A PALACE OF DELIGHT.
During this time the Palace of Delight was steadily rising. Before
Christmas its walls were completed and the roof on. Then began the
painting, the decorating, and the fittings. And Angela was told that the
building would be handed over to her, complete according to the
contract, by the first of March.
The building was hidden away, so to speak, in a corner of vast Stepney,
but already rumors were abroad concerning it, and the purpose for which
it was erected. They were conflicting rumors. No one knew at all what
was intended by it; no one had been within the walls; no one knew who
built it. The place was situated so decidedly in the very heart and core
of Stepney, that the outside public knew nothing at all about it, and
the rumors were confined to the small folk round it. So it rose in their
midst without being greatly regarded. No report or mention of it came to
Harry's ears, so that he knew nothing of it, and suspected nothing any
more than he suspected Miss Kennedy of being some other person.
The first of March in this present year of grace 1882 fell upon a
Wednesday. Angela resolved that the opening-day should be on Thursday,
the second, and that she would open it herself; and then another thought
came into her mind; and the longer she meditated upon it, the stronger
hold did the idea take upon her.
The Palace of Delight was not, she said, her own conception; it was that
of the man--the man she loved. Would it not be generous, in giving this
place over to the people for whom it was built, to give its real founder
the one reward which he asked?
Never any knight of old had been more loyal. He obeyed in the spirit as
well as the letter her injunction not to speak of love; not only did he
refrain from those good words which he would fain have uttered, but he
showed no impatience, grumbled not, had no fits of sulking; he waited,
patient. And in all other things he did her behest, working with a
cheerful heart for her girls, always ready to amuse them, always at her
service for things great and small, and meeting her mood with a ready
sympathy.
One evening, exactly a fortnight before the proposed opening-day, Angela
invited all the girls, and with them her faithful old captain and her
servant Harry, to follow her because she had a thing to show them. She
spoke with great seriousness, and looked overcome with the gravity of
this thing. What was she going to show them?
They followed, wondering, while she led the way to the church, and then
turned to the right among the narrow lanes of a part where, by some
accident, none of the girls belonged.
Presently she stopped before a great building. It was not lit up, and
seemed quite dark and empty. Outside, the planks were not yet removed,
and they wore covered with gaudy advertisements, but it was too dark to
see them. There was a broad porch above the entrance, with a generously
ample ascent of steps like unto those of St. Paul's Cathedral. Angela
rang a bell and the door was opened. They found themselves in an
entrance-hall of some kind, imperfectly lighted by a single gas-jet.
There were three or four men standing about, apparently waiting for
them, because one stepped forward, and said:
"Miss Messenger's party?"
"We are Miss Messenger's party," Angela replied.
"Whoever we are," said Harry, "we are a great mystery to ourselves."
"Patience," Angela whispered; "part of the mystery is going to be
cleared up."
"Light up, Bill," said one of the men.
Then the whole place passed suddenly into daylight, for it was lit by
the electric globes. It was a lofty vestibule. On either side were
cloak-rooms; opposite were entrance-doors. But what was on the other
side of these entrance-rooms none of them could guess.
"My friend," said Angela to Harry, "this place should be yours. It is of
your creation."
"What is it, then?"
"It is your Palace of Delight. Yes; nothing short of that. Will you lead
me into your palace?"
She took his arm while he marvelled greatly and asked himself what this
might mean. One of the men then opened the doors, and they entered,
followed by the wondering girls.
They found themselves in a lofty and very spacious hall. At the end was
a kind of throne--a red velvet divan, semicircular under a canopy of red
velvet. Statues stood on either side; behind them was a great organ;
upon the walls were pictures. Above the pictures were trophies in arms;
tapestry carpets--all kinds of beautiful things. Above the entrance was
a gallery for musicians; and on either side were doors leading to places
of which they knew nothing.
Miss Kennedy led the way to the semicircular divan at the end. She took
the central place, and motioned the girls to arrange themselves about
her. The effect of this little group sitting by themselves and in
silence, at the end of the great hall, was very strange and wonderful.
"My dears," she said, after a moment--and the girls saw that her eyes
were full of tears--"my dears, I have got a wonderful story to tell you.
Listen.
"There was a girl, once, who had the great misfortune to be born rich.
It is a thing which many people desire. She, however, who had it knew
what a misfortune it might become to her. For the possessor of great
wealth, more especially if it be a woman, attracts all the designing and
wicked people in the world, all the rogues and all the pretended
philanthropists to her, as wasps are attracted by honey; and presently,
by sad experience, she gets to look on all mankind as desirous only of
robbing and deceiving her. This is a dreadful condition of mind to fall
into, because it stands in the way of love and friendship and trust, and
all the sweet confidences which make us happy.
"This girl's name was Messenger. Now, when she was quite young she knew
what was going to happen, unless she managed somehow differently from
other women in her unhappy position. And she determined as a first step
to get rid of a large quantity of her wealth, so that the cupidity of
the robbers might be diverted.
"Now, she had a humble friend--only a dressmaker,--who, for reasons of
her own, loved her and would have served her if she could. And this
dressmaker came to live at the East End of London.
"And she saw that the girls who have to work for their bread are treated
in such a way that slavery would be a better lot for most of them. For
they have to work twelve hours in the day, and sometimes more; they sit
in close, hot rooms, poisoned by gas; they get no change of position as
the day goes on; they have no holiday, no respite, save on Sunday; they
draw miserable wages, and they are indifferently fed. So that she
thought one good thing Miss Messenger could do was to help those girls,
and this was how our Association was founded."
"But we shall thank you, all the same," said Nelly.
"Then another thing happened. There was a young--gentleman," Angela went
on, "staying at the East End too. He called himself a working-man, said
he was the son of a sergeant in the army, but everybody knew he was a
gentleman. This dressmaker made his acquaintance, and talked with him a
great deal. He was full of ideas, and one day he proposed that we should
have a Palace of Delight. It would cost a great deal of money; but they
talked as if they had that sum, and more, at their disposal. They
arranged it all; they provided for everything. When the scheme was fully
drawn up, the dressmaker took it to Miss Messenger. O my dear girls!
this _is_ the Palace of Delight. It is built as they proposed; it is
finished; it is our own; and here is its inventor."
She took Harry's hand. He stood beside her, gazing upon her impassioned
face; but he was silent. "It looks cold and empty now, but when you see
it on the opening day; when you come here night after night; when you
get to feel the place to be a part, and the best part, of your life,
then remember that what Miss Messenger did was nothing compared with
what this--this young gentleman did. For he invented it."
"Now," she said, rising--they were all too much astonished to make any
demonstration--"now let us examine the building. This hall is your great
reception-room. You will use it for the ball nights, when you give your
great dances; a thousand couples may dance here without crowding. On wet
days it is to be the playground of the children. It will hold a couple
of thousand, without jostling against each other. There is the gallery
for the music, as soon as you have got any."
She led the way to a door on the right.
"This," she said, "is your theatre."
It was like a Roman theatre, being built in the form of a semicircle,
tier above tier, having no distinction in places, save that some were
nearer the stage and some further off.
"Here," she said, "you will act. Do not think that players will be found
for you. If you want a theatre you must find your own actors. If you
want an orchestra you must find your own for your theatre, because in
this place everything will be done by yourselves."
They came out of the theatre. There was one other door on that side of
the hall.
"This," said Angela, opening it, "is the concert-room. It has an organ
and a piano and a platform. When you have got people who can play and
sing, you will give concerts."
They crossed the hall. On the other side were two more great rooms, each
as big as the theatre and the concert-room. One was a gymnasium, fitted
up with bars and ropes, and parallel rods and trapezes.
"This is for the young men," said Angela. "They will be stimulated by
prizes to become good gymnasts. The other room is the library. Here they
may come, when they please, to read and study."
It was a noble room, fitted with shelves and the beginning of a great
library.
"Let us go upstairs," said Angela.
Upstairs the rooms were all small, but there were a great many of them.
Thus there were billiard-rooms, card-rooms, rooms with chess, dominos,
and backgammon-tables laid out, smoking-rooms for men alone, tea and
coffee rooms, rooms where women could sit by themselves if they pleased,
and a room where all kinds of refreshments were to be procured. Above
these was a second floor, which was called the School. This consisted of
a great number of quite small rooms, fitted with desks, tables, and
whatever else might be necessary. Some of these rooms were called
music-rooms, and were intended for instruction and practice on different
instruments. Others were for painting, drawing, sculpture, modelling,
wood-carving, leather-work, brass-work, embroidery, lace-work, and all
manner of small arts.
"In the Palace of Delight," said Angela, "we shall not be like a troop
of revellers, thinking of nothing but dance and song and feasting. We
shall learn something every day; we shall all belong to some class.
Those of us who know already will teach the rest. And oh! the best part
of all has to be told. Everything in the palace will be done for nothing
except the mere cleaning and keeping in order. And if anybody is paid
anything, it will be at the rate of a working-man's wage--no more. For
this is our own palace, the club of the working-people; we will not let
anybody make money out of it. We shall use it for ourselves, and we
shall make our enjoyment by ourselves.
"All this is provided in the deed of trust by which Miss Messenger hands
over the building to the people. There are three trustees. One of these,
of course, is you--Mr. Goslett."
"I have been so lost in amazement," said Harry, "that I have been unable
to speak. Is this, in very truth, the Palace of Delight that we have
battled over so long and so often?"
"It is none other. And you are a trustee to carry out the intentions of
the founder--yourself."
They went downstairs again to the great hall.
"Captain Sorensen," Angela whispered, "will you go home with the girls?
I will follow in a few minutes."
Harry and Angela were left behind in the hall.
She called the man in charge of the electric light, and said something
to him. Then he went away and turned down the light, and they were
standing in darkness, save for the bright moon which shone through the
windows and fell upon the white statues and made them look like two
ghosts themselves standing among rows of other ghosts.
"Harry," said Angela.
"Do not mock me," he replied: "I am in a dream. This is not real. The
place----"
"It is your own Palace of Delight. It will be given to the people in a
fortnight. Are you pleased with your creation?"
"Pleased? And you?"
"I am greatly pleased. Harry"--it was the first time she had called him
by his Christian name--"I promised you--I promised I would tell you--I
would tell you--if the time should come----"
"Has the time come? O my dear love, has the time come?"
"There is nothing in the way. But oh!--Harry--are you in the same mind?
No--wait a moment." She held him by the wrists. "Remember what you are
doing. Will you choose a lifetime of work among working-people? You can
go back, now, to your old life; but--perhaps--you will not be able to go
back, then."
"I have chosen, long ago. You know my choice--O love--my love."
"Then, Harry, if it will make you happy--are you quite sure it
will?--you shall marry me on the day when the Palace is opened."
"You are sure," she said, presently, "that you can love me, though I am
only a dressmaker?"
"Could I love you," he replied, passionately, "if you were anything
else?"
"You have never told me," he said, presently, "your Christian name."
"It is Angela."
"Angela! I should have known it could have been no other. Angela, kind
heaven surely sent you down to stay awhile with me. If, in time to come,
you should be ever unhappy with me, dear, if you should not be able to
bear any longer with my faults, you would leave me and go back to the
heaven whence you came."
They parted, that night, on the steps of Mrs. Bormalack's dingy old
boarding-house, to both so dear. But Harry, for half the night, paced
the pavement, trying to calm the tumult of his thoughts. "A life of
work--with Angela--with Angela? Why, how small, how pitiful seemed all
other kinds of life in which Angela was not concerned!"