Not long before Susie’s return, she wrote to Clara a long letter, describing life in the Social Palace at Guise. “I am,” she said, “so impatient of this slow process of communicating my thoughts and feelings, and I long to sit down by your side and talk a few volumes. Truly I am a fortunate being, in having the rare advantage of coming here. It is something to think of with pride and delight, as long as I live.
“The people who live here are most of them nothing but poor, uneducated working people, and you can tell at a glance those who have but just arrived from the older residents. A single year, surrounded by such order and beauty, such social advantages of every kind, works wonders. The women at first, some of them, set up their cook-stoves, and wash and cook in their apartments; but the first time they take their linen to the laundries, they see the advantage of washing there, and the custom is soon established. So of cooking; they find that the great public kitchen, cooks better than they can, and they are glad to send there for their soups and meats, which are so cheap, that it does not pay to broil themselves over their own stoves. This, alone, is a most important thing in the emancipation of women. Mr. Godin has thought of everything. But the nursery and the schools! Oh, Clara, I wish you could see them. I said everything was free; there is one exception. No one can keep his children out of school. Every child is bound to have a good practical and industrial education.
“One thing struck me as strange: all drink wine at dinner, even to the small children; but for these it is diluted with water. Yet I have not seen a case of intoxication since I have been here—not even in the café and billiard-room, where there is much discussion and lively conversation. The best comment on the temperance and order of the place, is the fact that there has not been a single police case in the Familistère since it was founded, and yet there are over a thousand people living here.
“I sit in the council of twelve (women), whenever they meet, so that I may learn how they conduct business. There are often very spirited discussions, but never disorder or any discourtesy. This council directs the internal interests, nurseries, schools, oversees the food and other supplies, but it is not limited to these; it can discuss all matters. By natural attraction, it is found the women’s council gravitate to this business. Sometimes the council of twelve men meets with and deliberates with the council of women.
“One thing strikes every visitor: the exquisite cleanliness of the apartments, the windows, the corridors, the courts, the schools, and the gardens and parks. Then, too, there is very little illness among the children. Why should there be? They have the conditions for growth and happiness. In the nursery of some seventy poupons (three or four years old), and nearly as many nurselings, there is no racket, though plenty of play and laughter. All these pretty babies go to bed without rocking, and without crying, and wake in the morning the same way, waiting each his turn to be bathed, and dressed, and fed. These are their first lessons. If a new-comer sets up a ‘howling,’ as Min says, all the rest look at him with wide open eyes, and he can’t long stand against the public opinion of his peers! Their pretty little iron cribs, canopied with snowy muslin, have each a sacking bottom filled with bran; over this the sheet goes. Let me tell you how these beds are kept sweet and fresh. Any moisture in this bran immediately forms a lump, which is taken out, and after a few days, more or less, the whole is replaced by fresh bran. The nourrisons, or nursing-babies, are very fond of watching the poupons, in the same immense room, and only separated from them by a little railing. They see them march to music, and try to imitate their little gymnastic exercises. Their ambition is to become poupons, which they do at about two years, or a very little over. One indispensable qualification for this promotion is, that they shall have learned to keep themselves clean—to use their neat little earth closets adroitly, like their big comrades, the poupons! The poupons are marvelously accomplished in the eyes of the nourrisons. In their turn, the poupons look up to the bambins. Oh, it is such a delight to see all these blessed, happy children! All the way up from the nurse’s arms to the highest classes, they are disciplined and educated for a high and useful career. It is instilled into them from the first, that they must respect the rights of others: the infant should not cry, because he will disturb his little comrades who wish to rest! In eating, he must not be greedy, for that offends the good taste of his companions, or robs them of their share. In meeting any one in the grounds or courts, he must bow gracefully, for all have a right to courteous treatment; and so on all the way through, the rights of others are respected. There are no punishments, except withholding the disorderly or refractory child from the organized plays and sports in the parks and ground. This is found all potent. But I could go on all night. Let me sum it all up in this: Monsieur Godin has discovered and applied the laws of social harmony, and therefore he deserves immortality.
“I see very little of the count. He is very busy. One day he is in Paris, the next in London, and so on; though he is kind enough to write me very often. Min is in the bambinat all day. She is perfectly happy, and the whole bambinat does her reverence as a distinguished visitor! She is learning French as only children can.”
Clara constantly received letters from Susie; long, delightful letters, full of enthusiasm, and tenderness, and hope for the future; but the count was silent. He did not even mention her in his letters to the doctor, and although this pained her, there was a possible meaning in it, sweeter than all the conventional remembrances in the world. Once only he wrote: “I have not written to you, dear friend, from a motive you may regard as very boyish; but I should never attempt to express anything but the exact truth to one like you: the reason of my silence is simply, not knowing what to say. Would you believe me so much a child? I can only answer: you are responsible. You have thus affected me. When I am in your presence, I can talk of indifferent subjects. I cannot write of them.
“There is a mystery in my life, or rather in my character—a riddle I am waiting for you to read. I am tempted to disclose it, and yet dare not; therefore I sit with the ink drying on my pen.
“I believe in you in all ways. I trust your delicate insight to understand even this awkward attempt to approach you, as I trust your generosity to deal patiently with my weakness. You also have been silent, my friend, and sometimes I am vain enough to ascribe that silence to a like cause with mine; but I dare not be too bold. There are some hopes that must not be rashly cultivated; their disappointment would destroy my power to do the work which no other can do for me. In two weeks, if the gods are kind to me, I shall stand in your presence.
“Believe me, with sincere devotion,