Papa's own girl: A novel

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.

Flags and streamers are flying on the palace roof to-day, and music from bands in the open air adds its charm to a scene too inspiring for description. To-day the shuttles of the silk-looms are silent. The brick-making establishment is represented by a single guard, relieved every two hours; for there must be some one there, as in the silk factory, to answer the questions of visitors. All the workmen are in their holiday dresses, and joy and happiness are on every face. Large numbers of the Social Palace occupants—all who are willing to assume the responsibility of making the visitors comfortable, or to assist in their entertainment in any way—wear a little badge bearing the words “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.” When they wish to escape being constantly appealed to for information, they hide their badges for a time; but it is rarely done, for they are as proud as princes of their magnificent home and its surroundings.

Inside the palace, in private apartments, young girls are busy laying out their dresses and finery for the evening ball which is to commence at ten o’clock. No single Cinderella is to stay at home for want of the proper accoutrements. The fairy godmother, in the form of Susie and the count’s munificence, has already been working magic in the way of simple but beautiful ball-dresses, and flowers have already been provided with lavish hands. Not only is the inauguration to be celebrated, but another great event, which as yet is a secret to the greater number; and those who know, will only give hints of the birth of a child, the first that has seen the light in the Social Palace.

By three o’clock in the afternoon not only strangers, but all Oakdale, seems to be on the ground, or enjoying the marvels in the interior of the palace; and carriages and pedestrians are still swarming up the great avenues.

Mrs. Kendrick and Louise, with Mrs. Burnham, have been all the afternoon with Mrs. Forest and her daughters, or with Charlotte and Felix. The doctor has spent all the time he could spare from his various responsibilities in the direction of the festival, with his well-beloved Clara, who is somewhat indisposed, but in an ever-present and still ever-promising state of happiness such as rarely falls to the lot of women. Not a cloud has ever darkened the sky of her married bliss. She is grown even dearer to Paul than ever, and to her he is still the hero of her dreams. There is little danger that the illusions of love will not endure in this case; not because, after a year, they are more ineffably tender to each other; not because there may be new ties to bind them, but because Nature has attuned them to each other

The apartments of the count are in the right wing of the palace, directly under the word Fraternity, emblazoned on the outer wall. The doctor’s are adjoining, on one side, and those of Felix and Charlotte on the other. Charlotte’s marriage had proved a very happy one, despite the croaking of her brother and certain of her old friends. On this afternoon, as Felix was absent, the doctor brought Charlotte in to dine with his family and their visitors. There were no signs of dinner as she entered, but in an incredibly short space of time Dinah, in a gayly-trimmed head-dress, and a ruffled white apron spanning her ample proportions, produced a very elegant repast, without the slightest sign of flurry or over-heating manifested in her shining face.

Mrs. Forest saw that her visitors marveled at this suddenly and easily prepared table, and she explained:

“We scarcely ever do any cooking. When the table is set, Dinah brings, or has brought, from the great cuisine whatever we want. It is under the control of our French citizens—we are all fellow-citizens, you know,” said Mrs. Forest, by way of parenthesis, and with a comical smile, “and nobody can cook as they do.”

“And so you are actually free from all the trouble of marketing and overseeing the cooking,” said Mrs. Kendrick; “but is it not very expensive?”

“On the contrary,” answered Mrs. Forest, “if we were to furnish all these materials, buying them at retail, and Dinah were to cook them, which she could hardly do in a whole day, even if she knew how, it would cost almost twice as much, calculating, of course, for the waste which cannot be avoided in a private family. Many a woman here used her cook-stove at first, but as the palace is all heated by the furnaces in winter, and the kitchen-stove fire not needed, they soon gave it up. Now, even the very poorest go or send their children to the cuisine for whatever they want. After dinner I will show you our wine-cellars. They are well stocked, and the very poorest may drink them. The count has contracted with certain great vineyards in France to supply us. They are of several prices; some very good ones at ten cents a bottle, and fair light kinds for six—half bottles at five and three cents. You know it is his belief, and also the doctor’s, that children should be accustomed to drink wine, diluted with water, of course, as the best and surest means of preventing drunkenness.”

“Do you really believe that, doctor?” asked Mrs. Burnham, who was naturally greatly interested in the subject, on account of her son’s intemperance.

“I do believe it,” he replied. “Who are the people whom we call ‘shoddy,’ and who make themselves ridiculous by overdressing? Naturally, they are those who have been deprived of the luxury of dress in their youth. Who are the gormandizers? Certainly not those who have been accustomed to plenty of excellent food from their childhood. Then again, the miser, who lives deprived of all the luxuries of life, that he may gratify an abnormal passion for hoarding away money; he is in all cases, I believe, one who has been deprived of money in his youth, or may be he has inherited the passion from some unhappy parent. The same law should apply to drinking, though there is another cause at work here, too frequently overlooked: the passion for stimulation or exaltation. That, in my opinion, will vanish when we have a social life that answers our demands for natural excitement—society, music, games, dancing, dramatic acting, scientific pursuits, and flirting I will add, Miss Louise, for your sake, for I know you think I was going to leave out something important.”

Louise blushed very prettily, and disclaimed all such shocking thoughts.

“Yet,” said Mrs. Burnham, “you certainly have some members who are addicted to drinking.”

“True, but there are no liquors sold in the café or billiard-rooms, and account for it as you can, men are not apt to get drunk on wine. To be sure the men wanted liquors sold in these rooms, and they voted for it pretty largely.”

“Why, what hindered it being brought in then?” asked Mrs. Burnham.

“Why, don’t you know the women vote here as well as the men?” asked Linnie, glancing at her mother. “I certainly voted against it, and so did mamma, and Leila, and just about all the women.”

“Mamma is a female suffrager now,” said Leila, mischievously. “She is one of the council of twelve elected by universal suffrage.” Mrs. Forest reproved her daughter’s garrulity, looking herself a little foolish, remembering her own stricture in times past, upon the claims of the women’s rights agitators.

“What are the functions of these councils?” asked Mrs. Kendrick.

“The twelve men,” said Mrs. Forest, “manage the industrial and financial matters, the buying of supplies, and so on. We attend to the working of the domestic machinery, the nursery and the schools, report on the quality of the supplies, call general meetings of the women, and discuss all matters. Nothing is done as a duty, and for nothing but the honor, except our work as councils of direction. So far, we have not seen fit to ask for pay, but our duties are not onerous. We sit an hour every week.”

“Well, I must confess this Social Palace is the most wonderful thing,” said Mrs. Kendrick. “If the people were all educated—of our own class, you know—I would try to have Mr. Kendrick sell out and come here to live.”

“Bless you!” said the doctor. “Wait till you see our rising generation, who are being educated here; I was going to say you wouldn’t know them from gentlemen and ladies; but you would, by three signs: superior refinement, superior education, and superior recognition of the rights of others. You’d better come as soon as there is a vacancy, but there are, at least, now on the books, a hundred applicants, and as the first applying have the first chance, yours are rather small.” Mrs. Kendrick thought there was a slight malice in the doctor’s tone.

“One word more about intemperance,” said Mrs. Burnham. “Any of your members can go to Oakdale and get liquor. Now that your son is gone, and that Clara has moved away, the liquor dealers have broken their promises. I believe my poor boy will be quite ruined. I have been thinking of consulting you, doctor, about taking him to Binghamton.”

“The worst thing about that inebriate asylum there,” said the doctor, “is that there is no industry for the inmates. They actually spend days carving sticks and bits of wood; but still, as it is the best thing that offers I should say send him there at once.”

“So should I,” said Mrs. Forest. “I believe our son is quite cured of his habit. There is a decanter of brandy standing in the sitting-room all the time, and he has not once touched it. You know he is coming home on trial. We expect him next week.” And the mother’s face lighted up with joy at the thought of the restoration of her first-born.

“You were going to ask, Mrs. Burnham,” said Charlotte, “what we do when our members come home intoxicated. We say nothing, unless they disturb the quiet of others, or unless their families complain to the council. When this occurs, or any act of disorder militating against public order and morality, the council publish a bulletin of censure, and place it on the bulletin-board, where all the acts of the board, and all general notices, are placed. At first the name is not mentioned, but accompanying the censure is an expression of deep regret and the offer of sympathy to help the culprit reform.”

“We have, so far, had but four cases,” said Mrs. Forest. “Our council attends to these questions. This bulletin-board is a terror to the disorderly.”

“And very naturally too,” said Charlotte, “for it contains the decisions of the council they have chosen by their own votes.”

“We hear all sorts of stories outside,” said Mrs. Kendrick. “One is, that the bambins study politics, and learn the uses of the ballot; but of course that is a mere joke.”

“Not wholly,” replied Mrs. Müller, or Charlotte, the name by which we have known her. “The children all have daily exercises in the open air, and even the little tots six, seven, and eight years old do quite an amount of useful work. They go out in bands of ten or twenty each, under a little industrial chief, girl or boy, chosen by themselves, by ballot. They have regular ballot-boxes.”

“Then they do learn the use of the ballot-box even at that absurd age.”

“Oh yes. Why not?” answered Charlotte. “The head-gardener, or his assistant, Edward Page, provides them with little hoes and rakes, or other small implements, and points out the work to be done. Then the chief sets them to work after his or her example, and sees that the gardener’s instructions are carried out to the letter. For this work, chiefs and laborers receive five cents an hour, which is their own money, and they can squander it just as they please; but as all the candies are of a simple and healthy kind, they can’t hurt themselves. Some of them save their money. The height of their ambition is to amass a fortune of one dollar. That takes twenty days, for they are not encouraged to work more than an hour at a time. They show real judgment in choosing their leaders, and these little leaders are very careful to please their constituents. So, in this way, almost from the cradle they begin to learn the principles of popular government. Why, they use the terms ballot, nominee, majority, candidate, constituent, just as intelligently as other children do doll and hop-scotch!”

“Well, it is plain to be seen that girls brought up so will never discuss the right to a voice in government. It will seem as natural a right,” said Mrs. Kendrick, “as that of breathing.”

“True,” said Mrs. Forest, “and I wish we had all been brought up so. If we had, it is my opinion that there would not be a house of ill-fame or a drinking den in the town. But let us go into the nursery.”

The doctor excused himself, and the ladies, all except the twins, went by themselves. Mrs. Forest led them through the long, well-lighted corridor, to the angle of the left wing, and seating them and herself in an elegant elevator, descended to the floor below, and then passing through the central court and the covered way leading to the school building, on the lower floor, they were shown into the nursery and pouponnat. Susie, who was one of the council of directors, was there, giving some directions or suggestions. She was dressed in a gossamer-like organdie, and wore fragrant flowers in her blonde hair and on her breast. The ladies noticed that Mrs. Forest and Charlotte gave their hands to Susie cordially, and therefore they followed the example.

The nursery and pouponnat were in an immense, high-studded, well-lighted and well-ventilated room. The floors were waxed or oiled, and here and there were bouquets of flowers in pretty vases, on wall-brackets. There were also busts and pictures. Everything was exquisitely fresh and clean. The pouponnat was separated from the nursery by a little balustrade, and the poupons were marching to the music of their own songs, keeping time meanwhile with their little hands to an accompaniment on a piano played by a young girl who was one of five who conducted the pouponnat exercises two hours every day. There were about eighty poupons, and some fifty babies, who were watching the poupons with great interest. There were toys of every kind, and little swings and various furniture for light gymnastic exercises. While the visitors were looking on, one of the poupons, marching somewhat awkwardly, fell and hurt his head. He uttered a loud sob and ran to the young girl, who took him in her arms and “kissed the spot,” in a motherly fashion, and sent him back to his place in the ranks after a very short term of consolation.

Mrs. Kendrick remarked the child’s restraining himself from crying.

“They very rarely cry when they are hurt,” said Susie. “If any child ‘yells,’ as Min calls it, the others stare at him, and he cannot brave the public disapprobation of his peers. This is a thing that we have all wondered at. Children are not very sensitive to the criticism of grown people. They can only understand the motives and feelings of their peers. You see there is plenty of sound, of prattle, but no racket. It is the same thing in the nursery at Guise. There is no punishment there nor here for crying, and yet they do not cry unless they are suffering. Their wants, all of them, we try to supply; and if they moan and cry, we know they must be ill.”

“Yet certainly that is not natural,” said Mrs. Burnham. “Children do cry when nothing is the matter with them.”

“Their wants cannot be supplied in the isolated home,” said Susie, very earnestly. “They suffer from lack of amusement, and especially for the society of those whom they can understand—their peers. It is difficult for those to understand this who have not seen the working of a well-organized nursery. When the mothers try to keep their little ones at home longer than a few hours, they worry and fret until they have to bring them back. The nurslings stay here all night for the most part; the poupons sleep at home. All the food for both these departments is supplied free. It is kept warm all day, and for the babies all night. There are several wetnurses, and mothers who have not weaned their babies come at intervals and nurse them, and take them home generally at night. All is free. The mother can have her little ones here a part or all the time, or keep them at home all the time. But there is not a poupon in the place who does not pass some of the hours of the day here.”

“When do they reach the distinguished honor of becoming poupons?” asked Louise, smiling.

“You may well say honor,” replied Susie. “It is the ambition of the babies to enter the pouponnat. This they do when they can walk well, and have learned to keep themselves clean. The poupons, in their turn, aspire to become bambins, where they have higher exercises, and commence the Froëbel exercises, slate exercises, and reading. The nurslings are promoted when about thirty months old, and the poupons, at from four to five years old.”

“Well, I must say I never saw children so happy—did you, Mrs. Burnham?”

“Never. Modern progress will eliminate the mother altogether by-and-by, I suspect.”

Some of the babies were crowing in their nurses’ arms, some sleeping in their elegant little cribs, canopied with snowy muslin, many playing and rolling over each other on the floor, or practising their first steps in the “walker,” an elliptical platform on castors, surrounded by a double railing just high enough for the little toddlers to cling to and lean on as they walked around between these railings. The first lesson in politeness, Susie said, was to wait in their cribs in the morning until their turn came to be bathed, and dressed, and fed, and the next to pass each other in the “walker” without jostling or crowding.

“I see you have no rocking-cradles. How do you get all these children to sleep?” asked Mrs. Kendrick.

“It is one of the prettiest sights you ever saw,” said Mrs. Forest, “to see these children all put into their little beds at night without rocking, and there singing themselves to sleep without any crying.”

“You don’t really mean to say they do that?” asked Mrs. Burnham, incredulously.

“They certainly do, all of them, after they have been here a short time. The gas burns low all night, and the little ones who do not sleep all night are fed, of course.”

“Well, wonders will never cease,” remarked Mrs. Burnham, who then inquired how this forest of little cribs were kept so perfectly sweet and fresh. One of the nurses showed these beds. Each one had a sacking bottom, holding about a bushel of wheaten-bran, over which was laid a little blanket. Any moisture penetrating this bran formed at once a solid lump, which was removed, leaving the rest all dry and clean. Fresh bran was added from time to time. Each bed had a soft little pillow, and plenty of covering.

Other visitors came and went, while these stayed, determined to see if everything was really as marvelously satisfactory as people said.

Here the nurses prepared to take their charges, or numbers of them, into the swimming-baths, where the company followed them, wondering more and more.