A couple of weeks ago I strolled through a neighborhood vide grenier, the French version of our garage sale, just outside the Buttes Chaumont park and happened upon what struck me as a remarkable volume: L’encyclopédie de la maîtresse de maison published in 1968, the year student riots in France disrupted bourgeois conventions and slapped them with their slogan « Ni Dieu, ni maître » (Neither God nor Master). Perhaps the young women of the time should have been shouting “Ni Dieu, ni maîtresse” instead of chiming in with the boys because despite the new and enhanced sexual freedom they were gaining au gallop the double standards remained largely in place, and whilst some tossed cobblestones from behind the barricades, others were contributing to the Encyclopedia of the Mistress of the House.
I bought the book for two euros. It is in commendable condition apart from a lipstick experiment on the front cover. Presumably the child of the book’s former mistress got a bit happy with mom’s frosted pink lipstick, and this, to the mistress’ credit as the encyclopedia, under the heading “jouets” (toys) gives the following, succinct prescription: Peu de jouets. (Few toys). We are left to assume these words were followed faithfully by the former mistress whose child, for proper lack of playthings, found merriment in mother’s make-up bag. Very well. The work of being a woman operates according to variations so multi-facetted and kaleidoscopic there are bound to be minor failings even among the most fervent followers of the Encyclopedia.
From the chapter La Table et le savoir-vivre. An elegant take on Saint Sebastianing fruit…
The book is divided into 9 chapters the last but not least of which is entitled Votre métier de femme. I’d like to reflect a moment on this rather loaded phrase which, back in 1968, probably seemed so obvious as to go unquestioned. Votre métier de femme or Your job of being a Woman. I’ve never heard the male equivalent Votre métier d’homme and probably never will. It simply does not exist. Men do jobs but they are not jobs. Women may or may not have jobs but they are always a job. It is work just to be a woman. Men search high and low, flex and wail, build and destroy to understand what it means to be a man, but women do not wallow in the interrogative folds of existential luxury. To put this in Cartesian terms: men align with “I think therefore I am”; women with “I work therefore I woman.” On the ladies’ side the grammar breaks down: we are given lists of dos and don’ts without the decency of conjugations. Under the heading Epouse or Wife, we find the following inscription:
Pour votre mari, ne jamais vous négliger (for your husband’s sake, no self negligence)
While this injunction remains open to positive interpretations of the sort that could encourage mistresses to indulge in self-embracing escapades such as spa outings and trips to the salon du thé with their coterie of lady friends, the Encyclopedia hastens to elucidate its remark:
La silhouette – comment maigrir
There is no beating around the bush. Mistress gets put on a diet before she even gets the chance to conduct a home facial as indicated step-by-step some ten pages later. Pleasure, which a woman naturally associates with her mate and their intimacy becomes precisely the obstacle to his love, ie. I love to eat therefore I am fat and my husband no longer loves to make love to me. The cliché is as aged as it is commonplace in today’s women’s magazines. This bit is followed by seven pages of brisk advice on maintaining silhouette and losing parts of the self that, through negligence, have deformed the husband-pleasing outline and preclude Pleasure with a capital “P”.
It should be noted that special thanks is given in the Encyclopedia’s preface to Marie-Claire magazine for access to its archives. Et bien, merci Marie, merci Claire.
Picture accompanying Chapter 9. Notice the prominence of the watch.
Below, the introductory paragraph of Chapter 9 “L’Organisation de votre métier de femme” rudimentarily translated by me, between trips to the washing machine and folding laundry (just exercising the métier…):
“The preparation of meals, the wash, the ironing, the upkeep of the house, the children… and the chore of dishes that returns thrice daily! The métier of mistress of the house largely suffices to fill up the life of a woman who stays at home. Is it not said, a propos of her, that the work of a mother is like that of a train line: the end seems always in view but one never sees it arrive? And what to say when a job outside the home is added to these duties? This poses nearly insurmountable problems, demands prodigious ingenuity and a rapidity of execution when the fatigue of the day weighs heavily on you! This is the moment when your loved-ones return to the house. The familial atmosphere they expect is up to you to create: your smile, a beautiful table, the intimacy of the family hearth. You’ve just finished your work for the day and another one awaits you at home. Therefore, it is of capital importance that you learn to organize your day and follow a precise and simplified schedule, economize your gestures, your fatigue, and mostly… your nerves!”
While men are terribly busy discovering what is it is to be men and should not be diverted from this business toward the endless railway of household chores, women, particularly professional women, must organize themselves better. The burden is theirs to bear; therefore, they must learn to “economize” their nerves. Clearly a more apt translation would be “spare their nerves” but I prefer economize, for what is at stake here is worth, a notion central both to economics and self-esteem. If only a woman could follow and hence control the movements of her nerves like those of her pennies she’d know just how to manage their account and no longer be plagued by end-of-the-day crankiness, nocturnal surliness and culinary vengeance, like broiling hamburger patties till hockey-puck black – a favourite of my mother’s or burning dinner rice to coal – a favourite of mine.
(Les Vacances et Les Loisirs — this is actually a long, involved chapter. Is vacation really a vacation for the Mistress of the House?)
The Encyclopedia sets the bar high. In 1968, Loréal had not yet overinvested shampoo with its “Because I’m worth it” jingle. But even if it had, few women would have given the claim credence just as few do today. Self-esteem doesn’t come in a bottle; it is earned. If we could just shuck our métier de femme, surely we’d have more time and energy to fight for the pay raises we deserve, both real and symbolic.
Despite its commanding tone and paucity of congenial grammar there is something almost touching about the Encyclopedia’s often misguided efforts to offer help; moreover, it is teeming with excellent tips from which cheeses to serve at each season to where to seat an ecclesiast at the dinner table, which I daresay, will come in handy to me, if not in the immediate future, in yonder times when I get to St. Pete’s.
(Le pique-nique en voiture…)
(Le couche-partout facile à réaliser)
(Pour que le blanc de l’oeil redevienne bleu)
(La cuisine moderne et gaie)
(TV dinner à la française)