"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 plausible2. In practice, alas3! 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 aspires4 to be housekeeper5 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 staple6 of her conversation. Their curious habits and customs, their love-affairs, their laches, their impertinences, these gradually become the whole food of thought, ousting7 every higher aim and idea. I have watched a girl—my bosom-friend at Girton—deteriorate from a maiden8 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 mere1 parasite9 on the servant's kitchen, a slave to the cook's drink and the housemaid's followers10. 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 Burlesque11, or any other subject that interests ordinary human beings. She did not want a vote. She did not want any alteration12 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 outrageous13 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 remains14 vividly15 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 spoke16 to Selina about it nearly every day and Selina admitted the indictment17. 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 bonnet18 a month. She became determined19 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 coerced20 can be touched. That was in the days when my mother still read poetry and was semi-independent. One bleak21 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 pathos22 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 allotted23 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 pricking24 up her ears at every sound. The mice ran about the wainscoting, the kettle sang blithely25, the little flames leaped in the grate, the kitchen and the breakfast-room were cheerful and cosy26 and redolent of the goodly savors27 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 exquisite28 eggs, and there he was hastening along in the raw air on an empty stomach. My mother rapped on the panes29 with her knuckles30 but my father was late and did not hear. Her own soul a little ruffled31, my mother sat down again in the kitchen and waited for Selina. Gradually she forgot her chagrin32, 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 irritation33 ceased. She reassumed her look of sublime34 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 peevish35 push, for she disliked having to get up early in these cold, dark winter mornings and vented36 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 gratitude37.
"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 sufficiently38, 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 impromptu39 '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 undone40. 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 impulsive41 admiration42.
"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 ethical43 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 savagely44 pushed her another egg.
"'I'm thinking it would be a good plan,' said Selina, meditatively45<............