Papa's own girl: A novel

Dr. Delano winced a little at the scandals circulating in the village, for he heard the name of his betrothed constantly coupled with that of the “fallen” Susie Dykes. Once he expressed a kind of gentle remonstrance that she should visit Susie so often, but she replied with such frank confidence, as if he could not possibly look at the matter except as one of the very highest and best of earth’s creatures, that he felt little in his own eyes, and dropped the subject. Still, he was a good deal disturbed when his father and the stately Miss Charlotte Delano appeared on the scene, coming from the centre of the élite of Beacon Hill, in Boston. While in Oakdale they were the guests of the Kendricks, old friends of the Delanos, and the richest people in the county. He knew that the Kendrick girls had cut Clara’s acquaintance from the beginning of these scandals. One of these, Louise Kendrick, had been Clara’s most intimate friend since their girlhood, when they used to play with the skeleton in the doctor’s garret. Clara herself was really distressed over her friend’s disaffection, and Mrs. Forest regarded it almost as a calamity, and tortured Clara about it in season and out of season. “I’m sure you might have expected it,” she would say, in an injured tone. “Girls, who have a proper regard for their reputation, shrink instinctively from those who have not.” These speeches roused Clara one day, and she flashed defiance in a very shocking way. “I begin to hate the very word reputation,” she said. “I wouldn’t have it at the cost of being mean and heartless, like Louise Kendrick.” Mrs. Forest was amazed, and asked her daughter what Dr. Delano would say if he could hear her utter such sentiments. The answer was very unexpected, and silenced Mrs. Forest effectually. It came like thunder from a clear sky:

“I don’t know what he would say. I only know it wouldn’t require any extraordinary amount of temptation to make him fall, reputation or not.”

This speech sounded very ugly to Clara when once it was uttered, but she was very angry, and it could not be recalled, though her heart, if not her head, accused her of a certain injustice.

The Delanos were not over-pleased that the male representative of the family name and wealth, should marry out of their “set;” but they were too well bred to not do honor, at least outwardly, to any wife he saw fit to choose, provided she was of irreproachable character. They had a natural contempt for country village scandals, and they saw there was nothing really improper in Miss Forest’s befriending the “unfortunate young woman.” It only showed an ill-directed enthusiasm, excusable in a young lady educated quite irregularly, as they understood she had been. Mrs. Forest, however, trembled for fear that what Mr. Delano and his daughter would hear at the Kendricks about Clara’s late course, would make them think unfavorably of the marriage; but her soul was at rest when the grave old gentleman, with his daughter, called formally, and thus recognized Clara as the son’s choice. After this formal call they graciously accepted an invitation to spend the evening at the doctor’s, one inducement being that he was absent in the first instance, and they had not seen him. Mrs. Forest was in her element receiving these elegant people. She had made the evening reception the study of days. On the occasion she looked very handsome in a pearl-gray silk with white lace, and her gray hair, in three rolls on each side of her face, surmounted by a pretty cap. Clara wore a pretty evening dress of white, with sleeves of illusion, puffed with narrow green velvet. As a finishing touch, Mrs. Forest fastened a string of pearls around her daughter’s neck, saying, “These, you know, are to be your wedding present from me. You look exceedingly well, my daughter, and I want you to talk very little this evening, and especially to avoid any of your father’s radical expressions. I don’t want them to think you are——”

“Strong-minded,” said Clara, finishing the sentence. “I know you were not going to say that, but you meant it. O dear! How different you are from papa. I wonder how you two ever came to marry. Now he would say to me, ‘Be yourself.’ You never said such a thing to me in your life. I am not namby-pamby, and I cannot speak with the affected voice of Louise Kendrick, who is your ideal; and I must say I am glad of it. However, mamma dear, I will try to please you, and if papa don’t inspire me, I shall be inane enough to gratify your taste.”

Dr. Delano came early, and had a tête-à-tête with Clara before his people arrived. He had never seen her neck and arms before, and his expressions of admiration at their exquisite moulding were perhaps intemperate, after the manner of lovers, but altogether delightful to Clara’s ear. He was proud of her, he said, and wanted his father and sister to see her looking as she did then; and certainly they must have been lacking in appreciation, if they could fail to admire a girl so beautiful as Clara was made by her charming toilet, the grace that was incarnate in every movement, and by every feature of her face, enhanced and glorified by the power of Love’s spell.

The evening passed very pleasantly until the subject of the late civil war was mentioned, and then Mrs. Forest fidgeted, expecting every moment some horrid radicalism from the doctor, who would not think like other people! Clara, too, she feared would “talk,” and, according to her creed, not only children, but young ladies, should be seen, not heard.

“Under all possible aspects,” the doctor said, on this occasion, in reply to some opinion of Mr. Delano, “under all possible aspects, war is a stupendous imbecility.”

“Then, sir,” replied Mr. Delano, “you would not justify defensive war.”

Mr. Delano was a retired cotton speculator. He was rather slight in build, with small, keen eyes, set deep and near together; a high, thin, Roman nose, thin lips, teeth of the very best manufacture, his face clean-shaven, and his dress faultless in its elegance.

“No, sir, I should not,” the doctor answered.

“Yet it seems to me that the principle of giving your cloak also, to the rascal who takes your coat, works very ill in practice, at least in these degenerate days.”

“Ah! that may be. I certainly never attempted to carry it into practice. If we have a barbarian people for a neighbor, and they organize an army to destroy us, we must, of course, defend ourselves. We should have the esprit de corps which would rouse men, women, and children even, to help crush the invaders in a single day; but this would not be organized war, as generally understood. Moreover, if we had barbarian enemies, it would be the wiser policy to conquer them by making them our friends; and that is by no means an impractical policy, as has been proved by history. Between civilized nations, this method of settling difficulties, is an insult to the dignity of civilization. In the first place, it never settles anything, any more than the duel does.”

No one seemed ready to defend dueling; and seeing a pause, Clara said, “I think the history of horrid wars might end with this generation, if only women could be inspired with a normal disgust for all kinds of murdering.”

Mrs. Forest thought that was not so bad, if only Clara would say nothing more radical. She herself believed that women would be the most effective instruments, under divine will, of ending human butchery.

Miss Delano regarded Clara as if astonished at opinions in a young lady. The old gentleman was evidently struck, for he deigned to reply to her directly.

“Yet the fair hands of your sex, Miss Forest, even to-day, are engaged buckling on the armor of their male friends.”

“I am sorry, sir, that this is true.”

“Your daughter seems to have opinions”—said Miss Delano to Mrs. Forest, with whom she had been keeping up a separate conversation—“not common to young ladies of her age.” This was really intended as a compliment, but was not taken as such at the time.

“I hope I am not unpatriotic,” said Clara, looking straight at Miss Delano with a frank, sweet expression. “I love my country; but I love other countries also, and I have been taught to look upon the human race as one, and not simply to confine my sympathies to the place where I happened to be born. It seems to me clearly a duty to cultivate this feeling of unity.”

“These sentiments do you honor,” replied Mr. Delano, anxious to draw out this girl, who was not like any he had ever met; “but it seems to me singular that you should have arrived at such conclusions at your time of life.”

“It ought not to be singular, I think. I have heard the doctrines of peace and the brotherhood of man presented by my father ever since I can remember. It is perfectly impossible for me to see anything in military glory worthy of admiration. To me, any honest laboring man is more noble than the military hero, and I consider the sword a badge of disgrace. If I were a man, I should be so ashamed to be seen with such a thing at my side! Think what it suggests!” said Clara, with disgust in every feature of her beautiful face.

“It is true, father,” said the son, “that this spirit in women would soon put an end to war. We should hardly fight, if we thereby made ourselves despicable in the eyes of those we love.”

“But this spirit among women, my son, would make cowards of us all.”

“That, I think, is a great mistake,” said Dr. Forest. “It might in time make us forget how to use the sword and the bayonet dexterously—a ‘consummation devoutly to be wished,’ in my opinion; but, good Heaven! sir, is the courage and manliness of men to be measured by their skill in killing each other, as the valor of the savage by the number of scalps he can show? He can brave death, if that be the test, in nobler ways than at the hands of some mad, misguided brother.”

“Yet, in all examination of such questions, we must not forget that human passions remain the same. In all ages mankind has shown a decided tendency towards conquest.”

“Certainly,” replied the doctor, “human passions remain the same: that is, no new faculties are created, and none destroyed; but their relative activity differs with degrees and stages of development. You and I have the same faculties that in the Apache express themselves in pow-wow-ing and scalping, yet we neither pow-wow nor scalp: we have outgrown that kind of gratification for the passion, but we still express it in fighting. The time will come when we shall have outgrown that kind of expression as well. The desire to triumph over obstacles, to succeed, as well as the passion for organizing great enterprises, will always find ample avenues of expression and gratification.” The doctor paused, fearing to monopolize the conversation.

“I should much like to hear your views as to the way those passions can be gratified,” said Mr. Delano.

“In many ways,” replied the doctor. “Suppose, instead of going into the South to subdue and kill our fellow-men, we had organized our vast army for the purpose of draining and reclaiming the Dismal Swamp. That would have been a noble work. Where now that miserable tract is exhaling poisonous vapors, it might be to-day yielding fruits and grains to feed the children starving in our cities.”

“Why, this is constructive radicalism!” said Mr. Delano. “But while our army were reclaiming the Dismal Swamp, the Southern army would have been marching into our Northern towns and laying them waste!”

“No; I think,” said Miss Delano, “they would have been astounded into very good humor, and would have at once set about adjusting our quarrel amicably.”

“It is difficult to say,” said the doctor, “how our Southern citizens would have taken the invasion of a nonfighting army. The slavery system is a fearful drag upon the growth of the higher faculties. If we had gone down there to build them railroads and school-houses, they might have considered it very patronizing on our part. Slavery made white men despise labor; so they would not have felt like joining in, perhaps, like good fellows, though they were ‘spoiling’ for action, and their chivalry, as they called it, dreamed only of military glory, as the sole gentlemanly expression of their bottled-up forces. If they had respected labor, they would have met us right fraternally; but then, if they had understood the dignity of labor, slavery would have never been, and consequently our civil war would have been avoided; so our speculation is useless.”

“It is very interesting, at all events,” said Dr. Delano. “I confess that the idea of a grand army to drain the Dismal Swamp inspires me. I would join such an expedition with enthusiasm.”

Miss Delano suggested that such an army need not become demoralized for the want of woman’s influence, because they could take women along with them; and Clara drew a glowing picture of camp-life under such conditions, with music and fancy-dress balls to inspire the workers after the day’s labor, which, with an army of fifty thousand or more perfectly organized, need not become drudgery, for each division could be constantly relieved after three or four hours, which would constitute a day’s work. “And then when all was over,” Clara continued, “when all the glory was gained, you would have, in place of murders on your conscience, the satisfaction of having created only pleasure, and benefited all coming generations.”

“It would be a very economical campaign,” said Mr. Delano. “Your war debt would be reduced to zero; for as the work would require several years, you could carry on at the same time all the agricultural and manufacturing operations necessary to support your army.”

“But the greatest economy,” said Dr. Delano, “would be the economy of men. Citizens being the most valuable part of the body politic.”

“That is the best part of it,” said Clara. “You would have no bones bleaching on some terrible field of glory; no mothers and wives and orphans mourning for their dead. I think that ‘glory’ is a gilded snare that catches only fools. There can be no true glory in a work that shames humanity.”

“For my part, I should like to see war ended forever,” said Miss Charlotte; “but I think preaching a crusade against glory will not do any good.”

“If preached by women, it certainly will,” said the doctor. “As soon as the rank and file, without which there could be no army, and consequently no war, come to realize the contemptible position they occupy as puppets in the hands of an ambitious glory-seeking few, they will say No; and when, by general culture, they come to respect labor and human rights, they will say, ‘We will do no murder; we believe in labor—in building up, not in tearing down.’ Depend upon it, the solution is simpler than politicians and demagogues have ever dreamed, and nearer, too, for the growing moral sense of the age points directly to a time when international disputes will all be settled by arbitration; and when, if two nations are about to grip each other’s throats, all the other nations, as by instinct, will unite and separate them.”

“How could they do that without fighting also?” asked Mr. Delano.

“Why, by mere remonstrance. Is there any person insensible to public opinion? A nation is only a body of individuals. It could not stand against the moral convictions of the majority of nations. It would be simply impossible. If one man is foolish enough to fight a wind-mill, like Don Quixote, you cannot suppose any nation of men would be.”

“I admit that,” replied Mr. Delano; “yet I am not convinced that we shall ever arrive at that reign of reason; and your constructive army does not seem to me to meet all the wants supplied by the destructive one. There must be far more excitement in the latter.”

“But we must not forget that, as man reaches a higher state of culture, he shuns violent excitement of all kinds—it has no charm for him. Natural attractions constantly demand better and finer food for their gratifications. To deny this, is like saying that because man loves conviviality and exhilaration, he must always continue to gratify them by the rum-shop and a free-fight.”

At this point in the conversation Miss Marston, who had been out of town on a visit, came in, and entertained the company by her exquisite singing, and soon after Dinah brought in a tray of dainties, and a decanter of California wine. While the company were sipping the wine, she reappeared with fruit. Her black face always beamed with delight on “massa’s company.” The doctor made some kindly remark to her, as he always did, and poured her out a glass of wine. Mrs. Forest was unspeakably shocked. On this special occasion why could he not behave himself properly? Dinah took the glass with thanks, and said, raising it to her sable lips, “I hopes massa’l lib forebber.” This was her toast; and grinning upon the amused guests, she courtesied to them and left. The doctor thoroughly enjoyed this shock to conventional propriety. Clara was not disturbed in the least, for whatever her father did was right in her eyes. Mrs. Forest made some excuse to Miss Delano for what she called the doctor’s “eccentricity.”

“Your family is Southern, I believe,” said Mr. Delano.

“I am,” said Mrs. Forest, a little proudly, “but my husband is not.”

“No,” said the doctor, “I am of the good old New England, witch-burning stock; though I lived South many years.” Mr. Delano asked him if he did not find his sympathies in this war rather on the side of the South. “No more than with the North,” he answered. “I deplore it for the injury it must do to the whole country and to the world at large. The moral sense of the civilized world has a natural right to forbid anything so imbecile as an appeal to arms.”

“Do you suppose, sir,” asked Miss Delano, “if you had taken the vote of all the people of this country on the question of war or secession, the majority would have decided for secession?”

“Most certainly I do, if you mean the people, madame, and not simply the fighting portion. Men would not vote for war if it involved the destruction of their mothers and sisters, daughters, wives, and sweethearts, and women are said to be more tender towards those they love, than men are.”

“I must say,” said Mrs. Forest, “I do not think any nation has a right to declare war without consulting women—those who must be the greatest sufferers in the end.” This was very bold for Mrs. Forest, who seldom expressed opinions on such questions. This was just after the emancipation proclamation, and the doctor remarked that the abolition of slavery was a grand result, but even that was purchased too dearly.

“I never identified myself with the abolition movement,” said Mr. Delano, not mentioning the fact that, as a cotton-broker, his policy did not lie in that direction; “but slavery is a relic of barbarism, and therefore out of place in the nineteenth century. Still you are right, perhaps, that war does really never settle vexed questions. I foresee confusion worse confounded in our future political relations with the South.”

Mr. Delano and his daughter stayed quite late, and evidently enjoyed their visit, and were more pleased with the family of Albert’s future wife than they had expected. When they were gone, Mrs. Forest inwardly thanked God that the conversation had been providentially prevented from drifting into religion or woman’s rights, and went to bed in a very serene state of mind.