Papa's own girl: A novel

by Marie Stevens Howland

“Do you know, sweet one, that I am yours by the most absolute surrender of myself to you—not a surrender once for all, but a surrender repeated with every pulsation of my heart. It seems to me that I never lived until I knew you; all before that seems to me a vague, half-forgotten dream; yet I realize that for years I had been trying to work out some plan that might leave the world better for my single effort, but I needed an inspiration that would not come to me. I stood within the great temple of humanity, and studied the mummeries of the priests, and the silent, unsatisfied seeking of the devotees. When I felt your divine presence there, the atmosphere was no longer cold to me; and when your lips had touched mine, the fretted arches of the temple burned—a fire was lit upon the altar, every symbol became life-giving, and the miracle was wrought for me which I had waited for so long in vain.

“To me now everything is endowed with new life, and every human face, however coarse or degraded, wears a new significance.

“This evening I visited an industrial reformatory home, instituted by some good Unitarian women, for the reclamation of ‘abandoned girls.’ I gave money to the fund, and the matrons called the girls together, that I might speak to them. It was a task to make up my mind to stand before them, until I thought of my precious one, and the brave step she took, when a young lady ‘just out of school.’ That gave me my text. I told the story of dear Susie’s struggle and her final victory. I was played upon like a musical instrument by the magnetic force of those two hundred unhappy young girls. Nothing else can or could explain why I stood there and talked as I did—of what? Can you imagine? I talked of love, the subject that lay nearest their hearts, for they were women—of its beautiful mission in this world. I said women fell never from love, but from the want of it, and that by love alone could either women or men become a blessing to their time. As my audience became affected, many of them to tears, my own eyes became so dim that I could hardly see the faces before me, and then I knew I was eloquent. I described the love of a true, great-hearted woman, and the miracle her love could work in man’s heart. I told them that the love of such a woman made the glory of my life, and to it they were indebted for the inspiration that made me come among them to speak words of encouragement. I said that, with such a love in my heart, every woman was sacred in my eyes, even though covered with rags and shame. I dwelt long upon the fatal error of any woman considering herself lost, whatever had been her history, or however great her degradation. ‘Never,’ I said, ‘allow priest or layman, friend or foe, to convince you that you are not capable of a good and happy life, while there is yearning in your hearts, as I know there is in every one of them, for a love such as I have described. It is a vile insult to human intelligence to presume that any one loves evil rather than good, or prefers the pity to the respect of mankind.’ I then appealed strongly to their womanly pride and ambition, urging them to study earnestly in the classes established in the institution, promising to return in a year, and, if the directors would permit me, (here I obtained ready permission from the ladies on the platform) distribute certain prizes to those who had made the most progress in their studies and in their general deportment, and certain other prizes to all who had made any meritorious effort. The value and kind of the prizes being determined after some discussion with the ladies, I went on, and showed them the high importance of study as a discipline to the mind, and the value of education generally. I pointed out, in plain, simple language, the prospect opening before women through the recognition of her equal rights as a citizen, for I am always anxious, when talking to women, to show them the moral and political power they may wield by the ballot, this being the primal means to put them in the proper position to exercise a vast influence necessarily dormant without it.

“I was pleased to see the intense interest in the faces of these young women. I am sure I awakened them to a sense of innate womanly dignity, which cannot be crushed out by sudden misfortune, and to a firm resolve to work their way up to a better and more honorable life. There was great enthusiasm when I finished, and one sweet, silver-haired old lady came up and kissed me, with the natural simplicity of a little child. I was very proud of that. She then spoke of me to the girls, in a way that made me feel guilty, because I was not a perfect saint; and then calling one of the girls to the piano, I listened to some very pleasant singing by the whole company, and retired, feeling that I had deserved the approbation of her who is the joy and blessing of my life.” * * * * * *

CHAPTER XLII.
A VISIT TO THE SOCIAL PALACE.

Nearly a year has passed, and it is summer again. Changes unheard of have been wrought over the river. The great palace dedicated to industry, rears its proud head toward the heavens, and joy and peace and plenty reign within its walls. Every apartment and every shop has been occupied over six months, and the tenants are voluntarily doubling and trebling their rents, for in this way they are paying for their magnificent home. The organization of the industries and of the domestic life, modeled after that of the great Familistère at Guise, must be scientifically adapted to the true laws of social harmony, for all the machinery works quietly, regularly, and satisfactorily. There is plenty of suggestion and lively discussion, but there is no discord. Even the narrowest and most selfish have learned that the happiness and continued prosperity of the individual lies in, and is indissolubly interwoven with, the happiness and prosperity of the whole.

As we cross over the neat iron bridge, we stop to admire the scene before us. On either side of the broad avenue leading to the palace, are green lawns, decorated with parterres of blossoming flowers, young trees and flowering shrubs, and winding roads and walks. To the left, beyond and stretching out of sight, are fruit orchards, fields of grain, and gardens in perfect order and luxuriant growth. On the left of the central avenue, and not far from the bridge, stands the pretty theatre, in colored bricks and very ornate in its style. Children from six to sixteen are passing in, for this is the last rehearsal, but one, of a great spectacular entertainment, to be given to-morrow afternoon, and repeated in the evening. To-morrow is the children’s festival, which will end the grand inaugural celebration, beginning to-day—promised long ago to the workmen of the Social Palace. The count had intended to give this festival outright, as a testimonial to the devotion and enthusiasm with which the men had conducted their work; but they got together and discussed it, and ordered it in a better way, as he himself was forced to admit. At the last meeting of the two councils of directors (twelve of the ablest men and twelve of the ablest women chosen by ballot by all the members), they had united their session, and decided to advertise the festival widely, and to count on paying all the expenses with the proceeds of the refreshments, the entrance fee to the evening inaugural ceremonies in the grand central court, and the tickets to the grand ball that was to follow. The count was to make up the deficit, if there was any, and none but members of the Social Palace were to receive everything free on that day. Stevens, who had sent for his family and taken up his residence in the palace, was an influential member, and his prediction that even the great court, capable of seating five thousand, would not hold all who would come, proved correct. The day dawned magnificently, and extra trains on the several railroads were filled during the whole two days, and thousands came and went who did not stay to the evening celebration, but were shown over the palace and grounds, and lavishly patronized the luxuries furnished by the restaurant and the wine-cellar.

But we have just crossed the bridge, and are passing the theatre. Going in with the young actors are their big brothers—young men dressed in a very elegant and jaunty uniform. These are the corps of Social Palace firemen, whose ostensible office is a sinecure, but they are the conductors of all the muscular work at festivals. They are stage-dressers, ushers, box-keepers; and on this occasion, with Too Soon dressed in gorgeous Oriental costume, they wait upon the little tables, scattered everywhere in the vicinity of the palace; in arbors, and wherever there is a shady spot.

The grand façade of the palace, with its great arched doorway, presents an imposing appearance. The main color of the large bricks that compose the walls, is light granite gray, but the facings and arches of the doors and windows are of a dark slate tint; while in the walls, high up, are set in, like mosaics, smaller, brilliant-colored bricks, forming three words that resemble a mediæval illuminated missal. One of these words, reaching more than half-way across the face of the left wing or quadrangle, is Liberty; on the middle building, the word Equality; and on the right wing, Fraternity.

The café, restaurant, and billiard-room, as well as the great public kitchen, are in one building, behind the rear quadrangle of the palace, and connected with it by broad covered corridors on two different stories. On the left of this rear quadrangle, and connected with it in the same way, is the fine building containing the nursery and pouponnat below, and above, the bambinat and schools; still beyond, or to the left of the school building, and joined to it, are the fine swimming-baths, fed by the brook, and heated in winter by the exhaust steam of the silk factory, which, on after consideration, was placed at the left of the palace, instead of at the right, as first intended. Still beyond these buildings are stables, carriage-houses, and the steam laundry; and still further, are the gasometer and the abattoir. From these buildings on to the forest, and extending right and left over a broad area, are nurseries filled with plants, shrubs, and young trees; and here also are located the hot-houses and green-houses of the Social Palace. Finally, beyond, are the rising, wooded hills, now transformed into a beautiful grove with shady walks and carriage-roads extending to and around the lake on the summit. This is the grand resort of the children for picnics, boat-rides, fishing, and for skating in the winter. The most serious punishment of the children for idleness or any misconduct is the deprivation of this pleasure, which is allowed the first sunny afternoon of every week.