even mothers can get over the irksomeness. We see it by the number of mothers who are strict and hard with their children; who are making their children feel de trop in their presence and in the house; who first consign their little ones to nursemaids and then to governesses, without a sense of sacrifice on their own part, till jealousy awakes, when nurse or governess has won the little hearts.
The same temperament in a governess makes her life almost unbearable. So does a love of study, whether in the way of books or art. So a dozen other characters of mind which are aggrieved by the perpetual restlessness of children,—by the incessant interruption they cause,—by their importunity, their irritability, and the pettiness of their minds and interests. Living all day and every day with these little companions, with a consciousness of not getting on well with them, or doing well by them, is cause enough for a perpetual fever of mind and wear of nerves, leading to illness, to failure of temper, to a resort to stimulants by slow degrees. A lower order of governess will, in the same circumstances, grow despotic and savage,—the demons of the schoolroom who have destroyed so much young promise, and shed a blight over the whole life of early victims.
The mere absence of the special power of teaching is nearly as bad. The children seem stupid: lessons become to them a mere infliction, and the notion of knowledge a terror. A child who cries every day from the same distress is doomed to ill-health; and so is the teacher who sees no result from her toil but growing stupidity on the part of her pupils. These are the governesses who are to go to Bedlam by-and-by.
A wise and experienced clergyman once said the very kindest thing, and the richest in meaning, which could be said to a young governess about to leave home for the first time: “Don’t be too anxious to give satisfaction.” There is no need to enlarge on the significance of this advice. It is in itself guidance to power, health, comfort and cheerfulness: but it is for the few only who have the natural gifts requisite for their work. Those who are not in instinctive alliance with the children must be anxious about giving satisfaction to the parents.
These are the wearing cares under which health decays. Then there are the privations. No mother, brother, sister, or friend to speak to every day—or any day; no domestic freedom under which life flows on in a full and easy stream; none of the social consideration which persons of all ranks enjoy in their own homes; no choice of friends and companions with whom to travel and enjoy the daily stage of life; none of the support which family love and pride afford to self-respect. These and many more are the privations endured by the alien of the household.
Of the mortifications I will not speak, because I could not do it without having to explain why I consider that the weakest point of the governess’s case. I have no sympathy with the governess who thinks so much more of herself than the children as to stipulate for a place at the table when there are dinner parties, and for a permanent invitation to the drawing-room in the evening. Her pupils want her most when everybody else is engaged in hospitality; and she certainly cannot keep up her qualifications, or increase her knowledge, if she spends all her evenings in society instead of study.
One of the embarrassments of the conscientious governess is to decide between gaining knowledge and losing ease and good manners by solitary study in leisure hours; and keeping her social ease and losing knowledge and power by going from the school-room to the drawing-room. Each must decide for herself in her own case; but there seems to be no doubt that the ease of mind which arises from a cultivated intelligence is best promoted by a general habit of intellectual pursuit, sufficiently varied by social intercourse. A close and equal friendship in the house or neighbourhood is an impossible blessing to a resident governess. With the mother it is out of the question, from their irreconcilcable positions in regard to the children; and with anyone else it is practically (and naturally) never tolerated.
Then come the personal anxieties,—inseparable from the position. Every governess must want to earn money, or she would not be where she is; and she has no means of earning enough for her peace of mind. The salary does not afford any prospect of a sufficient provision when health and energy are worn out.
Sir George Stephen, who, as the legal champion of a host of governesses, knows more of their circumstances than perhaps any other man of his time, declared[1] that he knew of one governess being paid 400l. a-year; of three receiving 300l., and a few more 200l.; but that 120l. was the received limit of salary for the most accomplished ladies. Not many get more than 80l. There is no occasion to set about proving that a woman can lay by very little out of 80l. or 100l. a-year, after paying for her clothes and washing; her annual journey home or elsewhere; medical advice, and the means of pursuing her arts and studies. The accumulation must be so small at best, that the encouragement to save is very weak. It rarely happens, too, that the governess has only herself to maintain. In most instances, every shilling is wanted as it comes in. And then, how vast is the majority of cases in which there cannot possibly be any surplus at all! Every few months some sort of protest is publicly made against parents who advertise for a governess who is to do the work of three persons for ten or fifteen guineas a year; but the evil of insufficient pay goes on. It must go on till governesses are a less numerous and better qualified body than they have ever been yet. I have seen Quakers surprised at my exclamations on hearing that in wealthy families in their body fifteen pounds was considered a sufficient salary for the family governess. It is true, the Quakers permit no pauperism and no actual want in their sect; so that worn-out servants, gentle or simple, are secure from the workhouse; but it is a fearful thing to give, and yet more to receive, such a pittance as can barely provide clothing in acknowledgment of the entire devotion of the life, of all- ↑ “Guide to Service.” The Governess. 1844.
