It is odd circumstance which leads me write this letter. I am an editor at C- Inc. in London and your recently submitted manuscript came to me for final approval. With a dawning sense of astonishment I read the foreword, realizing that I knew you, or more properly, knew of you from my mother and father both. I am the son of Robert Vinopal, who served as second footman under your tutelage and Lisa Frasure, who worked under Miss Kenton during the 1920s. They felt in love and eloped one night from Darlington Hall and I must confess my amazement to see that you had remembered them in your manuscript even after so many years. You'll be pleased to hear that they are both well and presently living on the coast in Clethorpes. It was due to their dinner table discussions of their time at Darlington Hall that I feel that I know you better than, say an acquaintance might. Following my reading of your manuscript I felt I knew you better still, perhaps as a friend, and in the spirit of this friendship I felt compelled to pen this letter. I would certainly never dream of condescending to you, Mr. Stevens, and if I seem excessively judgmental, bear in mind that these are only my interpretations of your narrative. While others are sometimes able to perceive our problems more clearly, it is at the last only the individual who makes the final decisions.
You, Mr. Stevens, do not appear to be a man who is familiar with the concept of relaxation. My father used to comment that you would take only a few short hours of time for yourself, and much of that was spent engaged in labors parallel to that of your work. His feeling, which is very much supported by your narrative, was that you really never stopped working at all, and what seemed like relaxation was in truth further ruminations about your tasks. Your own conception of your duties certainly leaves little to the imagination:
"A butler of any quality must be seen to inhabit his role, utterly and fully; he cannot be seen casting it aside one moment simply to don it again the next as if it were no more than a pantomime costume."How different this is from the man who comes home following his days labour and relaxes while reading the paper or listening to the radio! The only time you allow yourself this sort of relaxation appears to be on your trip. I, myself, find driving gives me ample time to think. Perhaps it was only in the context of your tour, in the state of mind of your vacation, that you allow yourself to relax and recall these events of your past. For aside from this tour, you seem a remarkably focused individual: but there is, Mr. Stevens, a popular witticism regarding looking so intently that one misses the forest for the trees obstructing one's gaze. You, Sir, seem to be missing the forest.
In your narrow vision of your life, in which only work stretches out before you, in which indeed the man is identified by his work and essentially inseparable from his work, one can understand how only in hindsight would you note the ravages of age. One might think that because you were so intimately acquainted with the decrease in your own father's abilities in his elder years that you would recognize similar signs in yourself. This seemed not to be the case however, as the "staffing problem" you noted was in fact an overestimation of your own abilities. It was perhaps only when you observed the creases in Mrs. Benn's face, that you began to realize that the days of your prime had since passed. Of course, your father was in his early seventies before becoming noticeably infirm; perhaps you would not expect the signs in yourself until such an age? Working on so diligently so late in life, while not unheard of, is certainly uncommon and serves testimony to the extraordinary nature of your father, and if I might say so Mr. Stevens, of his son as well.
Yet it concerns me, if you'll permit this familiarity, that you appear to have little or no plans for your future. Everyone requires goals for which to strive, Mr. Stevens, and learning by which to better oneself; without such we might as well be mechanical automatons, repeating motions until we've wound down. One must plan ahead for one's later years, especially in your line of work Mr. Stevens. My father has often spoken of the fact that in the passing of the great houses of England, so have the security and pensions which would have normally supported an aged employee. There is paltry charity these days sir, and one must cast ones eyes forwards. You may know this well, and in that case excuse my prattling, but allow me to cite an example of why I believe that you may not be taking sufficient precautions regarding your future.
You seemed rather puzzled at the comments of the gentleman in Weymouth when he suggested that "the evening was the best part of the day". While you observed people there on the pier in a state of merriment as the lights came on come evening, I might suggest an alternative explanation. This man may well have been speaking about the rest at the end of one's working day; given that he was in fact retired, he equally well could have been speaking of retirement itself, the rest at the end of one's working career. While you speak easily of retirement and one's later years to Mrs. Benn, Many say retirement is the best part of life for a married couple. You must do all you can to make these years happy ones for yourself and your husband. you seem not to acknowledge the same for yourself regardless of your marital status. Your father was at a loss when it came to retirement, and you yourself see in your later years no emptiness, only "work, work, and more work". I can only assume that you define yourself so much in terms of your work that you can not imagine yourself separated from it. Either that, or perhaps living up to your father's Herculean standards, you wish to work until your death. Your father was more fortunate than you however, because he had you to help him in his later years. Who, when you find yourself infirm, will you turn to for aid Mr. Stevens?
While not of an age where I needs concern myself regarding retirement, I can see that you may be viewing with dread the idea of abandoning your life's work. It must be a daunting thing to put aside the labour of so many years and leave that with which you are familiar. It seems though most people are tired after a life's work, and quite willing to put up their feet and relax. Should there be work yet to complete however, I could see that this notion of retirement might be akin to a punishment.
Is it punishment to ask you to leave Darlington Hall? I believe you should count yourself as fortunate. You've striven for a level of perfection in your duties and certainly no one could say that you have ever been remiss. In your duties and commitment you've been far more fortunate than even Lord Darlington, who's life work was so misled and sullied by his affiliation with the Nazis. You set standards for yourself and compared yourself against your peers; in employment you sought a gentleman of certain moral distinction and were successful in your search. You philosophized about what it is to be a butler and improved on yourself. During times of emotional crisis and turmoil, you maintained your dignity and composure.
Why then would you hesitate in leaving Darlington Hall and continuing your life unless it is believed that work is incomplete or that there are further areas for self-improvement? In some few cases the process of self- improvement can continue unendingly, but you cite several reasons why it may not be possible in your case.
First, as you cite, it is in the nature of a butler of your distinction to spend his life serving a gentleman of exceptional qualities. There is no reason to assume that a butler serving some bastard son of a minor gentry who spends his time playing cards will ever lay claim to greatness or dignity. In your years with Lord Darlington, you served a man who was altruistic at the expense of his own life. His every waking moment was possessed with a need to right indignities and wrongs, a true humanitarian of which there are so precious few. You seem overly concerned that he had made a serious mistake in his life and by consequence, you with yours. This is certainly not the case. Misled Darlington was, but where to place blame, on his shortsightedness in his pursuit of humanity, or the base wretchedness of those who subverted and fooled so many? In hindsight things seem so obvious. Were the world a kinder place, Lord Darlington's name would be revered and not reviled. In your choice to serve him, you set the foundation for your own greatness.
In addition to an employer of moral character, you mention the need to serve in a 'distinguished household'. By example, you describe the great houses of England of the 1920s as the hubs about which the world revolved. You comment that in your years with Lord Darlington you came "as close to the hub of this world's wheel as one such as I could ever have dreamt". As your own definition of your aspirations as a young butler were to work your way as close to the hub of the world, one would think that you had succeeded in your task. Again however, the world has not sat still, and the axes about which the world's events revolve have precessed, if you will, leaving the Halls of Great Britain behind.
Now while Mr. Farraday is certainly a gentleman and there is no dishonor in serving him, there is also no question that he is not one fraction of the man Lord Darlington. He is a private man, given to his own affairs; seemingly unconcerned about his fellow man save paltry charitable donations. While it is foolish to cling to outdated definitions, serving Mr. Farraday in a half closed private residence is certainly not in keeping with your definitions of a great butler or of a man of much dignity at all.
These examples surely must indicate that the environment of Darlington Hall is no longer conducive to developing or maintaining those qualities of a great butler. It is questionable if there still exist places of greatness in which a butler might serve. You yourself note that you have lost touch with the distinguished butlers with whom you once debated the very nature of dignity. Even the batman whom you met in Dorset commented that there "can't be many like you left." In your discussion with the man in Weymouth, you remarked with a sad laugh that you had stayed on with the house when it was sold, "as part of the package." All of this of course leads to the conclusion that it is simply not possible, in this day and age, to continue your life's work to the standards with which you compare yourself. Indeed, in Weymouth. you realize this in part when you say that you've "given all you have to give."
Now while I may have painted a rather gloomy portrait of affairs, certainly things are not nearly this bleak. While the heydays of the butler have passed, you remain a man of remarkable skills and distinction. Personally I consider it a crime that you find yourself engaged in such trivialities as polishing silver when you're capable of orchestrating large dinner parties. Though houses do not maintain their own staff for such services, large events take place through the hands of hired caterers. Who better to draw up the plans for such dinners? And were that not sufficient, you could certainly find a post in one of the many small museums as a caretaker. Even my line of work, Mr. Stevens, perhaps you could take up writing and vindicate Lord Darlington's name.
What I hope to impress on you is that while you can not take back years you've already spent, you have many years yet ahead of you. You could make these years productive and enjoyable for yourself if you were to take some time to look ahead and consider what it is you wish to be doing in a few years time. Retirement is not something to be feared or avoided so long as you have interests to pursue. I might suggest you take another tour of England, perhaps through the Lake District, take some time and think things through. You know the world has changed, there's no reason you shouldn't change with it. You're an impressive man, Mr. Stevens, I'm certain you're up to the challenge.
Your Servant,
Mr. John Vinopal
Editor, C- Inc., London