“The great event in Oakdale is the arrival of the Count Von Frauenstein. I met him at the Kendrick’s last night, and I like him more than any man I ever met. That is saying a good deal, but I know when a man has the ring of the true metal. He is a Prussian by birth, but no more belongs to that country than I do to this 10 × 12 study. In fact, he is a genuine cosmopolitan. He graduated at Cambridge, for his family took up their residence in England when he was a boy; then he took a degree in Philosophy in Heidelberg (which don’t count for much in my opinion), then lived some years in France, where he was sent on some government business. Some years ago he came into his inheritance, when he made for this country for the purpose of investing it. Kendrick says he is worth two millions to his knowledge, and much more in all probability. Kendrick is laying pipe to interest him in the new insurance company, but so far has only succeeded in getting him to help on the new railroad.
“It was a very stylish affair, the Kendrick reception last night; music, chef d’œuvres of confectionery, ladies in undress, and all that. Your mother was furious about the display of charms, and of course I defended it—not on principle, but because she was too savage. Leila and Linnie were invited, and they would have rejoiced in a state of décollété extending to their boots, I think. Your mother compromised the matter with black lace, and so they still live. Frauenstein has a fine voice, and Linnie was in the seventh heaven when she got a chance to play him an accompaniment to a song from Der Freischutz.
“I never met a real lion in society before, and I studied both with interest. This fashionable society is nothing, after all, but a kind of licensed policy-shop. They want Frauenstein’s money, and Kendrick thinks he has the best right to it because his cousin was Frauenstein’s mother—an American woman; so you see he has blood! The Delanos are related to him in about the same degree; so of course you have heard of him. I like the count for one reason, and this is, that notwithstanding the display and cajolery of the women, and the flattery of most of the men, he had the good taste to talk with your old doctor more than to any one there; so the race is not wholly degenerate! In politics he is soundly radical, and hates war like a Quaker. He sees in it the degradation of the people. It was refreshing to hear him talk. He says the wealth-producers of the world are not dependent upon capital so much as capital upon them, if they only knew it; for they have everything in their own hands, and are slowly coming to realize the fact, and to see how they can organize and accomplish great things. He was very eloquent when the subject of education came up, and presented the whole matter in a clear and new light to most of those who heard him. He said it was a disgrace to the age that we have no text-book of morals for the public schools; and as the various systems of religion have monopolized the teaching of codes of morals, by shutting out all religious instruction, we have shut out moral training as well. It is right to exclude all creeds from schools supported by the people, but it is a great and vital error to deprive the young of constant and unremitting instruction in the laws that should govern human beings in their mutual relations. He would have a text-book on morals compiled from the writings of all the great teachers, whether pagan or Christian, excluding every myth and unverifiable hypothesis. Such a book could be made as acceptable to all religious sects, as works on arithmetic or chemistry now are. He talked also of woman’s coming position as that of perfect social and political equality. It is astonishing how radical Kendrick, old priest Cooke, and many other out-of-her-sphere noodles, have suddenly become. Kendrick actually assented to the very propositions he has repeatedly pooh-pooed when presented by me. I made him feel a little uncomfortable by saying, ‘Mind, Kendrick! I shall see that you stick to that.’
“I come now to the important part of your letter. The old Serpent has got into your Eden. Two things I would say to you as a preliminary: first, don’t go off at half-cock. This is a common weakness of women. Second, don’t expect better bread than can be made of wheat. Your Albert is not so fine in nature as you supposed, or the fact of your being unhappy, even disturbed in your mind about his affection, would be the very strongest motive to self-examination. For myself, I don’t much believe in marriage, any way: it don’t seem to work. If it could be prevented until the age of forty or so, it would work better. If you were an ordinary woman, I should recommend flirting; but that would be useless in your case. So, my girl, I cannot help you as I would. I need not dwell on my feelings in the matter. In such cases there is only one physician, and he is the old mower with the hour-glass. Do not forget, that although a woman, you are really a philosopher. Love is not all there is of life; and as you depend less on its intoxication for your happiness, the more smoothly will work the machinery of destiny, just as the circulation of the blood is effected more normally when we trust to Nature, instead of trying to aid her by counting the beating of our hearts.
“The truth is, I am at a sad loss what to write you on this matter. I feel sure that you will act wisely, and be unjust to no one. The best I can do is to trust to your finer instincts. Action and reaction are equal: so the doctrine of eternal rewards and punishments is true in principle, though we look for heaven and hell in the wrong places. Be sure that Nature always restores the equilibrium. This is always the thought that I comfort myself with. It answers the place that praying does to the devotee. Nature’s laws are immutable, and cannot fail us. Be patient, dear girl, and know that there is one old fellow on whom you can rely, no matter what may happen.
“Yours, as you know,
“G. F.”
To the ordinary observer, there might not seem to be anything in the doctor’s letter to his daughter that should move her deeply; yet she read all the latter part of it through blinding tears. She received it a few days after her reconciliation with Albert, and answered it immediately as follows:
“Dear, dear Papa: Your letter consoles and blesses me, but I almost regret mentioning my troubles to you. I feel how they sink into your heart, and as I read I was filled with gratitude by the thought that you are still strong and hale and may live as long as I do, which I fervently desire. The very thought of losing you, is terrible. No one can ever understand me like my good, my precious, father. Your character is my ideal of all that is noble in manhood, and it was not wise, perhaps, for me to marry, because I must measure all men by your standard, and then be disappointed when they fall below it. I am unreasonable. I should never expect to find any one with your sense of justice, or with your delicate appreciation of everything fine in human motives. I could never deceive you: you see below the surface. I can deceive Albert, and do constantly, and hate myself for it. I can make him happy by wearing a smiling face when my heart is as heavy as lead. About a week ago we had an explanation. He confessed he had been wrong, had neglected my love, and we cried together, and played that all our clouds had passed forever. I thought it was possible; but there is something false and forced about our re-established happiness, that mocks our once proud state like a beggar’s rags upon a king. Still, I am much happier. I try to dress more showily. Albert likes the lilies-of-the-field style of Ella. Think of your Clara’s pride! She enters the lists in a toilet display to regain the admiration of her husband. Is it not pitiful?
“O papa, what am I saying? I meant to write you such a happy letter, but I fear the iron has entered my soul; yet I would not try, even for your sake, to deceive you, and believe me, I am suffering very little now, and I really think I shall recover my lost state. It is this hope that sustains me; but if I am disappointed, I shall rise above it and live. I am papa’s own girl, and more proud of being the daughter of such a man than I should be in being the queen of the grandest monarch that ever lived. If for no other reason than for your sake, I would bear up philosophically.