What pleasures, too late enjoy'd, (alas, enjoy'd too late) have I tasted these three weeks past! How delightful to pass one day in the bosom of calm friendship, secure from the tempests of impetuous passion! What a pleasing and affecting scene, my Lord, is a plain and well-regulated family, where order, peace, and innocence reign throughout; where, without pomp or retinue, everything is assembled, which can contribute to the real felicity of mankind! The country, the retirement, the season, the vast body of water which opens to my view, the wild prospect of the mountains, everything conspires to recall to my mind the delightful island of Tinian. I flatter myself that the earnest prayers, which I there so often repeated, are now accomplished. I live here agreeably to my taste, and enjoy society suitable to my liking. I only want the company of two persons to compleat my happiness, and I hope to see them here soon.
In the mean time, till you and Mrs. Orbe come to perfect those charming and innocent pleasures, which I begin to relish here, I will endeavour, by way of detail, to give you an idea of that domestic economy, which proclaims the happiness of the master and mistress, and communicates their felicity to every one under their roof. I hope that my reflections may one day be of use to you, with respect to the project you have in view, and this hope encourages me to pursue them.
I need not give you a description of Clarens house. You know it. You can tell how delightful it is, what interesting recollections it presents to my mind; you can judge how dear it must be to me, both on account of the present scenes it exhibits, and of those which it recalls to my mind. Mrs. Wolmar, with good reason, prefers this abode to that of Etange, a superb and magnificent castle, but old, inconvenient, and gloomy, its situation being far inferior to the country round Clarens.
Since Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar have fixed their residence here, they have converted to use every thing which served only for ornament: it is no longer a house for shew, but for convenience. They have shut up a long sweep of rooms, to alter the inconvenient situation of the doors; they have cut off some over-sized rooms, that the apartments might be better distributed. Instead of rich and antique furniture, they have substituted what is neat and convenient. Every thing here is pleasant and agreeable; every thing breathes an air of plenty and propriety, without any appearance of pomp and luxury. There is not a single room, in which you do not immediately recollect that you are in the country, but in which, nevertheless, you will find all the conveniences you meet with in town. The same alterations are observable without doors. The yard has been enlarged at the expense of the coach-houses. Instead of an old tattered billiard-table, they have made a fine press, and the spot which used to be filled with screaming peacocks, which they have parted with, is converted into a dairy. The kitchen-garden was too small for the kitchen; they have made another out of a flower garden, but so convenient and so well laid out, that the spot, thus transformed, looks more agreeable to the eye than before. Instead of the mournful yews which covered the wall, they have planted good fruit-trees. In the room of the useless Indianblack-berry, fine young mulberry-trees now begin to shade the yard, and they have planted two rows of walnut-trees quite to the r in the place of some old linden trees which bordered the avenue. They have throughout substituted the useful in the room of the agreeable, and yet the agreeable has gained by the alteration. For my own part, at least, I think that the noise of the yard, the crowing of the cocks, the lowing of the cattle, the harness of the carts, the rural repasts, the return of the husband-men, and all the train of rustic economy, give the house a more rural, more lively, animated and gay appearance, than it had in its former state of mournful dignity.
Their estate is not out upon lease, but they are their own farmers, and the cultivation of it employs a great deal of their time, and makes a great part both of their pleasure and profit. The manor of Etange is nothing but meadow, pasture and wood: but the produce of Clarens consists of vineyards, which are considerable objects, and in which, the difference of culture produces more sensible effects than in corn; which is a farther reason why, in point of economy, they should prefer the latter as a place of residence. Nevertheless, they generally go to Etange every year at harvest time, and Mr. Wolmar visits it frequently. It is a maxim with them, to cultivate their lands to the utmost they will produce, not for the sake of extraordinary profit, but as a means of employing more hands. Mr. Wolmar maintains that the produce of the earth is in proportion to the number of hands employed; the better it is tilled, the more it yields; and the surplus of its produce furnishes the means of cultivating it still farther; the more it is stocked with men and cattle, the greater abundance it yields for their support. No one can tell, says he, where this continual and reciprocal increase of produce and of labour may end. On the contrary, land neglected loses its fertility; the less men a country produces, the less provisions it furnishes. The scarcity of inhabitants is the reason why it is insufficient to maintain the few it has, and in every country which tends to depopulation, the people will sooner or later die of famine.
Therefore having a great deal of land, which they cultivate with the utmost industry, they require, besides the servants in the yard, a great number of day labourers, which procures them the pleasure of maintaining a great number of people without any inconvenience to themselves. In the choice of their labourers, they always prefer neighbours and those of the same place, to strangers and foreigners. Though by this means they may sometimes be losers in not choosing the most robust, yet this loss is soon made up by the affection which this preference inspires in those whom they chuse, by the advantage likewise of having them always about them, and of being able to depend on them at all times, though they keep them in pay but part of the year.
They always make two prices with these labourers. One is a strict payment of right, the current price of the country, which they engage to pay them when they hire them. The other, which is more liberal, is a payment of generosity; it is bestowed only as they are found to deserve it, and it seldom happens that they do not earn the surplus: for Mr. Wolmar is just and strict, and never suffers institutions of grace and favour to degenerate into custom and abuse. Over these labourers there are overseers, who watch and encourage them. These overseers work along with the rest; and are interested in their labour, by a little augmentation which is made to their wages, for every advantage that is reaped from their industry. Besides, Mr. Wolmar visits them almost every day himself, sometimes often in a day, and his wife loves to take these walks with him. In times of extraordinary business, Eloisa every week bestows some little gratifications to such of the labourers, or other servants, as, in the judgment of their master, shall have been most industrious for eight days past. All these means of promoting emulation, though seemingly expensive, when used with justice and discretion, insensibly make people laborious and diligent, and in the end bring in more than is disbursed; but as they turn to no profit, but by time and perseverance, few people know any thing of them, or are willing to make use of them.
But the most effectual method of all, which is peculiar to Mrs. Wolmar, and which they who are bent on economy seldom think of, is that of gaining the hearts of those good people, by making them the objects of her affection. She does not think it sufficient to reward their industry, by giving them money, but she thinks herself bound to do farther services to those who have contributed to hers. Labourers, domestics, all who serve her, if it be but for a day, become her children; she takes part in their pleasures, their cares, and their fortune; she inquires into their affairs, and makes their interests her own; she engages in a thousand concerns for them, she gives them her advice, she composes their differences, and does not shew the affability of her disposition in smooth and fruitless speeches, but in real services, and continual acts of benevolence. They, on their parts, leave everything to serve her, on the least motion. They fly when she speaks to them; her look alone animates their zeal; in her presence they are contented; in her absence they talk of her, and are eager to be employed. Her charms, and her manner of conversing do a great deal, but her gentleness and her virtues do more. Ah! my Lord, what a powerful and adorable empire is that of benevolent beauty!
With respect to their personal attendants, they have within doors eight servants, three women and five men, without reckoning the baron's valet de chambre, or the servants in the out-houses. It seldom happens that people, who have but few domestics, are ill served; but, from the uncommon zeal of these servants, one would conclude that each thought himself charged with the business of the other seven, and from the harmony among them, one would imagine that the whole business was done by one man. You never see them in the out-houses idle and unemployed, or playing in the court-yard, but always about some useful employment; they help in the yard, in the cellar, and in the kitchen; The gardener has nobody under him but them, and what is most agreeable, you see them do all this chearfully and with pleasure.
They take them young, in order to form them to their minds. They do not follow the maxim here, which prevails at Paris and London, of choosing domestics ready formed, that is to say, compleat rascals, runners of quality, who in every family they go through, catch the failings both of master and man, and make a trade of serving every body, without being attached to any one. There can be neither honesty, fidelity, or zeal among such fellows, and this collection of rabble serves to ruin the masters and corrupt the children in all wealthy families. Here, the choice of domestics is considered as an article of importance. They do not regard them merely as mercenaries, from whom they only require a stipulated service, but as members of a family, which, should they be ill chosen, might be ruined by that means. The first thing they require of them is to be honest, the next is to love their master, and the third to serve him to his liking; but where a master is reasonable, and servant intelligent, the third is the consequence of the two first. Therefore they do not take them from town, but from the country. This is the first place they live in, and it will assuredly be the last if they are good for any thing. They take them out of some numerous family overstocked with children, whose parents come to offer them of their own accord. They chuse them young, well made, healthy, and of a pleasant countenance. Mr. Wolmar interrogates and examines them, and then presents them to his wife. If they prove agreeable to both, they are received at first upon trial, afterwards they are admitted among the number of servants, or more properly the children of the family, and they employ some days in teaching their duty with a great deal of care and patience. The service is so simple, so equal and uniform, the master and mistress are so little subject to whims and caprice, and the servants so soon conceive an affection for them, that their business is soon learned. Their condition is agreeable; they find conveniences which they had not at home; but they are not suffered to be enervated by idleness, the parent of all vice. They do not allow them to become gentlemen, and to grow proud in their service. They continue to work as they did with their own family; in fact, they do but change their father and mother, and get more wealthy parents. They do not therefore hold their old rustic employments in contempt. Whenever they leave this place, there is not one of them who had not rather turn peasant, than take any other employment. In short, I never saw a family, where every one acquits himself so well in his service, and thinks so little of the trouble of servitude.
Thus by training up their servants themselves, in this discreet manner, they guard against the objection which is so very trifling, and so frequently made, viz. "I shall only bring them up for the service of others." Train them properly, one might answer, and they will never serve any one else. If in bringing them up, you solely regard your own benefit, they have a right to consult their own interest in quitting you; but if you seem to consider their advantage, they will remain constantly attached to you. It is the intention alone which constitutes the obligation, and he who is indirectly benefited by an act of kindness, wherein I meant to serve my self only, owes me no obligation whatever.
As a double preventive against this inconvenience, Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar take another method, which appears to me extremely prudent. At the first establishment of their houshold, they calculated what number of servants their fortune would allow them to keep, and they found it to amount to fifteen or sixteen; in order to be better served they made a reduction of half that number; so that with less retinue, their service is more exactly attended. To be more effectually served still, they have made it the interest of their servants to continue with them a long time. When a domestic first enters into their service, he receives the common wages; but those wages are augmented every year by a twentieth part: so that at the end of twenty years, they will be more than doubled, and the charge of keeping these servants will be nearly the same, in proportion to the master's circumstances. But there is no need of being a deep algebraist to discover that the expense of this augmentation is more in appearance than reality, that there will be but few to whom double wages will be paid, and that if they were paid to all the servants, yet the benefit of having been well served for twenty years past, would more than compensate the extraordinary expense. You perceive, my Lord, that this is a certain expedient of making servants grow continually more and more careful, and of attaching them to you, by attaching yourself to them. There is not only prudence, but justice in such a provision. Is it reasonable that a new-comer, who has no affection for you, and who is perhaps an unworthy object, should receive the same salary, at his first entrance into the family, as an old servant, whose zeal and fidelity have been tried in a long course of services, and who besides, being grown in years, draws near the time when he will be incapable of providing for himself? The latter reason, however, must not be brought into the account, and you may easily imagine that such a benevolent master and mistress do not fail to discharge that duty, which many, who are devoid of charity, fulfill out of ostentation; and you may suppose that they do not abandon those whose infirmities or old age render them incapable of service.
I can give you a very striking instance of their attention to this duty. The Baron D'Etange being desirous to recompense the long services of his valet de chambre, by procuring him an honourable retreat, had the interest to obtain for him the L.S.E.E. an easy and lucrative post. Eloisa has just now received a most affecting letter from this old servant, in which he intreats her to get him excused from accepting this employment. "I am in years, says he, I have lost all my family; I have no relations but my master and his family; all my hope is to end my days quietly in the house where I have passed the greatest part, of them. Often, dear madam, as I have held you in my arms when but an infant, I prayed to heaven that I might one day hold your little ones in the same manner. My prayers have been heard; do not deny me the happiness of seeing them grow and prosper like you. I who have been accustomed to a quiet family, where shall I find such another place of rest in my old age? Be so kind to write to the Baron in my behalf. If he is dissatisfied with me, let him turn me off, and give me no employment; but if I have served him faithfully for these forty years past, let him allow me to end my days in his service and yours; he cannot reward me better." It is needless to enquire whether Eloisa wrote to the Baron or not. I perceive that she would be as unwilling to part with this good man, as he would be to leave her. Am I wrong, my Lord, when I compare a master and mistress, thus beloved, to good parents, and their servants to obedient children? You find that they consider themselves in this light.
There is not a single instance in this family of a servant's giving warning. It is even very seldom that they are threatened with a dismission. A menace of this kind alarms them in proportion as their service is pleasant and agreeable. The best subjects are always the soonest alarmed, and there is never any occasion to come to extremities but with such as are not worth regretting. They have likewise a rule in this respect. When Mr. Wolmar says, I discharge you, they may then implore Mrs. Wolmar to intercede for them, and through her intercession may be restored; but if she gives them warning, it is irrevocable, and they have no favour to expect. This agreement between them is very well calculated both to moderate the extreme confidence which her gentleness might beget in them, and the violent apprehensions they might conceive from his inflexibility. Such a warning nevertheless is excessively dreaded from a just and dispassionate master; for besides that they are not certain of obtaining favour, and that the same person is never pardoned twice, they forfeit the right which they acquire from their long service, by having had warning given, and when they are restored, they begin a new service as it were. This prevents the old servants from growing insolent, and makes them more circumspect, in proportion as they have more to lose.
The three maid-servants are, the chamber-maid, the governess, and the cook. The latter is a country girl, very proper and well qualified for the place, whom Mrs. Wolmar has instructed in cookery: for in this country, which is as yet in some measure in a state of simplicity, young ladies learn to do that business themselves, that when they keep house, they may be able to direct their servants; and consequently are less liable to be imposed upon by them. B——is no longer the chambermaid; they have sent her back to Etange, where she was born; they have again entrusted her with the care of the castle, and the superintendence of the receipts, which makes her in some degree comptroller of the houshold. Mr. Wolmar intreated his wife to make this regulation; but it was a long time before she could resolve to part with an old servant of her mother's, though she had more than one reason to be displeased with her. But after their last conference, she gave her consent, and B——is gone. This girl is handy and honest, but babbling and indiscreet. I suspect that she has, more than once, betrayed the secrets of her mistress, that Mr. Wolmar is sensible of it, and to prevent her being guilty of the same indiscretion with respect to a stranger, he has prudently taken this method to avail himself of her good qualities, without running any hazard from her imperfections. She who is taken in her room, is that same Fanny, of whom you have often heard me speak with so much pleasure. Notwithstanding Eloisa's prediction, her favours, her father's kindness and yours, this deserving and discreet woman has not been happy in her connection. Claud Anet, who endured adversity so bravely, could not support a more prosperous state. When he found himself at ease, he neglected his business, and his affairs being quite embarrassed, he fled the country, leaving his wife with an infant whom she has since lost. Eloisa having taken her home, instructed her in the business of a chamber-maid, and I was never more agreeably surprized than to find her settled in her employment, the first day of my arrival. Mr. Wolmar pays great regard to her, and they have both entrusted her with the charge of superintending their children, and of having an eye likewise over their governess, who is a simple credulous country lass, but attentive, patient, and tractable; so that in short, they have omitted no precaution to prevent the vices of the town from creeping into a family, where the master and mistress are strangers to them, and will not suffer them under their roof.
Though there is but one table among all the servants, yet there is but little communication between the men and women, and this they consider as a point of great importance. Mr. Wolmar is not of the same opinion with those masters, who are indifferent to every thing which does not immediately concern their interests, and who only desire to be well served, without troubling themselves about what their servants do beside. He thinks, on the contrary, that they who regard nothing but their own service, cannot be well served. Too close a connection between the two sexes, frequently occasions mischief. The disorders of most families arise from the rendezvous which are held in the chamber-maid's apartment. If there is one whom the steward happens to be fond of, he does not fail to seduce her at the expense of his master. A good understanding among the men, or among the women, is not alone sufficiently firm to produce any material consequences. But it is always between the men and the women that those secret monopolies are established, which in the end ruin the most wealthy families. They pay a particular attention therefore to the discretion and modesty of the women, not only from principles of honesty and morality, but from well-judged motives of interest. For whatever some may pretend, no one who does not love his duty, can discharge it as he ought; and none ever loved their duty, who were devoid of honour.
They do not, to prevent any dangerous intimacy between the two sexes, restrain them by positive rules which they might be tempted to violate in secret, but without any seeming intention, they establish good customs, which are more powerful than authority itself. They do not forbid any intercourse between them, but 'tis contrived in such a manner that they have no occasion or inclination to see each other. This is effectuated by making their business, their habits, their tastes, and their pleasures entirely different. To maintain the admirable order which they have established, they are sensible that in a well-regulated family there should be as little correspondence as possible between the two sexes. They, who would accuse their master of caprice, was he to enforce such a rule by way of injunction, submit, without regret, to a manner of life which is not positively prescribed to them, but which they themselves conceive to be the best and most natural. Eloisa insists that it must be so in fact; she maintains that neither love nor conjugal union is the result of a continual commerce between the sexes. In her opinion, husband and wife were designed to live together, but not to live in the same manner. They ought to act in concert, but not to do the same things. The kind of life, says she, which would delight the one, would be insupportable to the other; the inclinations which nature has given them, are as different as the occupations she has assigned them: they differ in their amusements as much as in their duties. In a word, each contributes to the common good by different ways, and the proper distribution of their several cares and employments, is the strongest tie that cements their union.
For my own part, I confess that my observations are much in favour of this maxim. In fact, is it not the general practice, except among the French, and those who imitate them, for the men and women to live separately? If they see each other, it is rather by short interviews, and as it were by stealth, as the Spartans visited their wives, than by an indiscreet and constant intercourse, sufficient to confound and destroy the wisest bounds of distinction which nature has set between them. We do not, even among the savages, see men and women intermingle indiscriminately. In the evening, the family meet together; every one passes the night with his wife; when the day begins, they separate again, and the two sexes enjoy nothing in common, but their meals at most. This is the order, which, from its universality, appears to be most natural, and even in those countries where it is perverted, we may perceive some vestiges of it remaining. In France, where the men have submitted to live after the fashion of the women, and to be continually shut up in a room with them, you may perceive from their involuntary motions that they are under confinement. While the ladies, sit quietly, or loll upon their couch, you may perceive the men get up, go, come, and sit down again, perpetually restless, as if a kind of mechanical instinct continually counteracted the restraint they suffered, and prompted them, in their own respite, to that active and laborious life for which nature intended them. They are the only people in the world where the menstandat the theatre, as if they went into the pit to relieve themselves of the fatigue of having been sitting all day in a dining room. In short, they are to sensible of the irksomeness of this effeminate and sedentary indolence, that in order to checquer it with some degree of activity at least, they yield their places at home to strangers, and go to other mens' wives in order to alleviate their disgust!
The example of Mrs. Wolmar's family contributes greatly to support the maxim she establishes. Every one, as it were, being confined to their proper sex, the women there live in a great measure apart from the men. In order to prevent any suspicious connections between them, her great secret is to keep both one and the other constantly employed; for their occupations are so different, that nothing but idleness can bring them together. In the morning, each apply to their proper business, and no one is at leisure to interrupt the other. After dinner, the men are employed in the garden, the yard, or in some other rural occupation: the women are busy in the nursery till the hour comes at which they take a walk with the children, and sometimes indeed with the mistress, which is very agreeable to them, as it is the only time in which they take the air. The men, being sufficiently tired with their day's work, have seldom any inclination to walk, and therefore rest themselves within doors.
Every Sunday, after evening service, the women meet again in the nursery, with some friend or relation whom they invite in their turns by Mrs. Wolmar's consent. There, they have a little collation prepared for them by Eloisa's direction; and she permits them to chat, sing, run or play at some little game of skill, fit to please children, and such as they may bear a part in themselves. The entertainment is composed of syllabubs, cream, and different kinds of cakes, with such other little viands as suit the taste of women and children. Wine is almost excluded, and the men, who are rarely admitted of this little female party, never are present at this collation, which Eloisa seldom misses. I am the only man who has obtained this privilege. Last Sunday, with great importunity, I got leave to attend her there. She took great pains to make me consider it as a very singular favour. She told me aloud that she granted it for that once only, and that she had even refused Mr. Wolmar himself. You may imagine whether this difficulty of admission does not flatter female vanity a little, and whether a footman would be a welcome visitor, where his master was excluded.
I made a most delicious repast with them. Where will you find such cream-cakes as we have here? Imagine what they must be, made in a dairy where Eloisa presides, and eaten in her company. Fanny presented me with some cream, some seed cake, and other little comfits. All was gone in an instant. Eloisa smiled at my appetite. I find, said she, giving me another plate of cream, that your appetite does you credit every where, and that you make as good a figure among a club of females, as you do among the Valaisians. But I do not, answered I, make the repast with more impunity; the one may be attended with intoxication as well as the other; and reason may be as much distracted in a nursery, as in a wine cellar. She cast her eyes down without making any reply, blushed, and began to play with her children. This was enough to sting me with remorse. This, my Lord, was my first indiscretion, and I hope it will be the last.
There was a certain air of primitive simplicity in this assembly, which affected me very sensibly. I perceived the same chearfulness in every countenance, and perhaps more openness than if there had been men in company. The familiarity which was observable between the mistress and her servants, being founded on sincere attachment and confidence, only served to establish respect and authority; and the services rendered and received, appeared like so many testimonies of reciprocal friendship. There was nothing, even to the very choice of the collation, but what contributed to make this assembly engaging. Milk and sugar are naturally adapted to the taste of the fair sex, and may be deemed the symbols of innocence and sweetness, which are their most becoming ornaments. Men, on the contrary, are fond of high flavours, and strong liquors; a kind of nourishment more suitable to the active and laborious life for which nature has designed them; and when these different tastes come to be blended, it is an infallible sign that the distinction between the two sexes is inordinately confounded. In fact, I have observed that in France, where the women constantly intermix with the men, they have entirely lost their relish for milk meats, and the men have in some measure lost their taste for wine; and in England, where the two sexes are better distinguished, the proper taste of each is better preserved. In general, I am of opinion, that you may very often form some judgment of people's disposition, from their choice of food. The Italians, who live a great deal on vegetables, are soft and effeminate. You Englishmen, who are great eaters of meat, have something harsh in your rigid virtue, and which favours of barbarism. The Swiss, who is naturally of a calm, gentle and cold constitution, but hot and violent when in a passion, is fond both of one and the other, and drinks milk and wine indiscriminately. The Frenchman, who is pliant and changeable, lives upon all kinds of food, and conforms himself to every taste. Eloisa herself may serve as an instance: for though she makes her meals with a keen appetite, yet she does not love meat, ragouts, or salt, and never yet tasted wine by itself. Some excellent roots, eggs, cream and fruit, compose her ordinary diet, and was it not for fish, of which she is likewise very fond, she would be a thorough Pythagorean.
To keep the women in order would signify nothing, if the men were not likewise under proper regulations; and this branch of domestic economy, which is not of less importance, is still more difficult; for the attack is generally more lively than the defence: the guardian of human nature intended it so. In the common wealth, citizens are kept in order by principles of morality and virtue; but how are we to keep servants and mercenaries under proper regulations, otherwise than by force and restraint? The art of a master consists in disguising this restraint under the veil of pleasure and interest, that what they are obliged to do, may seem the result of their own inclination. Sunday being a day of idleness, and servants having a right of going where they please, when business does not require their duty at home, that one day often destroys all the good examples and lessons of the other six. The habit of frequenting public houses, the converse and maxims of their comrades, the company of loose women, soon render them unserviceable to their masters, and unprofitable to themselves; and by teaching them a thousand vices, make them unfit for servitude, and unworthy of liberty.
To remedy this inconvenience, they endeavour to keep them at home by the same motives which induce them to go abr Why do they go abr To drink and play at a public house. They drink and play at home. All the difference is, that the wine costs them nothing, that they do not get drunk, and that there are some winners at play, without any losers. The following is the method taken for this purpose.
Behind the house is a shady walk, where they have fixed the lifts. There, in the summertime, the livery servants and the men in the yard meet every Sunday after sermon time, to play in little detached parties, not for money, for it is not allowed, nor for wine, which is given them; but for a prize furnished by their master's generosity: which is generally some piece of goods or apparel fit for their use. The number of games is in proportion to the value of the prize, so that when the prize is somewhat considerable, as a pair of silver buckles, a neckcloth, a pair of silk stockings, a fine hat, or any thing of that kind, they have generally several bouts to decide it. They are not confined to one particular game, but they change them, that one man, who happens to excel in a particular game, may not carry off all the prizes, and that they may grow stronger and more dextrous by a variety of exercises. At one time, the contest is who shall first reach a mark at the other end of the walk; at another time it is who shall throw the same stone farthest; then again it is who shall carry the same weight longest. Sometimes they contend for a prize by shooting at a mark. Most of these games are attended with some little preparations, which serve to prolong them; and render them entertaining. Their master and mistress often honour them with their presence; they sometimes take their children with them; nay even strangers resort thither, excited by curiosity, and they desire nothing better than to bear a share in the sport; but none are ever admitted without Mr. Wolmar's approbation and the consent of the players, who would not find their account in granting it readily. This custom has imperceptibly become a kind of shew, in which the actors, being animated by the presence of the spectators, prefer the glory of applause to the lucre of the prize. As these exercises make them more active and vigorous, they set a greater value on themselves, and being accustomed to estimate their importance from their own intrinsic worth, rather than from their possessions, they prize honour, notwithstanding they are footmen, beyond money.
It would be tedious to enumerate all the advantages which they derive from a practice so trifling in appearance, and which is always despised by little minds; but it is the prerogative of true genius to produce great effects by inconsiderable means. Mr. Wolmar has assured me that these little institutions which his wife first suggested, scares stood him in fifty crowns a year. But, said he, how often do you think I am repaid this sum in my housekeeping and my affairs in general, by the vigilance and attention with which I am served by these faithful servants, who derive all their pleasures from their master; by the interest they take in a family which they consider as their own; by the advantage I reap, in their labours, from the vigour they acquire at their exercises; by the benefit of keeping them always in health, in preserving them from those exercises which are common to men in their station, and from those disorders which frequently attend such excesses; by securing them from any propensity to knavery, which is an infallible consequence of irregularity, and by confirming them in the practice of honesty; in short, by the pleasure of having such agreeable recreations within ourselves at such a trifling expense? If there are any among them, either man or woman, who do not care to conform to our regulations, but prefer the liberty of going where they please on various pretences, we never refuse to give them leave; but we consider this licentious turn as a very suspicious symptom, and we are always ready to mistrust such dispositions. Thus these little amusements which furnish us with good servants, serve also as a direction to us in the choice of them.——I must confess my Lord, that, except in this family, I never saw the same men made good domestics for personal service, good husbandmen for tilling the ground, good soldiers for the defence of their country, and honest fellows in any station into which fortune may chance to throw them.
In the winter, their pleasures vary as well as their labours. On a Sunday, all the servants in the family and even the neighbours, men and women indiscriminately, meet after service-time in a hall where there is a good fire, some wine, fruits, cakes, and a fiddle to which they dance. Mrs. Wolmar never fails to be present for some time at least, in order to preserve decorum and modesty by her presence, and it is not uncommon for her to dance herself, though among her own people. When I was first made acquainted with this custom, it appeared to me not quite conformable to the strictness of Protestant morals. I told Eloisa so; and she answered me to the following effect.
Pure morality is charged with so many severe duties, that if it is over burthened with forms which are in themselves indifferent they will always be of prejudice to what is really essential. This is said to be the case with the monks in general, who being slaves to rules totally immaterial, are utter strangers to the meaning of honour and virtue. This defeat is less observable among us, though we are not wholly exempt from it. Our churchmen, who are as much superior to other priests in knowledge, as our religion is superior to all others in purity, do nevertheless maintain some maxims, which seem to be rather founded on prejudice than reason. Of this kind, is that which condemns dancing and assemblies, as if there were more harm in dancing than singing, as if each of these amusements were not equally a propensity of nature, and as if it were a crime to divert ourselves publicly with an innocent and harmless recreation. For my own part, I think, on the contrary, that every time there is a concourse of the two sexes, every public diversion becomes innocent, by being public; whereas the most laudable employment becomes suspicious in atete a teteparty.[53]Man and woman were formed for each other, their union by marriage is the end of nature. All false religion is at war with nature, ours which conforms to and rectifies natural propensity, proclaims a divine institution which is most suitable to mankind. Religion ought not to increase the embarrassment which civil regulations throw in the way of matrimony, by difficulties which the gospel does not create, and which are contrary to the true spirit of Christianity. Let any one tell me which young people can have an opportunity of conceiving a mutual liking, and of seeing each other with more decorum and circumspection, than in an assembly where the eyes of the spectators being constantly upon them, oblige them to behave with peculiar caution? How can we offend God by an agreeable and wholesome exercise, suitable to the vivacity of youth, an exercise which consists in the art of presenting ourselves to each other with grace and elegance, and wherein the presence of the spectator imposes a decorum, which no one dares to violate? Can we conceive a more effectual method to avoid imposition with respect to person at least, by displaying ourselves with all our natural graces and defects before those whose interest it is to know us thoroughly, ere they oblige themselves to love us? Is not the obligation of reciprocal affection greater than that of self-love, and is it not an attention worthy of a pious and virtuous pair who propose to marry, thus to prepare their hearts for that mutual love, which heaven prompts.
What is the consequence, in those places where people are under a continual restraint, where the most innocent gaiety is punished as criminal, where the young people of different sexes dare not meet in public, and where the indiscreet severity of the pastor preaches nothing, in the name of God, but servile constraint, sadness and melancholy? They find means to elude an insufferable tyranny, which nature and reason disavow. When gay and sprightly youth are debarred from lawful pleasures, they substitute others more dangerous in their stead.Tete a teteparties artfully concerted, supply the place of public assemblies. By being obliged to concealment as if they were criminal, they at length become so in fact. Harmless joy loves to display itself in the face of the world, but vice is a friend to darkness; and innocence and secrecy never subsist long together. My dear friend, said she, grasping my hand, as if she meant to convey her repentance, and communicate the purity of her own heart to mine; who can be more sensible of the importance of this truth than ourselves? What sorrow and troubles, what tears and remorse we might have prevented for so many years past, if we could, but have foreseen how dangerous atete a teteintercourse was to that virtue which we always loved!
Besides, said Mrs. Wolmar, in a softer tone, it is not in a numerous assembly, where we are seen and heard by all the world, but in private parties, where secrecy and freedom is indulged, that our morals are in danger. It is from this principle, that whenever my domestics meet, I am glad to see them all together. I even approve of their inviting such young people in the neighbourhood whose company will not corrupt them; and I hear with pleasure, that, when they mean to commend the morals of any of our young neighbours, they say——He is admitted at Mr. Wolmar's. We have a farther view in this. Our men servants are all very young, and, among the women, the governess is yet single; it is not reasonable that the retired life they lead with us, should debar them of an opportunity of forming an honest connection. We endeavour therefore, in these little meetings, to give them this opportunity, under our inspection, that we may assist them in their choice; and thus by endeavouring to make happy families, we increase the felicity of our own.
I ought now to justify myself for dancing with these good people; but I rather chuse to pass sentence on myself in this respect, and I frankly confess that my chief motive is the pleasure I take in the exercise. You know that I always resembled my cousin in her passion for dancing; but after the death of my mother, I bade adieu to the ball and all public assemblies; I kept my resolution, even to the day of my marriage, and will keep it still, without thinking it any violation to dance now and then in my own house with my guests and my domestics. It is an exercise very good for my health during the sedentary life which we are obliged to live here in winter. I find it an innocent amusement; for after a good dance, my conscience does not reproach me. It amuses Mr. Wolmar likewise, and all my coquetry in this particular is only to please him. I am the occasion of his coming into the ball room; the good people are best satisfied when they are honoured with their master's presence; and they express a satisfaction when they see me amongst them. In short, I find that such occasional familiarity forms an agreeable connection and attachment between us, which approaches nearer the natural condition of mankind, by moderating the meanness of servitude, and the rigour of authority.
Such, my Lord, are the sentiments of Eloisa, with respect to dancing, and I have often wondered how so much affability could consist with such a degree of subordination, and how she and her husband could so often stoop to level themselves with their servants, and yet the latter never be tempted to assume equality in their turn. I question if any Asiatic monarchs are attended in their palaces with more respect, than Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar are served in their own house. I never knew any commands less imperious than theirs, or more readily executed: if they ask for any thing, their servants fly; if they excuse their failings, they themselves are nevertheless sensible of their faults. I was never better convinced how much the force of what is said, depends on the mode of expression.
This has led me into a reflection on the affected gravity of masters; which is, that it is rather to be imputed to their own failings, than to the effects of their familiarity, that they are despised in their families, and that the insolence of servants is rather an indication of a vicious than of a weak master: for nothing gives them such assurance, as the knowledge of his vices, and they consider all discoveries of that kind as so many dispensations, which free them from their obedience to a man whom they can no longer respect.
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 abr 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.
If these precious advantages are despised or little known, and if the few who endeavour to acquire them seldom obtain them, the reason, in both cases, is the same. There are many simple and sublime duties, which few people can relish and fulfil. Such are those of the master of a family, for which the air and bustle of the world gives him a disgust, and which he never discharges properly when he is only inflamed by motives of avarice and interest. Some think themselves excellent masters, and are only careful economists; their income may thrive, and their family nevertheless be in a bad condition. They ought to have more enlarged views to direct an administration of such importance, so as to give it a happy issue. The first thing to be attended to in the due regulation of a family, is to admit none but honest people, who will not have any secret intention to disturb that regularity. But are honesty and servitude so compatible, that we may hope to find servants who are honest men? No, my Lord, if we would have them, we must not inquire for them, but we must make them; and none who are not men of integrity themselves are capable of making others honest. It is to no purpose for a hypocrite to affect an air of virtue, he will never inspire any one with an affection for it; and if he knew how to make virtue amiable, he would be in love with it himself. What do formal lessons avail, when daily example contradicts them, unless to make us suspect that the moralist means to sport with our credulity? What an absurdity are they guilty of who exhort us to do as they say, and not as they act themselves! He who does not act up to what he says, never speaks to any effect; for the language of the heart is wanting, which alone is persuasive and affecting. I have sometimes heard conversations of this kind held, in a gross manner, before servants, in order to read them lectures, as they do to children sometimes, in an indirect way. Far from having any reason to imagine that they were the dupes of such artifice, I have always observed them smile in secret at their master's folly, who must have taken them for blockheads, by making an awkward display of sentiments before them, which they knew were none of his own.
All these idle subtleties are unknown in this family, and the grand art by which the master and mistress make their servants what they would desire them to be, is to appear themselves before them what they really are. Their behaviour is always frank and open, because they are not in any fear lest their actions should bely their processions. As they themselves do not entertain principles of morality different from those which they inculcate to others, they have no occasion for any extraordinary circumspection in their discourse; a word blundered out unseasonably does not overthrow the principles they have laboured to establish. They do not indiscreetly tell all their affairs, but they openly proclaim all their maxims. Whether at table, or abrtete a tete, or in public, their sentiments are still the same; they ingenuously deliver their opinions on every subject, and without their having any individual in view, every one is instructed by their conversation. As their servants never see them do any thing but what is just, reasonable and equitable, they do not consider justice as a tax on the poor, as a yoke on the unhappy, and as one of the evils of their condition. The care they take never to let the labourers come in vain, and lose their day's work in seeking after their wages, teaches their servants to set a just value on time. When they see their master so careful of other men's time, each concludes that his own time must be of consequence, and therefore deems idleness the greatest crime he can be guilty of. The confidence which their servants have in their integrity, gives that force to their regulations which makes them observed, and prevents abuses. They are not afraid, when they come to receive their weekly gratuities, that their mistress should partially determine the youngest and most active to have been the most diligent. An old servant is not apprehensive lest they should start some quibble, to save the promised augmentation to their wages. They can never hope to take advantage of any division between their master and mistress, in order to make themselves of consequence, and to obtain from one what the other has refused. They who are unmarried, are not afraid lest they should oppose their settlement, in order to detain them longer; and by that means make their service a prejudice to them. If a strange servant was to tell the domestics of this family, that master and servants are in a state of war with each other, that when the latter do the former all the injury they can, they only make lawful reprisals, that masters being usurpers, liars and knaves, there can consequently be no harm in using them as they use their prince, the people, or individuals, and in returning those injuries with dexterity, which they offer openly——one who should talk in this manner would not be attended to; they would not give themselves the trouble to controvert or obviate such sentiments; they who give rise to them, are the only persons whose business it is to refute them.
You never perceive any sullenness or mutiny in the discharge of their duty, because there is never any haughtiness or capriciousness in the orders they receive; nothing is required of them but what is reasonable and expedient, and their master and mistress have too much respect for the dignity of human nature, even in a state of servitude, to put them upon any employment which may debase them. Moreover, nothing here is reckoned mean but vice, and whatever is reasonable and necessary, is deemed honourable and becoming.
They do not allow of any intrigues abr neither has any one any inclinations of that kind. They are sensible that their fortune is most firmly attached to their masters, and that they shall never want any thing while his family prospers. Therefore in serving him, they take care of their own patrimony, and increase it by making their service agreeable; this above all things is their interest. But this word is somewhat misapplied here, for I never knew any system of policy by which self-interest was so skilfully directed, and where at the same time it had less influence than in this family. They all act from a principle of attachment, and one would think that venal souls were purified as soon as they entered into this dwelling of wisdom and union. He would imagine that part of the master's intelligence, and of the mistress's sensibility, was conveyed to each of their servants; they seem so judicious, benevolent, honest, and so much above their station. Their greatest ambition is to do well, to be valued and esteemed; and they consider an obliging expression from their master or mistress, in the light of a present.
These, my Lord, are the most material observations I have made on that part of the economy of this family, which regards the servants and labourers. As to Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar's manner of living, and the education of their children, each of these articles very well deserves a separate letter. You know with what view I began these remarks; but in truth the whole forms such an agreeable representation, that we need only meditate upon it to advance it, and we require no other inducement, than the pleasure it affords us.
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