Part 50

Servants imitate their masters, and by copying them awkwardly, they render those defects more conspicuous in themselves, which the polish of education, in some measure, disguised in the others. At Paris, I used to judge of the ladies of my acquaintance, by the air and manners of their waiting-women, and this rule never deceived me. Besides that the lady’s woman, when she becomes the confident of her mistress’s secrets, makes her buy her discretion at a dear rate, she likewise frames her conduct according to her lady’s sentiments, and discloses all her maxims, by an awkward imitation. In every instance, the master’s example is more efficacious than his authority; it is not natural to suppose that their servants will be honester than themselves. It is to no purpose to make a noise, to swear, to abuse them, to turn them off, to get a new set; all this avails nothing towards making good servants. When they, who do not trouble themselves about being hated and despised by their domestics, nevertheless imagine that they are well served, the reason of their mistake is, that they are contented with what they see, and satisfied with an appearance of diligence, without observing the thousand secret prejudices they suffer continually, and of which they cannot discover the source. But where is the man so devoid of honour, as to be able to endure the contempt of everyone round him? Where is the woman so abandoned as not to be susceptible of insults? How many ladies, both at Paris and in London, who think themselves greatly respected, would burst into tears if they heard what was said of them in their anti- chambers? Happily for their peace, they comfort themselves by taking these Arguses for weak creatures, and by flattering themselves that they are blind to those practices which they do not even deign to hide from them. They likewise in their turn discover, by their sullen obedience, the contempt they have for their mistresses. Masters and servants become mutually sensible, that it is not worth their while to conciliate each other’s esteem.

The behaviour of servants seems to me to be the most certain and nice proof of the master’s virtue; and I remember, my Lord, to have formed a good opinion of yours at Valais without knowing you, purely because, though you spoke somewhat harshly to your attendants, they were not the less attached to you, and that they expressed as much respect for you in your absence, as if you had been within hearing. It has been said that no man is a hero in the eyes of his Valet de Chambre; perhaps not; but every worthy man will enjoy his servant’s esteem; which sufficiently proves that heroism is only a vain phantom, and that nothing is solid but virtue. The power of its empire is particularly observable here in the lowest commendations of the servants. Commendations the less to be suspected, as they do not consist of vain eulogiums, but of an artless expression of their feelings. As they cannot suppose, from any thing which they see, that other masters are not like theirs, they therefore do not commend them on account of those virtues which they conceive to be common to masters in general, but, in the simplicity of their hearts, they thank God for having sent the rich to make those under them happy, and to be a comfort to the poor.

Servitude is a state so unnatural to mankind, that it cannot subsist without some degree of discontent. Nevertheless they respect their master, and say nothing. If any murmurings escape them against their mistress, they are more to her honour than encomiums would be. No one complains that she is wanting in kindness to them, but that she pays so much regard to others; no one can endure that his zeal should be put in competition with that of his comrades, and as every one imagines himself foremost in attachment, he would be first in favour. This is their only complaint, and their greatest injustice.

There is not only a proper subordination among those of inferior station, but a perfect harmony among those of equal rank; and this is not the least difficult part of domestic economy. Amidst the clashings of jealousy and self-interest, which makes continual divisions in families not more numerous than this, we seldom find servants united but at the expense of their masters. If they agree, it is to rob in concert; if they are honest, every one shews his importance at the expense of the rest; they must either be enemies or accomplices, and it is very difficult to find a way of guarding at the same time both against their knavery and their dissentions. The masters of families in general know no other method but that of choosing the alternative between these two inconveniencies. Some, preferring interest to honour, foment a quarrelsome disposition among their servants by means of private reports, and think it a masterpiece of prudence to make them superintendents and spies over each other. Others, of a more indolent nature, rather chuse that their servants should rob them, and live peaceably among themselves; they pique themselves upon discountenancing any information which a faithful servant may give them out of pure zeal. Both are equally to blame. The first, by exciting continual disturbances in their families, which are incompatible with good order and regularity, get together a heap of knaves and informers, who are busy in betraying their fellow servants, that they may hereafter perhaps betray their masters. The second, by refusing all information with regard to what passes in their families, countenance combinations against themselves, encourage the wicked, dishearten the good, and only maintain a pack of arrogant and idle rascals at a great expense, who, agreeing together at their master’s cost, look upon their service as a matter of favour, and their thefts as perquisites. [54]

It is a capital error in domestic as well as in civil economy, to oppose one vice to another, or to attempt an equilibrium between them, as if that which undermines the foundations of all order, could ever tend to establish regularity. This mistaken policy only serves to unite every inconvenience. When particular vices are tolerated in a family, they do not reign alone. Let one take root, a thousand will soon spring up. They presently ruin the servants who harbour them, undo the master who tolerates them, and corrupt or injure the children who remark them with attention. What father can be so unworthy as to put any advantage whatever in competition with this last inconvenience? What honest man would chuse to be master of a family, if it was impossible for him to maintain peace and fidelity in his house at the same time, and if he must be obliged to purchase the attachment of his servants; at the expense of their mutual good understanding?

Who does not see, that in this family, they have not even an idea of any such difficulty? So much does the union among the several members proceed from their attachment to the head. It is here we may perceive a striking instance, how impossible it is to have a sincere affection for a master without loving every thing that belongs to him; a truth which is the real foundation of Christian charity. Is it not very natural, that the children of the same father should live together like brethren? This is what they tell us every day at church, without making us feel the sentiment; and this is what the domestics in this family feel, without being told it.

This disposition to good fellowship is owing to a choice of proper subjects. Mr. Wolmar, when he hires his servants, does not examine whether they suit his wife and himself, but whether they suit each other, and if they were to discover a settled antipathy between two of the best servants, it would be sufficient for them to discharge one: for, says Eloisa, in so small a family, a family where they never go abroad, but are constantly before each other, they ought to agree perfectly among themselves. They ought to consider it as their father’s house, where all are of the same family. One, who happens to be disagreeable to the rest, is enough to make them hate the place; and that disagreeable object being constantly before their eyes, they would neither be easy themselves, nor suffer us to be quiet.

After having made the best assortment in their power, they unite them as it were by the services which they oblige each to render the other, and they contrive that it shall be the real interest of every one to be beloved by his fellow servants. No one is so well received who solicits a favour for himself, as when he asks it for another; so that whoever has any thing to request, endeavours to engage another to intercede for him; and this they do with greater readiness, since, whether their master grants or refuses the favour requested, he never fails to acknowledge the merit of the person interceding. On the contrary, both he and Mrs. Wolmar always reject the solicitations of those who only regard themselves. Why, say they, should I grant, what is desired in your favour, who have never made me any request in favour of another? Is it reasonable, that you should be more favoured than your companions, because they are more obliging than you? They do more; they engage them to serve each other in private, without any ostentation, and without assuming any merit. This is the more easily accomplished, as they know that their master, who is witness of their discretion, will esteem them the more, thus self-interest is a gainer, and self-love no loser. They are so convinced of this general disposition to oblige, and they have such confidence in each other, that when they have any favour to ask, they frequently mention it at table by way of conversation; very often, without farther trouble, they find that the thing has been requested and granted, and as they do not know whom to thank, their obligation is to all.

It is by this, and such like methods, that they beget an attachment among them, resulting from, and subordinate to, the zeal they have for their master. Thus, far from leaguing together to his prejudice, they are only united for his service. However it may be their interest to love each other, they have still stronger motives for pleasing him; their zeal for his service gets the better of their mutual good will, and each considering himself as injured by losses which may make their master less able to recompense a faithful servant, they are all equally incapable of suffering any individual to do him wrong unnoticed. This principle of policy which is established in this family, seems to have somewhat sublime in it; and I cannot sufficiently admire how Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar have been able to transform the vile function of an informer into an office of zeal, integrity, and courage, as noble, or at least as praise-worthy, as it was among the Romans.

They began by subverting, or rather by preventing, in a plain and perspicuous manner, and by affecting instances, that servile and criminal practice, that mutual toleration at the master’s cost, which a worthless servant never fails to inculcate to a good one, under the mask of a charitable maxim. They made them understand, that the precept which enjoins us to hide our neighbour’s faults, relates to those only which do injury to no one; that if they are witness to any injustice which injures a third person, and do not discover it, they are guilty of it themselves; and that as nothing can oblige us to conceal such faults in others, but a consciousness of our own defects, therefore no one would chuse to countenance knaves, if he was not a knave himself. Upon these principles, which are just in general, as between man and man, but more strictly so with respect to the close connection between master and servant, they hold it here as an incontestable truth, that whoever sees their master wronged, without making a discovery, is more guilty than he who did the wrong; for he suffers himself to be misled by the prospect of advantage, but the other in cool blood and without any view of interest, can be induced to secrecy by no other motive than a thorough disregard of justice, an indifference towards the welfare of the family he serves, and a hidden desire of copying the example he conceals. Therefore even where the fault is considerable, the guilty party may nevertheless sometimes hope for pardon, but the witness who conceals the fact, is infallibly dismissed as a man of a bad disposition.

In return, they receive no accusation which may be suspected to proceed from injustice and calumny; that is to say, they admit of none in the absence of the accused. If any one comes to make a report against his fellow servant, or to prefer a personal complaint against him, they ask him whether he is sufficiently informed, that is to say, whether he has entered into any previous inquiry with the person whom he is going to accuse. If he answers in the negative, they ask him how he can judge of an action, when he is not acquainted with the motives to it? The fact, say they, may depend on some circumstance to which you are a stranger; there may be some particulars which may serve to justify or excuse it, and which you know nothing of. How can you presume to condemn any one’s conduct, before you know by what motives it is directed? One word of explanation would probably have rendered it justifiable in your eyes. Why then do you run the risk of condemning an action wrongfully, and of exposing me to participate of your injustice? If he assures them, that he has entered into a previous explanation with the accused; why then, say they, do you come without him, as if you was afraid that he would falsify what you are going to relate? By what right do you neglect taking the same precaution with respect to me, which you think proper to use with regard to yourself? Is it reasonable to desire me to judge of a fact from your report, of which you refuse to judge yourself by the testimony of your own eyes; and would not you be answerable for the partial judgment I might form, if I was to remain satisfied with your bare deposition? In the end, they direct them to summon the party accused; if they consent, the matter is soon decided; if they refuse, they dismiss them with a severe reprimand, but they keep the secret, and watch them both so narrowly, that they are not long at a loss to know which is in fault.

This rule is so well known and so well established, that you never hear a servant in this family speak ill of his absent comrade, for they are all sensible that it is the way to pass for a liar and a coward. When any one of them accuses another, it is openly, frankly, and not only to his face, but in the presence of all his fellow servants, that they who are witnesses to their accusation, may be vouchers of their integrity. In case of any personal disputes among them, the difference is generally made up by mediators without troubling Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar; but when the interest of the master is at stake, the matter cannot remain a secret; the guilty party must either accuse himself or be accused. These little pleadings happen very seldom, and never but at table, in the rounds which Eloisa makes every day while her people are at dinner or supper, which Mr. Wolmar pleasantly calls her general sessions. After having patiently attended to the accusation and the defence, if the affair regards her interest, she thanks the accuser for his zeal. I am sensible, says she, that you have a regard for your fellow servant, you have always spoken well of him, and I commend you because the love of your duty and of justice has prevailed over your private affections; it is thus that a faithful servant and an honest man ought to behave. If the party accused is not in fault, she always subjoins some compliment to her justification of his innocence. But if he is really guilty, she in some measure spares his shame before the rest. She supposes that he has something to communicate in his defence, which he does not chuse to declare in public; she appoints an hour to hear him in private, and it is then that she or her husband talk to him as they think proper. What is very remarkable is, that the most severe of the two is not most dreaded, and that they are less afraid of Mr. Wolmar’s solemn reprimand, than of Eloisa’s affecting reproaches. The former, speaking the language of truth and justice, humbles and confounds the guilty; the latter strikes them with the most cruel remorse, by convincing them with what regret she is forced to withdraw her kindness from them. She sometimes extorts tears of grief and shame from them, and it is not uncommon for her to be moved herself when she sees them repent, in hopes that she may not be obliged to abide by her word.

They who judge of these concerns by what passes in their own families, or among their neighbours, would probably deem them frivolous or tiresome. But you, my Lord, who have such high notions of the duties and enjoyments of a master of a family, and who are sensible what an ascendency natural disposition and virtue have over the human heart, you perceive the importance of these minutiae, and know on what circumstances their success depends. Riches do not make a man rich, as is well observed in some romance. The wealth of a man is not in his coffers, but in the use he makes of what he draws out of them; for our possessions do not become our own, but by the uses to which we allot them, and abuses are always more inexhaustible than riches; whence it happens that our enjoyments are not in proportion to our expenses, but depend on the just regulation of them. An idiot may toss ingots of gold into the sea, and say he has enjoyed them: but what comparison is there between such an extravagant enjoyment, and that which a wise man would have derived from the least part of their value? Order and regularity, which multiply and perpetuate the use of riches, are alone capable of converting the enjoyment of them into felicity. But if real property arises from the relation which our possessions bear to us, if it is rather the use than the acquisition of riches which confers it, what can be more proper subjects of attention for a master of a family than domestic economy, and the prudent regulation of his houshold, in which the most perfect correspondences more immediately concern him, and where the happiness of every individual is an addition to the felicity of the head?

Are the most wealthy the most happy? No: how then does wealth contribute to felicity? But every well regulated family is emblematic of the master’s mind. Gilded ceilings, luxury and magnificence, only serve to shew the vanity of those who display such parade; whereas, whenever you see order without melancholy, peace without slavery, plenty without profusion, you may say with confidence, the master of this house is a happy being.

For my own part, I think the most certain sign of true content is a domestic and retired life, and that they who are continually resorting to others in quest of happiness, do not enjoy it at home. A father of a family who amuses himself at home, is rewarded for his continual attention to domestic concerns, by the constant enjoyment of the most agreeable sensations of nature. He is the only one who can be properly said to be master of his own happiness, because, like heaven itself, he is happy in desiring nothing more than he enjoys. Like the Supreme Being, he does not wish to enlarge his possessions, but to make them really his own, under proper directions, and by using them conformably to the just relations of things: if he does not enrich himself by new acquisitions, he enriches himself by the true enjoyment of what he possesses. He once only enjoyed the income of his lands, he now enjoys the lands themselves, by over-looking their culture, and surveying them from time to time. His servant was a stranger to him: he is now part of his enjoyment; his child; he makes him his own. Formerly, he had only power over his servant’s actions, now he has authority over his inclinations. He was his master only by paying him wages, now he rules by the sacred dominion of benevolence and esteem. Though fortune spoils him of his wealth, she can never rob him of those affections which are attached to him; she cannot deprive a father of his children; all the difference is, that he maintained them yesterday, and that they will support him tomorrow. It is thus that we may learn the true enjoyment of our riches, of our family, and of ourselves; it is thus that the minutiae of a family become agreeable to a worthy man who knows the value of them; it is thus that, far from considering these little duties as troublesome, he makes them a part of his happiness, and derives the glory and pleasure of human nature from these noble and affecting offices.