I often regret that I was born in this particular period of the
world. In the matter of servants, how I wish I were living in the
golden future of the world, where there will be no servants--naught
but service of love. But in the meantime, living here and now, being
practical, understanding the rationality and the necessity of the
division of labour, I accept servants. But such acceptance does not
justify me in lack of consideration for them. In my house beautiful
their rooms shall not be dens and holes. And on this score I foresee
a fight with the architect. They shall have bath-rooms, toilet
conveniences, and comforts for their leisure time and human life--if
I have to work Sundays to pay for it. Even under the division of
labour I recognize that no man has a right to servants who will not
treat them as humans compounded of the same clay as himself, with
similar bundles of nerves and desires, contradictions,
irritabilities, and lovablenesses. Heaven in the drawing-room and
hell in the kitchen is not the atmosphere for a growing child to
breathe--nor an adult either.
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