Max O'Rell

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.