In line with the theme, today’s blog post, one of our occasional 'fist of five' series, looks at five memorable servants in literature.
Obviously, we have to begin with P G Wodehouse's Jeeves, wise and imperturbable valet to amiable upper-class idiot Bertie Wooster.
Shimmering unobtrusively into Bertie’s life, Jeeves proceeds to rescue his master from all sorts of scrapes, and steer him painlessly through adventure after adventure, as well as gently thwarting his attempts to adopt unsuitable fashion trends, or even (horror of horrors) grow a moustache. Vast of brain (probably, Bertie thinks, because he eats a lot of fish) and dignified of demeanour, Jeeves has come to embody the quintessential English man-servant. If you haven’t yet encountered him, the short stories in Carry on, Jeeves, reviewed here on the blog by Felix Kwok, are an excellent place to start.
Equally memorable, but far less benevolent, is Mrs Danvers, from Daphne du Maurier's Gothic masterpiece, Rebecca. When Maxim de Winter takes a new wife, and brings her back to take charge of his home, she immediately finds herself in conflict with the head housekeeper, Danvers, a forbidding and sinister presence.
Mrs Danvers is obsessively, almost unhingedly devoted to the first Mrs de Winter, the eponymous Rebecca, and schemes to undo and destroy her inadequate replacement. Indomitable, implacable, relentless and ruthless, she is one of the great villains in fiction (and brilliantly incarnated on screen by Judith Anderson in Alfred Hitchcock’s film adaptation, and the even scarier Anna Massey in the BBC TV adaptation from the 1970s).
A much sadder figure is the reserved butler Stevens, central character in Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day. Written in 1989, much of the main action of the novel takes place - like Rebecca and Carry on, Jeeves - in the world of the English upper classes in the 1930s.
Looking back on his life, Stevens reflects upon his determination to embody the qualities of the perfect butler, crucially among them dignity and restraint. The novel is told from Stevens’ point of view, brilliantly evoking his repression, and the anguish that starts to break through as he gradually realises that his achievement has come at a terrible cost: he has sacrificed his emotional life to serving a master who didn’t merit his loyalty, crushing his own identity and stifling his chances of happiness in the process. As in Never Let Me Go, Ishiguro expertly and poignantly evokes the perspective of a character who is only dimly aware of what is happening to them. The Remains of the Day was our Book of the Week back in November, and you can read Ash Parekh's recommendation here.
Unlike Stevens, Childermass, in Susannah Clarke’s brilliant and engrossing fantasy Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (Regency England - with magic), is never constrained or defined by his role as servant to the eponymous Mr Norrell (he’d snort scornfully at the very idea).
In a novel stacked with memorable characters, Childermass is one of the most striking. Rarely reverent or respectful, he scours the country for learned books, netting them on his master’s behalf and ensuring that Norrell has a monopoly on magic. At least as smart as, if not smarter than, his exasparatingly introverted master, and certainly more cunning, Childermass turns out to be a surprisingly key player in the story, with very much his own agenda (which we might have figured out from his sardonic retorts at the expense of the high and mighty magicians who think they’re in charge).
Enzo Cilenti oozing surliness as Childermass in the BBC adaptation of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell
Shakespeare’s plays abound in memorable master/servant relationships. King Lear is particularly rich in them, not least the unnamed servants who try to defend Gloucester from Cornwall’s brutality (and subsequently tend to his wounds - although Shakespeare’s revisions to the play appear to cut this deeply humane gesture). But the Shakespearean servant selected for today’s post comes from the comedy which parallels King Lear in many ways, As You Like It: it's also one of the roles reputedly played on stage by Shakespeare himself.
Loyal Adam is almost eighty but he still sticks faithfully by his master Orlando’s side. He warns him that his life is in danger, generously gives him all his savings, and follows him bravely into the unknown forest of Arden, where, cold and starving, servant and master find themselves near to death. Orlando rushes off to find the food that will save them both - and stumbles upon a court in exile, the good Duke and his followers, who welcome him with touching humility and generosity. ‘I thought that all things had been savage here’, marvels Orlando, before rushing off again to rescue the ‘old poor man/Who after me hath many a weary step/Limp’d in pure love’.
When master and servant return, they find themselves walking in on one of Shakespeare’s most famous set pieces: Jacques’s ‘Seven Ages of Man'. Everyone knows this speech - 'all the world's a stage/And all the men and women, merely players' - and you can find a memorable fan-tweaked video of Benedict Cumberbatch reciting it here. In the speech, melancholy, cynical Jacques sketches the seven 'acts' in man's life: the 'mewling and puking' infant, the schoolboy, 'creeping like snail unwillingly to school', the lover, the soldier, the justice, 'in fair round belly, with good capon lined', the 'lean and slippered pantaloon', and finally, the most chilling scene of all: 'second childishness, and mere oblivion,/Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.' The bleakness of this vision lingers in the air - but everyone forgets what immediately follows: enter Orlando, carrying loyal, loving Adam in his arms, ready to be revived by simple human charity. It’s a beautiful moment, that directly challenges Jacques’s cynicism, kicks his reductive vision of humanity in the teeth, and reaffirms the value of the life he has just so memorably dismissed. Ultimately, Shakespeare seems to be saying, it's not rank, or status, or age that defines us: our love for and generosity towards others is what matters. And right now, that feels like a fitting affirmation on which to close.
Have a go at our literary servants quiz here, and if you'd like to read more in our Fist of Five series, you can find previous posts here: on England and Englishness, Apes, Animals, Novels with 'Road' in the title, H P Lovecraft Stories, Graphic Novels and Frankenstein.
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