
'treated as one of the family.' No American girl who respects herself
need fear that in an American family she will fail to command respect.
It should be remembered that the rigid line which is drawn in most
families between mistress and servant, is not simply because such
relations exist, but because there is generally absolutely nothing in
common between them save sex alone; no community of nationality,
religious belief, intelligence--nothing which can excite mutual
sympathy, or move to homogeneity. The American girl who lives out at
service need not fear that she will occupy a position in all respects
corresponding to that occupied by the great mass of servants.
It is highly probable that we shall be able hereafter to procure many
valuable servants from the South. When freedom shall have taken the
place of slavery, and labor becomes honorable in that section, many
Southern women will do--as many Northern women always have done--their
own work. In this way many servants will be set free. Then, when it
becomes necessary to pay wages to servants, there will be a swarming out
from the kitchens of the South of Dinah and Phillis _et als._, and many
of these superfluous servants will find their way North. Already out of
the bloody wreck of society at the South, through the flaming borders of
bayonets and cannon, have drifted into happy Northern homes thousands of
valuable servants, and they will be followed by thousands more, 'when
this cruel war is over.' We cannot judge of the qualities of colored
servants from the wretched specimens we have heretofore had among us.
The trained house-servants of the South are the best in the world. They
are docile, cleanly, quick-witted, and respectful to humbleness.
There have been many projects devised looking to the education of girls
for housekeeping. There was a very excellent institution in existence
ten years ago in one of the Eastern States, which combined with the
customary course of intellectual instruction a systematic training in
the mysteries of housekeeping. The writer has heard nothing of this
school for some years, and presumes it has failed for want of support.
We train our daughters only to shine in the drawing room, and the real
graces of life are neglected. Music, French, and Italian are very
excellent things, but they should stand second, not first, in the
acquirements which we should desire for those who are to be future
wives, mothers, and mistresses of families.[1] But this is a little
apart from the present subject. The idea of a school for training girls
for housekeeping, however, suggests a thought on the expediency of an
institution for the education of servants. Such a project has frequently
been urged as a most desirable one to be put into operation, though I am
not aware that it has ever been tried.[2] Of course it cannot be
expected that girls wishing to become servants could enter such an
institution if it cost anything for instruction. But there can be no
question that, purely as a matter of speculation, such a school would be
a success. If, in one of our large cities, an institution should be
opened by some one having the requisite knowledge, embodying the
principle of our present intelligence offices, taking young girls and
training them gratuitously, some for cooks, waiters, nursery maids,
laundresses, and a larger number for what is termed 'general housework,'
it being understood that in selecting the material the proprietor had an
eye to honesty and intelligence, it would be an immense success. The
servants graduating from such an institution would be eagerly sought
for, and would command the highest wages. The fee for furnishing a
servant could be placed at a much higher rate than is now paid at
intelligence offices, and would be paid readily, for the employer would
be reasonably confident of securing a good domestic. Such institutions
would go very far toward remedying the evils under which we now groan,
and I trust it will not be many years before schools for servants will
be among the recognized institutions of our country.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The pity of it is that the majority of our young ladies, on leaving
school, know as little of music, French, and Italian as they can
possibly do of housekeeping.--ED. CON.
[2] The House of the Sisters of Mercy in New York is a worthy
commencement in the above-mentioned direction, and has, as far as we
know, hitherto proved successful.--ED. CON.
AENONE:
A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME.
CHAPTER XII.
A week passed away. It was toward the end of a bright and cloudless day,
and Rome was gradually arousing itself from its wonted siesta. The heat
had at no time been oppressive, for during the whole morning a cool
breeze had been gambolling across the Campagna from the sea; so that
even during the small hours of the day, the streets had not been kept
free from moving masses of life. Now that the atmosphere became still
further tempered, fresh throngs poured forth from all the smaller
passages and alleys, until the greater arteries of the city swarmed with
eager, animated crowds.
More now than at any other time during the few weeks that had just
elapsed; for upon the morrow was to commence the dedication of the great
amphitheatre of Titus, and thousands of strangers had already poured
into Rome to witness the games, combats, and pageantry. From the
surrounding towns and villages--from the cities of the south--from the
confines of the Alps--even from the farthermost provinces, countless
throngs had assembled to greet an occasion second only to the grand
triumphal entry with the spoils of Jerusalem.
From her window overlooking the streets, AEnone surveyed the panorama of
life spread out before her. Upon the battlements and towers of the
Caesars' house, in full sight over against the Palatine Hill, floated the
imperial banners, gently waving their folds in anticipation of the
splendors of the ensuing days; and round about stood crowds of
strangers, wondering at the magnificence of the palace architecture, and
the vast compass of its walls, and straining their eager gaze in the
hope of being able to catch a chance glimpse of the emperor himself.
Farther down was the now completed Colosseum, around which other
thousands stood watching the pigmies who, in dark clusters upon the top
and along the edge, laboriously erected the poles upon which, in case of
need, to stretch the protecting velarium. This was the last outward
preparation of all; and when that was done, everything would be ready.
As one of these poles was being elevated, he who had hold of the lower
end of it lost his balance, and fell to the ground. He was lifted up
outside, dead--a shapeless, gory mass. The crowd shuddered to see that
helpless body falling from such a height; but, at the next moment, all
sympathy passed away. The man wore a slave's dress, and was recognized
as belonging to the praetorian lieutenant Patrocles. Upon the morrow, if
he had lived, he was to have appeared in the arena as a retiarius--he
would then most likely have been conquered and slain--it was merely a
day sooner--a victim outside the walls instead of within--he had
clambered up to overlook the ground upon which he was to have fought,
and need not thus recklessly have volunteered to aid the regular
laborers--it was his fate--_Deus vult_--what more could be said?
AEnone had not witnessed the fall, for she had not been looking at palace
or amphitheatre, both, of which were too familiar with her to attract
her attention. The one had been for years the centrepiece of her
view--and the other had grown up arch by arch and tier by tier so
steadily before her eyes that it seemed as though she could almost count
its stones. Her gaze was now fixed upon the open space beneath her
window, where the Sacred and Triumphal Walls joined--a space always at
that hour gay with a phantasmagoria of shifting life, and at this time
more than ever provocative of curiosity and attention. Its bordering
palaces, already being hung with lively tapestries for the morrow--its
sparkling fountains--its corners decked with arches--its pavement
thronged with carriages and horsemen--the crowds of slaves, beginning in
advance to take their holiday, and affording pleasing contrasts as they
wound their way in slender currents through the openings in the throng
of their betters--the soldiery passing here and there in large or small
detachments--where else in the world could such a varied scene of life
and animation be presented?
First before her eyes passed a number of the praetorian guard, with
martial music, cutting the crowd asunder like a wedge in their steady
march toward the imperial palace. Then came the chariot of the African
proconsul, with liveried footmen in front, and Nubian slaves, in short
tunics and silver anklets, running beside the wheels. After that a
covered van, toilsomely dragged along by tired horses and guarded by
armed slaves in livery. The imperial cipher was emblazoned upon the
dusty canvas screen thrown over the top, and from within, at intervals,
came half-smothered growls and roars. It was some wild beast arriving at
this late hour from Nubia--a contribution from some provincial
governor--a booty which had cost pounds of gold, and perhaps the lives
of many slaves, and which was now destined to perform, in the sanded
arena, the combats of the jungle. The crowd, which had let the African
proconsul pass by with but a careless glance of uninterested
scrutiny--for dignitaries were too common to excite much
curiosity--pressed tumultuously and with frantic eagerness around the
heavy cage, exulting in each half-stifled roar from within as though it
were a strain of sweet music--and thus followed the van until it arrived
at the amphitheatre and passed out of sight through one of the deep, low
arches leading to the tiers of grated stone cages, already well filled
with the choicest forest spoils of every tributary country.
Then came a black-bearded horseman. The trappings of his steed were
marked with the insignia of distinction; and footmen, with staves, ran
before him to clear the way. He sat with proud and haughty mien--as one
who felt his power and immunity, and yet with the expression of one
aware that all his rank and state could not protect him from secret
scorn and hate. Not many looked at him; for, in that thronging display
of wealth and power, a single gayly caparisoned horse and two liveried
footmen counted for almost nothing. One or two, however, of those few
who study men for their deeds alone, turned and gazed scrutinizingly
after him, for he had already taken rank as one of the historians of the
age. And as he passed farther along, a group of slaves, whose marked
features denoted Jewish descent, suffered expressions of aversion to
break from them; some turning their backs--some gazing up with faces
inflamed with the fiercest intensity of hate--while one, less cautious,
clenched his fist and hurled after the rider a handful of dust and
volleys of heavy Hebrew curses. And so the apostate Josephus passed on,
and was gradually lost to view.
After him, slowly wending his way on foot through the crowds,
occasionally moving aside to allow others, more urgent, the privilege of
passing him, and constantly careful not to excite the impatient wrath of
those nearest to him by a too lively pressure, yet all the time making
sure progress along his chosen path, came a single figure--a
white-bearded man, in plain, coarse tunic and well-worn sandals. Few
regarded him or even seemed to know that he was there, except when in
their hurry they found it expedient to jostle him one side. But in his
face gleamed an intelligence far beyond what could be expected from one
in his humble attire; and as AEnone watched him, a suspicion crossed her
that the poor, beggarly dress and the quiet, yielding mien were assumed
to baffle observation. Soon another person in similar dress but of fewer
years met him. The two joined hands and looked earnestly into each
other's eyes, and the older one appeared to mutter a word or two. What
was that word, at which the younger bent his head with reverent gesture?
Was it a command or a blessing? Whatever it was, in a second it was all
said. The hands then unclasped--the bended head raised with a startled
glance around, as though with a fear that even such a mere instant of
humble bearing might have betrayed something which should be kept
secret; and then the two men parted, and were swallowed up in different
sides of the concourse.
'I know that person,' said Cleotos, He had been gazing, for the past
minute, out at the same window with AEnone; and while attracted by the
humble figure of that old man, he had noticed that she had been equally
observant.
'You know him, Cleotos?'
'They call him Clemens, noble lady. He is a leader of the Christian
sect, and a person of influence among them. It was at Corinth that I
first saw him, and it was he who let me copy the good words which are
written upon my little leaf of parchment. That was two years ago, but I
still recognize him. What does he here? Why should he thus peril his
life In public?'
'Give me that little scroll, Cleotos,' said AEnone. 'Let me have it for
my own.'
Cleotos gazed at her for a moment in dismay. Was she about to use her
authority, and take away from him by force those few lines, which,
though he understood them so little, had often served to cheer his heart
with their promises of future rest and joy? If so, he must submit; but
of what avail, then, was all her previous kindness?
'I ask it not as mistress, but as friend,' she said, reading his
thoughts. 'I ask it because, when you are away, I shall need some memory
of what have been happy days, and because I may then often wish to apply
those same words of comfort to my own soul. You can make another copy of
the same, and, in your own land, I doubt not, can find, with proper
search, many more words of equal value.'
'In my own land?' Cleotos repeated, ed, as in a dream. But, though her
meaning did not as yet flash upon him, he knew that she spoke in
kindness, and that she would not ask anything which he would not care to
grant; and he drew the little stained parchment from beneath his tunic,
and handed it to her.
'Close, now, the window, Cleotos, and shut out from sight that giddy
whirl, for I have something to say to you.'
He closed the window with its silken blind; and then, in obedience to
her motion, glided away from before it She seated herself upon her
lounge, and he upon his accustomed stool in front of her.
'Think not, Cleotos,' she said, after a moment's silence, 'that I first
brought you hither to become a mere slave. It was rather done in order
that, when the proper time came, I might set you free. Had
she--Leta--but shown herself worthy of you, the day might have come when
I could have managed to free her also, and send you both home again
together. But that cannot be. You must go alone, Cleotos, but not, I
hope, despairingly. Once again in your own loved Samos, I know that,
sooner or later, there will be found some other one to make you forget
what you have suffered here.'
He could no longer doubt her meaning--she was about to give him to
liberty again. At the thought the blood rushed to his heart, and he
gasped for breath. For the moment, as he gazed into her face and saw
with what sisterly sympathy and compassion she looked upon him, the
impulse came into his mind to refuse the proffered freedom, and ask only
to remain and serve her for life. But then came such floods of memories
of his native place, which he had never expected to see again--and its
hills and streams and well-remembered haunts seemed to approach with one
bound so near to him--and the faces of the loved ones at home began once
again to look so tenderly into his own--and the thought of throwing off
even the light, silken chains which he had been wearing, and of standing
up in the sight of heaven a free man again, was so grateful to his
soul--what could he do but remain silent and overpowered with
conflicting emotions, and wait to hear more?
'Think not to refuse your liberty,' she said, as she read his doubts and
perplexities, 'It must not be. No man has the right to suffer
degradation when he can avoid it. And though I might continue kind to
you, who can answer for it that I should live to be kind to the end? No,
no; from this instant be a free man again. And, for the few moments that
remain to us, strive to think of me only as your equal and your friend.'
Still silent. What, indeed, could he say? She knew that he was grateful
to her, and that was enough. But why should he, of all slaves in Rome,
find such kindly treatment? What had he ever done to deserve it? And--as
often before--that puzzled look of wondering inquiry came over his face
while he gazed into her own. She noticed it, but now made no attempt to
disguise herself by any forced and unnatural assumption of haughty
pride. Were he at last to learn the truth, there could surely no harm
come of it.
'You must depart to-night,' she said, 'and before it becomes known that
I am sending you away; lest, knowing it, others might claim authority to
delay or prevent you. Take this little purse. It contains a few gold
pieces, which you may need. And here is a written pass which will lead
you to Ostia. There you will go to the tavern of the Three Cranes, and
inquire for one Pollio, who has a vessel ready to sail for Samos. In
that vessel your passage is paid. Show him this ring. It will be a token
for him to know you by. And keep the ring ever afterward, as a sign that
you have a friend left here, who will often think of you with pleasure
and interest.'
'My mistress,' he said, taking the ring and placing it upon his finger,
'what have I done that you should be thus kind to me?'
'Nay; no longer mistress, but friend,' she said, with a melancholy
smile. 'As such alone let us converse during the hour that remains, for
you must soon leave me. It may be that when you arrive at Ostia, the
vessel will not be ready to set sail, nor yet for a day or two, for its
owner spoke to my messenger concerning possible delays. If so, there
will be time for you to look around you, and think of the days when you
wandered along the shore, hand in hand with your chosen one. You will,
perhaps, go over those wanderings again--along the sands leading past
Druse's olive grove to the altar of Vesta, or to the--'
'How know you about Druse's grove?' he cried with a start; and again
that look of keen inquiry came into his face. It was but a single step
now--he stood upon the very border of the truth. Should she repress him?
It were hardly worth the while. So she let him gaze, and, if anything,
softened her features yet more into the old familiar expression.
'Past Druse's Grove, Cleotos--or to the smooth rock which the waves
washed at Cato's Point. Do you remember, Cleotos, how often we there
sat, you holding me with your arm while I slid down the sloping side,
the better to dip my naked feet into the water?'
With a wild sob he seized her hand, and threw himself at her feet. Near
to the truth as he had been standing, it seemed at the last to burst
upon him with as much force as though even a suspicion of it had been a
thing before impossible. And yet, at the same time, it appeared to him
as though he must have known it all the while; for how could he
comprehend his blindness?
'AEnone,' he cried, 'send me not away! Let me stay here to serve you
forever!'
'Oh, speak not thus!' she said, touching his lips lightly with her
finger. 'Had you not been about to go from here, you should never have
recognized me. Forget, now, all that has ever passed between us; or
rather, strive to remember it only as a pleasant dream which left us in
its proper time. If the Fates separated us, it was only because they
were wiser than ourselves. Those bright anticipations of our youthful
love could never have been fully realized; and, if persisted in, might
have led only to sorrow and despair. Let me not blush now at having
revealed myself to you. Think, for the few minutes that remain to us, of
friendship and of duty alone.'
Raising him up, she placed him beside her, and there they talked about
the past and its pleasant recollections. How the cross miller, who had
never been known to do a kindness to any one else, had sometimes let
them ride upon his horse--how they had once rowed together about the
bay, and he had taken her aboard his ship--how she had stolen away from
home each pleasant evening to meet him, and with what feeble
excuses--and the like. As the shades of afternoon deepened and shut out
from sight the gilded cornices and costly frescoes, and all else that
could remind them of present wealth, and as, each instant, their
thoughts buried themselves still further in the memories of the past, it
seemed to them, at last, as though they were again wandering hand in
hand upon the beach, or sitting upon the wave-washed rock at Cato's
Point.
With something wanting, however. No force of illusion could bring back
to either of them, in all its former completeness, that sense of mutual
interest which had once absorbed them. Whatever dreams of the past
might, for the moment, blind their perceptions, there was still the
ever-present consciousness of now standing in another and far different
relation to each other. Though AEnone musingly gazed upon his face and
listened to his voice, until the realities of the present seemed to
shrink away, and the fancies of other years stole softly back, and, with
involuntary action, her hand gently toyed with his curls and parted them
one side, as she had once been accustomed to do, it was with no love for
him that she did it now. He was only her friend--her brother. He had
been kind to her, and perhaps, if necessary, she might even now consent
to die for him; but, with all that, he was no longer the idol of her
heart. Another had taken that place, and, however unworthy to hold it,
could not now be dispossessed. And though Cleotos, likewise, as he
looked at her and felt the gentle pressure of her hand upon his
forehead, seemed as though transported into the past, until he saw no
longer the matron in the full bloom of womanhood, but only the young
girl sparkling with the fresh hue and sunshine of early youth, yet to
him still clung the perception that there was a barrier between them.
What though the form of the treacherous Leta may then have faded from
his memory as completely as though he had never seen her? What though.
AEnone's pleasant and sympathetic tones may have again melted into his
heart as warmly as when first whispered at Ostia? The smile upon her
face--the winning intonation of her voice--all might seem the same; but
he knew that he must bide within his own heart all that he had thus felt
anew, and be content with the offered friendship alone, for that not
merely her duty but her altered inclination had separated her from him
forever.
At last the brief hour came to an end, and AEnone arose. The sun had set,
and the darkness of night had already begun to shroud the city. Here and
there, from some of the more wealthy neighborhoods, faint glimmers of
lamp light shone out and marked the scenes of solitary study or of
festive gathering, but as yet these indications were few. Already the
chariots and horsemen who had thronged the Appian Way had dispersed--a
single rider here and there occupying the place where so lately gay
bands had cantered, disputing each available empty space of pavement.
The walks were yet crowded with loiterers, but of a different class.
Patricians and fair ladies had departed, and left the course to the
lower orders of citizens and to slaves, who now emerged from the arches
and alleys, and, anticipative of the morrow's holiday, swarmed in dusky
crowds hither and thither in search of rude pastime.
'You must go now,' said AEnone, dropping the curtain which she had lifted
for a moment in order to peer into the street. 'Stay not for anything
that belongs to you, for I would not that you should be hindered or
delayed. You have been here as mine own property; and yet, how do I know
that some pretence of others' right might not be urged for your
detention, if it were known that you were departing? Go, therefore, at
once, Cleotos, and may the gods be with you!'
She held out her hand to him. He took it in his own, and, for the
moment, gazed inquiringly into her face. Was this to be their only
parting? Nay, need there be a parting at all? A flush came into his
countenance as he felt one wild thought and desire burning into his
soul. What if he were to yield to the impulse which beset him, and
should throw himself at her feet, and ask her to forget the years which
had separated them, and the trials which had beset them, and to give up
all else, and depart with him? Alas! only one result could follow such
an appeal as that! In the vain attempt to gain her love, he would lose
her friendship also. She would part from him as an enemy who had taken
advantage of her sisterly affection to inflict an insult upon her. He
knew that this would surely be the consequence; but yet, for the moment,
he could scarce resist the maddening impulse to thus forfeit all while
striving to attain impossibilities.
'Shall we never meet again?' he said, at length, after the hard struggle
to command himself.
'It may be, in after years; who can tell?' she answered. 'And yet, let
us rather look the truth in the face, and not delude ourselves with
false hopes. The world is very wide, and the way from here to your home
is far, and the fatalities of life are many. Dear Cleotos, let us rather
make up our minds that this parting is for ever; unless it may be that
the gods will let us look upon each other's faces again in some future
state. But there may be times when you can write to me, or send some
message of good tidings; and then--'
'Talk not to me of the gods!' he interrupted, in a storm of passionate
exclamation. 'What have they ever done for us, that we should worship or
pray to them? Why look to them for blessings in a future state, when
they have done us such evil in the present life? Here we were poor and
lowly together; and have they not dragged us apart? And will they, then,
in another life, be the more disposed to let us see each other's
faces--you one of the nobles of the earth, and I one of its meanest
plebeians? Is it written in the temples or by the priests and oracles,
that when the Caesars are throned in Olympus, their lowly subjects shall
be permitted to approach, them any nearer than when here? How, then,
could we meet each other better hereafter than now? Away with all talk
about the gods! I believe not in them! If we part now for this world, it
is for eternity as well!'
'Oh, say not that!' she exclaimed. 'And still pray to the gods as of
old, for they may yet bring good out of all that now seems to us so
obscure. Remember that to the best of us, this world offers little but
what is mingled with unhappiness. Take not, therefore, away from
yourself and me a belief in something better to come.'
'Take, then, with you, a belief in the God about whom I learned in
Greece, for He it is who tells of comfort hereafter for the poor and
oppressed, and He is the only one who does so,' Cleotos doggedly
answered.
'It may be--it may be,' she said. 'Who can tell which is right? We have
so often talked about it, and have not yet found out. They may both be
the true gods--they may neither of them be. Ah, Cleotos, my brother, let
us not doubt. It is pleasanter and safer, too, that we should believe,
even if we extend our faith to a belief in both. Choose, then, your own,
as I will mine. I must not abandon the gods in whose worship I have been
brought up; but when I pray to them, I will first pray for you. And
you--if you adopt the God of the Christians, who speaks so much better
comfort to your soul--will always pray to Him for me. And thereby, if
either of us is wrong, the sin may perhaps be pardoned, on account of
the other, who was right. And now, once more--and it may be for
ever--dear Cleotos, farewell!'
'Farewell, AEnone, my sister!' he said. And he raised her hand and
pressed it to his lips, and was about turning sorrowfully away, when the
door flew open, and Sergius Vanno burst into the room.
APHORISMS.--No. XII.
See 'neath the swelling storm,
The willow's slender form
With grace doth ever yield;
While oaks, the monarchs of the field,
In pride resist the blast,
And prostrate lie, ere it is past:
But now the storm is o'er,
The willow bows no more;
While oaks from overthrow
No rising ever know.
So with the meek, in strife
Against the storms of life;
Though often roughly cast,
They stand erect at last:
But those who will not bend
To what their God doth send,
Are whelmed in lasting woe,
And rising up will never know.
A GLANCE AT PRUSSIAN POLITICS.