PART I.—THE DUTIES OF A HOSTESS.
I have often thought that a few practical hints relative to the preparations for and treatment of a guest who comes to be a member of the household for a while, would not, perhaps, be thrown away upon the general company of readers. I therefore venture to offer these hints in homely fashion, feeling that I am, as it were, treading upon almost new ground, for the matter is one that appears to me to have been, considering its importance, wonderfully little discussed.
Before entering upon my subject, I would wish to say that my observations and advice are not addressed to those heads of families who have large establishments and a numerous staff of servants at command; such, of course, have merely to signify to the housekeeper or upper housemaid that a guest is expected, and give directions that such and such a room be prepared: the green, the yellow, blue, or any other colour, as the case may be. I desire rather to write for those heads of houses who belong to the middle classes, and for ladies who, for lack of means, can afford to keep but one servant, or at the most two.
It may, perhaps, be said that in the former case a visitor ought not to be invited at all; but that is mere nonsense, for there are times and circumstances when such a mark of civility is undoubtedly due, and when it cannot with propriety be avoided; nor need there be any reason, in a properly regulated household, why a guest should not be lodged and entertained quite as comfortably, if less luxuriously, in an unpretentious dwelling as within the lordliest halls. Of course, a great deal must depend upon the style of living to which the visitor is accustomed. It would, for instance, be unwise for a hostess with limited means at her command to undertake the entertaining of a wealthy nabob, who, from being born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, knows nothing of difficulties or struggles with the world, and is in consequence a mere mass of selfish exactitude and caprice. Nor would it be judicious for a person of moderate income to invite a gourmet, who lives to pamper his appetite, and is guilty of such vulgar pomposities as passing the wines beneath his nose before tasting them, in order that he may boast of his knowledge of the various vintages to which they belong. It is likewise unwise for a host or hostess of limited resources to extend an offer of hospitality to a fine lady or gentleman who cannot travel without a maid or valet in attendance upon them. Strange servants are an intolerable nuisance among a household, and it is usual for those who have had experience of them, to declare that they would rather entertain a dozen guests in the dining-room than cater for one in the kitchen or servants’ hall.
In the event of a hostess deeming it a necessity—which sometimes occurs—to invite a guest whose household and style of living are to her knowledge superior to her own, she should not be in the least ashamed to confess the fact, or feel in the smallest degree embarrassed about doing so. She should, on the contrary, refer to it—once only—with easy grace, exhibiting no trace of ‘awkwardness,’ for there is not any shame in being unable to cope with those who are wealthier than ourselves, nor can riches ever weigh against gentility of soul. Were we to ape what we cannot have—to strive after position which we cannot attain—to attempt style that we cannot keep up—to cheat honest tradesmen out of their lawful earnings in order to gratify some expensive taste which we have no right to indulge—then, indeed, might a blush lawfully arise; but there is nothing in upright frugality to make even the most sensitive feel ashamed.
I have said, refer to the matter once only, because I consider it a sign of extreme bad taste to keep perpetually offering apologies to visitors, in the event of things not being quite so grand or imposing as the hostess may desire. How frequently we are put to the pain of listening to such sentences as: ‘Do, pray, take some more; although I know it is not so good as you have at home’—‘I hope you slept well, though I am afraid you missed your own fine big room,’ &c. This display of deferential anxiety cannot be otherwise than painfully embarrassing to a visitor, and looks as though the hostess were either throwing out perpetual hints for compliments upon the excellence of her house and table, or as if she were really uncomfortably conscious of deficiencies which are perhaps noticeable to herself alone. A few words—the briefer the better—spoken to the guest on arrival, or inserted in the note of invitation, are sufficient to answer all purposes: ‘You are aware, Miss—or Mr’ (as the case may be), ‘that our means are not sufficient to admit of any style; but I hope you will be comfortable, and I am sure you will be welcome.’
A hostess of moderate income, such as I am writing for, should always ascertain personally that the bedchamber intended for her guest’s use is comfortably arranged and the bed-clothing properly aired. These are things which, if left to the care of the ordinary run of servants, will in most instances be performed in a very slovenly manner. As I intend that these observations shall be of a decidedly practical nature, I shall state plainly my ideas respecting the arrangement of a guest-chamber in an ordinary middle-class house. Ignoring, then, the existence of a family bathroom, the visitor’s apartment should be provided with a bath, a large sponge, and a plentiful supply of towels. The first of these should be kept turned up in some spare corner by day, and laid down at night by the chambermaid, with a square of oilcloth or felt underneath, to save the carpet from being wetted; for some persons are very untidy bathers, and make a terrible splashing when they indulge in a ‘tub.’ The sponge should be kept in a little basket, made to hook on to the lower rail of the towel-stand, which is in every way preferable to keeping it in a bag. Care should be taken that the looking-glass does not, when touched, make a low salaam—the upper end coming down upon the nose of the visitor, while the lower portion departs out of sight! This is very frequently the case in hotels and lodging-houses, and indeed in too many private dwellings also; and it can be so easily rectified by the bestowal of a little care upon the screws, that it is quite wonderful how persons can contentedly go on from month to month propping up the disabled toilet-mirror—or leaving others to do it—with a hairbrush, or pocket-handkerchief, or half a newspaper folded into a pad.
Be sure, also, if you are expecting a visitor, to leave the wardrobe in the guest-chamber perfectly empty, and all the shelves neatly swept and papered. Be certain to attend particularly to this matter, more especially if the expected visitor be a lady, for it is pitiable to contemplate the inconvenience which neglect of it may entail. See that every article of clothing is removed from drawers and wardrobe; and do not from negligence leave half-a-dozen dresses hanging up in the latter, or an array of laces and fineries folded away in the former. Nothing can possibly be more conducive to the discomfort of a lady-guest than—just when she has bolted her door and has divested herself of her outer garments to dress for some dinner or dance—to have the hostess knock and bounce in, with: ‘I beg your pardon; I know you won’t mind me; but I find the dress I want to wear is in your wardrobe.’ Or, ‘My opera-mantle is stowed away in one of your drawers.’
I have occasionally stayed at houses, and very frequently at hotels, where there was no such thing in my room as a wardrobe at all, in any shape or form—not even a shelved press, or a clothes-rack on the wall. This is dire misery, and is an unpardonable omission on the part of those in authority over the management of affairs. It is not by any means a matter of necessity that a costly glass-panelled wardrobe should be provided. Many households cannot afford such; but a neatly painted one is not an extravagance; and in the event of a narrow staircase or doorway preventing ingress to such a piece of furniture, there is an excellent plan for improvising a wardrobe, which I have seen tried with great success. Nail up a substantial clothes-rack in a recess of the room; suspend a brass rod across it, on which are curtains hung on rings, and cover in the top with strong calico, leaving a neat valance of the curtain-stuff, bordered with fringe, to hang over the edge. Any place, in short, which will allow of coats and dresses being hung up, to prevent the creasing which they suffer by folding, and to preserve them from dust, cannot fail to be acceptable to a visitor, when he or she comes to unpack.
Always make sure that the window-blinds are in perfect working order. They are at times too stiff, or too loose, or so much out of gear that if drawn down at night they remain immovable in the morning, and the guest is obliged to dress in semi-darkness. See, also that the windows themselves are properly in order. Every window ought to be made to open both at top and bottom, as this admits of the immediate and thorough ventilation of the room. If, however, through defective carpentering in the first instance, the windows are hermetically sealed at the top—as is too frequently the case in old houses—make certain at all events that the lower sash opens and shuts with ease, and that when closed it does not admit a draught. Above all things, see that means are provided to prevent the shaking of windows in windy weather. Few things are so aggravating to the temper, and at the same time so wearying to the constitution, as being kept awake at night by the ceaseless and monotonous ‘bang, bang’ of a loose window-sash, which, after all, can be very easily remedied without adopting the old-fashioned method of thrusting a toothbrush handle or rack-comb between the sashes, to act as a sort of wedge. Procure two neat flat pieces of wood, about four inches in length; drill a hole in the centre of each; affix one at each side of the window-frame with a screw, which you must not drive in too closely, but leave sufficient of the head for the wood to revolve or move upon. You will find that by slightly lifting the outer or lower end of the wood, the other end becomes pressed against the edge of the window-sash, which it holds perfectly steady; and that by declining or lowering this outer or lower end, the sash is released from pressure. The plan is an invention of my own; and I must not be considered egotistical for saying that it is an excellent one, as it will silence the noisiest window in an instant of time. A small bar of brass, treated in the same manner as the wood, looks more ornamental, and is of course stronger, where much pressure is desirable. Should there be any aperture or draught, a neat piece of cloth may be nailed along the sash, and will effectually exclude it.
Take especial care that the carpet does not wrinkle about the door, or in any other way prevent its shutting. I have seen some extremely awkward things occur from the neglect of this precaution. A relative of mine, who was of a very neat and systematic disposition, observed upon one occasion that there was a great crease in the carpet of his sitting-room at an hotel where he went to stay; and being of a practical turn of mind, he got out his own little hammer, and with the aid of a tack or two, soon set matters to rights. It happened, however, that the waiter was in the habit of overcoming difficulties by making a rush at the door; and as he followed this plan an hour later, when carrying in a heavy tray, the consequences were disastrous, for the door flew open with the greatest ease, and tray and waiter came tumbling into the room together.
You should make sure, also, that the bolt and lock of the door are in proper order. Many persons cannot sleep easily unless their door is fastened; and it is pleasanter for the hostess to expend a few pence upon the mending of a lock or bolt, than to hear her guest, at dead of night, dragging a heavy box or table, or chest of drawers, or some other unwieldy thing, across the floor of the chamber, to barricade the door against imaginary disturbances.
Ascertain, likewise, that there are night-lights, matches, and a substantial taper left in the room—as also writing materials, pins, hair-pins—if the expected guest be a lady—perfume, and a few amusing magazines or other specimens of light literature, as well as the Book of books; for some persons waken early, and enjoy a brief spell of reading before getting up.
These may perhaps appear very minute details to go into, but believe me the chamber in which they have been thoroughly attended to—no matter how plain and unpretentious it may be—will prove infinitely more comfortable than the most luxuriously furnished room in which they have been overlooked.
It is an excellent plan, in a limited household, to have various matters connected with housekeeping in readiness before the guest arrives. A good supply of fresh table-napkins; a number of knives, forks, and spoons arranged in a sideboard drawer in the dining-room; a few plates and glasses within the locker, in order to obviate the necessity for continually ringing the bell; a supply of sweets made; and a good marketing laid in. Many persons deem this an impossibility in warm weather; but few things are so, if properly managed. There are many kinds of sweets that will keep good for days; even those in the manufacture of which milk has been employed, will not sour if the milk be first boiled and slightly flavoured, or if condensed milk be used in place of fresh. Of course, a great deal depends also upon keeping such things in a perfectly cool atmosphere.
With regard to meat, a joint may be preserved for many days by wrapping it loosely in a fine cloth wrung out of vinegar, and hanging it in a draught of air. If the weather be very warm, the cloth must be remoistened twice, or even thrice a day. Tinned provisions are excellent in summer, and are invaluable in cases of emergency; tongues, curries, and soups being amongst the best of the eatables thus preserved.
A breakfast-table, to be comfortably set, should have a separate tea or coffee equipage for each individual, except in cases where the family is very large; then one may be made to serve for two persons. In like manner, no dinner-table can be said to be properly appointed where there is any handing about of salt-cellars, water-bottles, or other necessaries; nor can there be any excuse for it in these days of cheapness, when very neat little salt-cellars of moulded glass can be had for a penny apiece. I have even seen some as low as half that price and yet quite presentable.
Do not exercise your mind too much about amusing your guest. I have often thought that in some foreign countries, and notably in many parts of America, the relation of host and guest was a sort of double slavery. The host has the comfort and amusement of his guest so painfully at heart, that both undergo, for the time being, an amount of social misery that entirely spoils the freedom and pleasure of the visit. In our country it is different. Go to spend a week in an Englishman’s house, and you may be sure that neither your host nor hostess will bother you with trifling matters unless you seem to desire it. Everything goes on as though you were not there, and yet, per contra, the house and its belongings are practically yours so long as you remain. I consider it the extreme of bad taste to pursue a visitor with continual offers of amusement. If treated as a member of the family and suffered to amuse himself, he will generally do very well, and will feel much happier and more at ease than when he is too closely looked after. I have heard persons complain bitterly of undue attentions and continual running after, from which they have suffered far more acutely than if actually neglected. ‘Where is Mrs Dash? Who is sitting with her?’ cries the flurried hostess. ‘Good gracious! is it possible she has been left by herself? Go at once, Mary, or Julia, or Tommy, and sit with her, and amuse her until I have time to come.’ And all the while, perhaps, the hapless Mrs Dash is struggling to get a letter or two written, or a bill or account made up, and is congratulating herself upon the unwonted luxury of a few delicious moments of absolute quiet. She is revelling in the thought of being left alone, when, lo! Miss Mary, aged ten, comes awkwardly in, and stands sniffing in the window, or sits sideways upon the piano-stool, strumming with one hand at the notes, which is her idea of keeping the visitor company until mamma comes. Or Master Tommy, aged twelve, enters with a burst of noise, and proceeds to relate to the afflicted guest how he and Jack Jones are in the same Latin class; and how said Jones is beyond him in Euclid, though inferior in something else; and how Brown licked Black for calling him a dunce—with a variety of other information, by no means interesting to unconcerned parties. To this annoyance there are few of us who have not been subjected. A greater error of judgment can scarcely be committed. To make a guest feel comfortable and at home, leave him pretty much to his own devices. To be always striving to amuse him is a poor compliment to his own resources.
If in the winter-time a visitor comes to stay in your house, inquire early whether he prefers a fire in his bedroom at night, or a hot jar laid into the bed. If the latter, so much the better; it not only economises the coals, but is an immense saving of trouble to the housemaid in the mornings, as she has not then an additional grate to make up.
During the stay of your guest, if a lady, do not suffer her to pay anything towards the expenses of cabs, trains, or laundry, neither to defray the cost of her own concert or theatre tickets. Whilst in your house, she is, or ought to be, a member of your family, and it is not worth while, for the sake of a trifling additional outlay, to do anything which bears upon it the smallest stamp of meanness. If, however, the guest be a gentleman, there may—under certain circumstances—be some little relaxation of the rule; but where a lady is concerned, it cannot be too stringently adhered to.
Opinions vary as to the propriety of inviting a departing visitor to remain longer. The hostess should, I think, be guided by circumstances and surroundings. A lady cannot well press a gentleman to stay, unless he be a special friend or relative, or that it is her husband’s desire that he should do so. It is, however, quite usual to ask a lady to extend her visit a few days beyond the time fixed by her for departure. Not to do so would appear in most cases inhospitable, or at all events coldly formal, which amounts to much the same thing. It is an excellent plan, however, when giving an invitation, to name the time that the recipient of it is intended to remain. ‘We shall expect you to come to us for a fortnight;’ or, ‘Stay with us from Monday to Thursday,’ will enable the guest to know precisely the limit to which his visit ought to be prolonged.
Make it a rule never to introduce any subject that could be unpleasant or embarrassing to a visitor. Avoid strictly the smallest allusion to household worries, as also questions of politics and religion; and if your household be, unhappily, one in which family jars are at times wont to figure, banish all such entirely out of view, for the time at least, if not for all time, as nothing can possibly be more painful to a guest than witnessing bickerings upon subjects with which he has no sort of sympathy. A visitor, remember, can have but one feeling upon all such dreary occasions: namely, an intense desire to get well out of the way with all convenient speed.
Be careful, also, that your guest shall see nothing of your share of household duties or drudgery, otherwise he, or she, will be made to feel excessively uncomfortable. A hostess who presides over a limited establishment will have many duties to perform, and countless little matters to engage her attention and need her helping hand; but a visitor should not on any account be permitted to witness these things. A well-bred orderly hostess will get her work done quietly and without fuss, nor will she ever exhibit that bustling, anxious demeanour which is the characteristic of so many really kind and otherwise excellent entertainers.
It will not be out of place here to speak a warning word to ladies—mistresses of households—who allow their overwhelming anxiety respecting the success of the dinner preparations to appear on their countenances during the progress of the meal. Which of us is unfamiliar with the flushed face, eager eyes, and look of tortured suspense with which some hostesses regard the carrying in of the various dishes? I am now, of course, speaking of plain, old-fashioned family dinners, where the joints and sweets are laid upon the table. The hostess may be, and probably is, engaged in conversation with the guest who occupies the seat on her right or left hand, as the case may be; but the preoccupied manner, the wandering thoughts, the painful effort at appearing interested in whatever topic may be under discussion, are only too apparent—as are likewise the harassed look if, on the lifting of the covers, anything is discovered to be wrong, and the palpable look of relief if, on the other hand, there seems to be no reasonable ground for apprehension or complaint. All such facial reflexes of the soul can and ought to be avoided. They are frequently the result of nervousness, and are in such cases a misfortune, yet one which is quite curable and capable of being easily overcome. A hostess who cannot preserve her serenity upon even the most crucial occasions, is lacking in one of the most essential qualities of an entertainer. The thoughtless spilling of her best wine, the soiling of her whitest tablecloth, nay, even the smashing of a whole trayful of her best old family china, should not cause one muscle of her countenance to change.
On the other hand, an affected ignorance respecting the contents of the day’s bill of fare is at times almost as fatal as the opposite extreme. I was myself present at a dinner-party at which one of the untutored stable-helpers had been brought in, on an emergency, to assist. ‘What are these, John?’ inquired the languid hostess, as John tremblingly thrust forward a dish of tartlets just under her right elbow. ‘I don’t know ma’am, raally,’ he replied; ‘but I think they’re tuppence apiece!’
I shall conclude this portion of my subject by remarking, that if a hostess has a lady-visitor in her house and does not keep a carriage, she ought, when the guest is about to depart, to make arrangements that a cab or other vehicle shall be in waiting at the door in good time, to convey the visitor to train, boat, or whatever else may lead to her destination. Gentlemen are usually understood to see after such matters for themselves.