The Zoar communists belong to the peasant class of Southern Germany. They are therefore unintellectual; and they have not risen in culture beyond their original condition. Nor were their leaders men above the general level of the rank and file; for Baumeler has left upon the society no marks to show that he strove for or desired a higher life here, or that he in the least valued beauty, or even what we Americans call comfort. The little town of Zoar, though founded fifty-six years ago, has yet no foot pavements; it remains without regularity of design; the houses are for the most part in need of paint; and there is about the place a general air of neglect and lack of order, a shabbiness, which I noticed also in the Aurora community in Oregon, and which shocks one who has but lately visited the Shakers and the Rappists.
The Zoarites have achieved comfort—according to the German peasant's notion—and wealth. They are relieved from severe toil, and have driven the wolf permanently from their doors. Much more they might have accomplished; but they have not been taught the need of more. They are sober, quiet, and orderly, very industrious, economical, and the amount of ingenuity and business skill which they have developed is quite remarkable.
Comparing Zoar and Aurora with Economy, I saw the extreme importance and value in such an experiment of leaders with ideas at least a step higher than those of their people. There is about Economy a tasteful finish which shows a desire for something higher than mere bread and butter, a neatness and striving for a higher kind of comfort, which makes Economy a model town, while the other two, though formed by people generally of the same social plane, are far below in the scale.
Yet, when I had left Zoar, and was compelled to wait for an hour at the railroad station, listening to men cursing in the presence of women and children; when I saw how much roughness there is in the life of the country people, I concluded that, rude and uninviting as the life in Zoar seemed to me, it was perhaps still a step higher, more decent, more free from disagreeables, and upon a higher moral scale, than the average life of the surrounding country. And if this is true, the community life has even here achieved moral results, as it certainly has material, worthy of the effort.
Moreover, considering the dull and lethargic appearance of the people, I was struck with surprise that they have been able to manage successfully complicated machinery, and to carry on several branches of manufacture profitably. Their machine shop makes and repairs all their own machinery; their gristmills have to compete with those of the surrounding country; their cattle, horses, and sheep—of the latter they keep no less than 1400 head—are known as the best in the county; their hotel is a favorite summer resort; their store supplies the neighborhood; and they have found among themselves ability enough to conduct successfully all these and several other callings, all of which require both working skill and business acuteness.
They rise at six, or in summer at daylight, breakfast at seven, dine at twelve, and sup at six. During the long summer days they have two "bites" between meals. They do not eat pork, and a few refrain entirely from meat. They use both tea and coffee, and drink also cider and beer. Tobacco is forbidden, but it is used by some of the younger people. In the winter they labor in their shops after supper until eight o'clock.
Each family cooks for itself; but they have a general bakehouse, and make excellent bread. They have no general laundry. They have led water into the village from a reservoir on a hill beyond. Most of the houses accommodate several families, but each manages its own affairs. Tea, coffee, sugar, and other "groceries," are served out to all householders once a week. The young girls are taught to sew, knit, and spin, and to do the work of the household. The boys, when they leave school, are taught trades or put on the farm.
In their religious observances they studiously avoid forms. On Sunday they have three meetings. In the morning there is singing, after which the leading trustee reads one of Baumeler's discourses, which they are careful not to call sermons. In the afternoon there is a children's meeting, where there is singing, and reading in the Bible. In the evening they meet to sing and hear reading from some work which interests them. They do not practice audible or public prayer. There are no religious meetings during the week; but the boys meet occasionally to practice music, as they have a band. The church has an organ, and several of the houses have pianos. They do not allow dancing. There is no "preacher," or clergyman. They have printed a hymn-book, which is used in their worship.
Baumeler had some knowledge of homoeopathy, and was during his life the physician of the community, and they still use the system of medicine which he introduced among them. Like all the communists I have known, they are long-lived. A number of members have lived to past eighty—the oldest now is ninety-one; and he, strangely enough, is an American, a native of New Hampshire, who, after a roving life in the West, at last, when past fifty, became a Shaker, and after eleven years among that people, came to Zoar twenty-eight years ago, and has lived here ever since. The old fellow showed the shrewd intelligence of the Yankee, asking me whether we New-Yorkers were likely after all to beat the Tammany Ring; and declaring his belief that the Roman Catholics were the worst enemies of the United States. He appeared to be, what a person of his age usually is if he retain his faculties, a sort of adviser-general; he sat in the common room of the hotel, and when any one came in he asked him about his business, and gave him advice what to do.
The oldest German member is now eighty-six; and there are still between thirty and forty people who came over from Germany with Baumeler. The latter died in 1853, at the age of seventy-five.