She never wants to be "unhanded" or "let to pass."
She is not always being shocked or insulted by people telling her that
they love her; she does not seem to mind it if they do. She is not
always fainting, and crying, and sobbing, and wailing, and moaning,
like the good people in the play are.
Oh, they do have an
unhappy time of it--the good people in plays!
Then she is the only person in the piece who can sit on the comic man.
We sometimes think it would be a
fortunate thing--for him--if they
allowed her to marry and settle down quietly with the hero. She might
make a man of him in time.
THE SERVANT-GIRL.
There are two types of servant-girl to be met with on the stage. This
is an
unusualallowance for one profession.
There is the lodging-house slavey. She has a good heart and a smutty
face and is always dressed according to the latest fashion in
scarecrows. Her leading
occupation is the cleaning of boots. She
cleans boots all over the house, at all hours of the day. She comes
and sits down on the hero's breakfast-table and cleans them over the
poor fellow's food. She comes into the
drawing-room cleaning boots.
She has her own method of cleaning them, too. She rubs off the mud,
puts on the blacking, and
polishes up all with the same brush. They
take an
enormousamount of
polishing. She seems to do nothing else
all day long but walk about shining one boot, and she breathes on it
and rubs it till you wonder there is any leather left, yet it never
seems to get any brighter, nor, indeed, can you expect it to, for when
you look close you see it is a patent-leather boot that she has been
throwing herself away upon all this time.
Somebody has been having a lark with the poor girl.
The lodging-house slavey brushes her hair with the boot brush and
blacks the end of her nose with it.
We were acquainted with a lodging-house slavey once--a real one, we
mean. She was the handmaiden at a house in Bloomsbury where we once
hung out. She was untidy in her dress, it is true, but she had not
quite that castaway and gone-to-sleep-in-a-dust-bin appearance that
we, an
earnest student of the drama, felt she ought to present, and we
questioned her one day on the subject.
"How is it, Sophronia," we said, "that you distantly
resemble a human
being instead of giving one the idea of an
animated rag-shop? Don't
you ever
polish your nose with the blacking-brush, or rub coal into
your head, or wash your face in treacle, or put skewers into your
hair, or anything of that sort, like they do on the stage?"
She said: "Lord love you, what should I want to go and be a bally
idiot like that for?"
And we have not liked to put the question
elsewhere since then.
The other type of servant-girl on the stage--the villa
servant-girl--is a very different
personage. She is a fetching little
thing, dresses bewitchingly, and is always clean. Her duties are to
dust the legs of the chairs in the
drawing-room. That is the only
work she ever has to do, but it must be confessed she does that
thoroughly. She never comes into the room without dusting the legs of
these chairs, and she dusts them again before she goes out.
If anything ought to be free from dust in a stage house, it should be
the legs of the
drawing-room chairs.
She is going to marry the man-servant, is the stage servant-girl, as
soon as they have saved up sufficient out of their wages to buy a
hotel. They think they will like to keep a hotel. They don't
understand a bit about the business, which we believe is a complicated
one, but this does not trouble them in the least.
They quarrel a good deal over their love-making, do the stage
servant-girl and her young man, and they always come into the
drawing-room to do it. They have got the kitchen, and there is the
garden (with a
fountain and mountains in the background--you can see
it through the window), but no! no place in or about the house is good
enough for them to quarrel in except the
drawing-room. They quarrel
there so
vigorously that it even interferes with the dusting of the
chair-legs.
She ought not to be long in saving up sufficient to marry on, for the
generosity of people on the stage to the servants there makes one
seriously consider the advisability of ignoring the unremunerative
professions of ordinary life and starting a new and more promising
career as a stage servant.
No one ever dreams of tipping the stage servant with less than a
sovereign when they ask her if her
mistress is at home or give her a
letter to post, and there is quite a rush at the end of the piece to
stuff five-pound notes into her hand. The good old man gives her ten.
The stage servant is very impudent to her
mistress, and the master--he
falls in love with her and it does upset the house so.