"no, no," said miss eustasia pallas. "you misapprehend me. it is not because it would be necessary to have a husband and a home of one's own, that i object to marriage, but because it would be impossible to do without servants. while a girl lives at home, she can cultivate her soul while her mother attends to the ménage. but after marriage, the higher life is impossible. you must have servants. you cannot do your own dirty work—not merely because it is dirty, but because it is the thief of time. you can hardly get literature, music, and religion adequately into your life even with the whole day at your disposal; but if you had to make your own bed, too, i am afraid you wouldn't find time to lie on it."
"then why object to servants?" inquired lillie.
"because servants are the asphyxiators of the soul. but for them i should long since have married."
"i do not quite follow you. surely if you had servants to relieve you of all the grosser duties, the spiritual could then claim your individual attention."
"ah, that is a pretty theory. it sounds very plausible. in practice, alas! it does not work. like the servants. i have kept my eyes open almost from the first day of my life. i have observed my mother's household and other people's—i speak of the great middle-classes, mainly—and my unalterable conviction is, that every faithful wife who aspires to be housekeeper too, becomes the servant of her servants. they rule not only her but all her thoughts. her life circles round them. she can talk of nothing else. whether she visits, or is visited, servants are the staple of her conversation. their curious habits and customs, their love-affairs, their laches, their impertinences, these gradually become the whole food of thought, ousting every higher aim and idea. i have watched a girl—my bosom-friend at girton—deteriorate from a maiden to a wife, from a wife to a bondswoman. first she talked shelley, then charley, then mary ann. gradually her soul shrank. she lost her character. she became a mere parasite on the servant's kitchen, a slave to the cook's drink and the housemaid's followers. those who knew my mother before she was married speak of her as a bright, bonny girl, all enthusiasm and energy, interesting herself in all the life of her day and even taking a side in politics. but when i knew her, she was haggard and narrow. she never read, nor sang, nor played, nor went to the academy. the greatest historical occurrences left her sympathies untouched. she did not even care whether australia or england conquered at cricket, or whether browning lived or died. you could not get her to discuss whistler or the relations of greek drama to gaiety burlesque, or any other subject that interests ordinary human beings. she did not want a vote. she did not want any alteration in the divorce laws. she did not want russia to be a free country or the empire to be federated. she did not want darkest england to be supplied with lamps. she did not want the working classes to lead better and nobler lives. she did not want to preserve the commons or to abolish the house of lords. she did not want to do good or even to be happy. all she wanted was a cook or a housemaid or a coachman, as the case might be, and she was perpetually asking all her acquaintance if they knew of a good one, or had heard of the outrageous behavior of the last.
"in her early married days, my father's income was not a twentieth of what it is to-day, and so she was fairly happy, with only one servant to tyrannize over her. but she always had hard mistresses, even in those comparatively easy years. poor mother! one scene remains vividly stamped upon my mind. we had a girl named selina who would not get up in the morning. we had nothing to complain of in the time of her going to bed—i think she went about nine—but the earliest she ever rose was eight, and my father always had to catch the eight-twenty train to the city, so you may imagine how much breakfast he got. my mother spoke to selina about it nearly every day and selina admitted the indictment. she said she could not help it, she seemed to dream such long dreams and never wake up in the middle. my mother had had such difficulty in getting selina that she hesitated to send her away and start hunting for a new selina, but the case seemed hopeless. the winter came on and we took to sending selina to bed at six o'clock, that my father might be sure of a hot cup of coffee before leaving home in the morning. but she said the mornings were so cold and dark it was impossible to get out of bed, though she tried very hard and did her best. i think she spent only nine hours out of bed on the average. my father gave up the hope of breakfast. he used to leave by an earlier train and get something at a restaurant. this grieved my mother very much—she calculated it cost her a bonnet a month. she became determined to convert selina from the error of her ways. she told me she was going to appeal to selina's higher nature. reprimand had failed, but the soul that cannot be coerced can be touched. that was in the days when my mother still read poetry and was semi-independent. one bleak bitter dawn my mother rose shivering, dressed herself and went down into the kitchen, to the entire disconcertion of the chronology of the black-beetles. she made the fire and put the kettle on to boil and swept the kitchen. she also swept the breakfast-room and lighted the fire and laid the breakfast. then she sat down, put on a saintly expression and waited for selina.
"an hour went by, but selina did not make her appearance. the first half-hour passed quickly because my mother was busy thinking out the exact phrases in which to touch her higher nature. it required tact—a single clumsy turn of language—and she might offend selina instead of elevating her. it was really quite a literary effort, the adequate expression of my mother's conception of the dignity and pathos of the situation, in fact it was that most difficult branch of literature, the dramatic, for my mother constructed the entire dialogue, speaking for selina as well as for herself. like all leading ladies, especially when they write their own plays, my mother allotted herself the 'tag,' and the last words of the dialogue were:—
"'there! there! my good girl! dry your eyes. the past shall be forgotten. from to-morrow a new life shall begin. come, selina! drink that nice hot cup of tea—don't cry and let it get cold. that's right.
"the second half-hour was rather slower, my mother listening eagerly for selina's footsteps, and pricking up her ears at every sound. the mice ran about the wainscoting, the kettle sang blithely, the little flames leaped in the grate, the kitchen and the breakfast-room were cheerful and cosy and redolent of the goodly savors of breakfast. a pile of hot toast lay upon a plate. only selina was wanting.
"all at once my mother heard the hall-door bang, and running to the window she saw a figure going out into the gray freezing fog. it was my father hurrying to catch his train. in the excitement of the experiment my mother had forgotten to tell him that for this morning at least, breakfast could be had at home. he might have had such beautiful tea and coffee, such lovely toast, such exquisite eggs, and there he was hastening along in the raw air on an empty stomach. my mother rapped on the panes with her knuckles but my father was late and did not hear. her own soul a little ruffled, my mother sat down again in the kitchen and waited for selina. gradually she forgot her chagrin, after all it was the last time my father would ever have to depart breakfastless. she went over the dialogue again, polishing it up and adding little touches.
"i think it was past nine when selina left her bedroom, unwashed and rubbing her eyes. by that time my mother had thrice resisted the temptation to go up and shake her, and it was coming on a fourth time when she heard selina's massive footstep on the stair. instantly my mother's irritation ceased. she reassumed her look of sublime martyrdom. she had spread a nice white cloth on the kitchen table and selina's breakfast stood appetizingly upon it. tears came into her eyes as she thought of how selina would be shaken to her depths by the sight.
"selina threw open the kitchen door with a peevish push, for she disliked having to get up early in these cold, dark winter mornings and vented her irritation even upon insensitive woodwork. but when she saw the deep red glow of the fire, instead of the dusky chillness of the normal morning kitchen, she uttered a cry of joy, and rushing forwards warmed her hands eagerly at the flame.
"'oh, thank you, missus,' she said with genuine gratitude.
"selina did not seem at all surprised. but my mother did. she became confused and nervous. she forgot her words, as if from an attack of stage-fright. there was no prompter and so for a moment my mother remained speechless.
"selina, having warmed her hands sufficiently, drew her chair to the table and lifted the cosy from the tea-pot.
"'why, you've let it get cold,' she said reproachfully, feeling the side of the pot.
"this was more than my mother could stand.
"'it's you that have let it get cold,' she cried hotly.
"now this was pure impromptu 'gag,' and my mother would have done better to confine herself to the rehearsed dialogue.
"'oh, missus!' cried selina. 'how can you say that? why, this is the first moment i've come down.'
"'yes,' said my mother, gladly seizing the opportunity of slipping back into the text. 'somebody had to do the work, selina. in this world no work can go undone. if those whose duty it is do not do it, it must fall on the shoulders of other people. that is why i got up at seven this morning instead of you and have tidied up the place and made the master's breakfast.'
"'that was real good of you!' exclaimed selina, with impulsive admiration.
"my mother began to feel that the elaborate set piece was going off in a damp sort of way, but she kept up her courage and her saintly expression and continued,
"'it was freezing when i got out of my warm bed, and before i could get the fire alight here i almost perished with cold. i shouldn't be surprised if i have laid the seeds of consumption.'
"'ah,' said selina with satisfaction. 'now you see what i have had to put up with.' she took another piece of toast.
"selina's failure to give the cues extremely disconcerted my mother. instead of being able to make the high moral remarks she had intended, she was forced to invent repartées on the spur of the moment. the ethical quality of these improvisations was distinctly inferior.
"'but you are paid for it, i'm not,' she retorted sharply.
"'i know. that is why i say it is so good of you,' replied selina, with inextinguishable admiration. 'but you'll reap the benefit of it. now that i've had my breakfast without any trouble i shall be able to go about my work a deal better. it's such a struggle to get up, i assure you, missus, it tires me out for the day. might i have another egg?'
"my mother savagely pushed her another egg.
"'i'm thinking it would be a good plan,' said selina, meditatively opening the egg with her fingers, 'if you would get up instead of me every morning. but perhaps that was what you were thinking of.'
"'oh, you would like me to, would you?' said my mother.
"'i should be very grateful, i should indeed,' said selina earnestly. 'and i'm sure the work would be better done. there don't seem to be a speck of dust anywhere,'—she rubbed her dirty thumb admiringly along the dresser—'and i'm sure the tea and toast are lots nicer than any i've ever made.'
"my mother waved her hand deprecatingly, but selina continued:
"'oh yes, you know they are. you've often told me i was no use at all in the kitchen. i don't need to be told of my shortcomings, missus. all you say of me is quite true. you would be ever so much more satisfied if you cooked everything yourself. i'm sure you would.'
"'and what would you do under this beautiful scheme?' inquired my mother with withering sarcasm.
"'i haven't thought of that yet,' said selina simply. 'but no doubt, if i looked around carefully, i should find something to occupy me. i couldn't be long out of work, i feel sure.'
"well, that was how mother's attempt to elevate selina by moral means came to be a fiasco. the next time she tried to elevate her, it was by physical means. my mother left the suburb, and moved to a london flat very near the sky. she had given up hopes of improving selina's matutinal habits, and made the breakfast hour later through my father having now no train to catch, but she thought she would cure her of followers. selina's flirtations were not confined to our tradespeople and the local constabulary. she would exchange remarks about the weather with the most casual pedestrian in trousers. my mother thought she would remove her from danger by raising her high above all earthly temptations. we made the tradesmen send up their goods by lift and the only person she could flirt with was the old lift attendant. my father grumbled a good deal in the early days because the lift was always at the other extreme when he wanted it, but selina's moral welfare came before all other considerations.
"by and by they began to renovate the exterior of the adjoining mansion. they put up a scaffolding, which grew higher and higher as the work advanced, and men swarmed upon it. at first my mother contemplated them with equanimity because they were british working-men and we were nearest heaven. but as the months went by, they began to get nearer and nearer. there came a time when selina's smile was distinctly visible to the man engaged on the section of the scaffolding immediately below. that smile encouraged him. it seemed to say 'excelsior.' he was a veritable don juan, that laborer. at every flat he flirted with the maid in possession. by counting the storeys in our mansion you could calculate the number of his amours. with every rise he left a love-passage behind him. he was a typical man—always looking higher, and, when he had raised himself to a more elevated position, spurning yesterday's love from beneath his feet. he seemed to mount on broken hearts. and now he was aspiring to the highest of all—selina. oh it is cruel! my mother had secluded selina like a virgin princess in an enchanted inaccessible tower and yet here was the prince calmly scaling the tower, without any possibility of interference. long before he had reached the top the consumption of bass in our flat went up by leaps and bounds. selina, my mother ultimately discovered, used to lower the beer by strings. it appeared, moreover, that she had two strings to her bow, for a swain in a slouch hat had been likewise climbing the height, at an insidious angle which had screened him from my mother's observation hitherto. neither of these men did much work, but it made them very thirsty.
lowering the beer.
"that destroyed the last vestige of my mother's faith in selina's soul. like all disappointed women, she became crabbed and cynical. when my father's rising fortunes brought her more and more under the dominion of servants, the exposure and out-manœuvring of her taskmasters came to be the only pleasure of her life. she spent a great deal of time in the police-courts—the constant prosecution she suffered from, curtailed the last relics of her leisure. everybody has heard of the law's delay, but few know how much time prosecutors have to lose, hanging about the court waiting for their case to be called. when a servant robbed her, my mother rarely got off with less than seven days. the moment she had engaged a servant, she became morbidly suspicious of him or her. often, when she had dressed for dinner, it would suddenly strike her that if she ransacked a certain cupboard something or other would be discovered, and off she would go to spoil her spotless silks. she had a mania for 'spring cleanings' once a month, so as to keep the drones busy. often i would bring a friend home, only to find the dining-room in the hall and the drawing-room on the landing. and yet to the end she retained a certain guileless, girlish simplicity—a fresh fund of hope which was not without a charm and pathos of its own. to the very last she believed that, faultless, flawless servants existed somewhere and she didn't intend to be happy till she got them; so that it was said of her by my sister's intended that she passed her life on the doorstep, either receiving an angel or expelling a fiend. it showed what a fine trustful nature had been turned to gall. she is at rest now, poor mother, her life's long slavery ended by the soft touch of all-merciful death. let us hope that she has opened her sorrow-stricken eyes on a brighter land, where earthly distinctions are annulled and the poor heavy-laden mistress may mix on equal terms with the radiant parlor-maid and the buxom cook."
the tears were in lillie's eyes as miss eustasia pallas concluded her affecting recital.
"but don't you think," said the president, conquering her emotion, "that with such an awful example in your memory, you could never yourself sink into such a serfage, even if you married?"
"i dare not trust myself," said eustasia. "i have seen the fall of too many other women. why should i expect immunity from the general fate? i think myself strong—but who can fathom her own weakness. why, i have actually been talking servants to you all the time. think how continuous is the temptation, how subtle. were it not better to possess my soul in peace and to cultivate it nobly and wisely and become a shining light of the higher spinsterhood?"
eustasia passed the preliminary examination and also [pg 144] the viva voce, and lillie was again in high feather. but before the election was formally confirmed, she was chagrined to receive the following letter.
drew up the advertisement.
"my dear miss dulcimer.
"i have good news for you. knowing your anxiety to find for me a way out of my matrimonial dilemma, i am pleased to be able to inform you that it has been found by my friend and literary adviser, percy swinshel spatt, the well known philosopher and idealist. i met him writing down his thoughts in bond street. in the course of a dialogue upon the beautiful, i put my puzzle to him and he solved it in a moment. 'why must you keep a servant?' he asked, for it is his habit to question every statement he does not make. 'why not rather keep a mistress? become a servant yourself and all your difficulties vanish.' it was like a flash of lightning. 'yes,' i said, when i had recovered from the dazzle, 'but that would mean separation from my husband.' 'why?' he replied with his usual habit. 'in many houses they prefer to take married couples.' 'ah, but where should i find a man of like mind, a man to whom leisure for the cultivation of his soul was the one great necessity of life?' 'it is a curious coincidence, eustasia,' he replied, 'that i was just myself contemplating keeping a master and retiring into a hermitage below stairs, to devote myself to philosophical contemplation. as a butler or a footman in a really aristocratic establishment, my duties would be nominal, and the other servants and my employers would attend to all my wants. abstract speculation would naturally indue me with the grave silence and dignity which seem to be the chief duties of these superior creatures. it is possible, eustasia, that i am not the first to perceive the advantages of this way of living and that plush is but the disguise of the philosopher. as for you, eustasia, you could become a parlor-maid. thus we should live together peacefully, with no sordid housekeeping cares, no squalid interests in rates or taxes, devoted heart and soul to the higher life.' 'you light up for me perspectives of paradise,' i cried enthusiastically. 'then let us get the key of the garden at once,' he replied rapturously, and turning over a new leaf of his philosophical note-book, he set to work then and there to draw up the advertisement: 'wanted—by a young married couple, etc.' of course we had to be a little previous, because i could not consent to marry him unless we had a situation to go to. we were only putting what the greek grammars call a proleptic construction upon the situation.well, it seems good servants are so scarce we got a place at once—the exact thing we were looking for. we are concealing our real names (lest the profession be overrun by jealous friends from newnham and girton and oxford and cambridge) so that i was able to give percy a character and percy to give me a character. we are going into our place next monday afternoon, so, to avoid obtaining the situation by false pretences, we shall have to go before the registrar on the monday morning. our honeymoon will be spent in the delightful and unexploited retreat of the back kitchen.
"yours, in the higher sisterhood,
"eustasia pallas."
