Part 8

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.

XV.

In the Smoking-room--_Causerie_.

(_John Bull, Esquire, and Monsieur, his neighbour, talk on matrimonial matters._)

_J. B._--"So, my dear fellow, you are going to be married, it is quite decided."

_Monsieur._--"Yes, quite."

_J. B._--"And who is the lady, if I may be so bold?"

_Monsieur._--"A charming English girl."

_J. B._--"Ah! charming, of course.... But what else?"

_Monsieur._--"What else? But that is already a great deal, it seems to me. What would you have, my dear sir? A pair of heavenly blue eyes...."

_J. B._--"I congratulate you."

_Monsieur._--"A lovely figure...."

_J. B._--"A lovely figure! My dear fellow, my countrywomen get all that over from Paris. The _Bon Marché_ supplies any amount of lovely figures at six or seven francs apiece.... For a Frenchman, you seem to be going in for matrimony rather young."

_Monsieur._--"That is true; but a bachelor's life is so dull and so dear in England! I am getting tired of it. Besides, I don't know, but I fancy there is something about the English life that induces one to marry. Existence in England is wretched, unless you have a house of your own. There are no cafés ... your clubs and restaurants are dismal ... and your women are delightful ... how can one hesitate long? In one of the suburbs of London, I have discovered a dear little house, hidden under linden-trees, and covered with virginia creepers, jasmine, and honeysuckle. It took my fancy, and as I looked at the two big bolts on the front door, I thought to myself that, after paying the rent and taxes, it must be pleasant to push over the bolts and feel oneself master of something.... The feeling grows, and sets one thinking that it is time to be getting a little property together.... Yes, decidedly the best thing to be done in England is to marry."

_J. B._--"The young lady has money, I presume?"

_Monsieur._--"I don't know in the least, my friend. You do not imagine, I suppose, that I went to my future father-in-law, and asked him what he was going to give his daughter on her wedding day, as the custom is in France."

_J. B._--"No, of course not. Ah! you Frenchmen are bad diplomatists. There is no need to ask such questions point-blank ... you can make inquiries ... satisfy yourself."

_Monsieur._--"I am quite in the dark on the matter."

_J. B._--"And if your wife proves to be penniless?"

_Monsieur._--"Well, in that case, we must live carefully, that is all."

_J. B._--"My dear fellow, I am very much afraid you are going to make a fool of yourself."

_Monsieur._--"Why, how many times have I heard you speak of marriage as a duty, a sacred institution!"

_J. B._--"Yes; but I don't see why it should not be a useful one at the same time.... For my part, I have a weakness for the Three per Cents, I don't mind owning it."

_Monsieur._--"And I have a weakness for pretty women."

_J. B._--"You'll get over it. And if your wife is pretty now, she will not be so always. Englishwomen are not so talented as their French sisters in the _art d'accommoder les restes_, you know."

_Monsieur._--"I shall have a clever wife."

_J. B._--"Her cleverness will cease to strike you, when you have lived with her a little while."

_Monsieur._--"An excellent pianist."

_J. B._--"Before six months are over, you will know all her pieces by heart.... There is nothing serious about all these things. Marriage improves a woman's position from a social point of view; a man is wrong who does not take care that it improves his, from a financial point of view."

_Monsieur._--"I am no speculator."

_J. B._--"Neither am I, and this is the very reason why I like the Three per Cents. Beauty fades, ephemeral charms disappear, and solid qualities remain. Girls that have money want to be married as well as those that have none; it would be unfair, my dear boy, to pass them over, because they have money. Your Balzac says that a man who sets foot in his wife's dressing-room is either a philosopher or a fool. I go further than Balzac, and maintain that a man who marries must be a philosopher or a fool, unless he takes advantage of it to improve his position. You speak of love, my dear fellow, but matrimony is the very profanation of love. It is only in Eastern countries that love and woman are properly understood. It is habit that kills love; in the East, women are slaves that do not live with men from morning to night: they appear before their husbands only from time to time, and exhaling the most exquisite perfumes. But, in Europe, upon my word, they believe themselves their husbands' equals.... In England, they take cheese and stout before going to bed. You see them with their heads covered with curls, and you think how pretty they look, don't you? But, my dear innocent fellow, don't you know that to obtain those lovely curls, the sweet creatures must go to bed with their heads loaded with waving-pins and curl-papers? Yes ... it is thus that your wife will probably adorn herself for the night in order to be beautiful ... not for _you_ at the moment, but for other people, you perhaps included, on the morrow. _On the morrow_, mark you, my boy! When you have undergone this kind of treatment for a few months--I give you twelve, if you are a good diplomatist--you will penetrate into your wife's apartment with about as much emotion as you would enter the 'bus for the Bank. No, matrimony is dinner without dessert; no little delicacies, no luxuries: a continual, eternal, sempiternal _pot-au-feu_.... Respect, esteem, if you like...."

_Monsieur._--"Whose fault is that, my dear Mr. Bull? A woman is what her husband makes her; it is Balzac who says that too. In love, as in cookery, you have but one sauce.... It is possible to respect a woman, and at the same time to be in love with her: respect and esteem are the daily bread of matrimony; but a little honey on it now and then does no harm."

_J. B._--"Moonshine--childishness--nonsense--my dear sir!"

_Monsieur._--"Call it nonsense and childishness, as much as you like; but happiness is made up of all kinds of nonsense, _abandon_--a word, by-the-bye, for which you have no equivalent in English--hearty laughter, good kisses and the like; such nonsenses have a far more pleasant sound to my ear than the _sacred bonds of matrimony_, the _gravity of family life_...."

_J. B._--"_Mon cher ami_, it is easy to see that you come from a frivolous country, where the women lead the men by the nose...."

_Monsieur._--"And the men enjoy it."

_J. B._--"A social system that is not built upon the submission of woman is shaky."

_Monsieur._--"And what about happiness ... and joy? Where do you look for them? In your banking account?"

_J. B._--"One would think you had a supreme contempt for banking accounts, upon my word."

_Monsieur._--"Not I. Peace of mind may come from a good banking account, I admit, but joy comes from the heart.... Matrimony seems to me to be the finest institution going, I assure you; and I think it a great fault of novelists to end their stories with the marriage ceremony.... If ever I turned novelist--Heaven protect me and the public from such a calamity!--my story should open with orange blossoms and old slippers, and I should not disdain a pretty little plump mother in her thirties, as a heroine for the middle chapters of my book."

_J. B._--"I was congratulating you just now upon the news of your marriage ... but it is the young lady that I should like to congratulate from the bottom of my heart. My dear fellow, if you get spreading those ideas of yours about this country, we matter-of-fact Britons shall soon look in vain for women who will marry us.... And whilst you are on the chapter of confidences, you might initiate me into your secret and tell me how you do away with ... the little drawbacks of matrimony."

_Monsieur._--"I do not do away with them, but I foresee them and am prepared to meet them."

_J. B._--"Very good; but how?"

_Monsieur._--"I cannot say that I have plans of campaign well marked out ... but, in my own mind, I say to myself: In matrimonial life, a little diplomacy is necessary to prevent its becoming humdrum, and I fully intend that my conjugal life shall not be humdrum. The bond and habit are the two mortal enemies of love. _Bonjour, contrat! adieu, amour!_ Well, since legal marriage was invented by some idiot or scoundrel, it is for a sensible man to make the best of it, and to forget, as quickly as possible, all the incongruous nonsense that has been dinned into his ears, about marriage being a stern reality and a rather disagreeable undertaking. I am going to try it; but I start with the firm intention of being and remaining my wife's lover. I shall do my best to forget that I am married. The illusion of the stage is all gone for him who penetrates behind the scenes. We shall each have our own quarters. Madame will sometimes allow Monsieur to conduct her to his room; sometimes it will be Monsieur who will glide into Madame's, when all around is hushed in slumber. We shall each have a room that will be closed to the other: the boudoir for Madame, the study for Monsieur. These two retreats I look upon as the strongholds of love in matrimonial life."

_J. B._--"Well done."

_Monsieur._--"Let me explain. A man who would continue to inspire esteem and love in a sensible wife, must not live constantly in her society. To keep up a certain prestige in her eyes, he must lead a busy life, and if ever he has nothing to do, he must be able to appear as if he had. Therefore, when I have nothing particular in hand, I shall lock myself into my study. There I shall read the paper and smoke a cigar; but before shutting myself in, I shall be careful to ask my wife to kindly see that I am not disturbed, as I shall be busy all the morning, or all the afternoon, as the case may be. On the other hand, when Madame has her vapours, or does not feel very sociable, she will retire to her boudoir and send me word that she is indisposed. In this boudoir, that I shall have coquettishly furnished, she will receive a friend, read a novel, rest and dissipate her ill humour. By this arrangement, we shall only be together when we feel attracted towards each other, and I shall not be doomed to pass whole evenings yawning in my wife's society. Why should a man do before his wife that which would be considered the height of rudeness, if she were any other woman?"

_J. B._--"Ah! my dear fellow, it is a fine thing to be young! Your illusions are wonderful. I rather like that growlery idea of yours, though: never show your wife that she is entitled to expect amiability from you at all seasons, without having any effort to make to obtain it. People get none the worse served for being a little hard to please, in all circumstances of this life. I suppose you have not informed the lady in question of these plans of yours?"

_Monsieur._--"Indeed I have, my dear Mr. Bull, and what is more, she approves highly of them...."

_J. B._--"Well, my dear fellow, since you have made up your mind to go in for matrimony, I am glad to see that you are preparing to rob it of its drawbacks. When a man has entered into a compact that he cannot draw out of, he is a fool if he does not do his best to turn it to his own advantage.... But I fancy the ladies must be expecting us in the drawing-room."

_Monsieur._--"Let us go and join them."

XVI.

The Brune and the Blonde--Madame la Comtesse d'A. and Lady B. chat a little about their husbands, discuss their respective merits, and indulge in several little confidences.

(_The scene is laid in a small drawing-room. The two friends are seated, engaged in needlework._)

_Lady B._--"How beautifully you embroider, dear! You use your needle to perfection. That little pink bird is exquisitely shaded. I should never get to blend my colours as you do. And how your fingers fly!"

_La Comtesse._--"_Ah ça!_ you think, I daresay, that we Frenchwomen only know how to read novels."

_Lady B._--"Indeed I don't; on the contrary, I know very well that you are wonderfully clever with your needle. But what you are doing there is too delicate for slippers, don't you think so? Those colours will be so quickly soiled, especially if the Count has my husband's trick of crossing his feet when he is sitting or lounging in his easy chair."

_La Comtesse._--"They are only for the bedroom. I don't like men in slippers, it makes them look shorter, and authorises them to take little liberties in one's company--to cross their legs, and so on; I shall have heels put to these, I will not have my husband lose a particle of his height in my eyes. And you, dear, what is that you are about?"

_Lady B._--"A kind of calotte. We call it a smoking-cap in English."

_La Comtesse._--"You don't mean it?"

_Lady B._--"Why not?"

_La Comtesse._--"How old is Lord B.?"

_Lady B._--"Thirty-two."

_La Comtesse._--"And you are going to let him wear a cap like that? (_Laughing heartily._) But, _ma chère_, the forehead is the finest part of a man. If you tolerate a skull cap, we shall soon see you knitting him night-caps. It's a sloping and dangerous path you are on. There's divorce ahead...."

_Lady B._--"Oh! I like to see men at their ease about the house."

_La Comtesse._--"At their ease! And supposing you do, that's not a reason for making them frights. They are quite ugly enough as they are. Besides, you will make that poor Lord B. horribly susceptible to cold in the head. Do you know anything more ridiculous than a man with his nose turned into a noisy trumpet? I should never be able to help laughing in his face; it would be no use my trying."

_Lady B._--"For shame!"

_La Comtesse._--"It takes such a trifle to spoil a man. Just take the case of the Marquis de P.; he is a splendid-looking man, a gentleman every inch; the carriage of a king. Would you believe it, the marchioness, who, it is said, is as much in love with him as when they were first married, lets him wear spectacles? He looks for all the world like a German doctor in them."

_Lady B._--"But what if he is short-sighted?"

_La Comtesse._--"A fine reason that! _Les lunettes sont des remèdes d'amour._ As if he couldn't wear a _pince-nez_ or an eye-glass. I rather like an eye-glass, don't you?"

_Lady B._--"No, indeed, I think them horrid."

_La Comtesse._--"Do you really? Now, I think they give a man a little air of impertinence that is not disagreeable. On young fellows, I admit, they are detestable; but on a man over thirty, I assure you, I rather like them.... Why, dear, nearly every gentleman wears an eye-glass in England!"

_Lady B._--"That is true, but they do not use them to stare rudely at every woman they meet. I consider Frenchmen dreadful offenders in that respect."

_La Comtesse._--"Englishmen are indifferent towards women."

_Lady B._--"That's quite a mistake, my dear; their apparent indifference is really respect, and, thanks to that respect, we can go where we like in peace and safety. I don't mind telling you that I have my doubts about the real motives of the politeness of Frenchmen."

_La Comtesse._--"How can you talk like that? you, who come from a country where a man thinks nothing of pushing past a lady and making her stop in the street, or of entering a railway carriage before her! No matter where he may be, a Frenchman will always stand aside to let a woman pass...."

_Lady B._--"Yes, to have a better look at her. Now, at the theatre, for instance, to me they are particularly annoying, your Frenchmen. Between the acts, they come and stand about in the corridors and near the boxes, and there, a yard or two from you, they will examine you in detail through their opera-glasses. You may think yourself lucky if they do not forthwith pass all sorts of remarks about you. That kind of thing annoys and insults a woman. You may call it gallant, if you like; I call it rude."

_La Comtesse._--"Rather impertinent, I will admit."

_Lady B._--"Impertinent, indeed! that is a mild word for it. Do you know, one evening--it was at the Opera--I was in a box ... a little _décolletée_ ... _en losange_, you know ... it was very fashionable in 1880."

_La Comtesse._--"It will come in again, you may be sure, _c'était mutin en diable_."

_Lady B._--"What did you say it was?"

_La Comtesse._--"I said it was _mutin en diable_. Does that shock you?"

_Lady B._--"Yes, a little: it reminds me of an expression of my husband's."

_La Comtesse._--"What expression?"

_Lady B._--"I don't like to tell you."

_La Comtesse._--"What nonsense, dear; it's only between ourselves: nobody else can hear."

_Lady B._--"Well then, it was one evening on coming home from a banquet, he told me I was _damned_ pretty."

_La Comtesse._--"Did he? (_kissing her._) Well, so you are."

_Lady B._--"How would you say that in French? Would you say _jolie à faire ... damner_?"

_La Comtesse._--"_Jolie en diable_ would be better."

_Lady B._--"I forgave him that night; he had been dining, as only our husbands in England know how to dine.... When my husband comes home late, I always wait up for him. Do you for yours?"

_La Comtesse._--"Of course I do, always. Besides, when the Count has dined out, he is so entertaining."

_Lady B._--"I cannot say the same of Lord B.: he is a little bit dull in his cups."

_La Comtesse._--"Well, dear, you were saying that you were at the Opera one night in a low-necked dress, and that...."