The Old Maids' Club

by Israel Zangwill

  CHAPTER IX.

  OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES.

  "No, no," said Miss Eustasia Pallas. "You misapprehend me. It is notbecause 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 dowithout servants. While a girl lives at home, she can cultivate her soulwhile her mother attends to the _menage_. But after marriage, the higherlife is impossible. You must have servants. You cannot do your own dirtywork--not merely because it is dirty, but because it is the thief oftime. You can hardly get literature, music, and religion adequately intoyour life even with the whole day at your disposal; but if you had tomake your own bed, too, I am afraid you wouldn't find time to lie onit."

  "Then why object to servants?" inquired Lillie.

  "Because servants are the asphyxiators of the soul. But for them Ishould long since have married."

  "I do not quite follow you. Surely if you had servants to relieve you ofall the grosser duties, the spiritual could then claim your individualattention."

  "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 openalmost from the first day of my life. I have observed my mother'shousehold and other people's--I speak of the great middle-classes,mainly--and my unalterable conviction is, that every faithful wife whoaspires to be housekeeper too, becomes the servant of her servants. Theyrule not only her but all her thoughts. Her life circles round them. Shecan talk of nothing else. Whether she visits, or is visited, servantsare the staple of her conversation. Their curious habits and customs,their love-affairs, their laches, their impertinences, these graduallybecome the whole food of thought, ousting every higher aim and idea. Ihave watched a girl--my bosom-friend at Girton--deteriorate from amaiden to a wife, from a wife to a bondswoman. First she talked Shelley,then Charley, then Mary Ann. Gradually her soul shrank. She lost hercharacter. She became a mere parasite on the servant's kitchen, a slaveto the cook's drink and the housemaid's followers. Those who knew mymother before she was married speak of her as a bright, bonny girl, allenthusiasm and energy, interesting herself in all the life of her dayand even taking a side in politics. But when I knew her, she was haggardand narrow. She never read, nor sang, nor played, nor went to theAcademy. The greatest historical occurrences left her sympathiesuntouched. She did not even care whether Australia or England conqueredat cricket, or whether Browning lived or died. You could not get her todiscuss Whistler or the relations of Greek drama to Gaiety Burlesque, orany other subject that interests ordinary human beings. She did not wanta vote. She did not want any alteration in the divorce laws. She did notwant Russia to be a free country or the Empire to be federated. She didnot want darkest England to be supplied with lamps. She did not want theworking classes to lead better and nobler lives. She did not want topreserve the Commons or to abolish the House of Lords. She did not wantto do good or even to be happy. All she wanted was a cook or a housemaidor a coachman, as the case might be, and she was perpetually asking allher acquaintance if they knew of a good one, or had heard of theoutrageous behavior of the last.

  "In her early married days, my father's income was not a twentieth ofwhat it is to-day, and so she was fairly happy, with only one servant totyrannize over her. But she always had hard mistresses, even in thosecomparatively easy years. Poor mother! One scene remains vividly stampedupon my mind. We had a girl named Selina who would not get up in themorning. We had nothing to complain of in the time of her going tobed--I think she went about nine--but the earliest she ever rose waseight, and my father always had to catch the eight-twenty train to theCity, so you may imagine how much breakfast he got. My mother spoke toSelina about it nearly every day and Selina admitted the indictment. Shesaid she could not help it, she seemed to dream such long dreams andnever wake up in the middle. My mother had had such difficulty ingetting Selina that she hesitated to send her away and start hunting fora new Selina, but the case seemed hopeless. The winter came on and wetook to sending Selina to bed at six o'clock, that my father might besure of a hot cup of coffee before leaving home in the morning. But shesaid the mornings were so cold and dark it was impossible to get out ofbed, though she tried very hard and did her best. I think she spent onlynine hours out of bed on the average. My father gave up the hope ofbreakfast. He used to leave by an earlier train and get something at arestaurant. This grieved my mother very much--she calculated it cost hera bonnet a month. She became determined to convert Selina from the errorof her ways. She told me she was going to appeal to Selina's highernature. Reprimand had failed, but the soul that cannot be coerced can betouched. That was in the days when my mother still read poetry and wassemi-independent. One bleak bitter dawn my mother rose shivering,dressed herself and went down into the kitchen, to the entiredisconcertion of the chronology of the black-beetles. She made the fireand put the kettle on to boil and swept the kitchen. She also swept thebreakfast-room and lighted the fire and laid the breakfast. Then she satdown, put on a saintly expression and waited for Selina.

  "An hour went by, but Selina did not make her appearance. The firsthalf-hour passed quickly because my mother was busy thinking out theexact phrases in which to touch her higher nature. It required tact--asingle clumsy turn of language--and she might offend Selina instead ofelevating her. It was really quite a literary effort, the adequateexpression of my mother's conception of the dignity and pathos of thesituation, in fact it was that most difficult branch of literature, thedramatic, for my mother constructed the entire dialogue, speaking forSelina as well as for herself. Like all leading ladies, especially whenthey write their own plays, my mother allotted herself the 'tag,' andthe last words of the dialogue were:--

  "'There! there! my good girl! Dry your eyes. The past shall beforgotten. From to-morrow a new life shall begin. Come, Selina! drinkthat 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 forSelina's footsteps, and pricking up her ears at every sound. The miceran about the wainscoting, the kettle sang blithely, the little flamesleaped in the grate, the kitchen and the breakfast-room were cheerfuland cosy and redolent of the goodly savors of breakfast. A pile of hottoast lay upon a plate. Only Selina was wanting.

  "All at once my mother heard the hall-door bang, and running to thewindow she saw a figure going out into the gray freezing fog. It was myfather hurrying to catch his train. In the excitement of the experimentmy 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 andcoffee, such lovely toast, such exquisite eggs, and there he washastening along in the raw air on an empty stomach. My mother rapped onthe panes with her knuckles but my father was late and did not hear. Herown soul a little ruffled, my mother sat down again in the kitchen andwaited for Selina. Gradually she forgot her chagrin, after all it wasthe last time my father would ever have to depart breakfastless. Shewent over the dialogue again, polishing it up and adding little touches.

  "I think it was past nine when Selina left her bedroom, unwashed andrubbing her eyes. By that time my mother had thrice resisted thetemptation to go up and shake her, and it was coming on a fourth timewhen she heard Selina's massive footstep on the stair. Instantly mymother's irritation ceased. She reassumed her look of sublime martyrdom.She had spread a nice white cloth on the kitchen table and Selina'sbreakfast stood appetizingly upon it. Tears came into her eyes as shethought of how Selina would be shaken to her depths by the sight.

  "Selina threw open the kitchen door with a peevish push, for shedisliked having to get up early in these cold, dark winter mornings andvented her irritation even upon insensitive woodwork. But when she sawthe deep red glow of the fire, instead of the dusky chillness of thenormal morning kitchen, she uttered a cry of joy, and rushing forwardswarmed 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 becameconfused and nervous. She forgot her words, as if from an attack ofstage-fright. There was no prompter and so for a moment my motherremained speechless.

  "Selina, having warmed her hands sufficiently, drew her chair to thetable and lifted the cosy from the tea-pot.

  "'Why, you've let it get cold,' she said reproachfully, feeling the sideof 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 betterto confine herself to the rehearsed dialogue.

  "'Oh, missus!' cried Selina. 'How can you say that? Why, this is thefirst moment I've come down.'

  "'Yes,' said my mother, gladly seizing the opportunity of slipping backinto the text. 'Somebody had to do the work, Selina. In this world nowork can go undone. If those whose duty it is do not do it, it must fallon the shoulders of other people. That is why I got up at seven thismorning instead of you and have tidied up the place and made themaster's breakfast.'

  "'That was real good of you!' exclaimed Selina, with impulsiveadmiration.

  "My mother began to feel that the elaborate set piece was going off in adamp sort of way, but she kept up her courage and her saintly expressionand continued,

  "'It was freezing when I got out of my warm bed, and before I could getthe fire alight here I almost perished with cold. I shouldn't besurprised if I have laid the seeds of consumption.'

  "'Ah,' said Selina with satisfaction. 'Now you see what I have had toput 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 _repartees_ on the spur of the moment. Theethical 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, withinextinguishable admiration. 'But you'll reap the benefit of it. Nowthat I've had my breakfast without any trouble I shall be able to goabout my work a deal better. It's such a struggle to get up, I assureyou, 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, meditativelyopening the egg with her fingers, 'if you would get up instead of meevery 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 aspeck of dust anywhere,'--she rubbed her dirty thumb admiringly alongthe dresser--'and I'm sure the tea and toast are lots nicer than anyI'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 inthe kitchen. I don't need to be told of my shortcomings, missus. All yousay of me is quite true. You would be ever so much more satisfied if youcooked everything yourself. I'm sure you would.'

  "'And what would _you_ do under this beautiful scheme?' inquired mymother with withering sarcasm.

  "'I haven't thought of that yet,' said Selina simply. 'But no doubt, ifI looked around carefully, I should find something to occupy me. Icouldn't be long out of work, I feel sure.'

  "Well, that was how mother's attempt to elevate Selina by moral meanscame to be a fiasco. The next time she tried to elevate her, it was byphysical means. My mother left the suburb, and moved to a London flatvery near the sky. She had given up hopes of improving Selina'smatutinal habits, and made the breakfast hour later through my fatherhaving now no train to catch, but she thought she would cure her offollowers. Selina's flirtations were not confined to our tradespeopleand the local constabulary. She would exchange remarks about the weatherwith the most casual pedestrian in trousers. My mother thought she wouldremove her from danger by raising her high above all earthlytemptations. We made the tradesmen send up their goods by lift and theonly person she could flirt with was the old lift attendant. My fathergrumbled a good deal in the early days because the lift was always atthe other extreme when he wanted it, but Selina's moral welfare camebefore 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 workadvanced, and men swarmed upon it. At first my mother contemplated themwith equanimity because they were British working-men and we werenearest heaven. But as the months went by, they began to get nearer andnearer. There came a time when Selina's smile was distinctly visible tothe man engaged on the section of the scaffolding immediately below.That smile encouraged him. It seemed to say 'Excelsior.' He was averitable Don Juan, that laborer. At every flat he flirted with the maidin possession. By counting the storeys in our mansion you couldcalculate the number of his _amours_. With every rise he left alove-passage behind him. He was a typical man--always looking higher,and, when he had raised himself to a more elevated position, spurningyesterday's love from beneath his feet. He seemed to mount on brokenhearts. And now he was aspiring to the highest of all--Selina. Oh it iscruel! My mother had secluded Selina like a virgin Princess in anenchanted inaccessible tower and yet here was the Prince calmly scalingthe tower, without any possibility of interference. Long before he hadreached the top the consumption of Bass in our flat went up by leaps andbounds. Selina, my mother ultimately discovered, used to lower the beerby 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 aninsidious angle which had screened him from my mother's observationhitherto. Neither of these men did much work, but it made them verythirsty.

  _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 myfather's rising fortunes brought her more and more under the dominion ofservants, the exposure and out-manoeuvring of her taskmasters came to bethe only pleasure of her life. She spent a great deal of time in thepolice-courts--the constant prosecution she suffered from, curtailed thelast relics of her leisure. Everybody has heard of the law's delay, butfew know how much time prosecutors have to lose, hanging about the Courtwaiting for their case to be called. When a servant robbed her, mymother rarely got off with less than seven days. The moment she hadengaged a servant, she became morbidly suspicious of him or her. Often,when she had dressed for dinner, it would suddenly strike her that ifshe 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 Iwould bring a friend home, only to find the dining-room in the hall andthe drawing-room on the landing. And yet to the end she retained acertain guileless, girlish simplicity--a fresh fund of hope which wasnot without a charm and pathos of its own. To the very last she believedthat, faultless, flawless servants existed somewhere and she didn'tintend to be happy till she got them; so that it was said of her by mysister's intended that she passed her life on the doorstep, eitherreceiving an angel or expelling a fiend. It showed what a fine trustfulnature had been turned to gall. She is at rest now, poor mother, herlife's long slavery ended by the soft touch of all-merciful Death. Letus hope that she has opened her sorrow-stricken eyes on a brighter land,where earthly distinctions are annulled and the poor heavy-ladenmistress may mix on equal terms with the radiant parlor-maid and thebuxom cook."

  The tears were in Lillie's eyes as Miss Eustasia Pallas concluded heraffecting recital.

  "But don't you think," said the President, conquering her emotion, "thatwith such an awful example in your memory, you could never yourself sinkinto such a serfage, even if you married?"

  "I d
are not trust myself," said Eustasia. "I have seen the fall of toomany other women. Why should I expect immunity from the general fate? Ithink myself strong--but who can fathom her own weakness. Why, I haveactually been talking servants to you all the time. Think how continuousis the temptation, how subtle. Were it not better to possess my soul inpeace and to cultivate it nobly and wisely and become a shining light ofthe higher spinsterhood?"

  Eustasia passed the preliminary examination and also the viva voce, andLillie was again in high feather. But before the election was formallyconfirmed, 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."