Marie Fedorovna.
Surely this was a very pretty answer, and such as one would expect
from the Princess _en vacances_.
Poor Tennyson! Mr. Gladstone has raised him to the peerage. The Poet
Laureate of England has consented to change his glorious name into
that of Lord Tennyson. For a long while, the news was treated by the
republic of letters as a hoax or a poor joke; but, alas! the report
was only too true. The graceful Saxon bard, who has so sweetly sung of
King Arthur and his knights of the Round-Table, takes his seat in the
House of Lords, just like Mr. Guinness, the manufacturer of double
stout. _Ah! quel honneur, Monsieur le Sénateur!_
It is a very shabby trick Mr. Gladstone has played him.
The word _esquire_ seemed quite ridiculous enough after the two names:
Alfred Tennyson; but Lord Tennyson! No, it is almost too much for
one's ears.
Where is the Frenchman who says _Monsieur_ Victor Hugo in speaking of
our immortal poet? And yet imagine, if you can, something still more
unseemly, fancy he had to be called _Monsieur le baron_ Victor Hugo,
and you will be able to form an idea of the public feeling here, when
it was known that Tennyson was going, of his own free will, to stick
the title of Lord in front of his name.
No one ever thought of reproaching Lord Byron for being titled: it was
an accident; he was but eleven years old when he inherited the title
and property of his great uncle. It is said that he wept for joy on
learning the honour that the accident of birth had conferred upon him.
What bitter tears Tennyson must have shed upon seeing himself, at the
close of his brilliant career, _the noble lord the Poet Laureate_! It
is a perfect suicide.
There was, too, in the genealogy of Alfred Tennyson wherewith to
satisfy the most ardent craving for distinction: among his ancestors
are to be found princes, kings, and even saints.
The Laureate's descent from John Savage, Earl Rivers, implies descent
from the first three Edwards, Henry III., John, the first two Henrys,
William the Conqueror, Edmund Ironsides, Ethelred, Edgar, Edmund I.,
Edward the Elder, Alfred, Ethelwulf, and Egbert: then Edward III.,
being the son of Isabelle, daughter of Philip the Fair, one may count
Saint Louis, Philip-Augustus, and Hugh Capet, among the Laureate's
ancestors. And these are not all. The _St. James's Gazette_, which a
short while ago gave the entire genealogy, showed that to the above
names might be added those of Ferdinand III., King of Castile and
Leon, canonised by Pope Clement X., the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa,
and several Scottish kings.
This is a grand array of noble names, or I am no judge. What can have
demoralised the descendant of such men?
Was it the voyage to Denmark?
Could it be a visit to the Court of Copenhagen, at a time when the
Czar of all the Russias, the Czarina, and the Princess of Wales were
there? Surely, even that was not enough to turn the head of the most
illustrious son of Albion.
What is Lord Tennyson going to do in the House of Lords? Will he vote,
he who has never mixed in politics, except perhaps when he was about
twenty (a long time ago), and the tone of his writings was decidedly
Radical? His presence in this august and venerable assembly will prove
once more that it is of no use looking upon the House of Lords as a
serious legislative body.
But, alas! England has no National Academy. Almost the only rewards
she has to offer a man of genius are a pension, a seat in the House of
Lords, or a corner at Madame Tussaud's.
XIV.
The Governess and other Servants of Mrs. John Bull's
Household--Lady-helps--English and French Servants--Burglar
Chase: the Policeman is successful for once.
In an English home the governess is a little more than a servant, a
great deal less than a guest. Her wages are inferior to those of the
cook, who seldom fails to remind her of it when she has a chance. The
butler patronises her, and if he sees her looking a little pale, he
will gallantly offer her a glass of port on his own responsibility.
The word _sir_ almost rises to the lips of the poor outcast when she
addresses this important personage. Her position is humiliating and
wretched. Everyone in the house seems to have a definite place, except
the poor governess. There is no welcome for her in the drawing-room;
there is no room for her in the kitchen. The family find her presence
a restraint; the servants think her proud and cordially hate her. With
none is she at her ease. She regrets that she did not take an
engagement of simple nurse; then she might have had an occasional chat
with the lady's-maid, and her existence might have been tolerable.
I read the following advertisement in my newspaper: "A young lady,
daughter and sister of clergymen, desires to enter a good family as
governess to children from eight to twelve years of age, to teach
English, drawing, music, arithmetic, French and German (acquired
abroad). A salary willingly accepted."
There is nothing startling for me in this advertisement. I know
governesses who have turned themselves into walking encyclopædias in
return for their washing and the right of partaking of scanty fare at
the family table; and many are there, who, disgusted with their
thankless calling, turn shop girls, earn from £50 to £70 a year, and
are well treated by their employers.
Many young girls belonging to families in easy circumstances go out as
morning governesses for the sake of adding a little to their
pocket-money. They have their homes and are independent; they are not
subjected to the constant mortifications the poor resident governess
has to endure.
A few certificated ladies, knowing how to command respect and good
salaries, manage to render their position pretty tolerable.
Offer to give an Englishman lessons at two shillings an hour, and he
will look upon you as a poor, needy wretch, and tell you "It's too
dear." Put on a high and mighty look, and ask him for a guinea, and
his eyes and mouth will grow round with respect; he will probably make
you a respectful bow and, with a few flattering words, pay what you
ask: _experto crede_.
I extract the following from the report of a case which was lately
heard at the Court of Queen's Bench.
A young governess claims the sum of £7 10s. for six months' lessons.
Her mistress refuses to pay her, because she left before the
expiration of the term; upon which the plaintiff states that she had
been struck by her mistress in the presence of the children, and had
left in consequence. The case is tried:
_Judge._--"Did you sign a twelve months' engagement?"
_Governess._--"No, my lord, I should never think of signing such a
thing."
_Judge._--"Why?"
_Governess._--"Because at the end of six months I always need a rest."
_Judge._--"I can understand that. I don't doubt that before long you
will find engagements of three months' duration quite long enough to
satisfy you." (Laughter).
_Governess._--"Neither do I, my lord." (Renewed laughter).
Later on the Judge addresses the defendant.
_Judge._--"Do you admit having struck the plaintiff?"
_Defendant._--"Yes, my lord, I gave her a slap."
_Judge._--"In the presence of your children?"
_Defendant._--"Yes, my lord; the plaintiff had insulted my little
boy."
_Judge._--"In what way?"
_Defendant._--"She had called him 'rude little fellow' and 'little
idiot.' Your lordship will quite understand that I could not put up
with such conduct in a governess."
And, as she pronounced the words _in a governess_, the look of disgust
on the face of the excellent lady must have been a sight to be seen.
It would have been a charity to offer her a glass of water to rinse
her mouth.
Who would be a governess and highly educated?
But unfortunately the fact is that in England a governess rarely is
very highly educated. She becomes a governess much as many a man
becomes a schoolmaster: to take revenge on the backs of a rising
generation for mortifications endured in the battle of life.
Private teaching is a _pis aller_; it is a career, not lucrative it
is true, but that you can embrace ... when you have tried all kinds of
employments without succeeding at any, and things are looking bad.
When England possesses a teaching body recognised as professional;
when no one will be permitted to teach without having previously
obtained a certificate of capacity, a thing required of the
apothecary's assistant; when the law forbids the dispensing of
adulterated instruction, the governess will be able to hold up her
head: she will have in her pocket a certificate of superiority over
the mother of the children confided to her care; she will no longer
have to blush for her calling, but, on the contrary, will be able to
take a pride in it.
* * * * *
Correctly speaking, there are few servants in England; there are young
ladies (pronounced _laïdies_) who, for a certain indemnity which they
seldom deserve, consent to black your boots, clean your knives, wash
dishes, and at the price of your tranquillity, save you the trouble of
doing some rather disagreeable things, which you could easily do for
yourself, if you had been taught better principles of equality in your
youth, and had been brought up in habits more in accordance with the
progress of democracy.
In America, among John Bull's cousins, you find no more servants:
there are lady-helps whom the mistress of the house treats on terms of
equality. The negro alone still consents, for a consideration, to lend
the boots of the Yankee a little of the brilliant ebony of his own
ugly muzzle. The lady-helps require references. Before engaging
themselves, they make inquiries of the lady-helps who have preceded
them, as to the character of the lady of the house, who, it is to be
hoped, will soon have to keep her character book. The consequence is
that many American ladies have given up house-keeping and taken to
living in hotels.
A friend of mine visited America in 1876, the year of the Exhibition
in Philadelphia. Provided with letters of introduction to several
important personages in Washington, he looked forward to passing a
pleasant time in American society. He soon received an invitation from
a senator to go and pass a few days in his country-house near
Washington. My friend accepted with alacrity, and repaired to the
senator's residence on the following Saturday: it was a fine country
house, it appears. After a very pleasant evening, spent with the
family, he retired to his room, and went to bed, charmed with the two
pretty daughters of his host, between whom he had had the pleasure of
sitting, at table. Next morning, he rose, and after making an
irreproachable toilette, gently opened the door to seize his boots.
Great was his surprise to see them just in the same condition as they
were the night before, when he had put them outside the door. They had
not been touched. Was it an oversight or a mystification? What was to
be done? My good friend was lost in conjecture, when the senator
happened to come up, and seeing his guest's rueful countenance, tapped
him lightly on the shoulder, and said: "My dear fellow, how careless I
am! I quite forgot to tell you last night where to find the brushes
and blacking."
But let us return to the daughters of John Bull.
In France, a servant is recognised by her little clean and
coquettish-looking muslin cap; here she is known rather by her
feathers. The Frenchwoman of the lowest classes has the love of linen,
it is her ambition to have her cupboards full of it; not so the
Englishwoman, she ignores it: while she is washing her chemise, she
has none to put on her body. The French servant, in the provinces at
all events, puts by her wages, so as to be able one day to retire to
her native village and live on her little income. The English servant
spends her modest wages on feathers, furs and furbelows of all sorts.
It is in the blood.
A French lady of my acquaintance had a young housemaid, in whom she
took an interest. Seeing that the girl spent all her earnings on
worthless finery, and that the remonstrances she addressed to her on
the subject produced no effect, she wrote to the mother, begging her
to give her daughter some good advice: "Your daughter may perhaps one
day marry some steady workman: you should teach her to be economical
and careful," said she. The mother came in a furious state. "Mind your
own business," cried she to my friend; "my daughter is as good as you,
I suppose. Can't she be free to spend her money as she likes? I wonder
what next! She does your work and doesn't interfere with your affairs!
It's a pity you don't stay in your parlour and leave the kitchen
alone." And this excellent mother, indignant, immediately took her
daughter away.
In England, servants must be kept at a distance if you care in the
least for your comfort; you give them their orders, you do not talk to
them.
In France, we still have good old servants whom we can treat
familiarly without fear of their taking any liberty on that account.
In our good homely provincial life, which is not sufficiently admired
and appreciated abroad, because it is ignored, it is not rare to see
an old cook living on her five or six hundred francs a year, and to
whom the children of her former master and mistress send a dainty dish
or a bottle of old wine, whenever there is a _fête_ in the family.
No, our home life is not understood. Because we are light-hearted and
see the sunny side of things, we are called frivolous: we, the most
economical and hard-working nation in the world. If we are not
colonists like the English, it is because we are too fond of our
homes, it is because we cannot bear to leave our beloved country. No,
our family life is a closed letter for foreigners; I repeat it. Yet,
it is of our homes that we may justly be proud, for it is there that
beat some of the warmest hearts on earth. In the humblest French
families, we find love, freedom and happiness, thanks to the
cheerfulness and charming _bonhomie_ of the father, thanks to the
kisses of the adorable mother; and it is not the coldness and
solemnity of the British family circle, that a son leaves without a
tear, or the slightest emotion, to go and settle in New Zealand or
some other colony at the other end of the world, that can compare very
advantageously with the charm of intimacy and unrestraint which reigns
around the French hearth. The great problem to solve in life, is not
only how to make colonies, but how to be happy and make happy those
who live with us in the hallowed family circle.
This problem we have solved.
But there I am digressing again, I am very much afraid, and forgetting
that I was going to talk to you, gentle reader, about English
servants. Forgive me, but really I have my head stuffed full of all
the things that I hear said about us by English people who study
French life on the Boulevard des Italiens between eleven o'clock and
midnight, or in novels of which all the heroes and heroines are stock
exchange _roués_ and disreputable women.
* * * * *
Upper servants ask from £30 to £50 a year. In an ordinary middle-class
house, where you have to be content with the general servant, that is
to say the maid-of-all-work, who does none properly, and that you pay
from £15 to £20 a year, the ladies of the house have to make the beds
and cook the dinner. Her acquaintance with culinary art seems to be
confined to the boiling of potatoes, and she appears to pass the
greater part of her time in scrubbing the kitchen floor and cleaning
the steps in front of the house. This latter operation is performed,
kneeling, by means of a stone _ad hoc_, and damp cloths that are
dipped in a pail of water and wrung out with the hands. Why this hard
work is not done with a broom, which would save half the labour, and
all the lumbago and diseases of the knees that are the consequences of
it, I cannot imagine.
There is no affection whatever between mistress and maid, not even
the slightest attachment, and it is rare to see a servant longer than
twelve months in the same house. According to the servant, one place
is as good as another; according to the mistress there is not much to
choose between the maids. For the slightest reason a change is made,
"This won't suit me. Good-day, good-bye."
When the servant is ill, she is promptly despatched to the hospital;
when the mistress is ill, a sister, a friend, or a nurse is called in,
so that between drawing-room and kitchen there exist none of those
sentiments of gratitude which might hinder the growth of that great
English virtue--independence of the heart.
Of all the girls of the lower classes, servants are the most sought
after for wives: and the reason is not far to seek. Generally
smart-looking and well-dressed, with a little cap of lace and ribbon,
that adds greatly to their comeliness, coquettishly stuck on the top
of the head, and the bust generally well-developed by the exercise of
the arms, these girls are much more attractive than the sluts of the
English lower orders; but accustomed in service to spend their
earnings upon unbecoming finery, and to waste coals they have not to
pay for, they must make but very poor wives for artisans.
As I said just now that the English servant is known by her feathers,
I must explain that the little lace head-dress of which I have just
spoken is only worn in the house. If a servant has to go out, were it
but to cross the road, she takes off her cap and puts on her hat and
plumes.
* * * * *
Every English servant, in fact, every English girl who is not
hunchbacked, has her lover, and ladies think it quite natural that she
should ask permission to go walking about with him, and sweethearting
one or two evenings in the week. The permission is invariably
accorded, unless the "young man" happens to be a grenadier or some
other red-coat in the service of Her Majesty, of whom the English lady
is just as suspicious as the _Parisienne_ is of the _cousin_ or the
_pays_ of the French servant. You see, these fine fellows of six feet
high are irresistible, with their hair parted in the middle and well
plastered with pomade, with their tight trousers and their odoriferous
penny cigars! Besides, in the army, there is no trifling with time:
love affairs are managed much like Her Britannic Majesty's enemies:
_tambour battant_.
* * * * *
Of all the sweethearts of the domestic servant, the policeman appears
to me to enjoy his good fortune the most quietly and securely. This
peaceful official has admirable facilities for making a good choice.
As he stalks leisurely up and down the street on duty, he is not long
in discovering the prettiest pair of eyes on his beat; and one of the
surest protections against burglars in London is to have a pretty
servant. I can assure you the policeman will take the safety of your
house to heart. He will even, in his zeal, go so far as to come and
see, between ten and eleven at night, whether your door is well
fastened. If you should be keeping late hours any evening, and he
should perceive a glimmer of light through the venetians, his guardian
of the honest and peaceful citizen will not hesitate to knock
discreetly at your door. On your presenting yourself, he will
apologise: "He was afraid some one might have got in." You thank him
warmly, congratulating yourself that the payment of your income tax,
which is partly devoted to recompensing the policeman for his trouble,
insures you the full and undisturbed enjoyment of your goods and
chattels, and does away with the necessity for your sleeping with one
eye open. As you watch him retire with a smile on his lips, you have
no hesitation in ascribing his radiant look to the satisfaction born
of a sense of duty fulfilled; and, as a Government official is always
glad to have an opportunity of showing the zeal with which he
accomplishes his duty, you doubt not that the worthy fellow was
delighted you opened the door to him yourself, for this opportunity
he would have lost if your pretty servant had gone to the door
instead, and, most decidedly, it was not in the hope of seeing her
that he paid you this little nocturnal visit.
* * * * *
It was in the month of March of last year.
I was sitting in my study reading one evening, when the door opened
suddenly and my servant entered breathless.
----"Oh! sir," she cried, "there is a burglar in the house; the
policeman is below, if you would come and speak to him!"
I did not wait to be asked twice, but ran downstairs as fast as I
could. The policeman was at the area door, his bull's eye in his hand.
----"I have just seen a man on the roof of your house, sir," said he
to me. "If you will go up and watch to prevent him from getting in at
the windows of the upper story, while I search the garden and go round
the house, he can't escape us."
It seemed to me that the gallant policeman assigned me a more
dangerous post than the one he reserved for himself; but after all, as
I had more interest than he in preventing the robber from entering my
house, I went upstairs and lay in ambush, having taken care to arm
myself with the strongest stick I could find in the hall.
I remained at my post of observation for a good quarter of an hour.
Tired of awaiting my burglar, who gave no more sign of life than a
corpse, I returned at last to the kitchen to see what success the
policeman had met with. He had caught nobody.
----"I can't see anything of him, sir; the rascal must have got away."
----"But how?" I exclaimed; "burglars have not the power of rendering
themselves invisible like Mahdis."
----"I can't make it out at all," replied the worthy guardian of the
public peace evidently embarrassed. And taking up his lantern, that he
had placed on the kitchen table, he wished me "Good-night" and
retired.
----"Did you see anyone or hear any noise," I asked the servant.
----"No, sir."
----"You have had a fright all the same; you are looking quite
excited."
----"Oh! yes, sir, I was rather frightened," said she.
I went back to my study a little bit reflective. Policemen, like
gendarmes, are all alike. And yet it seemed to me that the face of the
one I had just spoken to was not unfamiliar to me, and that it was he
that I had espied one evening from behind my curtain, taking the
measure of my servant's waist as they stood at the gate together.
The end of this true story of brigands is, that the girl left my
service in the following month of May to get married, and that in the
end of the same year, a lusty little policeman made his entry into the
world, crying: "Stop thief!" at the top of his voice.
I always consider that policeman as wanting in the first duties of
politeness and gratitude in not asking me to stand godfather to the
youngster.
It was the least he could have done.
XV.
In the Smoking-room--_Causerie_.
(_John Bull, Esquire, and Monsieur, his neighbour, talk on matrimonial
matters._)
_J. B._--"So, my dear fellow, you are going to be married, it is quite
decided."
_Monsieur._--"Yes, quite."
_J. B._--"And who is the lady, if I may be so bold?"
_Monsieur._--"A charming English girl."
_J. B._--"Ah! charming, of course.... But what else?"
_Monsieur._--"What else? But that is already a great deal, it seems to
me. What would you have, my dear sir? A pair of heavenly blue
eyes...."
_J. B._--"I congratulate you."
_Monsieur._--"A lovely figure...."
_J. B._--"A lovely figure! My dear fellow, my countrywomen get all
that over from Paris. The _Bon Marché_ supplies any amount of lovely
figures at six or seven francs apiece.... For a Frenchman, you seem to
be going in for matrimony rather young."