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diff --git a/38049-h/38049-h.htm b/38049-h/38049-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1dc8e48 --- /dev/null +++ b/38049-h/38049-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17642 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Louisa May Alcott, Her Life, Letters, and Journals, by Louisa M. 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Alcott</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Louisa May Alcott<br /> +Her Life, Letters, and Journals</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Louisa May Alcott</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Ednah D. Cheney</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 18, 2011 [eBook #38049]<br /> +[Most recently updated: September 3, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISA MAY ALCOTT ***</div> + +<div class="tnbox"> +<p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p> +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. +Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original +document have been preserved.</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" height="500" alt="Cover" /> +</div> + +<h1 class="p6"><span class="smcap">Louisa May Alcott</span><br /> +<span class="s2">HER</span><br /> +Life, Letters, and Journals.</h1> + +<p class="center p4">EDITED BY</p> + +<p class="center">EDNAH D. CHENEY</p> + +<p class="center p6">BOSTON<br /> +LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY<br /> +1898</p> + +<p class="p6 center s1"><i>Copyright, 1889</i>,<br /> + +<span class="smcap">By J. S. P. Alcott</span>.</p> + +<p class="p4 center s1"><span class="smcap">University Press</span>:<br /> +<span class="smcap">John Wilson and Son, Cambridge</span>.</p> + +<div class="ad"> +<p class="center p6">TO<br /> + +<span class="b1">MRS. ANNA B. PRATT,</span></p> + +<p class="center">THE SOLE SURVIVING SISTER OF LOUISA M. ALCOTT, AND HER<br /> +NEVER-FAILING HELP, COMFORTER, AND FRIEND<br /> +FROM BIRTH TO DEATH,</p> + +<p class="center p2">This Memoir</p> + +<p class="center">IS RESPECTFULLY AND TENDERLY DEDICATED,<br /> +BY<br /> +<span class="i50p">EDNAH D. CHENEY.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jamaica Plain</span>,<br /> +<span class="i1">June, 1889.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter p6"><a name="illus005" id="illus005"></a> +<img src="images/illus005.jpg" width="444" height="650" alt="Portrait" /> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="p6"> INTRODUCTION.</h2> + +<p><span class="dropcap">L</span>OUISA MAY ALCOTT is universally recognized +as the greatest and most popular +story-teller for children in her generation. She +has known the way to the hearts of young people, +not only in her own class, or even country, but in +every condition of life, and in many foreign lands. +Plato says, "Beware of those who teach fables to +children;" and it is impossible to estimate the influence +which the popular writer of fiction has +over the audience he wins to listen to his tales. +The preacher, the teacher, the didactic writer find +their audience in hours of strength, with critical +faculties all alive, to question their propositions and +refute their arguments. The novelist comes to us +in the intervals of recreation and relaxation, and by +his seductive powers of imagination and sentiment +takes possession of the fancy and the heart before +judgment and reason are aroused to defend the +citadel. It well becomes us, then, who would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">iv</a></span> +guard young minds from subtle temptations, to +study the character of those works which charm +and delight the children.</p> + +<p>Of no author can it be more truly said than +of Louisa Alcott that her works are a revelation +of herself. She rarely sought for the material of +her stories in old chronicles, or foreign adventures. +Her capital was her own life and experiences +and those of others directly about her; and +her own well-remembered girlish frolics and fancies +were sure to find responsive enjoyment in the +minds of other girls.</p> + +<p>It is therefore impossible to understand Miss +Alcott's works fully without a knowledge of her +own life and experiences. By inheritance and +education she had rich and peculiar gifts; and her +life was one of rare advantages, as well as of trying +difficulties. Herself of the most true and frank +nature, she has given us the opportunity of knowing +her without disguise; and it is thus that I shall +try to portray her, showing what influences acted +upon her through life, and how faithfully and fully +she performed whatever duties circumstances laid +upon her. Fortunately I can let her speak mainly +for herself.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott revised her journals at different times +during her later life, striking out what was too personal +for other eyes than her own, and destroying +a great deal which would doubtless have proved +very interesting. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span></p> + +<p>The small number of letters given will undoubtedly +be a disappointment. Miss Alcott wished to +have most of her letters destroyed, and her sister +respected her wishes. She was not a voluminous +correspondent; she did not encourage many intimacies, +and she seldom wrote letters except to +her family, unless in reference to some purpose +she had strongly at heart. Writing was her constant +occupation, and she was not tempted to indulge +in it as a recreation. Her letters are brief, +and strictly to the point, but always characteristic +in feeling and expression; and, even at the risk of +the repetition of matter contained in her journals +or her books, I shall give copious extracts from +such as have come into my hands.</p> + +<p><span class="i20">E. D. C.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Jamaica Plain</span>, Mass., 1889.</p> + +<h2 class="p6">TABLE OF CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="2" summary="toc"> +<col width="20" /> +<col width="250" /> +<col width="100" /> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td> + +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_iii">iii</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc"><span class="smcap s1">Chapter.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">I.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Genealogy and Parentage</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">II.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Childhood</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">III.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fruitlands</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Sentimental Period</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">V.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Authorship</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Year of Good Luck</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">"Hospital Sketches</span>"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Europe, and "Little Women"</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IX.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Europe</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">X.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Family Changes</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Last Years</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Conclusion</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_387">387</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h2 class="p6">ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="2" summary="loi"> +<col width="20" /> +<col width="400" /> +<col width="100" /> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap o1">Portrait of Miss Alcott</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><i><a href="#illus005">Frontispiece</a></i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td><span class="o1">Photogravure</span> by A. W. Elson & Co., from a photograph by +Notman (negative destroyed), taken in 1883. The facsimile +of her writing is an extract from a letter to her +publisher, written from her hospital retreat a few weeks +previous to her death.</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap o1">Orchard House</span> ("<span class="smcap">Apple Slump</span>"), <span class="smcap">Concord, +Mass., the Home of the Alcotts, 1858 to +1878</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#illus098">93</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td>Engraved by John Andrew & Son Co., from a photograph.</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap o1">Portrait of Miss Alcott</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#illus147">140</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td><span class="o1">Photogravure</span> by A. W. Elson & Co., from a photograph +taken just previous to her going to Washington as a hospital +nurse, in 1862.</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap o1">Fac-simile of Miss Alcott's Writing</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#illus370">362</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td>Extract from a letter to her publisher, January, 1886.</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap o1">Fac-simile</span> <span class="smcap">of Preface to the New Edition of +"A Modern Mephistopheles," now first +printed</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#illus388">380</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="center b2 p6">LOUISA MAY ALCOTT.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a></span></p> + +<p class="center p2 b1">CHAPTER I.</p> + +<p class="center">GENEALOGY AND PARENTAGE.</p> + +<p class="center p2">TO LOUISA MAY ALCOTT.</p> + +<p class="center s1">BY HER FATHER.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When I remember with what buoyant heart,<br /> +<span class="i1">Midst war's alarms and woes of civil strife,<br /></span> +In youthful eagerness thou didst depart,<br /> +<span class="i1">At peril of thy safety, peace, and life,<br /></span> +To nurse the wounded soldier, swathe the dead,–<br /> +<span class="i1">How piercèd soon by fever's poisoned dart,<br /></span> +And brought unconscious home, with wildered head,<br /> +<span class="i1">Thou ever since 'mid langour and dull pain,<br /></span> +To conquer fortune, cherish kindred dear,<br /> +<span class="i1">Hast with grave studies vexed a sprightly brain,<br /></span> +In myriad households kindled love and cheer,<br /> +<span class="i1">Ne'er from thyself by Fame's loud trump beguiled,<br /></span> +Sounding in this and the farther hemisphere,–<br /> +<span class="i1">I press thee to my heart as Duty's faithful child.<br /></span> +</p> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">L</span>OUISA ALCOTT was the second child of +Amos Bronson and Abba May Alcott. This +name was spelled Alcocke in English history. +About 1616 a coat-of-arms was granted to Thomas +Alcocke of Silbertoft, in the county of Leicester. +The device represents three cocks, emblematic of +watchfulness; and the motto is <i>Semper Vigilans</i>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span></p> + +<p>The first of the name appearing in English history +is John Alcocke of Beverley, Yorkshire, of +whom Fuller gives an account in his Worthies +of England.</p> + +<p>Thomas and George Alcocke were the first of +the name among the settlers in New England. +The name is frequently found in the records of +Dorchester and Roxbury, and has passed through +successive changes to its present form.</p> + +<p>The name of Bronson came from Mr. Alcott's +maternal grandfather, the sturdy Capt. Amos Bronson +of Plymouth, Conn. "His ancestors on both +sides had been substantial people of respectable +position in England, and were connected with the +founders and governors of the chief New England +colonies. At the time of Mr. Alcott's birth they +had become simple farmers, reaping a scanty living +from their small farms in Connecticut."</p> + +<p>Amos Bronson Alcott, the father of Louisa, was +born Nov. 29, 1799, at the foot of Spindle Hill, in +the region called New Connecticut. He has himself +given in simple verse the story of his quaint +rustic life in his boyhood, and Louisa has reproduced +it in her story of "Eli's Education" (in the +Spinning-Wheel Stories), which gives a very true +account of his youthful life and adventures. He +derived his refined, gentle nature from his mother, +who had faith in her son, and who lived to see him +the accomplished scholar he had vowed to become +in his boyhood. Although brought up in these +rustic surroundings, his manners were always those +of a true gentleman. The name of the little mountain +town afterward became Wolcott, and Louisa +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> +records in her journal a pilgrimage made thither in +after years.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>Louisa Alcott's mother was a daughter of Col. +Joseph May of Boston. This family is so well +known that it is hardly necessary to repeat its +genealogy here.<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> She was a sister of Samuel J. +May, for many years pastor of the Unitarian church +at Syracuse, who was so tenderly beloved by men +of all religious persuasions in his home, and so +widely known and respected for his courage and +zeal in the Antislavery cause, as well as for his +many philanthropic labors.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Alcott's mother was Dorothy Sewall, a descendant +of that family already distinguished in the +annals of the Massachusetts colony, and which has +lost nothing of its reputation for ability and virtue +in its latest representatives.<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>Mrs. Alcott inherited in large measure the traits +which distinguished her family. She was a woman +of large stature, fine physique, and overflowing life. +Her temper was as quick and warm as her affections, +but she was full of broad unselfish generosity. +Her untiring energies were constantly employed, +not only for the benefit of her family, but for all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> +around her. She had a fine mind, and if she did +not have large opportunities for scholastic instruction, +she always enjoyed the benefit of intellectual +society and converse with noble minds. She loved +expression in writing, and her letters are full of wit +and humor, keen criticism, and noble moral sentiments. +Marriage with an idealist, who had no +means of support, brought her many trials and privations. +She bore them heroically, never wavering +in affection for her husband or in devotion to her +children. If the quick, impatient temper sometimes +relieved itself in hasty speech, the action was +always large and unselfish.</p> + +<p>It will be apparent from Louisa's life that she +inherited the traits of both her parents, and that +the uncommon powers of mind and heart that distinguished +her were not accidental, but the accumulated +result of the lives of generations of strong +and noble men and women.</p> + +<p>She was well born.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Mr. Alcott to Colonel May.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Germantown</span>, Nov. 29, 1832.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,–It is with great pleasure that I announce +to you the <i>birth of a second daughter</i>. She was born at +half-past 12 this morning, on my birthday (33), and is +a very fine healthful child, much more so than Anna was +at birth,–has a fine foundation for health and energy of +character. Abba is very comfortable, and will soon be +restored to the discharge of those domestic and maternal +duties in which she takes so much delight, and in the +performance of which she furnishes so excellent a model +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> +for imitation. Those only who have seen her in those +relations, much as there is in her general character to +admire and esteem, can form a true estimate of her personal +worth and uncommon devotion of heart. She was +formed for domestic sentiment rather than the gaze and +heartlessness of what is falsely called "society." Abba +inclines to call the babe <i>Louisa May</i>,–a name to her +full of every association connected with amiable benevolence +and exalted worth. I hope its <i>present possessor</i> +may rise to equal attainment, and deserve a place in the +estimation of society.</p> + +<p>With Abba's and Anna's and Louisa's regards, allow +me to assure you of the sincerity with which I am</p> + +<p class="center">Yours,<br /> +<span class="smcap sig">A. Bronson Alcott</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2">The children who lived to maturity were–</p> + +<p class="i6"><span class="smcap">Anna Bronson Alcott</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Louisa May Alcott</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Elizabeth Sewall Alcott</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Abba May Alcott</span>.</p> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER II.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">CHILDHOOD.</p> + +<p class="center p2">TO THE FIRST ROBIN.<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<div class="poem"> + +<p class="stanza">Welcome, welcome, little stranger,<br /> +Fear no harm, and fear no danger;<br /> +We are glad to see you here,<br /> +For you sing "Sweet Spring is near."</p> + +<p class="stanza">Now the white snow melts away;<br /> +Now the flowers blossom gay:<br /> +Come dear bird and build your nest,<br /> +For we love our robin best.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap i10">Louisa May Alcott.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap o1">Concord.</span><br /> +</p></div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">M</span>R. ALCOTT had removed to Germantown, +Penn, to take charge of a school, and here +Louisa was born, Nov. 29, 1832. She was the +second daughter, and was welcomed with the same +pride and affection as her elder sister had been. +We have this pleasant little glimpse of her when +she was hardly a month old, from the pen of one +of her mother's friends. Even at that extremely +early age love saw the signs of more than usual +intelligence, and friends as well as fond parents +looked forward to a promising career.</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span></p> + +<p class="section"><i>Extract from a Letter by Miss Donaldson.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">Germantown, Penn.</span>, Dec. 16, 1832.</p> + +<p> +I have a dear little pet in Mrs. Alcott's little Louisa. +It is the prettiest, best little thing in the world. You +will wonder to hear me call anything so young pretty, +but it is really so in an uncommon degree; it has a fair +complexion, dark bright eyes, long dark hair, a high forehead, +and altogether a countenance of more than usual +intelligence.</p> + +<p>The mother is such a delightful woman that it is a +cordial to my heart whenever I go to see her. I went +in to see her for a few moments the evening we received +your letter, and I think I never saw her in better spirits; +and truly, if goodness and integrity can insure felicity, +she deserves to be happy. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2">The earliest anecdote remembered of Louisa is +this: When the family went from Philadelphia to +Boston by steamer, the two little girls were nicely +dressed in clean nankeen frocks for the voyage; +but they had not been long on board before the +lively Louisa was missing, and after a long search +she was brought up from the engine-room, where +her eager curiosity had carried her, and where she +was having a beautiful time, with "plenty of dirt."</p> + +<p>The family removed to Boston in 1834, and +Mr. Alcott opened his famous school in Masonic +Temple. Louisa was too young to attend the +school except as an occasional visitor; but she +found plenty of interest and amusement for herself +in playing on the Common, making friends +with every child she met, and on one occasion +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> +falling into the Frog Pond. She has given a very +lively picture of this period of her life in "Poppy's +Pranks," that vivacious young person being a picture +of herself, not at all exaggerated.</p> + +<p>The family lived successively in Front Street, +Cottage Place, and Beach Street during the six +succeeding years in Boston. They occasionally +passed some weeks at Scituate during the summer, +which the children heartily enjoyed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hawthorne gives a little anecdote which +shows how the child's heart was blossoming in this +family sunshine: "One morning in Front Street, +at the breakfast table, Louisa suddenly broke +silence, with a sunny smile saying, 'I love everybody +in <i>dis</i> whole world.'"</p> + +<p>Two children were born during this residence in +Boston. Elizabeth was named for Mr. Alcott's assistant +in his school,–Miss E. P. Peabody, since +so widely known and beloved by all friends of education. +A boy was born only to die. The little +body was laid reverently away in the lot of Colonel +May in the old burial-ground on the Common, and +the children were taught to speak with tenderness +of their "baby brother."</p> + +<p>When Louisa was about seven years old she +made a visit to friends in Providence. Miss C. +writes of her: "She is a beautiful little girl to look +upon, and I love her affectionate manners. I think +she is more like her mother than either of the +others." As is usually the case, Louisa's journal, +which she began at this early age, speaks more +fully of her struggles and difficulties than of the +bright, sunny moods which made her attractive. A +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> +little letter carefully printed and sent home during +this visit is preserved. In it she says she is not +happy; and she did have one trying experience +there, to which she refers in "My Boys." Seeing +some poor children who she thought were hungry, +she took food from the house without asking permission, +and carried it to them, and was afterward +very much astonished and grieved at being reprimanded +instead of praised for the deed. Miss +C. says: "She has had several spells of feeling +sad; but a walk or a talk soon dispels all gloom. +She was half moody when she wrote her letter; +but now she is gay as a lark. She loves to +play out of doors, and sometimes she is not inclined +to stay in when it is unpleasant." In her +sketches of "My Boys" she describes two of her +companions here, not forgetting the kindness of +the one and the mischievousness of the other.</p> + +<p>Although the family were quite comfortable during +the time of Mr. Alcott's teaching in Boston, yet +the children wearied of their extremely simple diet +of plain boiled rice without sugar, and graham +meal without butter or molasses. An old friend +who could not eat the bountiful rations provided +for her at the United States Hotel, used to save +her piece of pie or cake for the Alcott children. +Louisa often took it home to the others in a bandbox +which she brought for the purpose.</p> + +<p>This friend was absent in Europe many years, +and returned to find the name of Louisa Alcott +famous. When she met the authoress on the street +she was eagerly greeted. "Why, I did not think +you would remember me!" said the old lady. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> +"Do you think I shall ever forget that bandbox?" +was the instant reply.</p> + +<p>In 1840, Mr. Alcott's school having proved unsuccessful, +the family removed to Concord, Mass., +and took a cottage which is described in "Little +Women" as "Meg's first home," although Anna +never lived there after her marriage. It was a +pleasant house, with a garden full of trees, and +best of all a large barn, in which the children +could have free range and act out all the plays +with which their little heads were teeming. Of +course it was a delightful change from the city for +the children, and here they passed two very happy +years, for they were too young to understand the +cares which pressed upon the hearts of their parents. +Life was full of interest. One cold morning +they found in the garden a little half-starved +bird; and having warmed and fed it, Louisa was +inspired to write a pretty poem to "The Robin." +The fond mother was so delighted that she said to +her, "You will grow up a Shakspeare!" From the +lessons of her father she had formed the habit of +writing freely, but this is the first recorded instance +of her attempting to express her feelings in verse.</p> + +<p>From the influences of such parentage as I have +described, the family life in which Louisa was +brought up became wholly unique.</p> + +<p>If the father had to give up his cherished projects +of a school modelled after his ideas, he could at +least conduct the education of his own children; +and he did so with the most tender devotion. Even +when they were infants he took a great deal of personal +care of them, and loved to put the little ones +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> +to bed and use the "children's hour" to instil into +their hearts lessons of love and wisdom. He was +full of fun too, and would lie on the floor and frolic +with them, making compasses of his long legs with +which to draw letters and diagrams. No shade of +fear mingled with the children's reverent recognition +of his superior spiritual life. So their hearts +lay open to him, and he was able to help them in +their troubles.</p> + +<p>He taught them much by writing; and we have +many specimens of their lists of words to be spelled, +written, and understood. The lessons at Scituate +were often in the garden, and their father always +drew their attention to Nature and her beautiful +forms and meanings. Little symbolical pictures +helped to illustrate his lessons, and he sometimes +made drawings himself. Here is an example of +lessons. A quaint little picture represents one +child playing on a harp, another drawing an arrow. +It is inscribed–</p> + +<div class="poem p2"> +<p class="i4">FOR LOUISA.</p> + +<p class="i6">1840.</p> + +<p >Two passions strong divide our life,–<br /> +Meek, gentle love, or boisterous strife.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2">Below the child playing the harp is–</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i4">Love, Music,<br /> +<span class="i1">Concord.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="p2">Below the shooter is–</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i4">Anger, Arrow,<br /> +<span class="i1">Discord.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="p2">Another leaflet is–<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem p2"> +<p class="i4">FOR LOUISA</p> + +<p class="i6">1840.</p> + +<p><span class="i3">Louisa loves–</span><br /> +<span class="i5">What?</span><br /> +<span class="i1">(<i>Softly.</i>)</span><br /> +<span class="i5">Fun.</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Have some then,</span><br /> +<span class="i6">Father</span><br /> +<span class="i8">says.</span><br /> +Christmas Eve, December, 1840.<br /> +<span class="i5">Concordia.</span><br /></p> +</div> + +<div class="slimpoem"> +<hr class="l15" /> +<p class="center"> +FOR ANNA.<br /> +1840.<br /> +Beauty or Duty,–<br /> +which<br /> +loves Anna best?<br /> +A<br /> +Question<br /> +from her<br /> +Father.<br /> +Christmas Eve,<br /> +December, 1840.<br /> +Concordia.<br /> +</p></div> + +<p class="p2">A letter beautifully printed by her father for +Louisa (1839) speaks to her of conscience, and she +adds to it this note: "L. began early, it seems, to +wrestle with her conscience." The children were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> +always required to keep their journals regularly, +and although these were open to the inspection of +father and mother, they were very frank, and really +recorded their struggles and desires. The mother +had the habit of writing little notes to the children +when she wished to call their attention to any fault +or peculiarity. Louisa preserved many of them, +headed,–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +[<i>Extracts</i> from letters from Mother, received during these +early years. I preserve them to show the ever tender, watchful +help she gave to the child who caused her the most anxiety, +yet seemed to be the nearest to her heart till the end.–<span class="smcap">L. +M. A.</span>]</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>No. 1.–<span class="smcap">My Dear Little Girl</span>,–Will you accept +this doll from me on your seventh birthday? She will be +a quiet playmate for my active Louisa for seven years +more. Be a kind mamma, and love her for my sake.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap sig">Your Mother.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap i2">Beach Street, Boston, 1839.</span> +</p></div> + +<p class="section"><i>From her Mother.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Cottage in Concord.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Daughter</span>,–Your tenth birthday has arrived. +May it be a happy one, and on each returning birthday +may you feel new strength and resolution to be gentle +with sisters, obedient to parents, loving to every one, and +happy in yourself.</p> + +<p>I give you the pencil-case I promised, for I have observed +that you are fond of writing, and wish to encourage +the habit.</p> + +<p>Go on trying, dear, and each day it will be easier to be +and do good. You must help yourself, for the cause of +your little troubles is in yourself; and patience and courage +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> +age only will make you what mother prays to see you,–her +good and happy girl.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap letter">Concord, 1843.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Louy</span>,–I enclose a picture for you which I +always liked very much, for I imagined that you might be +just such an industrious daughter and I such a feeble but +loving mother, looking to your labor for my daily bread.</p> + +<p>Keep it for my sake and your own, for you and I +always liked to be grouped together.</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Mother.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>The lines I wrote under the picture in my journal:–</p> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i3">TO MOTHER.</p> +<p class="stanza"> +I hope that soon, dear mother,<br /> +<span class="i1">You and I may be</span><br /> +In the quiet room my fancy<br /> +<span class="i1">Has so often made for thee,–</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">The pleasant, sunny chamber,<br /> +<span class="i1">The cushioned easy-chair,</span><br /> +The book laid for your reading,<br /> +<span class="i1">The vase of flowers fair;</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">The desk beside the window<br /> +<span class="i1">Where the sun shines warm and bright:</span><br /> +And there in ease and quiet<br /> +<span class="i1">The promised book you write;</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">While I sit close beside you,<br /> +<span class="i1">Content at last to see</span><br /> +That you can rest, dear mother,<br /> +<span class="i1">And I can cherish thee.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[The dream came true, and for the last ten years of her +life Marmee sat in peace, with every wish granted, even to +the "grouping together;" for she died in my arms.–<span class="smcap">L. +M. A.</span>] + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span></p> +</div> + +<p>A passage in Louisa's story of "Little Men" +(p. 268) describes one of their childish plays. +They "made believe" their minds were little +round rooms in which the soul lived, and in which +good or bad things were preserved. This play +was never forgotten in after life, and the girls +often looked into their little rooms for comfort or +guidance in trial or temptation.</p> + +<p>Louisa was very fond of animals, as is abundantly +shown in her stories. She never had the happiness +of owning many pets, except cats, and these were +the delight of the household. The children played +all manner of plays with them, tended them in sickness, +buried them with funeral honors, and Louisa +has embalmed their memory in the story of "The +Seven Black Cats" in "Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag."</p> + +<p>Dolls were an equal source of pleasure. The +imaginative children hardly recognized them as +manufactured articles, but endowed them with life +and feeling. Louisa put her dolls through every +experience of life; they were fed, educated, punished, +rewarded, nursed, and even hung and buried, +and then resurrected in her stories. The account +of the "Sacrifice of the Dolls" to the exacting +Kitty Mouse in "Little Men" delights all children +by its mixture of pathetic earnestness and +playfulness. It is taken from the experience of +another family of children.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott twice says that she never went to +any school but her father's; but there were some +slight exceptions to this rule. She went a few +months to a little district school in Still River +Village. This was a genuine old-fashioned school, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> +from which she took the hint of the frolics in +"Under the Lilacs." Miss Ford also kept a little +school in Mr. Emerson's barn, to which the children +went; and Mary Russell had a school, which +Louisa attended when eight or nine years old. +These circumstances, however, had small influence +in her education.</p> + +<p>During this period of life in Concord, which was +so happy to the children, the mother's heart was +full of anxious care. She however entered into +all their childish pleasures, and her watchful care +over their moral growth is shown by her letters +and by Louisa's journals.</p> + +<p>The youngest child, Abba May, who was born +in the cottage, became the pet of the family and +the special care of the oldest sister, Anna.</p> + +<p>Louisa's childish journal gives us many hints +of this happy life. She revised these journals in +later years, adding significant comments which +are full of interest. She designed them to have +place in her autobiography, which she hoped to +write.</p> + +<p>From three different sources–her journals, an +article written for publication, and a manuscript +prepared for a friend,–we give her own account +of these childish years. She has not followed the +order of events strictly, and it has not been possible, +therefore, to avoid all repetition; but they +give the spirit of her early life, and clearly show +the kind of education she received from her father +and from the circumstances around her. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span></p> + +<p class="section"><i>Sketch of Childhood, by herself.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>One of my earliest recollections is of playing with +books in my father's study,–building houses and bridges +of the big dictionaries and diaries, looking at pictures, +pretending to read, and scribbling on blank pages whenever +pen or pencil could be found. Many of these first +attempts at authorship still remain in Bacon's Essays, +Plutarch's Lives, and other works of a serious nature, my +infant taste being for solid literature, apparently.</p> + +<p>On one occasion we built a high tower round baby +Lizzie as she sat playing with her toys on the floor, and +being attracted by something out-of-doors, forgot our +little prisoner. A search was made, and patient baby at +last discovered curled up and fast asleep in her dungeon +cell, out of which she emerged so rosy and smiling after +her nap that we were forgiven for our carelessness.</p> + +<p>Another memory is of my fourth birthday, which was +celebrated at my father's school-room in Masonic Temple. +All the children were there. I wore a crown of +flowers, and stood upon a table to dispense cakes to each +child as the procession marched past. By some oversight +the cakes fell short, and I saw that if I gave away +the last one I should have none. As I was queen of the +revel, I felt that I ought to have it, and held on to it +tightly till my mother said,–</p> + +<p>"It is always better to give away than to keep the +nice things; so I know my Louy will not let the little +friend go without."</p> + +<p>The little friend received the dear plummy cake, and +I a kiss and my first lesson in the sweetness of self-denial,–a +lesson which my dear mother beautifully illustrated +all her long and noble life.</p> + +<p>Running away was one of the delights of my early +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> +days; and I still enjoy sudden flights out of the nest to +look about this very interesting world, and then go back +to report.</p> + +<p>On one of these occasions I passed a varied day with +some Irish children, who hospitably shared their cold +potatoes, salt-fish, and crusts with me as we revelled in +the ash-heaps which then adorned the waste lands where +the Albany Depot now stands. A trip to the Common +cheered the afternoon, but as dusk set in and my friends +deserted me, I felt that home was a nice place after all, +and tried to find it. I dimly remember watching a lamp-lighter +as I sat to rest on some doorsteps in Bedford +Street, where a big dog welcomed me so kindly that I +fell asleep with my head pillowed on his curly back, and +was found there by the town-crier, whom my distracted +parents had sent in search of me. His bell and proclamation +of the loss of "a little girl, six years old, in a +pink frock, white hat, and new green shoes," woke me +up, and a small voice answered out of the darkness,–</p> + +<p>"Why, dat's me!"</p> + +<p>Being with difficulty torn from my four-footed friend, +I was carried to the crier's house, and there feasted +sumptuously on bread-and-molasses in a tin plate with +the alphabet round it. But my fun ended next day +when I was tied to the arm of the sofa to repent at +leisure.</p> + +<p>I became an Abolitionist at a very early age, but have +never been able to decide whether I was made so by +seeing the portrait of George Thompson hidden under a +bed in our house during the Garrison riot, and going to +comfort "the poor man who had been good to the +slaves," or because I was saved from drowning in the +Frog Pond some years later by a colored boy. However +that may be, the conversion was genuine; and my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> +greatest pride is in the fact that I lived to know the +brave men and women who did so much for the cause, +and that I had a very small share in the war which put +an end to a great wrong.</p> +</div> +<p>Another recollection of her childhood was of +a "contraband" hidden in the oven, which must +have made her sense of the horrors of slavery +very keen.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>I never went to school except to my father or such +governesses as from time to time came into the family. +Schools then were not what they are now; so we had +lessons each morning in the study. And very happy hours +they were to us, for my father taught in the wise way +which unfolds what lies in the child's nature, as a flower +blooms, rather than crammed it, like a Strasburg goose, +with more than it could digest. I never liked arithmetic +nor grammar, and dodged those branches on all occasions; +but reading, writing, composition, history, and +geography I enjoyed, as well as the stories read to us +with a skill peculiarly his own.</p> + +<p>"Pilgrim's Progress," Krummacher's "Parables," Miss +Edgeworth, and the best of the dear old fairy tales made +the reading hour the pleasantest of our day. On Sundays +we had a simple service of Bible stories, hymns, and +conversation about the state of our little consciences +and the conduct of our childish lives which never will +be forgotten.</p> + +<p>Walks each morning round the Common while in the +city, and long tramps over hill and dale when our home +was in the country, were a part of our education, as well +as every sort of housework,–for which I have always been +very grateful, since such knowledge makes one independent +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> +in these days of domestic tribulation with the "help" +who are too often only hindrances.</p> + +<p>Needle-work began early, and at ten my skilful sister +made a linen shirt beautifully; while at twelve I set up +as a doll's dressmaker, with my sign out and wonderful +models in my window. All the children employed me, +and my turbans were the rage at one time, to the great +dismay of the neighbors' hens, who were hotly hunted +down, that I might tweak out their downiest feathers to +adorn the dolls' headgear.</p> + +<p>Active exercise was my delight, from the time when a +child of six I drove my hoop round the Common without +stopping, to the days when I did my twenty miles in +five hours and went to a party in the evening.</p> + +<p>I always thought I must have been a deer or a horse +in some former state, because it was such a joy to run. +No boy could be my friend till I had beaten him in a +race, and no girl if she refused to climb trees, leap fences, +and be a tomboy.</p> + +<p>My wise mother, anxious to give me a strong body to +support a lively brain, turned me loose in the country +and let me run wild, learning of Nature what no books +can teach, and being led,–as those who truly love her +seldom fail to be,–</p> +</div> +<p class="poem"> +"Through Nature up to Nature's God."</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>I remember running over the hills just at dawn one +summer morning, and pausing to rest in the silent woods, +saw, through an arch of trees, the sun rise over river, hill, +and wide green meadows as I never saw it before.</p> + +<p>Something born of the lovely hour, a happy mood, and +the unfolding aspirations of a child's soul seemed to bring +me very near to God; and in the hush of that morning +hour I always felt that I "got religion," as the phrase +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> +goes. A new and vital sense of His presence, tender and +sustaining as a father's arms, came to me then, never to +change through forty years of life's vicissitudes, but to +grow stronger for the sharp discipline of poverty and +pain, sorrow and success.</p> + +<p>Those Concord days were the happiest of my life, for +we had charming playmates in the little Emersons, Channings, +Hawthornes, and Goodwins, with the illustrious +parents and their friends to enjoy our pranks and share +our excursions.</p> + +<p>Plays in the barn were a favorite amusement, and we +dramatized the fairy tales in great style. Our giant came +tumbling off a loft when Jack cut down the squash-vine +running up a ladder to represent the immortal bean. +Cinderella rolled away in a vast pumpkin, and a long +black pudding was lowered by invisible hands to fasten +itself on the nose of the woman who wasted her three +wishes.</p> + +<p>Pilgrims journeyed over the hill with scrip and staff +and cockle-shells in their hats; fairies held their pretty +revels among the whispering birches, and strawberry parties +in the rustic arbor were honored by poets and philosophers, +who fed us on their wit and wisdom while the +little maids served more mortal food. +</p></div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER III.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">FRUITLANDS.</p> + +<p class="center p2">MY KINGDOM.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +A little kingdom I possess,<br /> +<span class="i1">Where thoughts and feelings dwell,</span><br /> +And very hard I find the task<br /> +<span class="i1">Of governing it well;</span><br /> +For passion tempts and troubles me,<br /> +<span class="i1">A wayward will misleads,</span><br /> +And selfishness its shadow casts<br /> +<span class="i1">On all my words and deeds.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">How can I learn to rule myself,<br /> +<span class="i1">To be the child I should,</span><br /> +Honest and brave, nor ever tire<br /> +<span class="i1">Of trying to be good?</span><br /> +How can I keep a sunny soul<br /> +<span class="i1">To shine along life's way?</span><br /> +How can I tune my little heart<br /> +<span class="i1">To sweetly sing all day?</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">Dear Father, help me with the love<br /> +<span class="i1">That casteth out my fear,</span><br /> +Teach me to lean on thee, and feel<br /> +<span class="i1">That thou art very near,</span><br /> +That no temptation is unseen,<br /> +<span class="i1">No childish grief too small,</span><br /> +Since thou, with patience infinite,<br /> +<span class="i1">Doth soothe and comfort all.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">I do not ask for any crown<br /> +<span class="i1">But that which all may win,</span><br /> +Nor seek to conquer any world<br /> +<span class="i1">Except the one within.</span><br /> +Be thou my guide until I find,<br /> +<span class="i1">Led by a tender hand,</span><br /> +Thy happy kingdom in <i>myself</i>,<br /> +<span class="i1">And dare to take command.</span></p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">I</span>N 1842 Mr. Alcott went to England. His mind +was very much exercised at this time with +plans for organized social life on a higher plane, +and he found like-minded friends in England who +gave him sympathy and encouragement. He had +for some years advocated a strictly vegetarian diet, +to which his family consented from deference to +him; consequently the children never tasted meat +till they came to maturity. On his return from +England he was accompanied by friends who were +ready to unite with him in the practical realization +of their social theories. Mr. Lane resided for some +months in the Alcott family at Concord, and gave +instruction to the children. Although he does not +appear to have won their hearts, they yet reaped +much intellectual advantage from his lessons, as he +was an accomplished scholar.</p> + +<p>In 1843 this company of enthusiasts secured a +farm in the town of Harvard, near Concord, which +with trusting hope they named Fruitlands. Mrs. +Alcott did not share in all the peculiar ideas of her +husband and his friends, but she was so utterly devoted +to him that she was ready to help him in +carrying out his plans, however little they commended +themselves to her better judgment.</p> + +<p>She alludes very briefly to the experiment in her +diary, for the experience was too bitter to dwell +upon. She could not relieve her feelings by +bringing out the comic side, as her daughter did. +Louisa's account of this colony, as given in her +story called "Transcendental Wild Oats," is very +close to the facts; and the mingling of pathos and +humor, the reverence and ridicule with which she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> +alternately treats the personages and the notions of +those engaged in the scheme, make a rich and delightful +tale. It was written many years later, and +gives the picture as she looked back upon it, the +absurdities coming out in strong relief, while she +sees also the grand, misty outlines of the high +thoughts so poorly realized. This story was published +in the "Independent," Dec. 8, 1873, and +may now be found in her collected works ("Silver +Pitchers," p. 79).</p> + +<p>Fortunately we have also her journal written at +the time, which shows what education the experience +of this strange life brought to the child of ten +or eleven years old.</p> + +<p>The following extract from Mr. Emerson proves +that this plan of life looked fair and pleasing to his +eye, although he was never tempted to join in it. +He was evidently not unconscious of the inadequacy +of the means adopted to the end proposed, +but he rejoiced in any endeavor after high ideal +life.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">July, 8, 1843.</span></p> + +<p><i>Journal.</i>–The sun and the evening sky do not look +calmer than Alcott and his family at Fruitlands. They +seemed to have arrived at the fact,–to have got rid of +the show, and so to be serene. Their manners and +behavior in the house and in the field were those of +superior men,–of men at rest. What had they to conceal? +What had they to exhibit? And it seemed so +high an attainment that I thought–as often before, so +now more, because they had a fit home, or the picture +was fitly framed–that these men ought to be maintained +in their place by the country for its culture. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span></p> + +<p>Young men and young maidens, old men and women, +should visit them and be inspired. I think there is as +much merit in beautiful manners as in hard work. I will +not prejudge them successful. They look well in July; +we will see them in December. I know they are better +for themselves than as partners. One can easily see that +they have yet to settle several things. Their saying that +things are clear, and they sane, does not make them so. +If they will in very deed be lovers, and not selfish; if +they will serve the town of Harvard, and make their +neighbors feel them as benefactors wherever they touch +them,–they are as safe as the sun.<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Early Diary kept at Fruitlands</i>, 1843.</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center"><i>Ten Years Old.</i></p> +<p><i>September 1st.</i>–I rose at five and had my bath. I +love cold water! Then we had our singing-lesson with +Mr. Lane. After breakfast I washed dishes, and ran on +the hill till nine, and had some thoughts,–it was so beautiful +up there. Did my lessons,–wrote and spelt and +did sums; and Mr. Lane read a story, "The Judicious +Father": How a rich girl told a poor girl not to look +over the fence at the flowers, and was cross to her +because she was unhappy. The father heard her do +it, and made the girls change clothes. The poor one +was glad to do it, and he told her to keep them. But +the rich one was very sad; for she had to wear the +old ones a week, and after that she was good to shabby +girls. I liked it very much, and I shall be kind to poor +people.</p> + +<p>Father asked us what was God's noblest work. Anna +said <i>men</i>, but I said <i>babies</i>. Men are often bad; babies +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> +never are. We had a long talk, and I felt better after it, +and <i>cleared up</i>.</p> + +<p>We had bread and fruit for dinner. I read and walked +and played till supper-time. We sung in the evening. +As I went to bed the moon came up very brightly and +looked at me. I felt sad because I have been cross to-day, +and did not mind Mother. I cried, and then I felt +better, and said that piece from Mrs. Sigourney, "I must +not tease my mother." I get to sleep saying poetry,–I +know a great deal.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, 14th.</i>–Mr. Parker Pillsbury came, and we +talked about the poor slaves. I had a music lesson with +Miss F. I hate her, she is so fussy. I ran in the wind +and played be a horse, and had a lovely time in the woods +with Anna and Lizzie. We were fairies, and made gowns +and paper wings. I "flied" the highest of all. In the +evening they talked about travelling. I thought about +Father going to England, and said this piece of poetry I +found in Byron's poems:–</p> +</div> +<p class="poem"> +"When I left thy shores, O Naxos,<br /> +<span class="i1">Not a tear in sorrow fell;</span><br /> +Not a sigh or faltered accent<br /> +<span class="i1">Told my bosom's struggling swell."</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>It rained when I went to bed, and made a pretty +noise on the roof.</p> + +<p><i>Sunday, 24th.</i>–Father and Mr. Lane have gone to +N. H. to preach. It was very lovely.... Anna and I +got supper. In the eve I read "Vicar of Wakefield." +I was cross to-day, and I cried when I went to bed. I +made good resolutions, and felt better in my heart. If +I only <i>kept</i> all I make, I should be the best girl in the +world. But I don't, and so am very bad.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[Poor little sinner! <i>She says the same at fifty.</i>–<span class="smcap">L. +M. A.</span>] +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>October 8th.</i>–When I woke up, the first thought I +got was, "It's Mother's birthday: I must be very good." +I ran and wished her a happy birthday, and gave her my +kiss. After breakfast we gave her our presents. I had +a moss cross and a piece of poetry for her.</p> + +<p>We did not have any school, and played in the woods +and got red leaves. In the evening we danced and sung, +and I read a story about "Contentment." I wish I was +rich, I was good, and we were all a happy family this +day.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, 12th.</i>–After lessons I ironed. We all went +to the barn and husked corn. It was good fun. We +worked till eight o'clock and had lamps. Mr. Russell +came. Mother and Lizzie are going to Boston. I shall +be very lonely without dear little Betty, and no one will +be as good to me as mother. I read in Plutarch. I +made a verse about sunset:–</p> +</div> +<p class="poem"> +Softly doth the sun descend<br /> +<span class="i1">To his couch behind the hill,</span><br /> +Then, oh, then, I love to sit<br /> +<span class="i1">On mossy banks beside the rill.</span><br /></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Anna thought it was very fine; but I didn't like it very +well.</p> + +<p><i>Friday, Nov. 2nd.</i>–Anna and I did the work. In +the evening Mr. Lane asked us, "What is man?" +These were our answers: A human being; an animal +with a mind; a creature; a body; a soul and a +mind. After a long talk we went to bed very tired.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[No wonder, after doing the work and worrying their +little wits with such lessons.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>]</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>A sample of the vegetarian wafers we used at Fruitlands:– +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="2" summary="veg_diet"> +<col width="60" /> +<col width="60" /> +<col width="65" /> +<col width="60" /> +<col width="60" /> +<col width="60" /> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2">Vegetable diet +and sweet repose. +Animal food and +nightmare.</td> + +<td class="tdl" colspan="2">Pluck your body +from the orchard; +do not snatch it +from the shamble.</td> + +<td class="tdl" colspan="2">Without flesh diet +there could be no +blood-shedding war.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> + +<td class="tdl" colspan="2">Apollo eats no +flesh and has no +beard; his voice is +melody itself.</td> + +<td class="tdl" colspan="2">Snuff is no less snuff +though accepted from +a gold box.</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><i>Tuesday, 20th.</i>–I rose at five, and after breakfast +washed the dishes, and then helped mother work. Miss +F. is gone, and Anna in Boston with Cousin Louisa. I +took care of Abby (May) in the afternoon. In the +evening I made some pretty things for my dolly. Father +and Mr. L. had a talk, and father asked us if <i>we</i> saw any +reason for us to separate. Mother wanted to, she is so +tired. I like it, but not the school part or Mr. L.</p> + +<p>Eleven years old. <i>Thursday, 29th.</i>–It was Father's +and my birthday. We had some nice presents. We +played in the snow before school. Mother read "Rosamond" +when we sewed. Father asked us in the eve +what fault troubled us most. I said my bad temper.</p> + +<p>I told mother I liked to have her write in my book. +She said she would put in more, and she wrote this to +help me:–</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Louy</span>,–Your handwriting improves very fast. +Take pains and do not be in a hurry. I like to have you +make observations about our conversations and your own +thoughts. It helps you to express them and to understand +your little self. Remember, dear girl, that a diary +should be an epitome of your life. May it be a record +of pure thought and good actions, then you will indeed +be the precious child of your loving mother.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>December 10th.</i>–I did my lessons, and walked in the +afternoon. Father read to us in dear Pilgrim's Progress. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> +Mr. L. was in Boston, and we were glad. In the eve +father and mother and Anna and I had a long talk. I +was very unhappy, and we all cried. Anna and I cried +in bed, and I prayed God to keep us all together.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Little Lu began early to feel the family cares and peculiar +trials.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>]</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>I liked the verses Christian sung and will put them +in:–</p> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +"This place has been our second stage,<br /> +<span class="i1">Here we have heard and seen</span><br /> +Those good things that from age to age<br /> +<span class="i1">To others hid have been.</span></p> + +<p>"They move me for to watch and pray,<br /> +<span class="i1">To strive to be sincere,</span><br /> +To take my cross up day by day,<br /> +<span class="i1">And serve the Lord with fear."</span> +</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>[The appropriateness of the song at this time was much +greater than the child saw. She never forgot this experience, +and her little cross began to grow heavier from this +hour.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Concord</span>, <i>Sunday</i>.–We all went into the woods to +get moss for the <i>arbor</i> Father is making for <i>Mr. Emerson</i>. +I miss Anna so much. I made two verses for her:–</p> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i4">TO ANNA.</p> +<p class="stanza">Sister, dear, when you are lonely,<br /> +<span class="i1">Longing for your distant home,</span><br /> +And the images of loved ones<br /> +<span class="i1">Warmly to your heart shall come,</span><br /> +Then, mid tender thoughts and fancies,<br /> +<span class="i1">Let one fond voice say to thee,</span><br /> +"Ever when your heart is heavy,<br /> +<span class="i1">Anna, dear, then think of me."</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"> +<p>Think how we two have together<br /> +<span class="i1">Journeyed onward day by day,</span><br /> +Joys and sorrows ever sharing,<br /> +<span class="i1">While the swift years roll away.</span><br /> +Then may all the sunny hours<br /> +<span class="i1">Of our youth rise up to thee,</span><br /> +And when your heart is light and happy,<br /> +<span class="i1">Anna, dear, then think of me.</span> +</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Poetry began to flow about this time in a thin but copious +stream.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>–Read Martin Luther. A long letter +from Anna. She sends me a picture of Jenny Lind, the +great singer. She must be a happy girl. I should like +to be famous as she is. Anna is very happy; and I +don't miss her as much as I shall by and by in the +winter.</p> + +<p>I wrote in my Imagination Book, and enjoyed it very +much. Life is pleasanter than it used to be, and I don't +care about dying any more. Had a splendid run, and +got a box of cones to burn. Sat and heard the pines +sing a long time. Read Miss Bremer's "Home" in the +eve. Had good dreams, and woke now and then to +think, and watch the moon. I had a pleasant time with +my mind, for it was happy.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Moods began early.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>January, 1845, Friday.</i>–Did my lessons, and in the +<span class="smcap">p.m.</span> mother read "Kenilworth" to us while we sewed. +It is splendid! I got angry and called Anna mean. +Father told me to look out the word in the Dic., and it +meant "base," "contemptible." I was so ashamed to +have called my dear sister that, and I cried over my bad +tongue and temper.</p> + +<p>We have had a lovely day. All the trees were covered +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> +with ice, and it shone like diamonds or fairy palaces. I +made a piece of poetry about winter:–</p> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +The stormy winter's come at last,<br /> +<span class="i1">With snow and rain and bitter blast;</span><br /> +Ponds and brooks are frozen o'er,<br /> +<span class="i1">We cannot sail there any more.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">The little birds are flown away<br /> +<span class="i1">To warmer climes than ours;</span><br /> +They'll come no more till gentle May<br /> +<span class="i1">Calls them back with flowers.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">Oh, then the darling birds will sing<br /> +<span class="i1">From their neat nests in the trees.</span><br /> +All creatures wake to welcome Spring,<br /> +<span class="i1">And flowers dance in the breeze</span>.</p> + +<p class="stanza">With patience wait till winter is o'er,<br /> +<span class="i1">And all lovely things return;</span><br /> +Of every season try the more<br /> +<span class="i1">Some knowledge or virtue to learn.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[A moral is tacked on even to the early poems.–<span class="smcap">L. +M. A.</span>]</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>I read "Philothea,"<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> by Mrs. Child. I found this that +I liked in it. Plato said:–</p> + +<p>"When I hear a note of music I can at once strike its +chord. Even as surely is there everlasting harmony between +the soul of man and the invisible forms of creation. +If there were no innocent hearts there would be no white +lilies.... I often think flowers are the angel's alphabet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> +whereby they write on hills and fields mysterious and +beautiful lessons for us to feel and learn."</p> + +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Well done, twelve-year-old! Plato, the father's delight, +had a charm for the little girl also.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A</span>.]</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><i>Wednesday.</i>–I am so cross I wish I had never been +born.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>–Read the "Heart of Mid-Lothian," and +had a very happy day. Miss Ford gave us a botany +lesson in the woods. I am always good there. In the +evening Miss Ford told us about the bones in our bodies, +and how they get out of order. I must be careful of +mine, I climb and jump and run so much.</p> + +<p>I found this note from dear mother in my journal:–</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">My dearest Louy</span>,–I often peep into your diary, +hoping to see some record of more happy days. "Hope, +and keep busy," dear daughter, and in all perplexity or +trouble come freely to your</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Mother</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Dear Mother</span>,–You <i>shall</i> see more happy days, and +I <i>will</i> come to you with my worries, for you are the best +woman in the world.</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">L. M. A</span>.</p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>A Sample of our Lessons.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"What virtues do you wish more of?" asks Mr. L.</p> + +<p>I answer:–</p> + +<table border="0" summary="virtues"> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="100" /> +<tr> +<td>Patience,</td> +<td>Love,</td> +<td>Silence,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Obedience,</td> +<td>Generosity,</td> +<td>Perseverance,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Industry,</td> +<td>Respect,</td> +<td>Self-denial.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>"What vices less of?"</p> +<table border="0" summary="vices"> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="100" /> +<tr> +<td>Idleness,</td> +<td>Wilfulness,</td> +<td>Vanity,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Impatience,</td> +<td>Impudence,</td> +<td>Pride,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Selfishness,</td> +<td>Activity,</td> +<td>Love of cats.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="p2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap i8">Mr. L.</span> +<span class="smcap i6">L.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap i7">Socrates.</span> +<span class="smcap i4">Alcibiades.</span></p> + +<p>How can you get what you need? By trying.</p> + +<p>How do you try? By resolution and perseverance.</p> + +<p>How gain love? By gentleness.</p> + +<p>What is gentleness? Kindness, patience, and care for +other people's feelings.</p> + +<p>Who has it? Father and Anna.</p> + +<p>Who means to have it? Louisa, if she can.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>[She never got it.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Write a sentence about anything. "I hope it will rain; +the garden needs it."</p> + +<p>What are the elements of <i>hope</i>? Expectation, desire, +faith.</p> + +<p>What are the elements in <i>wish</i>? Desire.</p> + +<p>What is the difference between faith and hope? "Faith +can believe without seeing; hope is not sure, but tries to +have faith when it desires."</p> + +<p class="section">No. 3.</p> + +<p>What are the most valuable kinds of self-denial? Appetite, +temper.</p> + +<p>How is self-denial of temper known? If I control my +temper, I am respectful and gentle, and every one sees it.</p> + +<p>What is the result of this self-denial? Every one loves +me, and I am happy.</p> + +<p>Why use self-denial? For the good of myself and others.</p> + +<p>How shall we learn this self-denial? By resolving, and +then trying <i>hard.</i></p> + +<p>What then do you mean to do? To resolve and try.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>[Here the record of these lessons ends, and poor little +Alcibiades went to work and tried till fifty, but without any +very great success, in spite of all the help Socrates and Plato +gave her.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>–More people coming to live with us; I +wish we could be together, and no one else. I don't +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> +see who is to clothe and feed us all, when we are so +poor now. I was very dismal, and then went to walk +and made a poem.</p> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i3">DESPONDENCY.</p> +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Silent and sad,</span><br /> +<span class="i3">When all are glad,</span><br /> +And the earth is dressed in flowers;<br /> +<span class="i3">When the gay birds sing</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Till the forests ring,</span><br /> +As they rest in woodland bowers.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Oh, why these tears,</span><br /> +<span class="i3">And these idle fears</span><br /> +For what may come to-morrow?<br /> +<span class="i3">The birds find food</span><br /> +<span class="i3">From God so good,</span><br /> +And the flowers know no sorrow.</p> +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">If He clothes these</span><br /> +<span class="i3">And the leafy trees,</span><br /> +Will He not cherish thee?<br /> +<span class="i3">Why doubt His care;</span><br /> +<span class="i3">It is everywhere,</span><br /> +Though the way we may not see.</p> +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Then why be sad</span><br /> +<span class="i3">When all are glad,</span><br /> +And the world is full of flowers?<br /> +<span class="i3">With the gay birds sing,</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Make life all Spring,</span><br /> +And smile through the darkest hours.</p> +</div> + +<p>Louisa Alcott grew up so naturally in a healthy +religious atmosphere that she breathed and worked +in it without analysis or question. She had not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> +suffered from ecclesiastical tyranny or sectarian +bigotry, and needed not to expend any time or +strength in combating them. She does not appear +to have suffered from doubt or questioning, but to +have gone on her way fighting all the real evils +that were presented to her, trusting in a sure power +of right, and confident of victory.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Concord</span>, <i>Thursday.</i>–I had an early run in the +woods before the dew was off the grass. The moss was +like velvet, and as I ran under the arches of yellow and +red leaves I sang for joy, my heart was so bright and the +world so beautiful. I stopped at the end of the walk and +saw the sunshine out over the wide "Virginia meadows."</p> + +<p>It seemed like going through a dark life or grave into +heaven beyond. A very strange and solemn feeling came +over me as I stood there, with no sound but the rustle of +the pines, no one near me, and the sun so glorious, as +for me alone. It seemed as if I <i>felt</i> God as I never did +before, and I prayed in my heart that I might keep that +happy sense of nearness all my life.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[I have, for I most sincerely think that the little girl "got +religion" that day in the wood when dear mother Nature led +her to God.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A</span>., 1885.] +</p> +</div> + +<p>One of Louisa's strongest desires at this time +was for a room of her own, where she might have +the solitude she craved to dream her dreams and +work out her fancies. These sweet little notes and +an extract from her journal show how this desire +was felt and gratified.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Dearest Mother</span>,–I have tried to be more contented, +and I think I have been more so. I have been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> +thinking about my little room, which I suppose I never +shall have. I should want to be there about all the +time, and I should go there and sing and think.</p> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<p> +But I'll be contented<br /> +<span class="i1">With what I have got;</span><br /> +Of folly repented,<br /> +<span class="i1">Then sweet is my lot.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="i6">From your trying daughter,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap sig">Louy</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Louisa</span>,–Your note gave me so much delight +that I cannot close my eyes without first thanking +you, dear, for making me so happy, and blessing God +who gave you this tender love for your mother.</p> + +<p>I have observed all day your patience with baby, your +obedience to me, and your kindness to all.</p> + +<p>Go on "trying," my child; God will give you strength +and courage, and help you fill each day with words and +deeds of love. I shall lay this on your pillow, put a +warm kiss on your lips, and say a little prayer over you +in your sleep.</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Mother</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Louy</span>,–I was grieved at your selfish behavior this +morning, but also greatly pleased to find you bore so +meekly Father's reproof for it. That is the way, dear; +if you find you are wrong, take the discipline sweetly, +and do so no more. It is not to be expected that children +should always do right; but oh, how lovely to see +a child penitent and patient when the passion is over.</p> + +<p>I thought a little prayer as I looked at you, and said +in my heart, "Dear God, sustain my child in this moment +of trial, that no hasty word, no cruel look, no angry action +may add to her fault." And you were helped. I +know that you will have a happy day after the storm and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> +the gentle shower; keep quiet, read, walk, but do not +talk much till all is peace again.</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Mother.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Hillside, Concord.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear</span>,–I am glad you put your heart in the right +place; for I am sure all true strength comes from above. +Continue to feel that God is <i>near</i> you, dear child, and +He never will forsake you in a weak moment. Write me +always when you feel that I can help you; for, though +God is near, Mother never forgets you, and your refuge +is her arms.</p> + +<p>Patience, dear, will give us content, if nothing else. +Be assured the little room you long for will come, if it is +necessary to your peace and well-being. Till then try +to be happy with the good things you have. They are +many,–more perhaps than we deserve, after our frequent +complaints and discontent.</p> + +<p>Be cheerful, my Louy, and all will be gayer for your +laugh, and all good and lovely things will be given to +you when you deserve them.</p> + +<p>I am a busy woman, but never can forget the calls of +my children.</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Mother</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest</span>,–I am sure you have lived very near to God +<i>to-day</i>, you have been so good and happy. Let each day +be like this, and life will become a sweet song for you and +all who love you,–none so much as your</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Mother</span>.</p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>Thirteen Years Old.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Hillside</span>.</p> + +<p><i>March, 1846.</i>–I have at last got the little room I +have wanted so long, and am very happy about it. It +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> +does me good to be alone, and Mother has made it very +pretty and neat for me. My work-basket and desk are +by the window, and my closet is full of dried herbs that +smell very nice. The door that opens into the garden +will be very pretty in summer, and I can run off to the +woods when I like.</p> + +<p>I have made a plan for my life, as I am in my teens +and no more a child. I am old for my age, and don't +care much for girl's things. People think I'm wild and +queer; but Mother understands and helps me. I have +not told any one about my plan; but I'm going to <i>be</i> +good. I've made so many resolutions, and written sad +notes, and cried over my sins, and it doesn't seem to do +any good! Now I'm going to <i>work really</i>, for I feel a +true desire to improve, and be a help and comfort, not a +care and sorrow, to my dear mother.</p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>Fifteen Years Old.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>Sunday, Oct. 9, 1847.</i>–I have been reading to-day +Bettine's correspondence with Goethe.</p> + +<p>She calls herself a child, and writes about the lovely +things she saw and heard, and felt and did. I liked it +much.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[First taste of Goethe. Three years later R. W. E. gave +me "Wilhelm Meister," and from that day Goethe has been +my chief idol.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A</span>., 1885.] +</p> +</div> + +<p>The experiment at Fruitlands was (outwardly) +an utter failure, and had exhausted Mr. Alcott's +resources of mind, body, and estate. Louisa has +not exaggerated the collapse which followed. But +the brave, loving mother could not give way to +despondency, for she had her young to care for. +After a few days Mr. Alcott rose from his despair, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> +and listened to her counsel. They lived a short +time at Still River, and then returned to Concord; +but not to the happy little cottage.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alcott sought such work as he could find to +do with his hands; but it was scanty and insufficient. +Mrs. Alcott subdued her proud heart to the necessity +of seeking help from friends. They had a few +rooms in the house of a kind neighbor, who welcomed +them to her house, in addition to her own +large family; and there they struggled with the +poverty which Louisa for the first time fully +realized.</p> + +<p>Yet her journal says little of the hardships they +endured, but is full of her mental and moral struggles. +It was characteristic of this family that they +never were conquered by their surroundings. Mr. +Alcott might retire into sad and silent musing, Mrs. +Alcott's warm, quick temper, might burst out into +flame, the children might be quarrelsome or noisy; +but their ideal of life always remained high, fresh, +and ennobling. Their souls always "knew their +destiny divine," and believed that they would find +fitting expression in life some time. "Chill penury" +could not repress "their noble rage," nor freeze +"the genial current" of their souls.</p> + +<p>The children escaped from the privations of daily +life into a world of romance, and in the plays in the +old barn revelled in luxury and splendor. This +dramatic tendency was very strong in Louisa, and +she never outgrew it. It took various shapes and +colors, and at one time threatened to dominate her +life.</p> + +<p>The education of the children was certainly desultory +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> +and insufficient; but it was inspiring, and +brought out their powers. They learned to feel and +to think justly, and to express their thoughts and feelings +freely and forcibly, if they did not know well the +rules of grammar and rhetoric. Mr. Alcott always +loved the study of language, and became a master +of it; while Mrs. Alcott had a rich and well-chosen +vocabulary, gained from the intelligent companions +of her youth and the best literature, which she +read freely. Mr. Alcott made great use of the +study of language in his teaching, and often employed +the definition of a word to convey a lesson +or a rebuke. The children were encouraged, and +even required, to keep their journals regularly, and +to write letters. Their efforts at poetry or the +drama were not laughed at, but treasured by their +parents as indications of progress. Mr. Alcott's +records of his own theory and practice in the education +of children are full of valuable suggestion, +and much yet remains buried in his journals. The +girls had full freedom to act out their natures, with +little fear of ridicule or criticism. An innate sense +of dignity and modesty kept them from abusing +this liberty; and perhaps nowhere in the world +could it have been more safely indulged than in the +simple life of Concord, whose very atmosphere +seemed then filled with a spiritual presence which +made life free, pure, and serene.</p> + +<p>Louisa gives this interesting anecdote of their life +at that time:–</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +People wondered at our frolics, but enjoyed them, and +droll stories are still told of the adventures of those days. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> +Mr. Emerson and Margaret Fuller were visiting my parents +one afternoon, and the conversation having turned +to the ever interesting subject of education, Miss Fuller +said:–</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Alcott, you have been able to carry out +your methods in your own family, and I should like to +see your model children."</p> + +<p>She did in a few moments, for as the guests stood on +the door-steps a wild uproar approached, and round the +corner of the house came a wheelbarrow holding baby +May arrayed as a queen; I was the horse, bitted and +bridled, and driven by my elder sister Anna; while Lizzie +played dog, and barked as loud as her gentle voice +permitted.</p> + +<p>All were shouting and wild with fun, which, however, +came to a sudden end as we espied the stately group before +us; for my foot tripped, and down we all went in a +laughing heap; while my mother put a climax to the joke +by saying, with a dramatic wave of the hand,–</p> + +<p>"Here are the model children, Miss Fuller." +</p> +</div> + +<p>They were undoubtedly very satisfactory to Miss +Fuller, who partook largely of the educational +views of that time, and who loved to tell anecdotes +of this family. One of the sisters writes in her +diary: "She <i>said</i> prayers; but I think my resolutions +to be good are prayers."</p> + +<p>In 1841 Colonel May, Mrs. Alcott's father, died +and left her a small amount of property. Mrs. +Alcott decided to purchase with this a house in +Concord, and the addition of five hundred dollars +from Mr. Emerson, who was always the good Providence +of the family, enabled her in 1845 to buy +the place in Concord known as Hillside. This +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> +house is on the road to Lexington, about one third +of a mile from Mr. Emerson's home. It was afterward +occupied by Mr. Hawthorne.</p> + +<p>In this house the girlish life of Louisa was +passed, which she has represented so fully in +"Little Women," and of which she speaks in her +journal as the happiest time of her life. Yet she +was not unmindful of the anxiety of her parents; +and the determined purpose to retrieve the fortunes +of the family and to give to her mother the +comfort and ease which she had never known in +her married life became the constant motive of her +conduct. It is in the light of this purpose alone +that her character and her subsequent career can +be fully understood. She naturally thought of +teaching as her work, and had for a short time a +little school in the barn for Mr. Emerson's children +and others.</p> + +<p>It was indeed a great comfort to be sure of the +house over their heads, but there were still six +mouths to be fed, six bodies to be clothed, and +four young, eager minds to be educated. Concord +offered very little opportunity for such work as +either Mr. or Mrs. Alcott could do, and at last +even the mother's brave heart broke down. She +was painfully anxious about the support of her +household. A friend passing through Concord +called upon her, and Mrs. Alcott could not hide +the traces of tears on her face. "Abby Alcott, +what does this mean?" said the visitor, with determined +kindness. The poor mother opened her +heart to her friend, and told the story of their +privations and sufferings. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come to Boston, and I will find you employment," +said the friend.</p> + +<p>The family removed to Boston in 1848, and Mrs. +Alcott became a visitor to the poor in the employ +of one or more benevolent societies, and finally +kept an intelligence office. Her whole heart went +into her work; and the children, as well as the +mother, learned many valuable lessons from it. +Her reports of her work are said to have been very +interesting, and full of valuable suggestion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alcott began to hold conversations in West +Street. He attracted a small circle of thoughtful +men and women about him, who delighted in the +height of his aspirations and the originality of his +thoughts. It was congenial occupation for him, +and thus added to the happiness of the family, +though very little to its pecuniary resources. His +price of admission was small, and he freely invited +any one who would enjoy the meetings although +unable to pay for them. He was a great and helpful +influence to young minds. Besides the morally +pure and spiritually elevated atmosphere of thought +to which they were introduced by him, they found +a great intellectual advantage in the acquaintance +with ancient poets and philosophers, into whose +life he had entered sympathetically. His peculiar +theories of temperament and diet never failed to +call out discussion and opposition. One of my +earliest recollections of Louisa is on one of these +occasions, when he was emphasizing his doctrine +that a vegetable diet would produce unruffled sweetness +of temper and disposition. I heard a voice +behind me saying to her neighbor: "I don't know +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> +about that. I've never eaten any meat, and I'm +awful cross and irritable very often."</p> + +<p>On her fourteenth birthday her mother wrote +her the following poem, with a present of a pen. It +was a prophetic gift, and well used by the receiver.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh, may this pen your muse inspire,<br /> +<span class="i1">When wrapt in pure poetic fire,</span><br /> +To write some sweet, some thrilling verse;<br /> +<span class="i1">A song of love or sorrow's lay,</span><br /> +Or duty's clear but tedious way<br /> +<span class="i1">In brighter hope rehearse.</span><br /> +Oh, let your strain be soft and high,<br /> +<span class="i1">Of crosses here, of crowns beyond the sky;</span><br /> +Truth guide your pen, inspire your theme,<br /> +<span class="i1">And from each note joy's music stream.</span> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Original, I think. I have tried to obey.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A</span>., +1885.] +</p> +</div> +<p>In a sketch written for a friend, Louisa gives this +account of the parents' influence on the children:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +When cautious friends asked mother how she dared to +have such outcasts among her girls, she always answered, +with an expression of confidence which did much to keep +us safe, "I can trust my daughters, and this is the best +way to teach them how to shun these sins and comfort +these sorrows. They cannot escape the knowledge of +them; better gain this under their father's roof and their +mother's care, and so be protected by these experiences +when their turn comes to face the world and its temptations." +Once we carried our breakfast to a starving +family; once lent our whole dinner to a neighbor suddenly +taken unprepared by distinguished guests. Another +time, one snowy Saturday night, when our wood was very +low, a poor child came to beg a little, as the baby was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> +sick and the father on a spree with all his wages. My +mother hesitated at first, as we also had a baby. Very +cold weather was upon us, and a Sunday to be got +through before more wood could be had. My father +said, "Give half our stock, and trust in Providence; the +weather will moderate, or wood will come." Mother +laughed, and answered in her cheery way, "Well, their +need is greater than ours, and if our half gives out we +can go to bed and tell stories." So a generous half went +to the poor neighbor, and a little later in the eve, while +the storm still raged and we were about to cover our fire +to keep it, a knock came, and a farmer who usually supplied +us appeared, saying anxiously, "I started for Boston +with a load of wood, but it drifts so I want to go home. +Wouldn't you like to have me drop the wood here; it +would accommodate me, and you needn't hurry about +paying for it." "Yes," said Father; and as the man went +off he turned to Mother with a look that much impressed +us children with his gifts as a seer, "Didn't I tell you +wood would come if the weather did not moderate?" +Mother's motto was "Hope, and keep busy," and one +of her sayings, "Cast your bread upon the waters, and +after many days it will come back buttered." +</p> +</div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER IV.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">THE SENTIMENTAL PERIOD.</p> + +<p class="center p2">A SONG FROM THE SUDS.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,<br /> +<span class="i1">While the white foam rises high,</span><br /> +And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,<br /> +<span class="i1">And fasten the clothes to dry;</span><br /> +Then out in the free fresh air they swing,<br /> +<span class="i1">Under the sunny sky.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls<br /> +<span class="i1">The stains of the week away,</span><br /> +And let water and air by their magic make<br /> +<span class="i1">Ourselves as pure as they;</span><br /> +Then on the earth there would be indeed<br /> +<span class="i1">A glorious washing-day!</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">Along the path of a useful life<br /> +<span class="i1">Will heart's-ease ever bloom;</span><br /> +The busy mind has no time to think<br /> +<span class="i1">Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;</span><br /> +And anxious thoughts may be swept away<br /> +<span class="i1">As we busily wield a broom.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">I am glad a task to me is given<br /> +<span class="i1">To labor at day by day;</span><br /> +For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,<br /> +<span class="i1">And I cheerfully learn to say,–</span><br /> +"Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;<br /> +<span class="i1">But hand, you shall work alway!"</span> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE period of free, happy childhood was necessarily +short, and at about the age of fifteen +Louisa Alcott began to feel the pressure of thoughts +and duties which made life a more solemn matter. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> +In spite of the overflowing fun which appears in +her books, her nature was very serious, and she +could not cast aside care lightly. So many varying +tendencies existed in her character that she +must have struggled with many doubts and questions +before finding the true path. But she always +kept the pole-star of right strictly in view, and +never failed in truth to that duty which seemed to +her nearest and most imperative. If she erred in +judgment, she did not err in conscientious fidelity.</p> + +<p>Her mother's rules for her guidance were–</p> + +<p class="i3"> +Rule yourself.<br /> +Love your neighbor.<br /> +Do the duty which lies nearest you. +</p> + +<p>She never lost sight of these instructions.</p> + +<p>I will introduce this period in her own words, as +written later for the use of a friend.</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +My romantic period began at fifteen, when I fell to +writing poetry, keeping a heart-journal, and wandering +by moonlight instead of sleeping quietly. About that +time, in browsing over Mr. Emerson's library, I found +Goethe's "Correspondence with a Child," and at once +was fired with a desire to be a Bettine, making my +father's friend my Goethe. So I wrote letters to him, +but never sent them; sat in a tall cherry-tree at midnight, +singing to the moon till the owls scared me to +bed; left wild flowers on the doorstep of my "Master," +and sung Mignon's song under his window in very bad +German.</p> + +<p>Not till many years later did I tell <i>my</i> Goethe of this +early romance and the part he played in it. He was +much amused, and begged for his letters, kindly saying +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> +he felt honored to be so worshipped. The letters were +burnt long ago, but Emerson remained my "Master" +while he lived, doing more for me,–as for many another,–than +he knew, by the simple beauty of his life, the truth +and wisdom of his books, the example of a great, good +man, untempted and unspoiled by the world which he +made better while in it, and left richer and nobler when +he went.</p> + +<p>The trials of life began about this time, and happy +childhood ended. One of the most memorable days of +my life is a certain gloomy November afternoon, when we +had been holding a family council as to ways and means. +In summer we lived much as the birds did, on our fruit +and bread and milk; the sun was our fire, the sky our +roof, and Nature's plenty made us forget that such a +thing as poverty existed. +</p> +</div> + +<p>In 1850 she heads her diary "The Sentimental +Period." She was then seventeen years old, but +her diary gives no hint of the sentimental notions +that often fill the heads of young girls at that +period. The experiences of Jo with her charming +young neighbor in "Little Women" do not +represent hers at all.</p> + +<p>One bit of romance was suggested by Goethe's +"Correspondence with a Child." It may be difficult +for readers of to-day to understand the fascination +which this book exercised upon young +minds of the last generation, yet it is certain that +it led more than one young girl to form an ideal +attachment to a man far older than herself, but full +of nobility and intellectual greatness. Theodore +Parker said of letters addressed to him by a young +New Hampshire girl, "They are as good as Bettine's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> +without the lies." This mingling of idealism +and hero-worship was strongly characteristic of +that transcendental period when women, having +little solid education and less industrial employment, +were full of noble aspirations and longings +for fuller and freer life, which must find expression +in some way.</p> + +<p>The young woman of to-day, wearing waterproof +and india-rubber boots, skating, driving, and bicycling, +studying chemistry in the laboratory, exhibiting +her pictures in open competition, adopting a +profession without opposition, and living single +without fear of reproach, has less time for fancies +and more regard for facts.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott was safe in choosing her idol. Worship +of Emerson could only refine and elevate her +thoughts, and her intimate acquaintance with his +beautiful home chastened her idolatry into pure +reverent friendship which never failed her. She +kept her worship to herself, and never sent him +the letters in which she poured out the longings +and raptures which filled her girlish heart.</p> + +<p>Her diary, which was revised by herself in later +years, tells the story of this period quite fully. +The details may seem trifling, but they help to +illustrate this important formative period of her +life.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center">THE SENTIMENTAL PERIOD.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Boston</span>, <i>May, 1850.</i>–So long a time has passed since +I kept a journal that I hardly know how to begin. Since +coming to the city I don't seem to have thought much, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> +for the bustle and dirt and change send all lovely images +and restful feelings away. Among my hills and woods I +had fine free times alone, and though my thoughts were +silly, I daresay, they helped to keep me happy and good. +I see now what Nature did for me, and my "romantic +tastes," as people called that love of solitude and out-of-door +life, taught me much.</p> + +<p>This summer, like the last, we shall spend in a large +house (Uncle May's, Atkinson Street), with many comforts +about us which we shall enjoy, and in the autumn I +hope I shall have something to show that the time has +not been wasted. Seventeen years have I lived, and yet +so little do I know, and so much remains to be done +before I begin to be what I desire,–a truly good and +useful woman.</p> + +<p>In looking over our journals, Father says, "Anna's is +about other people, Louisa's about herself." That is +true, for I don't <i>talk</i> about myself; yet must always +think of the wilful, moody girl I try to manage, and in +my journal I write of her to see how she gets on. Anna +is so good she need not take care of herself, and can +enjoy other people. If I look in my glass, I try to keep +down vanity about my long hair, my well-shaped head, +and my good nose. In the street I try not to covet +fine things. My quick tongue is always getting me into +trouble, and my moodiness makes it hard to be cheerful +when I think how poor we are, how much worry it is +to live, and how many things I long to do I never can.</p> + +<p>So every day is a battle, and I'm so tired I don't +want to live; only it's cowardly to die till you have done +something.</p> + +<p>I can't talk to any one but Mother about my troubles, +and she has so many now to bear I try not to add any +more. I know God is always ready to hear, but heaven's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> +so far away in the city, and I so heavy I can't fly up to +find Him.</p> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i5">FAITH.</p> + +<p class="i3">Written in the diary.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +Oh, when the heart is full of fears<br /> +<span class="i1">And the way seems dim to heaven,</span><br /> +When the sorrow and the care of years<br /> +<span class="i1">Peace from the heart has driven,–</span><br /> +Then, through the mist of falling tears,<br /> +<span class="i1">Look up and be forgiven.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">Forgiven for the lack of faith<br /> +<span class="i1">That made all dark to thee,</span><br /> +Let conscience o'er thy wayward soul<br /> +<span class="i1">Have fullest mastery:</span><br /> +Hope on, fight on, and thou shalt win<br /> +<span class="i1">A noble victory.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">Though thou art weary and forlorn,<br /> +<span class="i1">Let not thy heart's peace go;</span><br /> +Though the riches of this world are gone,<br /> +<span class="i1">And thy lot is care and woe,</span><br /> +Faint not, but journey hourly on:<br /> +<span class="i1">True wealth is not below.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">Through all the darkness still look up:<br /> +<span class="i1">Let virtue be thy guide;</span><br /> +Take thy draught from sorrow's cup,<br /> +<span class="i1">Yet trustfully abide;</span><br /> +Let not temptation vanquish thee,<br /> +<span class="i1">And the Father will provide.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[We had small-pox in the family this summer, caught from +some poor immigrants whom mother took into our garden and +fed one day. We girls had it lightly, but Father and Mother +were very ill, and we had a curious time of exile, danger, and +trouble. No doctors, and all got well.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>July</i>, 1850.–Anna is gone to L. after the varioloid. +She is to help Mrs. –– with her baby. I had to take +A.'s school of twenty in Canton Street. I like it better +than I thought, though it's very hard to be patient with +the children sometimes. They seem happy, and learn +fast; so I am encouraged, though at first it was very hard, +and I missed Anna so much I used to cry over my dinner +and be very blue. I guess this is the teaching I need; +for as a <i>school-marm</i> I must behave myself and guard my +tongue and temper carefully, and set an example of +sweet manners.</p> + +<p>I found one of mother's notes in my journal, so like +those she used to write me when she had more time. It +always encourages me; and I wish some one would write +as helpfully to her, for she needs cheering up with all the +care she has. I often think what a hard life she has had +since she married,–so full of wandering and all sorts of +worry! so different from her early easy days, the youngest +and most petted of her family. I think she is a very +brave, good woman; and my dream is to have a lovely, +quiet home for her, with no debts or troubles to burden +her. But I'm afraid she will be in heaven before I can +do it. Anna, too, she is feeble and homesick, and I miss +her dreadfully; for she is my conscience, always true and +just and good. She must have a good time in a nice +little home of her own some day, as we often plan. But +waiting is so <i>hard</i>!</p> + +<p><i>August</i>, 1850.–School is hard work, and I feel as +though I should like to run away from it. But my +children get on; so I travel up every day, and do +my best.</p> + +<p>I get very little time to write or think; for my working +days have begun, and when school is over Anna wants +me; so I have no quiet. I think a little solitude every +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> +day is good for me. In the quiet I see my faults, and +try to mend them; but, deary me, I don't get on at +all.</p> + +<p>I used to imagine my mind a room in confusion, and +I was to put it in order; so I swept out useless thoughts +and dusted foolish fancies away, and furnished it with +good resolutions and began again. But cobwebs get in. +I'm not a good housekeeper, and never get my room in +nice order. I once wrote a poem about it when I was +fourteen, and called it "My Little Kingdom." It is still +hard to rule it, and always will be I think.</p> + +<p>Reading Miss Bremer and Hawthorne. The "Scarlet +Letter" is my favorite. Mother likes Miss B. better, as +more wholesome. I fancy "lurid" things, if true and +strong also.</p> + +<p>Anna wants to be an actress, and so do I. We could +make plenty of money perhaps, and it is a very gay life. +Mother says we are too young, and must wait. A. acts +often splendidly. I like tragic plays, and shall be a Siddons +if I can. We get up fine ones, and make harps, +castles, armor, dresses, water-falls, and thunder, and have +great fun. +</p> +</div> +<p>It was at this period of her life that she was violently +attacked by a mania for the stage, and the +greater part of her leisure time was given to writing +and enacting dramas. Her older sister, Anna, had +the same taste, and assisted her in carrying out all +her plans. A family of great talent with whom +they were intimate joined with them, and their +mother always allowed them to have all the private +theatricals they wished to perform.</p> + +<p>Some of these early plays are preserved in manuscripts +as she wrote them. They are written in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> +stilted, melodramatic style, full of highstrung sentiments +of loyalty, honor and devotion, with the +most improbable incidents and violent devices, and +without a touch of common life or the slightest +flavor of humor. The idea of self-sacrifice always +comes into them; but they are thoroughly girlish. +It is so that girls dream and feel before they know +life at all. Their hearts are full of vague, restless +longings, and they seek some vent for the repressed +energies of their natures away from the prosaic realities +of the present. While Louisa sat sewing +the tedious seams of her daily task what a relief it +was to let her imagination run riot among the +wildest and most exciting scenes. Of course she +had a "Bandit's Bride" among her plays. "The +Captive of Castile; or, The Moorish Maiden's +Vow," is preserved entire, and is a good specimen +of these girlish efforts. It is full of surprises +and concealments, and the denouement is as unnatural +as could well be imagined. The dialogue +is often bright and forcible, and the sentiments +always lofty, and we have no doubt it seemed very +grand to the youthful audience. It is taken from +her reading, with no touch of her own life in it. This +is not the same play described with such a ludicrous +finale in "Little Women," although the heroine +bears the same favorite name of Zara. Her own +early amusement was, however, fully in her mind +when she wrote that scene, which is true to fact.</p> + +<p>A friend and relative of the family living in Roxbury, +Dr. Windship, was much interested in the +development of Louisa's dramatic talent. The +girls always enjoyed delightful visits at his house. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> +He tried to help the young dramatist to public success, +and writes to her mother:–</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +I have offered to Mr. Barry of the Boston Theatre +Louisa's "Prima Donnas." He is very much pleased +with it just as it is, and will bring it out this season in +good style. He thinks it will have a fine run. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Wood consented to take +the principal characters. But from some difficulty +in the arrangements "The Rival Prima Donnas" +was not produced. One great pleasure was gained, +however, as Mr. Barry gave her a free pass to the +theatre, which proved a source of constant refreshment +and delight.</p> + +<p>Of course Louisa was eager to go on to the stage +herself. She had indeed extraordinary dramatic +power, and could at any time quickly transform +herself into Hamlet, and recite a scene with tragic +effect. But the careful mother knew better than +the girl the trials and dangers of the profession, +and dissuaded her from it. She also knew how +little such youthful facility of expression indicates +the power which will make a great actress. +Louisa has reproduced her dramatic experience in +"Work," which gives a picture faithful in spirit +and in many of its details to this phase of her life. +She here indicates a knowledge of her own limitation +of talent. "Christie's gala" was a part quite +after her own heart.</p> + +<p>A farce, called "Nat Batchelor's Pleasure Trip; +or, The Trials of a Good-natured Man," was brought +out at the Howard Athenaeum. The papers of the +day said of it: "It is a creditable first attempt at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> +dramatic composition, and received frequent applause." +Another critic says: "It proved a full +success." This performance, however, took place +in 1860,–a later period than that of which I am +now speaking.</p> + +<p>An incident which occurred at this representation +probably suggested scenes which recur in "Work" +and other of Miss Alcott's stories.</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +Quite a hit was made by a little girl, a Miss Jones, +who, having to speak but a few lines, spoke them so well +that upon her exit she received the rare compliment of an +enthusiastic recall from the audience, despite the fact +that "some necessary question of the play was then to be +considered." For the time being she certainly was the +sensation of the piece. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Miss Alcott had in Dr. Windship a kind and +judicious helper in her dramatic undertakings, with +whom she kept up a correspondence under the +names of Beaumont and Fletcher.</p> + +<p>In 1851 Louisa had an experience which she has +reproduced in her story called "How I Went Out +to Service." Her mother's work among the poor +of Boston led to her being applied to for employment, +and at one time she kept a regular intelligence +office. A gentleman came to her seeking a companion +for his aged father and sister, who was to +do only light work, and to be treated with the +greatest respect and kindness. As Mrs. Alcott did +not readily think of any who would fill the place, +the impulsive Louisa suggested, "Why couldn't I +go, Mother?" She went, and had two months of +disappointment and painful experience which she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> +never forgot. She wrote out the story which was +published later, called "How I Went Out to Service."</p> + +<p>The story has an important lesson for those who +condemn severely young girls who prefer the more +independent life of the factory or shop to what +is considered the safety and comfort of service in +families. If a girl like Louisa Alcott, belonging to +a well-known, highly esteemed family, and herself +commanding respect by her abilities and character, +could be treated with such indignity by a family in +which no one would have feared to place her, how +much may not a poor unfriended girl be called +upon to endure!</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +1851.–We went to a meeting, and heard splendid +speaking from Phillips, Channing, and others. People +were much excited, and cheered "Shadrack and liberty," +groaned for "Webster and slavery," and made a great +noise. I felt ready to do anything,–fight or work, hoot +or cry,–and laid plans to free Simms. I shall be horribly +ashamed of my country if this thing happens and +the slave is taken back.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[He was.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>1852.–<i>High Street, Boston.</i>–After the small-pox +summer, we went to a house in High Street. Mother +opened an intelligence office, which grew out of her city +missionary work and a desire to find places for good +girls. It was not fit work for her, but it paid; and she +always did what came to her in the way of duty or charity, +and let pride, taste, and comfort suffer for love's +sake. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span></p> + +<p>Anna and I taught; Lizzie was our little housekeeper,–our +angel in a cellar kitchen; May went to school; +father wrote and talked when he could get classes or +conversations. Our poor little home had much love and +happiness in it, and was a shelter for lost girls, abused +wives, friendless children, and weak or wicked men. +Father and Mother had no money to give, but gave +them time, sympathy, help; and if blessings would make +them rich, they would be millionnaires. This is practical +Christianity.</p> + +<p>My first story was printed, and $5 paid for it. It was +written in Concord when I was sixteen. Great rubbish! +Read it aloud to sisters, and when they praised it, not +knowing the author, I proudly announced her name.</p> + +<p>Made a resolution to read fewer novels, and those only +of the best. List of books I like:–</p> + +<p class="i2"> +Carlyle's French Revolution and Miscellanies.<br /> +Hero and Hero-Worship.<br /> +Goethe's poems, plays, and novels.<br /> +Plutarch's Lives.<br /> +Madame Guion.<br /> +Paradise Lost and Comus.<br /> +Schiller's Plays.<br /> +Madame de Staël.<br /> +Bettine.<br /> +Louis XIV.<br /> +Jane Eyre.<br /> +Hypatia.<br /> +Philothea.<br /> +Uncle Tom's Cabin.<br /> +Emerson's Poems. +</p> +</div> + +<p>In "Little Women" (p. 174), she has told a story +which has usually been supposed to represent her +first success in literature; but she has transferred +the incident from her sister to her own representative, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> +Jo. It was the quiet Anna who had secretly +written a story and fastened it inside of a newspaper. +She read it to her mother and sisters, as +described in the book, and was very much delighted +with their approbation and astonishment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +1853.–In January I started a little school,–E. W., +W. A., two L's, two H's,–about a dozen in our parlor. +In May, when my school closed, I went to L. as second +girl. I needed the change, could do the wash, and was +glad to earn my $2 a week. Home in October with $34 +for my wages. After two days' rest, began school again +with ten children. Anna went to Syracuse to teach; +Father to the West to try his luck,–so poor, so hopeful, +so serene. God be with him! Mother had several +boarders, and May got on well at school. Betty was +still the home bird, and had a little romance with C.</p> + +<p>Pleasant letters from Father and Anna. A hard year. +Summer distasteful and lonely; winter tiresome with +school and people I didn't like. I miss Anna, my one +bosom friend and comforter.</p> + +<p>1854.–<i>Pinckney Street.</i>–I have neglected my journal +for months, so must write it up. School for me +month after month. Mother busy with boarders and +sewing. Father doing as well as a philosopher can in +a money-loving world. Anna at S.</p> + +<p>I earned a good deal by sewing in the evening when +my day's work was done.</p> + +<p>In February Father came home. Paid his way, but no +more. A dramatic scene when he arrived in the night. +We were waked by hearing the bell. Mother flew down, +crying "My husband!" We rushed after, and five white +figures embraced the half-frozen wanderer who came in +hungry, tired, cold, and disappointed, but smiling bravely +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> +and as serene as ever. We fed and warmed and brooded +over him, longing to ask if he had made any money; but +no one did till little May said, after he had told all the +pleasant things, "Well, did people pay you?" Then, +with a queer look, he opened his pocket-book and +showed one dollar, saying with a smile that made our +eyes fill, "Only that! My overcoat was stolen, and I +had to buy a shawl. Many promises were not kept, and +travelling is costly; but I have opened the way, and +another year shall do better."</p> + +<p>I shall never forget how beautifully Mother answered +him, though the dear, hopeful soul had built much on his +success; but with a beaming face she kissed him, saying, +"I call that doing <i>very well</i>. Since you are safely home, +dear, we don't ask anything more."</p> + +<p>Anna and I choked down our tears, and took a little +lesson in real love which we never forgot, nor the look +that the tired man and the tender woman gave one +another. It was half tragic and comic, for Father was +very dirty and sleepy, and Mother in a big nightcap and +funny old jacket.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[I began to see the strong contrasts and the fun and follies +in every-day life about this time.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A</span>.] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Anna came home in March. Kept our school all +summer. I got "Flower Fables" ready to print. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Louisa also tried service with a relative in the +country for a short time, but teaching, sewing, and +writing were her principal occupations during this +residence in Boston.</p> + +<p>These seven years, from Louisa's sixteenth to her +twenty-third year, might be called an apprenticeship +to life. She tried various paths, and learned +to know herself and the world about her, although +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> +she was not even yet certain of success in the +way which finally opened before her and led her +so successfully to the accomplishment of her life-purpose. +She tried teaching, without satisfaction +to herself or perhaps to others. The kind of education +she had herself received fitted her admirably +to understand and influence children, but not to +carry on the routine of a school. Sewing was her +resource when nothing else offered, but it is almost +pitiful to think of her as confined to such work +when great powers were lying dormant in her +mind. Still, Margaret Fuller said that a year of +enforced quiet in the country devoted mainly to +sewing was very useful to her, since she reviewed +and examined the treasures laid up in her memory; +and doubtless Louisa Alcott thought out many a +story which afterward delighted the world while +her fingers busily plied the needle. Yet it was a +great deliverance when she first found that the +products of her brain would bring in the needed +money for family support.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>L. in Boston to A. in Syracuse.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Thursday</span>, 27th.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Nan</span>,–I was so glad to hear from you, and +hear that all were well.</p> + +<p>I am grubbing away as usual, trying to get money +enough to buy Mother a nice warm shawl. I have eleven +dollars, all my own earnings,–five for a story, and four +for the pile of sewing I did for the ladies of Dr. Gray's +society, to give him as a present.</p> + +<p>... I got a crimson ribbon for a bonnet for May, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> +I took my straw and fixed it nicely with some little duds I +had. Her old one has haunted me all winter, and I want +her to look neat. She is so graceful and pretty and loves +beauty so much, it is hard for her to be poor and wear +other people's ugly things. You and I have learned not +to mind <i>much</i>; but when I think of her I long to dash +out and buy the finest hat the limited sum of ten dollars +can procure. She says so sweetly in one of her letters: +"It is hard sometimes to see other people have so many +nice things and I so few; but I try not to be envious, but +contented with my poor clothes, and cheerful about it." +I hope the little dear will like the bonnet and the frills +I made her and some bows I fixed over from bright ribbons +L. W. threw away. I get half my rarities from her +rag-bag, and she doesn't know her own rags when fixed +over. I hope I shall live to see the dear child in silk +and lace, with plenty of pictures and "bottles of cream," +Europe, and all she longs for.</p> + +<p>For our good little Betty, who is wearing all the old +gowns we left, I shall soon be able to buy a new one, and +send it with my blessing to the cheerful saint. She writes +me the funniest notes, and tries to keep the old folks +warm and make the lonely house in the snowbanks cosey +and bright.</p> + +<p>To Father I shall send new neckties and some paper; +then he will be happy, and can keep on with the beloved +diaries though the heavens fall.</p> + +<p>Don't laugh at my plans; I'll carry them out, if I go +to service to do it. Seeing so much money flying about, +I long to honestly get a little and make my dear family +more comfortable. I feel weak-minded when I think of +all they need and the little I can do.</p> + +<p>Now about you: Keep the money you have earned by +so many tears and sacrifices, and clothe yourself; for it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> +makes me mad to know that my good little lass is going +round in shabby things, and being looked down upon by +people who are not worthy to touch her patched shoes or +the hem of her ragged old gowns. Make yourself tidy, +and if any is left over send it to Mother; for there are +always many things needed at home, though they won't +tell us. I only wish I too by any amount of weeping +and homesickness could earn as much. But my mite +won't come amiss; and if tears can add to its value, I've +shed my quart,–first, over the book not coming out; for +that was a sad blow, and I waited so long it was dreadful +when my castle in the air came tumbling about my ears. +Pride made me laugh in public; but I wailed in private, +and no one knew it. The folks at home think I rather +enjoyed it, for I wrote a jolly letter. But my visit was +spoiled; and now I'm digging away for dear life, that I +may not have come entirely in vain. I didn't mean to +groan about it; but my lass and I must tell some one our +trials, and so it becomes easy to confide in one another. +I never let Mother know how unhappy you were in S. till +Uncle wrote.</p> + +<p>My doings are not much this week. I sent a little tale +to the "Gazette," and Clapp asked H. W. if five dollars +would be enough. Cousin H. said yes, and gave it to me, +with kind words and a nice parcel of paper, saying in his +funny way, "Now, Lu, the door is open, go in and win." +So I shall try to do it. Then cousin L. W. said Mr. +B. had got my play, and told her that if Mrs. B. liked it +as well, it must be clever, and if it didn't cost too much, +he would bring it out by and by. Say nothing about it +yet. Dr. W. tells me Mr. F. is very sick; so the farce +cannot be acted yet. But the Doctor is set on its coming +out, and we have fun about it. H. W. takes me +often to the theatre when L. is done with me. I read to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> +her all the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> often, as she is poorly, and in that way +I pay my debt to them.</p> + +<p>I'm writing another story for Clapp. I want more +fives, and mean to have them too.</p> + +<p>Uncle wrote that you were Dr. W.'s pet teacher, and +every one loved you dearly. But if you are not well, +don't stay. Come home, and be cuddled by your +old</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Lu</span>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER V.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">AUTHORSHIP.</p> +<p class="center p2">OUR ANGEL IN THE HOUSE.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +Sitting patient in the shadow<br /> +<span class="i1">Till the blessed light shall come,</span><br /> +A serene and saintly presence<br /> +<span class="i1">Sanctifies our troubled home.</span><br /> +Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows<br /> +<span class="i1">Break like ripples on the strand</span><br /> +Of the deep and solemn river,<br /> +<span class="i1">Where her willing feet now stand.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">O my sister, passing from me<br /> +<span class="i1">Out of human care and strife,</span><br /> +Leave me as a gift those virtues<br /> +<span class="i1">Which have beautified your life.</span><br /> +Dear, bequeath me that great patience<br /> +<span class="i1">Which has power to sustain</span><br /> +A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit<br /> +<span class="i1">In its prison-house of pain.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Give me–for I need it sorely–<br /> +<span class="i1">Of that courage, wise and sweet,</span><br /> +Which has made the path of duty<br /> +<span class="i1">Green beneath your willing feet.</span><br /> +Give me that unselfish nature<br /> +<span class="i1">That with charity divine</span><br /> +Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake,–<br /> +<span class="i1">Meek heart, forgive me mine!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Thus our parting daily loseth<br /> +<span class="i1">Something of its bitter pain,</span><br /> +And while learning this hard lesson<br /> +<span class="i1">My great loss becomes my gain;</span><br /> +For the touch of grief will render<br /> +<span class="i1">My wild nature more serene,</span><br /> +Give to life new aspirations,<br /> +<span class="i1">A new trust in the unseen.</span><br /> +</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza">Henceforth safe across the river<br /> +<span class="i1">I shall see forevermore</span><br /> +A beloved household spirit<br /> +<span class="i1">Waiting for me on the shore;</span><br /> +Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,<br /> +<span class="i1">Guardian angels shall become;</span><br /> +And the sister gone before me<br /> +<span class="i1">By their hands shall lead me home.</span><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">W</span>HEN only twenty-two years old Miss Alcott +began her career of authorship by launching +a little flower bark, which floated gaily on the +stream. She had always written poems, plays, and +stories for her own and her friends' pleasure, and +now she gathered up some tales she had written +for Mr. Emerson's daughter, and published them +under the name of "Flower Fables." She received +the small amount of thirty-two dollars for the book; +but it gave her the great satisfaction of having +earned it by work that she loved, and which she +could do well. She began to have applications for +stories from the papers; but as yet sewing and +teaching paid better than writing. While she sewed +her brain was busy with plans of poems, plays, and +tales, which she made use of at a later period.</p> + +<p>The following letter to her mother shows how +closely she associated her with this early success:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">20 Pinckney Street, Boston,</span> Dec. 25, 1854.<br /> +<span class="i4">(With "Flower Fables,")</span> +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mother,</span>–Into your Christmas stocking I +have put my "first-born," knowing that you will accept +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> +it with all its faults (for grandmothers are always kind), +and look upon it merely as an earnest of what I may yet +do; for, with so much to cheer me on, I hope to pass in +time from fairies and fables to men and realities.</p> + +<p>Whatever beauty or poetry is to be found in my little +book is owing to your interest in and encouragement of +all my efforts from the first to the last; and if ever I do +anything to be proud of, my greatest happiness will be +that I can thank you for that, as I may do for all the good +there is in me; and I shall be content to write if it gives +you pleasure.</p> + +<p> +<span class="i4">Jo is fussing about;</span><br /> +<span class="i4">My lamp is going out.</span></p> + +<p>To dear mother, with many kind wishes for a happy +New Year and merry Christmas.</p> + +<p>I am ever your loving daughter</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Louy</span>. +</p> +</div> + +<p>This letter shows that she had already begun to +see that she must study not only fairies and fancies, +but men and realities; and she now began to +observe life, not in books, but as it went on around +her. In the intense excitement of the anti-slavery +struggles of that period she might well learn how +full of dramatic situations and the elements of both +tragedy and comedy real human life is. She says: +"I began to see the strong contrasts and fun and +frolic in every day life about this time." She also +considered her reading, and tried to make it more +thorough and profitable; and she did not "waste +even <i>ink</i> on poems and fancies," but planned stories, +that everything might help toward her great object +of earning support for her family. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span></p> + +<p>In June, 1855, Miss Alcott went to Walpole, +N. H., where she had a free life among the hills +for a few months. It must have been a great refreshment +to her after the winter's work in the city. +In July the family followed her thither, and occupied +a small house. The country life and joy soon +began to find expression, and she wrote a little +story called "King Goldenrod," which she says +"ought to be fresh and true," as written at that beautiful +time and place. But this pleasant country life +was for a short season only; and in chill November +she set out for the city, with brave heart and scanty +outfit, to seek her fortune once more. While still +continuing to sew as a means of livelihood, she +began to try a great variety of literary ventures. +She wrote notices of books for the papers, and at +one time got five dollars for a story, besides twelve +dollars for sewing. The following year the publishers +began to find out the value of her work, and +to call for more stories. Even her poems were accepted. +Little Nell was then the favorite heroine +of Dickens, and Louisa's poem on that subject was +published in the "Courier." Although she at first +enjoyed the beautiful scenery of Walpole, she found +the dull little town did not offer her the opportunities +for work that she needed; and leaving her +family there, she came down to Boston to seek her +fortune, and went to the well-known boarding-house +of Mrs. David Reed on Chauncey Street. +The happy home which she had here during the +winter is represented as Mrs. Kirke's house in +"Little Women," and Jo's garret is the sky-parlor in +which she lived and wrote. She had a rich winter, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> +hearing many of the finest lectures, and enjoying +her free pass to the theatre. One of her greatest +helps, however, was the friendship of Theodore +Parker, who took great interest in her struggles, +and wisely strengthened and encouraged her. She +loved to go to his Sunday evening receptions, and +sit quietly watching the varied company who collected +there; and a word or pressure of the hand +from her host was enough to cheer her for the +whole week. She has gratefully recorded this influence +in her sketch of Mr. Power in "Work;" +but she has not given to that delineation the striking +personality of her subject which we should +have expected of her. She then perhaps looked up +to him too much to take note of the rich elements +of wit and humor in his nature, and has painted him +wholly seriously, and with a colorless brush.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center"><i>Twenty-two Years Old.</i></p> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Pinckney Street, Boston</span>, <i>Jan.</i> 1, 1855.–The principal +event of the winter is the appearance of my book +"Flower Fables." An edition of sixteen hundred. It +has sold very well, and people seem to like it. I feel +quite proud that the little tales that I wrote for Ellen E. +when I was sixteen should now bring money and fame.</p> + +<p>I will put in some of the notices as "varieties." +Mothers are always foolish over their first-born.</p> + +<p>Miss Wealthy Stevens paid for the book, and I received +$32.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[A pleasing contrast to the receipts of six months only in +1886, being $8000 for the sale of books, and no new one; +but I was prouder over the $32 than the $8000.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>, +1886.]</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span></p> + +<p><i>April</i>, 1855.–I am in the garret with my papers +round me, and a pile of apples to eat while I write my +journal, plan stories, and enjoy the patter of rain on the +roof, in peace and quiet.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Jo in the garret.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Being behindhand, as usual, I'll make note of the +main events up to date, for I don't waste ink in poetry +and pages of rubbish now. I've begun to <i>live</i>, and have +no time for sentimental musing.</p> + +<p>In October I began my school; Father talked, Mother +looked after her boarders, and tried to help everybody. +Anna was in Syracuse teaching Mrs. S––'s children.</p> + +<p>My book came out; and people began to think that +topsey-turvey Louisa would amount to something after +all, since she could do so well as housemaid, teacher, +seamstress, and story-teller. Perhaps she may.</p> + +<p>In February I wrote a story for which C. paid $5, and +asked for more.</p> + +<p>In March I wrote a farce for W. Warren, and Dr. W. +offered it to him; but W. W. was too busy.</p> + +<p>Also began another tale, but found little time to work +on it, with school, sewing, and house-work. My winter's +earnings are,–</p> + +<table border="none" summary="earnings"> +<col width="200" /> +<col width="50" /> +<tr><td class="tdl">School, one quarter</td> +<td>$50</td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tdl">Sewing</td> +<td>$50</td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tdl">Stories</td> +<td>$20</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>if I am ever paid.</p> + +<p>A busy and a pleasant winter, because, though hard +at times, I do seem to be getting on a little; and that +encourages me.</p> + +<p>Have heard Lowell and Hedge lecture, acted in plays, +and thanks to our rag-money and good cousin H., have +been to the theatre several times,–always my great joy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span></p> + +<p>Summer plans are yet unsettled. Father wants to go +to England: not a wise idea, I think. We shall probably +stay here, and A. and I go into the country as governesses. +It's a queer way to live, but dramatic, and I +rather like it; for we never know what is to come next. +We are real "Micawbers," and always "ready for a +spring."</p> + +<p>I have planned another Christmas book, and hope to +be able to write it.</p> + +<p>1855.–Cousin L. W. asks me to pass the summer at +Walpole with her. If I can get no teaching, I shall +go; for I long for the hills, and can write my fairy tales +there.</p> + +<p>I delivered my burlesque lecture on "Woman, and Her +Position; by Oronthy Bluggage," last evening at Deacon +G.'s. Had a merry time, and was asked by Mr. W. to +do it at H. for money. Read "Hamlet" at our club,–my +favorite play. Saw Mrs. W. H. Smith about the +farce; says she will do it at her benefit.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Father went to C. to talk with Mr. Emerson +about the England trip. I am to go to Walpole. I have +made my own gowns, and had money enough to fit up +the girls. So glad to be independent.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[I wonder if $40 fitted up the whole family. Perhaps so, +as my wardrobe was made up of old clothes from cousins and +friends.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Walpole, N. H.</span>, <i>June, 1855</i>.–Pleasant journey and +a kind welcome. Lovely place, high among the hills. +So glad to run and skip in the woods and up the splendid +ravine. Shall write here, I know.</p> + +<p>Helped cousin L. in her garden; and the smell of +the fresh earth and the touch of green leaves did me +good. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. T. came and praised my first book, so I felt much +inspired to go and do another. I remember him at +Scituate years ago, when he was a young ship-builder and +I a curly-haired hoyden of five or six.</p> + +<p>Up at five, and had a lovely run in the ravine, seeing +the woods wake. Planned a little tale which ought to be +fresh and true, as it came at that hour and place,–"King +Goldenrod." Have lively days,–writing in +<span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, driving in <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and fun in eve. My visit is doing +me much good.</p> + +<p><i>July, 1855.</i>–Read "Hyperion." On the 16th the +family came to live in Mr. W.'s house rent free. No +better plan offered, and we were all tired of the city. +Here Father can have a garden; Mother can rest and be +near her good niece; the children have freedom and fine +air; and A. and I can go from here to our teaching, +wherever it may be.</p> + +<p>Busy and happy times as we settle in the little house +in the lane near by my dear ravine,–plays, picnics, +pleasant people, and good neighbors. Fanny Kemble +came up, Mrs. Kirkland and others, and Dr. Bellows +is the gayest of the gay. We acted the "Jacobite," +"Rivals," and "Bonnycastles," to an audience of a hundred, +and were noticed in the Boston papers. H. T. +was our manager, and Dr. B., D. D., our dramatic director. +Anna was the star, her acting being really very +fine. I did "Mrs. Malaprop," "Widow Pottle," and the +old ladies.</p> + +<p>Finished fairy book in September. Anna had an offer +from Dr. Wilbur of Syracuse to teach at the great idiot +asylum. She disliked it, but decided to go. Poor dear! +so beauty-loving, timid, and tender. It is a hard trial; +but she is so self-sacrificing she tries to like it because it +is duty. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span></p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–A. to Syracuse. May illustrated my book, +and tales called "Christmas Elves." Better than "Flower +Fables." Now I must try to sell it.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Innocent Louisa, to think that a Christmas book could +be sold in October.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>November.</i>–Decided to seek my fortune; so, with +my little trunk of home-made clothes, $20 earned by +stories sent to the "Gazette," and my MSS., I set forth +with Mother's blessing one rainy day in the dullest month +in the year.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[My birth-month; always to be a memorable one.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Found it too late to do anything with the book, so put +it away and tried for teaching, sewing, or any honest +work. Won't go home to sit idle while I have a head +and pair of hands.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–H. and L. W. very kind, and my dear +cousins the Sewalls take me in. I sew for Mollie and +others, and write stories. C. gave me books to notice. +Heard Thackeray. Anxious times; Anna very home-sick. +Walpole very cold and dull now the summer butterflies +have gone. Got $5 for a tale and $12 for sewing; sent +home a Christmas-box to cheer the dear souls in the +snow-banks.</p> + +<p><i>January, 1856.</i>–C. paid $6 for "A Sister's Trial," +gave me more books to notice, and wants more tales.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Should think he would at that price.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Sewed for L. W. Sewall and others. Mr. J. M. Field +took my farce to Mobile to bring out; Mr. Barry of the +Boston Theatre has the play.</p> + +<p>Heard Curtis lecture. Began a book for summer,–"Beach +Bubbles." Mr. F. of the "Courier" printed a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> +poem of mine on "Little Nell." Got $10 for "Bertha," +and saw great yellow placards stuck up announcing it. +Acted at the W.'s.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–Got $10 for "Genevieve." Prices go up, +as people like the tales and ask who wrote them. Finished +"Twelve Bubbles." Sewed a great deal, and got +very tired; one job for Mr. G. of a dozen pillow-cases, +one dozen sheets, six fine cambric neckties, and two +dozen handkerchiefs, at which I had to work all one +night to get them done, as they were a gift to him. I +got only $4.</p> + +<p>Sewing won't make my fortune; but I can plan my +stories while I work, and then scribble 'em down on +Sundays.</p> + +<p>Poem on "Little Paul;" Curtis's lecture on "Dickens" +made it go well. Hear Emerson on "England."</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Anna came on her way home, sick and worn +out; the work was too much for her. We had some +happy days visiting about. Could not dispose of B. B. +in book form, but C. took them for his paper. Mr. Field +died, so the farce fell through there. Altered the play +for Mrs. Barrow to bring out next winter.</p> + +<p><i>June, 1856.</i>–Home, to find dear Betty very ill with +scarlet-fever caught from some poor children Mother +nursed when they fell sick, living over a cellar where +pigs had been kept. The landlord (a deacon) would +not clean the place till Mother threatened to sue him +for allowing a nuisance. Too late to save two of the +poor babies or Lizzie and May from the fever.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[L. never recovered, but died of it two years later.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>An anxious time. I nursed, did house-work, and wrote +a story a month through the summer.</p> + +<p>Dr. Bellows and Father had Sunday eve conversations. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span></p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Pleasant letters from Father, who went on +a tour to N. Y., Philadelphia, and Boston.</p> + +<p>Made plans to go to Boston for the winter, as there is +nothing to do here, and there I can support myself and +help the family. C. offers 10 dollars a month, and perhaps +more. L. W., M. S., and others, have plenty of sewing; +the play <i>may</i> come out, and Mrs. R. will give me a sky-parlor +for $3 a week, with fire and board. I sew for +her also.</p> + +<p>If I can get A. L. to governess I shall be all right.</p> + +<p>I was born with a boy's spirit under my bib and tucker. +I <i>can't wait</i> when I <i>can work</i>; so I took my little talent +in my hand and forced the world again, braver than +before and wiser for my failures.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Jo in N. Y.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>I don't often pray in words; but when I set out that +day with all my worldly goods in the little old trunk, my +own earnings ($25) in my pocket, and much hope and +resolution in my soul, my heart was very full, and I said +to the Lord, "Help us all, and keep us for one another," +as I never said it before, while I looked back at the dear +faces watching me, so full of love and hope and faith. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Boston</span>, <i>November, 1856</i>. <i>Mrs. David Reed's.</i>–I +find my little room up in the attic very cosey, and a +house full of boarders very amusing to study. Mrs. +Reed very kind. Fly round and take C. his stories. +Go to see Mrs. L. about A. Don't want me. A blow, +but I cheer up and hunt for sewing. Go to hear Parker, +and he does me good. Asks me to come Sunday evenings +to his house. I did go there, and met Phillips, +Garrison, Hedge, and other great men, and sit in my +corner weekly, staring and enjoying myself. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span></p> + +<p>When I went Mr. Parker said, "God bless you, Louisa; +come again;" and the grasp of his hand gave me courage +to face another anxious week.</p> + +<p><i>November 3d.</i>–Wrote all the morning. In the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> +went to see the Sumner reception as he comes home +after the Brooks affair. I saw him pass up Beacon +Street, pale and feeble, but smiling and bowing. I +rushed to Hancock Street, and was in time to see him +bring his proud old mother to the window when the +crowd gave three cheers for her. I cheered too, and +was very much excited. Mr. Parker met him somewhere +before the ceremony began, and the above P. cheered +like a boy; and Sumner laughed and nodded as his friend +pranced and shouted, bareheaded and beaming.</p> + +<p>My kind cousin, L. W., got tickets for a course of lectures +on "Italian Literature," and seeing my old cloak sent +me a new one, with other needful and pretty things such +as girls love to have. I shall never forget how kind she +has always been to me.</p> + +<p><i>November 5th.</i>–Went with H. W. to see Manager +Barry about the everlasting play which is always coming +out but never comes. We went all over the great new +theatre, and I danced a jig on the immense stage. Mr. +B. was very kind, and gave me a pass to come whenever +I liked. This was such richness I didn't care if the play +was burnt on the spot, and went home full of joy. In +the eve I saw La Grange as Norma, and felt as if I +knew all about that place. Quite stage-struck, and imagined +myself in her place, with white robes and oak-leaf +crown.</p> + +<p><i>November 6th.</i>–Sewed happily on my job of twelve +sheets for H. W., and put lots of good will into the work +after his kindness to me.</p> + +<p>Walked to Roxbury to see cousin Dr. W. about the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> +play and tell the fine news. Rode home in the new cars, +and found them very nice.</p> + +<p>In the eve went to teach at Warren Street Chapel +Charity School. I'll help as I am helped, if I can. +Mother says no one so poor he can't do a little for some +one poorer yet.</p> + +<p><i>Sunday.</i>–Heard Parker on "Individuality of Character," +and liked it much. In the eve I went to his +house. Mrs. Howe was there, and Sumner and others. +I sat in my usual corner, but Mr. P. came up and said, +in that cordial way of his, "Well, child, how goes it?" +"Pretty well, sir." "That's brave;" and with his warm +hand-shake he went on, leaving me both proud and +happy, though I have my trials. He is like a great fire +where all can come and be warmed and comforted. +Bless him!</p> + +<p>Had a talk at tea about him, and fought for him when +W. R. said he was not a Christian. He is my <i>sort</i>; for +though he may lack reverence for other people's God, +he works bravely for his own, and turns his back on no +one who needs help, as some of the pious do.</p> + +<p><i>Monday, 14th.</i>–May came full of expectation and +joy to visit good aunt B. and study drawing. We walked +about and had a good home talk, then my girl went off +to Auntie's to begin what I hope will be a pleasant and +profitable winter. She needs help to develop her talent, +and I can't give it to her.</p> + +<p>Went to see Forrest as Othello. It is funny to see +how attentive all the once cool gentlemen are to Miss +Alcott now she has a pass to the new theatre.</p> + +<p><i>November 29th.</i>–My birthday. Felt forlorn so far +from home. Wrote all day. Seem to be getting on +slowly, so should be contented. To a little party at the +B.'s in the eve. May looked very pretty, and seemed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> +to be a favorite. The boys teased me about being an +authoress, and I said I'd be famous yet. Will if I can, +but something else may be better for me.</p> + +<p>Found a pretty pin from Father and a nice letter when +I got home. Mr. H. brought them with letters from +Mother and Betty, so I went to bed happy.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Busy with Christmas and New Year's +tales. Heard a good lecture by E. P. Whipple on +"Courage." Thought I needed it, being rather tired of +living like a spider;–spinning my brains out for money.</p> + +<p>Wrote a story, "The Cross on the Church Tower," +suggested by the tower before my window.</p> + +<p>Called on Mrs. L., and she asked me to come and +teach A. for three hours each day. Just what I wanted; +and the children's welcome was very pretty and comforting +to "Our Olly," as they call me.</p> + +<p>Now board is all safe, and something over for home, if +stories and sewing fail. I don't do much, but can send +little comforts to Mother and Betty, and keep May neat.</p> + +<p><i>December 18th.</i>–Begin with A. L., in Beacon Street. +I taught C. when we lived in High Street, A. in Pinckney +Street, and now Al.; so I seem to be an institution and a +success, since I can start the boy, teach one girl, and +take care of the little invalid. It is hard work, but I can +do it; and am glad to sit in a large, fine room part of +each day, after my sky-parlor, which has nothing pretty +in it, and only the gray tower and blue sky outside as I +sit at the window writing. I love luxury, but freedom +and independence better. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Father, written from Mrs. Reed's.</i></p> + +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Boston</span>, Nov. 29, 1856.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Dearest Father</span>,–Your little parcel was very welcome +to me as I sat alone in my room, with snow falling +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> +fast outside, and a few tears in (for birthdays are dismal +times to me); and the fine letter, the pretty gift, and, +most of all, the loving thought so kindly taken for your +old absent daughter, made the cold, dark day as warm +and bright as summer to me.</p> + +<p>And now, with the birthday pin upon my bosom, many +thanks on my lips, and a whole heart full of love for its +giver, I will tell you a little about my doings, stupid as +they will seem after your own grand proceedings. How I +wish I could be with you, enjoying what I have always +longed for,–fine people, fine amusements, and fine +books. But as I can't, I am glad you are; for I love to +see your name first among the lecturers, to hear it kindly +spoken of in papers and inquired about by good people +here,–to say nothing of the delight and pride I take in +seeing you at last filling the place you are so fitted for, +and which you have waited for so long and patiently. +If the New Yorkers raise a statue to the modern Plato, +it will be a wise and highly creditable action. +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +I am very well and very happy. Things go smoothly, +and I think I shall come out right, and prove that though +an <i>Alcott</i> I <i>can</i> support myself. I like the independent +feeling; and though not an easy life, it is a free one, and +I enjoy it. I can't do much with my hands; so I will +make a battering-ram of my head and make a way through +this rough-and-tumble world. I have very pleasant lectures +to amuse my evenings,–Professor Gajani on +"Italian Reformers," the Mercantile Library course, +Whipple, Beecher, and others, and, best of all, a free pass +at the Boston Theatre. I saw Mr. Barry, and he gave it +to me with many kind speeches, and promises to bring +out the play very soon. I hope he will.</p> + +<p>My farce is in the hands of Mrs. W. H. Smith, who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> +acts at Laura Keene's theatre in New York. She took +it, saying she would bring it out there. If you see or +hear anything about it, let me know. I want something +doing. My mornings are spent in writing. C. takes one +a month, and I am to see Mr. B., who may take some of +my wares.</p> + +<p>In the afternoons I walk and visit my hundred relations, +who are all kind and friendly, and seem interested +in our various successes.</p> + +<p>Sunday evenings I go to Parker's parlor, and there meet +Phillips, Garrison, Scherb, Sanborn, and many other pleasant +people. All talk, and I sit in a corner listening, and +wishing a certain placid gray-haired gentleman was there +talking too. Mrs. Parker calls on me, reads my stories, +and is very good to me. Theodore asks Louisa "how +her worthy parents do," and is otherwise very friendly to +the large, bashful girl who adorns his parlor steadily.</p> + +<p>Abby is preparing for a busy and, I hope, a profitable +winter. She has music lessons already, French and drawing +in store, and, if her eyes hold out, will keep her word +and become what none of us can be, "an accomplished +Alcott." Now, dear Father, I shall hope to hear from +you occasionally, and will gladly answer all epistles from +the Plato whose parlor parish is becoming quite famous. +I got the "Tribune," but not the letter, and shall look it +up. I have been meaning to write, but did not know +where you were.</p> + +<p>Good-by, and a happy birthday from your ever loving +child,</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Louisa</span>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center"><i>Twenty-four Years Old.</i></p> +<p> +<i>January, 1857.</i>–Had my first new silk dress from +good little L. W.,–very fine; and I felt as if all the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> +Hancocks and Quincys beheld me as I went to two +parties in it on New Year's eve.</p> + +<p>A busy, happy month,–taught, wrote, sewed, read +aloud to the "little mother," and went often to the +theatre; heard good lectures; and enjoyed my Parker +evenings very much.</p> + +<p>Father came to see me on his way home; little +money; had had a good time, and was asked to come +again. Why don't rich people who enjoy his talk pay +for it? Philosophers are always poor, and too modest to +pass round their own hats.</p> + +<p>Sent by him a good bundle to the poor Forlornites +among the ten-foot drifts in W.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Ran home as a valentine on the 14th.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–Have several irons in the fire now, and try +to keep 'em all hot.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–May did a crayon head of Mother with Mrs. +Murdock; very good likeness. All of us as proud as +peacocks of our "little Raphael."</p> + +<p>Heard Mrs. Butler read; very fine.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Left the L.'s with my thirty-three dollars, +glad to rest. May went home with her picture, happy +in her winter's work and success.</p> + +<p>Father had three talks at W. F. Channing's. Good +company,–Emerson, Mrs. Howe, and the rest.</p> + +<p>Saw young Booth in Brutus, and liked him better than +his father; went about and rested after my labors; glad +to be with Father, who enjoyed Boston and friends.</p> + +<p>Home on the 10th, passing Sunday at the Emerson's. +I have done what I planned,–supported myself, written +eight stories, taught four months, earned a hundred dollars, +and sent money home.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–All happy together. My dear Nan was with +me, and we had good times. Betty was feeble, but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> +seemed to cheer up for a time. The long, cold, lonely +winter has been too hard for the frail creature, and we are +all anxious about her. I fear she may slip away; for she +never seemed to care much for this world beyond home. +</p> +</div> + +<p>So gradually the day seemed to be coming to +which Louisa had long looked forward. She found +that she could be independent, could help her family, +and even indulge some of her own tastes.</p> + +<p>About this time Miss Alcott mentions a young +friend who died in her arms, and speaks of going +to console the sister in her loneliness. This +shows how warmly her heart beat for others while +her head was so busy with her ambitious plans. +She speaks also of the hint of a new story called +"The Cost of an Idea." She never lost sight of +this plan, but did not carry it out. Her father's +life and character were in her mind, and she longed +to portray the conflict between his high ideal and +the practical difficulties of his life; but it was an +impossible subject. The Fruitlands episode was +told in "Transcendental Wild Oats," and his early +life in "Elis's Education." But although her admiration +and affection for him are abundantly shown +in her journals, she never perhaps understood him +so thoroughly that she could adequately portray +his personality; neither could she do justice to all +related to him without trenching upon the privacy +due to sacred feelings.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus098" id="illus098"></a> +<img src="images/illus098.jpg" width="622" height="650" alt="ORCHARD HOUSE, CONCORD, MASS" /> +<p class="caption">ORCHARD HOUSE, CONCORD, MASS.<br /> +Home of the Alcott Family, 1858.</p> +</div> + +<p>A great shadow fell over Louisa's heart and life +from the increasing illness of her dear younger sister +Elizabeth. This young girl was tenderly beloved +by all the family, and was indeed as pure, refined, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> +and holy as she is represented as Beth in "Little +Women." Her decay was very gradual, and she +was so patient and sweet that the sad time of anxiety +was a very precious one in remembrance.</p> + +<p>This sickness added to the pecuniary burdens of +the family, and eight years afterward Louisa paid +the bill of the physician who attended her sister.</p> + +<p>In October, 1857, the family removed again to +Concord, and Louisa remained at home to assist in +the care of the beloved invalid. They lived a few +months in a part of a house which they hired until +the Orchard House, which they had bought, was +ready for them. Here the dear sister's life came +to a close.</p> + +<p>This was the first break in the household, and +the mother's heart never fully recovered from it. +Louisa accepted death with strong, sweet wisdom. +It never seemed to have any terror for her.</p> + +<p>In July they took possession of the Orchard +House, which was hereafter the permanent residence +of the family. This was a picturesque old +house on the side of a hill, with an orchard of apple-trees. +It was not far from Mr. Emerson's, and +within walking distance of the village, yet very +quiet and rural. Mr. Alcott had his library, and +was always very happy there; but Louisa's heart +never clung to it.</p> + +<p>The engagement of the elder sister was a very +exciting event to Louisa, who did not like having +the old sisterly relation broken in upon; but everything +was so genuine and true in the love of the +newly betrothed pair that she could not help accepting +the change as a blessing to her sister and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> +taking the new brother into her heart. The entries +in her journal show that the picture she has drawn +in "Little Women" of this noble man is from life, +and not exaggerated.</p> + +<p>Louisa went to Boston for a visit, and again had +hopes of going on to the stage; but an accident +prevented it; and she returned to Concord and her +writing, working off her disappointment in a story +called "Only an Actress."</p> + +<p>Among her experiences at this time was an offer +of marriage, about which she consulted her mother, +telling her that she did not care for the lover very +much. The wise mother saved her from the impulse +to self-sacrifice, which might have led her to accept a +position which would have given help to the family.</p> + +<p>Although this was not the only instance of offers +of marriage, more or less advantageous, made to +her, Louisa had no inclination toward matrimony. +Her heart was bound up in her family, and she could +hardly contemplate her own interests as separate +from theirs. She loved activity, freedom, and independence. +She could not cherish illusions tenderly; +and she always said that she got tired of +everybody, and felt sure that she should of her +husband if she married. She never wished to +make her heroines marry, and the love story is the +part of her books for which she cared least. She +yielded to the desire of the public, who will not +accept life without a recognition of this great joy +in it. Still it must be acknowledged that she has +sometimes painted very sweet and natural love +scenes, although more often in quaint and homely +guise than in the fashion of ancient romance. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> +"King of Clubs and Queen of Hearts" is very +prettily told; and "Mrs. Todger's Teapot" is true +to that quiet, earnest affection which does not pass +away with youth.</p> + +<p>The writing went on, and she received five, six, +or ten dollars apiece for her stories; but she did +not yet venture to give up the sewing and teaching, +which was still the sure reliance.</p> + +<p>Her younger sister now began to exercise her +talent, and illustrated a little book of Louisa's called +"Christmas Elves," which she says is better than +"Flower Fables."</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +Read Charlotte Bronté's life. A very interesting, but +sad one. So full of talent; and after working long, just +as success, love, and happiness come, she dies.</p> + +<p>Wonder if I shall ever be famous enough for people to +care to read my story and struggles. I can't be a C. B., +but I may do a little something yet.</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–Grandma Alcott came to visit us. A sweet +old lady; and I am glad to know her, and see where +Father got his nature. Eighty-four; yet very smart, industrious, +and wise. A house needs a grandma in it.</p> + +<p>As we sat talking over Father's boyhood, I never realized +so plainly before how much he has done for himself. +His early life sounded like a pretty old romance, and +Mother added the love passages.</p> + +<p>I got a hint for a story; and some day will do it, and +call it "The Cost of an Idea." Spindle Hill, Temple +School, Fruitlands, Boston, and Concord, would make +fine chapters. The trials and triumphs of the Pathetic +Family would make a capital book; may I live to do it.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–A sad, anxious month. Betty worse; Mother +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> +takes her to the seashore. Father decides to go back to +Concord; he is never happy far from Emerson, the one +true friend who loves and understands and helps him.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–An old house near R. W. E.'s is bought +with Mother's money, and we propose to move. Mother +in Boston with poor Betty, who is failing fast. Anna and +I have a hard time breaking up.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Move to Concord. Take half a house in +town till spring, when the old one is to be made ready.</p> + +<p>Find dear Betty a shadow, but sweet and patient +always. Fit up a nice room for her, and hope home +and love and care may keep her.</p> + +<p>People kind and friendly, and the old place looks +pleasant, though I never want to live in it.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Father goes West, taking Grandma home. +We settle down to our winter, whatever it is to be. Lizzie +seems better, and we have some plays. Sanborn's +school makes things lively, and we act a good deal.</p> + +<p>Twenty-five this month. I feel my quarter of a century +rather heavy on my shoulders just now. I lead two +lives. One seems gay with plays, etc., the other very sad,–in +Betty's room; for though she wishes us to act, and +loves to see us get ready, the shadow is there, and Mother +and I see it. Betty loves to have me with her; and I am +with her at night, for Mother needs rest. Betty says she +feels "strong" when I am near. So glad to be of use.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Some fine plays for charity.</p> + +<p><i>January, 1858.</i>–Lizzie much worse; Dr. G. says there +is no hope. A hard thing to hear; but if she is only to +suffer, I pray she may go soon. She was glad to know +she was to "get well," as she called it, and we tried to +bear it bravely for her sake. We gave up plays; Father +came home; and Anna took the housekeeping, so that +Mother and I could devote ourselves to her. Sad, quiet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> +days in her room, and strange nights keeping up the fire +and watching the dear little shadow try to wile away the +long sleepless hours without troubling me. She sews, +reads, sings softly, and lies looking at the fire,–so sweet +and patient and so worn, my heart is broken to see the +change. I wrote some lines one night on "Our Angel in +the House."</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Jo and Beth.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>February.</i>–A mild month; Betty very comfortable, +and we hope a little.</p> + +<p>Dear Betty is slipping away, and every hour is too +precious to waste, so I'll keep my lamentations over +Nan's [affairs] till this duty is over.</p> + +<p>Lizzie makes little things, and drops them out of windows +to the school-children, smiling to see their surprise. +In the night she tells me to be Mrs. Gamp, when I give +her her lunch, and tries to be gay that I may keep up. +Dear little saint! I shall be better all my life for these +sad hours with you.</p> + +<p><i>March 14th.</i>–My dear Beth died at three this morning, +after two years of patient pain. Last week she put +her work away, saying the needle was "too heavy," and +having given us her few possessions, made ready for the +parting in her own simple, quiet way. For two days she +suffered much, begging for ether, though its effect was +gone. Tuesday she lay in Father's arms, and called +us round her, smiling contentedly as she said, "All +here!" I think she bid us good-by then, as she held +our hands and kissed us tenderly. Saturday she slept, +and at midnight became unconscious, quietly breathing +her life away till three; then, with one last look of the +beautiful eyes, she was gone.</p> + +<p>A curious thing happened, and I will tell it here, for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> +Dr. G. said it was a fact. A few moments after the last +breath came, as Mother and I sat silently watching the +shadow fall on the dear little face, I saw a light mist +rise from the body, and float up and vanish in the air. +Mother's eyes followed mine, and when I said, "What +did you see?" she described the same light mist. Dr. +G. said it was the life departing visibly.</p> + +<p>For the last time we dressed her in her usual cap and +gown, and laid her on her bed,–at rest at last. What +she had suffered was seen in the face; for at twenty-three +she looked like a woman of forty, so worn was she, and +all her pretty hair gone.</p> + +<p>On Monday Dr. Huntington read the Chapel service, +and we sang her favorite hymn. Mr. Emerson, Henry +Thoreau, Sanborn, and John Pratt, carried her out of the +old home to the new one at Sleepy Hollow chosen by +herself. So the first break comes, and I know what +death means,–a liberator for her, a teacher for us.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Came to occupy one wing of Hawthorne's +house (once ours) while the new one was being repaired. +Father, Mother, and I kept house together; +May being in Boston, Anna at Pratt Farm, and, for the +first time, Lizzie absent. I don't miss her as I expected +to do, for she seems nearer and dearer than before; and I +am glad to know she is safe from pain and age in some +world where her innocent soul must be happy.</p> + +<p>Death never seemed terrible to me, and now is +beautiful; so I cannot fear it, but find it friendly and +wonderful.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–A lonely month with all the girls gone, and +Father and Mother absorbed in the old house, which I +don't care about, not liking Concord.</p> + +<p>On the 7th of April, Anna came walking in to tell us +she was engaged to John Pratt; so another sister is gone. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> +J. is a model son and brother,–a true man,–full of fine +possibilities, but so modest one does not see it at once. +He is handsome, healthy, and happy; just home from +the West, and so full of love he is pleasant to look at.</p> + +<p>I moaned in private over my great loss, and said I'd +never forgive J. for taking Anna from me; but I shall if +he makes her happy, and turn to little May for my comfort.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Now that John is dead, I can truly say we all had cause +to bless the day he came into the family; for we gained a +son and brother, and Anna the best husband ever known.</p> + +<p>For ten years he made her home a little heaven of love +and peace; and when he died he left her the legacy of a beautiful +life, and an honest name to his little sons.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>, +1873.] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>June.</i>–The girls came home, and I went to visit L. W. +in Boston. Saw Charlotte Cushman, and had a stage-struck +fit. Dr. W. asked Barry to let me act at his +theatre, and he agreed. I was to do Widow Pottle, as +the dress was a good disguise and I knew the part well. +It was all a secret, and I had hopes of trying a new life; +the old one being so changed now, I felt as if I must +find interest in something absorbing. But Mr. B. broke +his leg, so I had to give it up; and when it was known, +the dear, respectable relations were horrified at the idea. +I'll try again by-and-by, and see if I have the gift. Perhaps +it is acting, not writing, I'm meant for. Nature +must have a vent somehow.</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–Went into the new house and began to settle. +Father is happy; Mother glad to be at rest; Anna is in +bliss with her gentle John; and May busy over her pictures. +I have plans simmering, but must sweep and dust +and wash my dish-pans a while longer till I see my way.</p> + +<p>Worked off my stage fever in writing a story, and felt +better; also a moral tale, and got twenty-five dollars, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> +which pieced up our summer gowns and bonnets all +round. The inside of my head can at least cover the +outside.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–Much company to see the new house. All +seem to be glad that the wandering family is anchored at +last. We won't move again for twenty years if I can help +it. The old people need an abiding place; and now +that death and love have taken two of us away, I can, I +hope, soon manage to care for the remaining four.</p> + +<p>The weeklies will all take stories; and I can simmer +novels while I do my housework, so see my way to a little +money, and perhaps more by-and-by if I ever make a hit. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Probably owing to the excitement of grief for +her sister's death, and sympathy in Anna's happy +betrothal, Louisa became in October more discouraged +than she had ever been, and went to Boston +in search of work. As she walked over the mill dam +the running stream brought the thought of +the River of Death, which would end all troubles. +It was but a momentary impulse, and the brave +young heart rallied to the thought, "There is work +for me, and I'll have it!" Her journal narrates +how Mr. Parker helped her through this period of +anxiety. She was all ready to go to Lancaster, +to hard drudgery at sewing, when her old place as +governess was again offered to her, and her own +support was assured.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>October.</i>–Went to Boston on my usual hunt for employment, +as I am not needed at home and seem to be +the only bread-winner just now.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>My fit of despair was soon over, for it seemed so +cowardly to run away before the battle was over I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> +couldn't do it. So I said firmly, "There <i>is</i> work for +me, and I'll have it," and went home resolved to take +Fate by the throat and shake a living out of her.</p> + +<p>Sunday Mr. Parker preached a sermon on "Laborious +Young Women." Just what I needed; for it said: +"Trust your fellow-beings, and let them help you. +Don't be too proud to ask, and accept the humblest +work till you can find the task you want."</p> + +<p>"I will," said I, and went to Mr. P.'s. He was out; +but I told Mrs. P. my wants, and she kindly said Theodore +and Hannah would be sure to have something for +me. As I went home I met Mrs. L., who had not +wanted me, as Alice went to school. She asked if I was +engaged, and said A. did not do well, and she thought +perhaps they would like me back. I was rejoiced, and +went home feeling that the tide had begun to turn. +Next day came Miss H. S. to offer me a place at the +Girls' Reform School at Lancaster, to sew ten hours +a day, make and mend. I said I'd go, as I could do +anything with a needle; but added, if Mrs. L. wants me +I'd rather do that.</p> + +<p>"Of course you had. Take it if it comes, and if not, +try my work." I promised and waited. That eve, when +my bag was packed and all was ready for Lancaster, +came a note from Mrs. L. offering the old salary and the +old place. I sang for joy, and next day early posted off +to Miss S. She was glad and shook hands, saying, "It +was a test, my dear, and you stood it. When I told +Mr. P. that you would go, he said, 'That is a true girl; +Louisa will succeed.'"</p> + +<p>I was very proud and happy; for these things are +tests of character as well as courage, and I covet the +respect of such true people as Mr. P. and Miss S.</p> + +<p>So away to my little girl with a bright heart! for with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> +tales, and sewing for Mary, which pays my board, there I +am fixed for the winter and my cares over. Thank the +Lord! +</p> +</div> + +<p>She now found publishers eager for her stories, +and went on writing for them. She was encouraged +by E. P. Whipple's praise of "Mark Field's +Mistake," and by earning thirty dollars, most of +which she sent home.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +Earned thirty dollars; sent twenty home. Heard +Curtis, Parker, Higginson, and Mrs. Dall lecture. See +Booth's Hamlet, and my ideal done at last.</p> + +<p>My twenty-sixth birthday on the 29th. Some sweet +letters from home, and a ring of A.'s and J.'s hair as a +peace-offering. A quiet day, with many thoughts and +memories.</p> + +<p>The past year has brought us the first death and betrothal,–two +events that change my life. I can see that +these experiences have taken a deep hold, and changed +or developed me. Lizzie helps me spiritually, and a +little success makes me more self-reliant. Now that +Mother is too tired to be wearied with my moods, I have +to manage them alone, and am learning that work of +head and hand is my salvation when disappointment or +weariness burden and darken my soul.</p> + +<p>In my sorrow I think I instinctively came nearer to +God, and found comfort in the knowledge that he was +sure to help when nothing else could.</p> + +<p>A great grief has taught me more than any minister, +and when feeling most alone I find refuge in the Almighty +Friend. If this is experiencing religion I have done it; +but I think it is only the lesson one must learn as it +comes, and I am glad to know it. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span></p> + +<p>After my fit of despair I seem to be braver and more +cheerful, and grub away with a good heart. Hope it +will last, for I need all the courage and comfort I can get.</p> + +<p>I feel as if I could write better now,–more truly of +things I have felt and therefore <i>know</i>. I hope I shall +yet do my great book, for that seems to be my work, +and I am growing up to it. I even think of trying the +"Atlantic." There 's ambition for you! I'm sure some +of the stories are very flat. If Mr. L. takes the one Father +carried to him, I shall think I can do something.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Father started on his tour West full of +hope. Dear man! How happy he will be if people will +only listen to and <i>pay</i> for his wisdom.</p> + +<p>May came to B. and stayed with me while she took +drawing lessons. Christmas at home. Write an Indian +story.</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1859.–Send a parcel home to Marmee +and Nan.</p> + +<p>Mother very ill. Home to nurse her for a week. +Wonder if I ought not to be a nurse, as I seem to have +a gift for it. Lizzie, L. W., and Mother all say so; and I +like it. If I couldn't write or act I'd try it. May yet. +$21 from L.; $15 home.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>Some day I'll do my best, and get well paid for it.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[$3,000 for a short serial in 1876. True prophet.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Wrote a sequel to "Mark Field." Had a queer time +over it, getting up at night to write it, being too full to +sleep.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–"Mark" was a success, and much praised. +So I found the divine afflatus did descend. Busy life +teaching, writing, sewing, getting all I can from lectures, +books, and good people. Life is my college. May I +graduate well, and earn some honors! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span></p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–May went home after a happy winter at the +School of Design, where she did finely, and was pronounced +full of promise. Mr. T. said good things of +her, and we were very proud. No doubt now what she +is to be, if we can only keep her along.</p> + +<p>I went home also, being done with A., who went out +of town early. Won't teach any more if I can help it; +don't like it; and if I can get writing enough can do +much better.</p> + +<p>I have done more than I hoped. Supported myself, +helped May, and sent something home. Not borrowed +a penny, and had only five dollars given me. So my +third campaign ends well.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Took care of L. W., who was ill. Walked from +C. to B. one day, twenty miles, in five hours, and went +to a party in the evening. Not very tired. Well done +for a vegetable production!</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Took two children to board and teach. A +busy month, as Anna was in B.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Great State Encampment here. Town +full of soldiers, with military fuss and feathers. I like a +camp, and long for a war, to see how it all seems. I +can't fight, but I can nurse.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Prophetic again.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>October</i>, 1859.–May did a fine copy of Emerson's +Endymion<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> for me.</p> + +<p>Mother sixty. God bless the dear, brave woman!</p> + +<p>Good news of Parker in Florence,–my beloved +minister and friend. To him and R. W. E. I owe +much of my education. May I be a worthy pupil of +such men!</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Hurrah! My story was accepted; and +Lowell asked if it was not a translation from the German, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> +it was so unlike most tales. I felt much set up, and my +fifty dollars will be very happy money. People seem to +think it a great thing to get into the "Atlantic;" but +I've not been pegging away all these years in vain, and +may yet have books and publishers and a fortune of my +own. Success has gone to my head, and I wander a +little. Twenty-seven years old, and very happy.</p> + +<p>The Harper's Ferry tragedy makes this a memorable +month. Glad I have lived to see the Antislavery movement +and this last heroic act in it. Wish I could do my +part in it.</p> + +<p><i>December</i>, 1859.–The execution of Saint John the Just +took place on the second. A meeting at the hall, and +all Concord was there. Emerson, Thoreau, Father, and +Sanborn spoke, and all were full of reverence and admiration +for the martyr.</p> + +<p>I made some verses on it, and sent them to the +"Liberator." +</p> +</div> + +<p>A sickness of Mrs. Alcott through which she +nursed her makes Louisa question whether nursing +is not her true vocation. She had an opportunity +to try it later.</p> + +<p>Much interest attaches to this period of Louisa's +work, when she dashed off sensational stories as +fast as they were wanted, from the account which +she has given of it in "Little Women." She has +concentrated into one short period there the work +and the feelings of a much longer time. She certainly +did let her fancy run riot in these tales, and +they were as sensational as the penny papers desired. +She had a passion for wild, adventurous +life, and even for lurid passion and melodramatic +action, which she could indulge to the utmost in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> +these stories. Louisa was always a creature of +moods; and it was a great relief to work off certain +feelings by the safe vent of imaginary persons +and scenes in a story. She had no one to guide +or criticise her; and the fact that these gambols of +fancy brought the much-needed money, and were, +as she truly called them, "pot boilers," certainly +did not discourage her from indulging in them. +She is probably right in calling most of them "trash +and rubbish," for she was yet an unformed girl, +and had not studied herself or life very deeply; but +her own severe condemnation of them in "Little +Women" might give a false idea. The stories are +never coarse or immoral. They give a lurid, unnatural +picture of life, but sin is not made captivating +or immorality attractive. There is often a +severe moral enforced. They did not give poison +to her readers, only over-seasoned unnatural food, +which might destroy the relish for wholesome mental +nourishment.</p> + +<p>We are inclined to ask, What did Louisa herself +get out of this wild, Walpurgis-Night ride among +ghosts and goblins, letting her fancy run riot, and +indulging every mood as it rose? Did it not give +her the dash and freedom in writing which we find +in all her books, a command of language, and a +recognition of the glow and force of life? She +finds life no mere commonplace drudgery, but +full of great possibilities. Did it not also give +her an interest in all the wild fancies and dreams +of girls, all the longing for adventure of boys, +and make her hopeful even of the veriest young +scamps that they would work off the turbulent +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> +energies of youth safely if activities were wisely +provided for them?</p> + +<p>No writer for children ever was so fully recognized +as understanding them. They never felt +that she stood on a pinnacle of wisdom to censure +them, but came right down into their midst +to work and play with them, and at the same time +to show them the path out of the tangled thickets, +and to help them to see light in their gloomiest +despair.</p> + +<p>Yet she unquestionably recognized that she was +not doing the best work of which she was capable; +and she looked forward still to the books she was +to write, as well as the fortune she was to make. +She did not like any reference to these sensational +stories in after life, although she sometimes re-used +plots or incidents in them; and she was very unwilling +to have them republished.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Boston Bulletin,–Ninth Issue.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Sunday Eve</span>, November, 1858.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My blessed Nan</span>,–Having finished my story, I can +refresh my soul by a scribble to you, though I have nothing +to tell of much interest.</p> + +<p>Mrs. L. is to pay me my "celery" each month, as she +likes to settle all bills in that way; so yesterday she put +$20.85 into my willing hands, and gave me Saturday +<span class="smcap">p.m.</span> for a holiday. This unexpected $20, with the +$10 for my story (if I get it) and $5 for sewing, will +give me the immense sum of $35. I shall get a second-hand +carpet for the little parlor, a bonnet for you, and +some shoes and stockings for myself, as three times round +the Common in cold weather conduces to chilblains, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> +owing to stockings with a profusion of toe, but no heel, +and shoes with plenty of heel, but a paucity of toe. The +prejudices of society demand that my feet be covered in +the houses of the rich and great; so I shall hose and shoe +myself, and if any of my fortune is left, will invest it in the +Alcott Sinking Fund, the Micawber R. R., and the Skimpole +three per cents.</p> + +<p>Tell me how much carpet you need, and T. S. will find +me a good one. In December I shall have another $20; +so let me know what is wanting, and don't live on "five +pounds of rice and a couple of quarts of split peas" all +winter, I beg.</p> + +<p>How did you like "Mark Field's Mistake"? I don't +know whether it is good or bad; but it will keep the pot +boiling, and I ask no more. I wanted to go and see if +"Hope's Treasures" was accepted, but was afeared. M. +and H. both appeared; but one fell asleep, and the other +forgot to remember; so I still wait like Patience on a +hard chair, smiling at an inkstand. Miss K. asked me to +go to see Booth for the last time on Saturday. Upon +that ravishing thought I brooded all the week very merrily, +and I danced, sang, and clashed my cymbals daily. +Saturday <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> Miss K. sent word she couldn't go, and +from my pinnacle of joy I was precipitated into an abyss +of woe. While in said abyss Mrs. L. put the $20 into +my hands. That was a moment of awful trial. Every +one of those dollars cried aloud, "What, ho! Come +hither, and be happy!" But eight cold feet on a straw +carpet marched to and fro so pathetically that I locked +up the tempting fiend, and fell to sewing, as a Saturday +treat!</p> + +<p>But, lo! virtue was rewarded. Mrs. H. came flying +in, and took me to the Museum to see "Gold" and +"Lend Me Five Shillings." Warren, in an orange tie, red +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> +coat, white satin vest, and scarlet ribbons on his ankles, +was the funniest creature you ever saw; and I laughed till +I cried,–which was better for me than the melancholy +Dane, I dare say.</p> + +<p>I'm disgusted with this letter; for I always begin trying +to be proper and neat; but my pen will not keep in +order, and ink has a tendency to splash when used copiously +and with rapidity. I have to be so moral and so +dignified nowadays that the jocosity of my nature will gush +out when it gets a chance, and the consequences are, as +you see, rubbish. But you like it; so let's be merry +while we may, for to-morrow is Monday, and the weekly +grind begins again. +</p></div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER VI.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">THE YEAR OF GOOD LUCK.</p> + +<p class="center p2">THE CHILDREN'S SONG.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i6"> +<i>Tune.</i>–"Wait for the Wagon."</p> + +<p class="stanza">The world lies fair about us, and a friendly sky above;<br /> +Our lives are full of sunshine, our homes are full of love;<br /> +Few cares or sorrows sadden the beauty of our day;<br /> +We gather simple pleasures like daisies by the way.</p> + +<p class="stanza"><span class="i4"><i>Chorus.</i>–Oh! sing with cheery voices,</span><br /> +<span class="i9">Like robins on the tree;</span><br /> +<span class="i8">For little lads and lasses</span><br /> +<span class="i9">As blithe of heart should be.</span></p> + +<p>The village is our fairyland: its good men are our kings;<br /> +And wandering through its by-ways our busy minds find wings.<br /> +The school-room is our garden, and we the flowers there,<br /> +And kind hands tend and water us that we may blossom fair.</p> + +<p class="stanza"><span class="i4"><i>Chorus.</i>–Oh! dance in airy circles,</span><br /> +<span class="i9">Like fairies on the lee;</span><br /> +<span class="i8">For little lads and lasses</span><br /> +<span class="i8">As light of foot should be.</span></p> + +<p>There's the Shepherd of the sheepfold; the Father of the vines;<br /> +The Hermit of blue Walden; the Poet of the pines;<br /> +And a Friend who comes among us, with counsels wise and mild<br /> +With snow upon his forehead, yet at heart a very child.</p> + +<p class="stanza"><span class="i4"><i>Chorus.</i>–Oh! smile as smiles the river,</span><br /> +<span class="i9">Slow rippling to the sea;</span><br /> +<span class="i8"> For little lads and lasses</span><br /> +<span class="i9">As full of peace should be.</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"> +<p>There's not a cloud in heaven but drops its silent dew;<br /> +No violet in the meadow but blesses with its blue;<br /> +No happy child in Concord who may not do its part<br /> +To make the great world better by innocence of heart.</p> + +<p class="stanza"><span class="i4"><i>Chorus.</i>–Oh! blossom in the sunshine</span><br /> +<span class="i9">Beneath the village tree;</span><br /> +<span class="i8">For little lads and lasses</span><br /> +<span class="i9">Are the fairest flowers we see.</span> +</p></div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">A</span>FTER such long and hard struggles, it is +pleasant to find the diary for 1860 headed +"A Year of Good Luck." The appointment of +Mr. Alcott as Superintendent of Schools in Concord +was a great happiness to the family. It was +a recognition of his character and ability, and gave +him congenial occupation and some small pecuniary +compensation.</p> + +<p>Louisa was writing for the "Atlantic," and receiving +better pay for her work; Anna was happy; +and May absorbed in her art.</p> + +<p>In the summer Miss Alcott had an experience in +caring for a young friend during a temporary fit of +insanity, which she has partially reproduced in the +touching picture of Helen in the story of "Work." +It is a powerful lesson; but it is almost cruelly enforced, +and is an artistic blemish in the book. While +the great problem of heredity should be studied and +its lessons enforced, it is yet a mystery, whose laws +are not understood; and it is not wise to paint its +possible effects in the lurid light of excited imagination, +which may too often bring about the very +evils which a wise and temperate caution might +prevent. For the physician and teacher such investigations +are important; but they are dangerous +to the young and sensitive. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span></p> + +<p>The following unusually long letter gives a pleasing +picture of the family life at this time:–</p> + +<p class="section"> +<i>To Mrs. Bond.</i></p> + +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">Apple Slump</span>, Sept. 17, 1860.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–I consider this a practical illustration +of one of Mother's naughty amended sayings, "Cast your +bread upon the waters, and after many days it will return +buttered;" and this "rule of three" don't "puzzle me," +as the other did; for my venerable raiment went away +with one if not two feet in the grave, and came back in +the guise of three stout angels, having been resurrectionized +by the spirit who lives on the other side of a Charles +River Jordan. Thank you very much, and be sure the +dreams I dream in them will be pleasant ones; for, +whether you sewed them or not, I know they bring some +of the Auntie influence in their strength, softness, and +warmth; and, though a Vandal, I think any prayers I may +say in them will be the better for the affectionate recollections +that will clothe me with the putting on of these +friendly gowns, while my belief in both heavenly and +earthly providences will be amazingly strengthened by +the knowledge of some lives here, whose beauty renders +it impossible to doubt the existence of the life hereafter.</p> + +<p>We were very glad to hear that the Papa was better; +for when paternal "Richards" ain't "themselves," everybody +knows the anxious state of the domestic realms.</p> + +<p>I hope Georgie (last name disremembered) has recovered +from the anguish of discontented teeth and berry-seeds, +and that "the Mama" was as much benefited by +the trip as the other parties were, barring the horse +perhaps.</p> + +<p>This amiable town is convulsed just now with a gymnastic +fever, which shows itself with great violence in all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> +the schools, and young societies generally. Dr. Lewis +has "inoculated us for the disease," and it has "taken +finely;" for every one has become a perambulating +windmill, with all its four sails going as if a wind had set +in; and the most virulent cases present the phenomena +of black eyes and excoriation of the knobby parts of the +frame, to say nothing of sprains and breakage of vessels +looming in the future.</p> + +<p>The City Fathers approve of it; and the city sons +and daughters intend to show that Concord has as much +muscle as brain, and be ready for another Concord fight, +if Louis Napoleon sees fit to covet this famous land of +Emerson, Hawthorne, Thoreau, Alcott, & Co. Abby and +I are among the pioneers; and the delicate vegetable +productions clash their cymbals in private, when the beef-eating +young ladies faint away and become superfluous +<i>dumb belles</i>.</p> + +<p>Saturday we had J. G. Whittier, Charlotte Cushman, +Miss Stebbins the sculptress, and Mr. Stuart, conductor +of the underground railroad of this charming free country. +So you see our humble place of abode is perking +up; and when the "great authoress and artist" are fairly +out of the shell, we shall be an honor to our country and +terror to the foe,–provided good fortune don't addle or +bad fortune smash us.</p> + +<p>Father continues to stir up the schools like a mild +pudding-stick, Mother to sing Hebron among her pots +and pans, Anna and the Prince Consort to bill and coo +in the little dove-cot, Oranthy Bluggage to launch chips +on the Atlantic and make a gigantic blot of herself in +working the vessel, Abby to teach the fine arts and play +propriety for the family, and the old house to put its best +foot foremost and hoot at the idea of ever returning to +the chaos from which it came. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span></p> + +<p>This is a condensed history of "the pathetic family," +which is also a "happy family," owing to the prevalence +of friends and lots of kindness in the original packages, +"which are always arriving" when the "Widow Cruise's +oil-bottle" begins to give out.</p> + +<p>You know I never <i>could</i> do anything in a neat and +proper manner; so you will receive this topsy-turvy note +as you do its writer, and with love to all from all, believe +her, dear auntie,</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Ever lovingly yours,<br /> +<span class="i10">L. M. A.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<p>This characteristic letter not only shows Louisa's +affectionate feelings and gives a picture of her life, +but indicates that "The Pathetic Family," which +was the foundation of "Little Women," was already +shaping itself in her mind.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alcott's career as Superintendent of Schools +was a gratifying success, and is still remembered +by friends of education in the town. The year +closed with a school festival, for which Louisa +wrote a poem, and in which she took hearty +delight.</p> + +<p>In 1861 war was declared with the South. The +Alcotts were all alive with patriotic enthusiasm, +and Louisa took an active part in fitting off the +boys for the army. But she also found time for +much reading. Mr. Alcott, in his sonnet, uses the +expression about Louisa–</p> + +<p class="blockquot"> +<span class="i4">"Hast with grave studies vexed a lively brain."</span></p> + +<p>He may possibly have referred to this period, +though she could never properly be called a student. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> +She was a rapid, intelligent reader, and her taste +was severe and keen. From her childhood she +had browsed in her father's library, full of the +works of ancient philosophers and quaint English +poets, and had imbibed from them great thoughts +and noble sentiments; but her reading, like all her +education, was immethodical. Occasionally she +would lay out courses of reading, which she pursued +for a time; but in general she followed the +cravings of a healthy appetite for knowledge, reading +what came in her way. Later in life she often +read light literature in abundance, to drown the +sensations of pain, and to pass away the hours of +invalidism.</p> + +<p>She read French easily, and learned to speak it +when abroad; she also studied German, but did +not acquire equal facility in that tongue. Of +ancient languages she had no knowledge. History +could not fail to interest such a student of +life, and she loved Nature too well not to enjoy +the revelations of science when brought to her notice; +but she had never time to give to a thorough +study of either.</p> + +<p>In her journal at this time she speaks of her +religious feelings, which the experiences of grief +and despair and reviving hope had deepened. +Louisa Alcott's was a truly religious soul; she +always lived in the consciousness of a Higher +Power sustaining and blessing her, whose presence +was revealed to her through Nature, through the +inspired words of great thinkers and the deep experiences +of her own heart. She never held her +life as an isolated possession which she was free to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> +use for her own enjoyment or glory. Her father +truly called her "Duty's faithful child," and her +life was consecrated to the duty she recognized as +specially hers. But for outward forms and rites of +religion she cared little; her home was sacred to her, +and she found her best life there. She loved Theodore +Parker, and found great strength and help +from his preaching, and afterward liked to listen to +Dr. Bartol; but she never joined any church. The +Bible was not her favorite reading, though her +father had read it much to her in her childhood, +with his own peculiar charm of interpretation. +Pilgrim's Progress was one of the few religious +books which became dear to her in the same +way.</p> + +<p>Her sister Anna was married in May; this was +of course a great event in the family. While fully +rejoicing in her sister's happiness, Louisa felt her +loss as a constant companion and confidant. The +journal gives a sufficient description of the event. +Her strong affection for her brother-in-law appears +in "Little Women" and in "Jo's Boys." About +this time her farce was brought out at the Howard +Athenæum.</p> + +<p>The story-writing continued, as it helped to pay +the expenses of the family; but the continuous, +hurried work had begun to affect her health, and +she occasionally suffered from illness.</p> + +<p>In the summer of 1861 Miss Alcott began to +write her first novel, entitled "Moods;" this proved +to be the least successful of her books, and yet like +many an unfortunate child, it was the dearest to +the mother's heart. It was not written for money, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> +but for its own sake, and she was possessed by the +plot and the characters. Warwick represented her +ideal of a hero, while her sister preferred the type +of the amiable Moor; yet there is far less of her +outward self revealed in this than in her other +stories. It is full of her thoughts and fancies, but +not of her life. The wilful, moody, charming Sylvia +does not affect us like the stormy Jo, who is +a real presence to us, and whom we take to our +hearts in spite of her faults. The men are such as +she found in books, but had never known herself, +and, carefully as she has drawn them, have not +the individuality of Laurie and Professor Bhaer. +The action takes place in an unreal world; and +though there are many pretty scenes, they have +not the real flavor of New England life. The +principal incident, of a young girl going up the +river on a picnic-voyage for some days with her +brother and two other young men, was so contrary +to common ideas of decorum, that the motive +hardly seems sufficient for the staid sister's consent; +but in the simple, innocent life which the +Alcotts lived in Concord such scruples were little +felt.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott did not lay stress upon the marriage +question as the principal feature of the book; she +cared more to describe the wilful moods of a +young girl, full of good feelings, and longing for a +rich and noble life, but not established in convictions +and principles. She meant to represent +much of her own nature in Sylvia, for she was +always a creature of moods, which her family +learned to recognize and respect. But how +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> +unlike was the discipline of family work and +love, which saved Louisa from fatal caprices and +fitful gusts of fancy called passion, to the lot of +the wealthy and admired Sylvia. Miss Alcott +says that the incidents of the marriage, although +not drawn from life, were so close to an actual +case that the wife asked her how she had known +her secret; but such realism is a poor justification +in art. It is that which becomes true to +the imagination and heart through its vivid personation +of character which is accepted, not the +bare facts. The great question of the transcendental +period was truth to the inward life instead +of the outward law. But in "Moods" the marriage +question is not stated strongly; it does not +reach down to this central principle. It is only in +tragedy that such a double relation could be endured, +when the situation is compelled by fate,–the +fate of character and overpowering circumstances,–and +when there is no happy solution +possible. But Sylvia's position is made only by +her own weakness, and the love which stands in +opposition to outward duty has no right of existence. +If her love for Warwick <i>could</i> be overcome, +there was no question of her duty; and when she +accepts Faith's criticism of him, it is clear that it is +a much lighter spell than love which has fascinated +her. We do not accept the catastrophe which +sacrifices a splendid life to make a comfortable +solution of the practical difficulty, and to allow +Sylvia to accept a happy home without a thorough +regeneration of heart and mind. But these were +the natural mistakes of youth and inexperience; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> +Louisa had known but little of such struggles. +Love and marriage were rather uninteresting +themes to her, and she had not yet found her +true power.</p> + +<p>Still the book has great literary merit. It is well +written, in a more finished style than any of her +other work, except "Modern Mephistopheles," and +the dialogue is vigorous and sprightly. In spite of +her careful revision and pruning, there is something +left of youthful gush in it, and this perhaps touched +the heart of young girls, who found in Sylvia's +troubles with herself a reflection of their own.</p> + +<p>The "golden wedding" scenes have some of her +usual freedom and vivacity. She is at home with +a troop of mothers and babies and noisy boys. +But the "golden wedding" was a new importation +from Germany, and not at home in the New England +farmhouse. Why might it not have been a +true wedding or a harvest feast?</p> + +<p>Louisa never lost her interest in this early work, +though it was the most unlucky of books, and subjected +to severe handling. It was sent to and fro +from publisher to author, each one suggesting some +change. Redpath sent it back as being too long. +Ticknor found it very interesting, but could not +use it then. Loring liked it, but wanted it shorter. +She condensed and altered until her author's spirit +rebelled, and she declared she would change it no +more.</p> + +<p>After her other books had made her famous, +"Moods" was again brought forward and republished +as it was originally written. It met with +warmer welcome than before, and a cheap edition +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> +was published in England to supply the popular +demand.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott learned the first painful lesson of +over-work on this book. She was possessed by it, +and for three weeks labored so constantly that she +felt the physical effects keenly. Fortunately new +household tasks (for the daughters of John Brown +came to board with them), and the enthusiasm of +the time, changed the current of her thoughts.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>February</i>, 1860.–Mr. –– won't have "M. L.," as +it is antislavery, and the dear South must not be offended. +Got a carpet with my $50, and wild Louisa's head kept +the feet of the family warm.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–Wrote "A Modern Cinderella," with Nan +for the heroine and John for the hero.</p> + +<p>Made my first ball dress for May, and she was the +finest girl at the party. My tall, blond, graceful girl! I +was proud of her.</p> + +<p>Wrote a song for the school festival, and heard it sung +by four hundred happy children. Father got up the +affair, and such a pretty affair was never seen in Concord +before. He said, "We spend much on our cattle and +flower shows; let us each spring have a show of our +children, and begrudge nothing for their culture." All +liked it but the old fogies who want things as they were +in the ark.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Made two riding habits, and May and I had +some fine rides. Both needed exercise, and this was +good for us. So one of our dreams came true, and we +really did "dash away on horseback."</p> + +<p>Sanborn was nearly kidnapped for being a friend of +John Brown; but his sister and A. W. rescued him when +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> +he was handcuffed, and the scamps drove off. Great +ferment in town. A meeting and general flurry.</p> + +<p>Had a funny lover who met me in the cars, and said +he lost his heart at once. Handsome man of forty. A +Southerner, and very demonstrative and gushing, called +and wished to pay his addresses; and being told I didn't +wish to see him, retired, to write letters and haunt the +road with his hat off, while the girls laughed and had +great fun over Jo's lover. He went at last, and peace +reigned. My adorers are all queer.</p> + +<p>Sent "Cinderella" to the "Atlantic," and it was accepted. +Began "By the River," and thought that this +was certainly to be a lucky year; for after ten years hard +climbing I had reached a good perch on the ladder, and +could look more hopefully into the future, while my paper +boats sailed gaily over the Atlantic.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Meg's wedding.</p> + +<p>My farce was acted, and I went to see it. Not very +well done; but I sat in a box, and the good Doctor +handed up a bouquet to the author, and made as much +as he could of a small affair.</p> + +<p>Saw Anna's honeymoon home at Chelsea,–a little cottage +in a blooming apple-orchard. Pretty place, simple +and sweet. God bless it!</p> + +<p>The dear girl was married on the 23d, the same day +as Mother's wedding. A lovely day; the house full of +sunshine, flowers, friends, and happiness. Uncle S. J. +May married them, with no fuss, but much love; and we +all stood round her. She in her silver-gray silk, with +lilies of the valley (John's flower) in her bosom and +hair. We in gray thin stuff and roses,–sackcloth, I +called it, and ashes of roses; for I mourn the loss of +my Nan, and am not comforted. We have had a little +feast, sent by good Mrs. Judge Shaw; then the old +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> +folks danced round the bridal pair on the lawn in the +German fashion, making a pretty picture to remember, +under our Revolutionary elm.</p> + +<p>Then, with tears and kisses, our dear girl, in her little +white bonnet, went happily away with her good John; +and we ended our first wedding. Mr. Emerson kissed +her; and I thought that honor would make even matrimony +endurable, for he is the god of my idolatry, and +has been for years.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–To Boston to the memorial meeting for Mr. +Parker, which was very beautiful, and proved how much +he was beloved. Music Hall was full of flowers and sunshine, +and hundreds of faces, both sad and proud, as the +various speakers told the life of love and labor which +makes Theodore Parker's memory so rich a legacy to +Boston. I was very glad to have known so good a man, +and been called "friend" by him.</p> + +<p>Saw Nan in her nest, where she and her mate live +like a pair of turtle doves. Very sweet and pretty, but +I'd rather be a free spinster and paddle my own canoe.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–"Moods." Genius burned so fiercely that +for four weeks I wrote all day and planned nearly all +night, being quite possessed by my work. I was perfectly +happy, and seemed to have no wants. Finished +the book, or a rough draught of it, and put it away to +settle. Mr. Emerson offered to read it when Mother +told him it was "Moods" and had one of his sayings +for motto.</p> + +<p>Daresay nothing will ever come of it; but it <i>had</i> to be +done, and I'm the richer for a new experience.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Received $75 of Ticknor for "Cinderella," +and feel very rich. Emerson praised it, and people +wrote to me about it and patted me on the head. Paid +bills, and began to simmer another. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span></p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–I went to B. and saw the Prince of Wales +trot over the Common with his train at a review. A +yellow-haired laddie very like his mother. Fanny W. +and I nodded and waved as he passed, and he openly +winked his boyish eye at us; for Fanny, with her yellow +curls and wild waving, looked rather rowdy, and the poor +little prince wanted some fun. We laughed, and thought +that we had been more distinguished by the saucy wink +than by a stately bow. Boys are always jolly,–even +princes.</p> + +<p>Read Richter, and enjoyed him very much.</p> + +<p>Mother went to see Uncle S. J. May, and I was house-keeper. +Gave my mind to it so energetically that I +dreamed dip-toast, talked apple-sauce, thought pies, and +wept drop-cakes. Read my book to Nan, who came up +to cheer me in my struggles; and she laughed and cried +over it and said it was "good." So I felt encouraged, +and will touch it up when duty no longer orders me to +make a burnt-offering of myself.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Father sixty-one; L. aged twenty-eight. +Our birthday. Gave Father a ream of paper, and he gave +me Emerson's picture; so both were happy.</p> + +<p>Wrote little, being busy with visitors. The John Brown +Association asked me for a poem, which I wrote.</p> + +<p>Kind Miss R. sent May $30 for lessons, so she went to +B. to take some of Johnstone. She is one of the fortunate +ones, and gets what she wants easily. I have to +grub for my help, or go without it. Good for me, doubtless, +or it wouldn't be so; so cheer up, Louisa, and grind +away!</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–More luck for May. She wanted to go +to Syracuse and teach, and Dr. W. sends for her, thanks to +Uncle S. J. May. I sew like a steam-engine for a week, +and get her ready. On the 17th go to B. and see our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> +youngest start on her first little flight alone into the world, +full of hope and courage. May all go well with her!</p> + +<p>Mr. Emerson invited me to his class when they meet +to talk on Genius; a great honor, as all the learned +ladies go.</p> + +<p>Sent "Debby's Debit" to the "Atlantic," and they +took it. Asked to the John Brown meeting, but had no +"good gown," so didn't go; but my "pome" did, and +came out in the paper. Not good. I'm a better patriot +than poet, and couldn't say what I felt.</p> + +<p>A quiet Christmas; no presents but apples and flowers. +No merry-making; for Nan and May were gone, and +Betty under the snow. But we are used to hard times, +and, as Mother says, "while there is a famine in Kansas +we mustn't ask for sugar-plums."</p> + +<p>All the philosophy in our house is not in the study; +a good deal is in the kitchen, where a fine old lady +thinks high thoughts and does kind deeds while she +cooks and scrubs.</p> + +<p><i>January, 1861.</i>–Twenty-eight; received thirteen +New Year's gifts. A most uncommon fit of generosity +seemed to seize people on my behalf, and I was blessed +with all manner of nice things, from a gold and ivory +pen to a mince-pie and a bonnet.</p> + +<p>Wrote on a new book–"Success" ["Work"]–till +Mother fell ill, when I corked up my inkstand and turned +nurse. The dear woman was very ill, but rose up like +a phœnix from her ashes after what she gayly called +"the irrepressible conflict between sickness and the May +constitution."</p> + +<p>Father had four talks at Emerson's; good people +came, and he enjoyed them much; made $30. R. W. E. +probably put in $20. He has a sweet way of bestowing +gifts on the table under a book or behind a candle-stick, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> +when he thinks Father wants a little money, and no one +will help him earn. A true friend is this tender and +illustrious man.</p> + +<p>Wrote a tale and put it away,–to be sent when +"Debby" comes out. "F. T." appeared, and I got a +dress, having mended my six-year old silk till it is more +patch and tear than gown. Made the claret merino myself, +and enjoyed it, as I do anything bought with my +"head-money."</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Another turn at "Moods," which I remodelled. +From the 2d to the 25th I sat writing, with +a run at dusk; could not sleep, and for three days was so +full of it I could not stop to get up. Mother made me +a green silk cap with a red bow, to match the old green +and red party wrap, which I wore as a "glory cloak." +Thus arrayed I sat in groves of manuscripts, "living for +immortality," as May said. Mother wandered in and out +with cordial cups of tea, worried because I couldn't eat. +Father thought it fine, and brought his reddest apples +and hardest cider for my Pegasus to feed upon. All sorts +of fun was going on; but I didn't care if the world returned +to chaos if I and my inkstand only "lit" in the +same place.</p> + +<p>It was very pleasant and queer while it lasted; but +after three weeks of it I found that my mind was too +rampant for my body, as my head was dizzy, legs shaky, +and no sleep would come. So I dropped the pen, and +took long walks, cold baths, and had Nan up to frolic +with me. Read all I had done to my family; and Father +said: "Emerson must see this. Where did you get your +metaphysics?" Mother pronounced it wonderful, and +Anna laughed and cried, as she always does, over my +works, saying, "My dear, I'm proud of you."</p> + +<p>So I had a good time, even if it never comes to anything; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> +for it was worth something to have my three +dearest sit up till midnight listening with wide-open +eyes to Lu's first novel.</p> + +<p>I planned it some time ago, and have had it in my +mind ever so long; but now it begins to take shape.</p> + +<p>Father had his usual school festival, and Emerson asked +me to write a song, which I did. On the 16th the schools +all met in the hall (four hundred),–a pretty posy bed, +with a border of proud parents and friends. Some of the +fogies objected to the names Phillips and John Brown. +But Emerson said: "Give it up? No, no; <i>I</i> will read +it." Which he did, to my great contentment; for when +the great man of the town says "Do it," the thing is +done. So the choir warbled, and the Alcotts were uplifted +in their vain minds.</p> + +<p>Father was in glory, like a happy shepherd with a large +flock of sportive lambs; for all did something. Each +school had its badge,–one pink ribbons, one green +shoulder-knots, and one wreaths of pop-corn on the +curly pates. One school to whom Father had read Pilgrim's +Progress told the story, one child after the other +popping up to say his or her part; and at the end a little +tot walked forward, saying with a pretty air of wonder,–"And +behold it was all a dream."</p> + +<p>When all was over, and Father about to dismiss them, +F. H., a tall, handsome lad came to him, and looking up +confidingly to the benign old face, asked "our dear friend +Mr. Alcott to accept of Pilgrim's Progress and George +Herbert's Poems from the children of Concord, as a token +of their love and respect."</p> + +<p>Father was much touched and surprised, and blushed +and stammered like a boy, hugging the fine books while +the children cheered till the roof rung.</p> + +<p>His report was much admired, and a thousand copies +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> +printed to supply the demand; for it was a new thing to +have a report, neither dry nor dull; and teachers were +glad of the hints given, making education a part of +religion, not a mere bread-making grind for teacher and +an irksome cram for children.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–War declared with the South, and our Concord +company went to Washington. A busy time getting +them ready, and a sad day seeing them off; for in a little +town like this we all seem like one family in times like +these. At the station the scene was very dramatic, as the +brave boys went away perhaps never to come back again.</p> + +<p>I've often longed to see a war, and now I have my +wish. I long to be a man; but as I can't fight, I will +content myself with working for those who can.</p> + +<p>Sewed a good deal getting May's summer things in +order, as she sent for me to make and mend and buy and +send her outfit.</p> + +<p>Stories simmered in my brain, demanding to be writ; +but I let them simmer, knowing that the longer the divine +afflatus was bottled up the better it would be.</p> + +<p>John Brown's daughters came to board, and upset +my plans of rest and writing when the report and the +sewing were done. I had my fit of woe up garret on +the fat rag-bag, and then put my papers away, and +fell to work at housekeeping. I think disappointment +must be good for me, I get so much of it; and the +constant thumping Fate gives me may be a mellowing +process; so I shall be a ripe and sweet old pippin before +I die.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Spent our May-day working for our men,–three +hundred women all sewing together at the hall for +two days.</p> + +<p>May will not return to S. after her vacation in July; and +being a lucky puss, just as she wants something to do, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> +F. B. S. needs a drawing teacher in his school and offers +her the place.</p> + +<p>Nan found that I was wearing all the old clothes she +and May left; so the two dear souls clubbed together +and got me some new ones; and the great parcel, with a +loving letter, came to me as a beautiful surprise.</p> + +<p>Nan and John walked up from Cambridge for a day, +and we all walked back. Took a sail to the forts, and +saw our men on guard there. Felt very martial and +Joan-of-Arc-y as I stood on the walls with the flag flying +over me and cannon all about.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Read a good deal; grubbed in my garden, +and made the old house pretty for May. Enjoyed +Carlyle's French Revolution very much. His earthquaky +style suits me.</p> + +<p>"Charles Auchester" is charming,–a sort of fairy +tale for grown people. Dear old "Evelina," as a change, +was pleasant. Emerson recommended Hodson's India, +and I got it, and liked it; also read Sir Thomas More's +Life. I read Fielding's "Amelia," and thought it coarse +and queer. The heroine having "her lovely nose smashed +all to bits falling from a post shay" was a new idea. +What some one says of Richardson applies to Fielding, +"The virtues of his heroes are the vices of decent +men."</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–Spent a month at the White Mountains with +L. W.,–a lovely time, and it did me much good. +Mountains are restful and uplifting to my mind. Lived +in the woods, and revelled in brooks, birds, pines, and +peace.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–May came home very tired, but satisfied +with her first attempt, which has been very successful in +every way. She is quite a belle now, and much improved,–a +tall blond lass, full of grace and spirit. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span></p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Ticknor sent $50. Wrote a story for C., +as Plato needs new shirts, and Minerva a pair of boots, +and Hebe a fall hat.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–All together on Marmee's birthday. Sewing +and knitting for "our boys" all the time. It seems +as if a few energetic women could carry on the war better +than the men do it so far.</p> + +<p>A week with Nan in the dove-cot. As happy as +ever.</p> + +<p><i>November</i> and <i>December</i>.–Wrote, read, sewed, and +wanted something to do. +</p> +</div> + +<p>In 1862, at the suggestion of Miss Peabody, +Miss Alcott opened a Kindergarten school; but +it was not successful, and she took a final leave +of the teacher's profession, and returned to her +writing, which she found to be her true calling. +She wrote much; for "brain was lively, and +work paid for readily." Besides the occasional +stories in papers and magazines, her most important +labor was the preparation of the story +called "Work," or, as she originally named it, +"Success." This story however was not published +until ten years later. Here she took the +road that was later to lead to fame and fortune, by +writing from her own experience of life. Christie +is Louisa herself under very thin disguise; and +all her own experiences, as servant, governess, +companion, seamstress, and actress are brought +in to give vividness to the picture; while many +other persons may be recognized as models for +her skilful portraiture. The book has always been +deservedly popular. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>January, 1862.</i>–E. P. Peabody wanted me to open +a Kindergarten, and Mr. Barnard gave a room at the +Warren Street Chapel. Don't like to teach, but take +what comes; so when Mr. F. offered $40 to fit up with, +twelve pupils, and his patronage, I began.</p> + +<p>Saw many great people, and found them no bigger than +the rest of the world,–often not half so good as some +humble soul who made no noise. I learned a good deal +in my way, and am not half so much impressed by society +as before I got a peep at it. Having known Emerson, +Parker, Phillips, and that set of really great and good +men and women living for the world's work and service +of God, the mere show people seem rather small and +silly, though they shine well, and feel that they are +stars.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Visited about, as my school did not bring +enough to pay board and the assistant I was made to +have, though I didn't want her.</p> + +<p>Went to lectures; saw Booth at the Goulds',–a handsome, +shy man, glooming in a corner.</p> + +<p>Very tired of this wandering life and distasteful work; +but kept my word and tugged on.</p> + +<p>Hate to visit people who only ask me to help amuse +others, and often longed for a crust in a garret with freedom +and a pen. I never knew before what insolent +things a hostess can do, nor what false positions poverty +can push one into.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Went to and from C. every day that I might +be at home. Forty miles a day is dull work; but I have +my dear people at night, and am not a beggar.</p> + +<p>Wrote "King of Clubs,"–$30. The school having +no real foundation (as the people who sent didn't care +for Kindergartens, and Miss P. wanted me to take pupils +for nothing, to try the new system), I gave it up, as I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> +could do much better at something else. May took my +place for a month, that I might keep my part of the bargain; +and I cleaned house, and wrote a story which +made more than all my months of teaching. They ended +in a wasted winter and a debt of $40,–to be paid if I +sell my hair to do it.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–School finished for me, and I paid Miss N. +by giving her all the furniture, and leaving her to do as +she liked; while I went back to my writing, which pays +much better, though Mr. F. did say, "Stick to your teaching; +you can't write." Being wilful, I said, "I won't +teach; and I can write, and I'll prove it."</p> + +<p>Saw Miss Rebecca Harding, author of "Margret +Howth," which has made a stir, and is very good. A +handsome, fresh, quiet woman, who says she never had +any troubles, though she writes about woes. I told her +I had had lots of troubles; so I write jolly tales; and we +wondered why we each did so.</p> + +<p><i>June</i>, <i>July</i>, <i>August.</i>–Wrote a tale for B., and he lost +it, and wouldn't pay.</p> + +<p>Wrote two tales for L. I enjoy romancing to suit myself; +and though my tales are silly, they are not bad; +and my sinners always have a good spot somewhere. I +hope it is good drill for fancy and language, for I can do +it fast; and Mr. L. says my tales are so "dramatic, vivid, +and full of plot," they are just what he wants.</p> + +<p><i>September</i>, <i>October.</i>–Sewing Bees and Lint Picks for +"our boys" kept us busy, and the prospect of the first +grandchild rejoiced the hearts of the family.</p> + +<p>Wrote much; for brain was lively, and work paid for +readily. Rewrote the last story, and sent it to L., who +wants more than I can send him. So, between blue +flannel jackets for "our boys" and dainty slips for Louisa +Caroline or John B., Jr., as the case may be, I reel off +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> +my "thrilling" tales, and mess up my work in a queer +but interesting way.</p> + +<p>War news bad. Anxious faces, beating hearts, and +busy minds.</p> + +<p>I like the stir in the air, and long for battle like a war-horse +when he smells powder. The blood of the Mays +is up! +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>After Anna's Marriage.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Sunday Morn, 1860.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Pratt</span>:</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Madam</span>,–The news of the town is as +follows, and I present it in the usual journalesque +style of correspondence. After the bridal train had +departed, the mourners withdrew to their respective +homes; and the bereaved family solaced their woe by +washing dishes for two hours and bolting the remains of +the funeral baked meats. At four, having got settled +down, we were all routed up by the appearance of a long +procession of children filing down our lane, headed by +the Misses H. and R. Father rushed into the cellar, and +appeared with a large basket of apples, which went the +rounds with much effect. The light infantry formed in a +semi-circle, and was watered by the matron and maids. +It was really a pretty sight, these seventy children loaded +with wreaths and flowers, standing under the elm in the +sunshine, singing in full chorus the song I wrote for them. +It was a neat little compliment to the superintendent and +his daughter, who was glad to find that her "pome" was +a favorite among the "lads and lasses" who sang it +"with cheery voices, like robins on the tree."</p> + +<p>Father put the finishing stroke to the spectacle by +going off at full speed, hoppity-skip, and all the babes +followed in a whirl of rapture at the idea. He led them +up and down and round and round till they were tired; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> +then they fell into order, and with a farewell song marched +away, seventy of the happiest little ones I ever wish to +see. We subsided, and fell into our beds with the new +thought "Annie is married and gone" for a lullaby, which +was not very effective in its results with all parties.</p> + +<p>Thursday we set our house in order, and at two the +rush began. It had gone abroad that Mr. M. and Mrs. +Captain Brown were to adorn the scene, so many people +coolly came who were not invited, and who had no business +here. People sewed and jabbered till Mrs. Brown, +with Watson Brown's widow and baby came; then a +levee took place. The two pale women sat silent and +serene through the clatter; and the bright-eyed, handsome +baby received the homage of the multitude like a little +king, bearing the kisses and praises with the utmost dignity. +He is named Frederick Watson Brown, after his +murdered uncle and father, and is a fair, heroic-looking +baby, with a fine head, and serious eyes that look about +him as if saying, "I am a Brown! Are these friends or +enemies?" I wanted to cry once at the little scene the +unconscious baby made. Some one caught and kissed +him rudely; he didn't cry, but looked troubled, and +rolled his great eyes anxiously about for some familiar +face to reassure him with its smile. His mother was not +there; but though many hands were stretched to him, he +turned to Grandma Bridge, and putting out his little arms +to her as if she was a refuge, laughed and crowed as +he had not done before when she danced him on her +knee. The old lady looked delighted; and Freddy patted +the kind face, and cooed like a lawful descendant of +that pair of ancient turtle doves.</p> + +<p>When he was safe back in the study, playing alone at +his mother's feet, C. and I went and worshipped in our +own way at the shrine of John Brown's grandson, kissing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> +him as if he were a little saint, and feeling highly honored +when he sucked our fingers, or walked on us with +his honest little red shoes, much the worse for wear.</p> + +<p>Well, the baby fascinated me so that I forgot a raging +headache and forty gabbling women all in full clack. Mrs. +Brown, Sen., is a tall, stout woman, plain, but with a +strong, good face, and a natural dignity that showed she +was something better than a "lady," though she <i>did</i> +drink out of her saucer and used the plainest speech.</p> + +<p>The younger woman had such a patient, heart-broken +face, it was a whole Harper's Ferry tragedy in a look. +When we got your letter, Mother and I ran into the study +to read it. Mother read aloud; for there were only C., A., +I, and Mrs. Brown, Jr., in the room. As she read the +words that were a poem in their simplicity and happiness, +the poor young widow sat with tears rolling down her +face; for I suppose it brought back her own wedding-day, +not two years ago, and all the while she cried the +baby laughed and crowed at her feet as if there was no +trouble in the world.</p> + +<p>The preparations had been made for twenty at the utmost; +so when forty souls with the usual complement of +bodies appeared, we grew desperate, and our neat little +supper turned out a regular "tea fight." A., C., B., and +I rushed like comets to and fro trying to fill the multitude +that would eat fast and drink like sponges. I filled +a big plate with all I could lay hands on, and with two +cups of tea, strong enough for a dozen, charged upon Mr. +E. and Uncle S., telling them to eat, drink, and be merry, +for a famine was at hand. They cuddled into a corner; +and then, feeling that my mission was accomplished, I let +the hungry <i>wait</i> and the thirsty <i>moan</i> for tea, while I +picked out and helped the regular Antislavery set.</p> + +<p>We got through it; but it was an awful hour; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> +Mother wandered in her mind, utterly lost in a grove of +teapots; while B. pervaded the neighborhood demanding +hot water, and we girls sowed cake broadcast through the +land.</p> + +<p>When the plates were empty and the teapots dry, people +wiped their mouths and confessed at last that they +had done. A conversation followed, in which Grandpa B. +and E. P. P. held forth, and Uncle and Father mildly +upset the world, and made a new one in which every one +desired to take a place. Dr. B., Mr. B., T., etc., appeared, +and the rattle continued till nine, when some +Solomon suggested that the Alcotts must be tired, and +every one departed but C. and S. We had a polka by +Mother and Uncle, the lancers by C. and B., and an +<i>étude</i> by S., after which scrabblings of feast appeared, +and we "drained the dregs of every cup," all cakes and +pies we gobbled up, etc.; then peace fell upon us, and +our remains were interred decently. +</p></div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER VII.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">HOSPITAL SKETCHES.</p> + +<p class="p2 center">THOREAU'S FLUTE.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +We sighing said, "Our Pan is dead;<br /> +<span class="i1">His pipe hangs mute beside the river</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,</span><br /> +But Music's airy voice is fled.<br /> +Spring mourns as for untimely frost;<br /> +<span class="i1">The bluebird chants a requiem;</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The willow-blossom waits for him;–</span><br /> +The Genius of the wood is lost." +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Then from the flute, untouched by hands,<br /> +<span class="i1">There came a low, harmonious breath:</span><br /> +<span class="i1">"For such as he there is no death;–</span><br /> +His life the eternal life commands;<br /> +Above man's aims his nature rose.<br /> +<span class="i1">The wisdom of a just content</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Made one small spot a continent,</span><br /> +And tuned to poetry life's prose.</p> + +<p class="stanza">"Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,<br /> +<span class="i1">Swallow and aster, lake and pine,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">To him grew human or divine,–</span><br /> +Fit mates for this large-hearted child.<br /> +Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,<br /> +<span class="i1">And yearly on the coverlid</span><br /> +<span class="i1">'Neath which her darling lieth hid</span><br /> +Will write his name in violets.</p> + +<p class="stanza">"To him no vain regrets belong<br /> +<span class="i1">Whose soul, that finer instrument,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Gave to the world no poor lament,</span><br /> +But wood-notes ever sweet and strong.<br /> +O lonely friend! he still will be<br /> +<span class="i1">A potent presence, though unseen,–</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Steadfast, sagacious, and serene;</span><br /> +Seek not for him–he is with thee."</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">M</span>ISS ALCOTT could not help feeling deeply +the excitement of the hour when the war +broke out. Her father had been one of the earliest +Abolitionists, having joined the Antislavery Society +with Garrison, and she well remembered the +fugitive slave whom her mother had hidden in the +oven. Now this feeling could be united with her +patriotic zeal and her strong love of active life, and +it was inevitable that she should long to share personally +in the dangers and excitement of the war.</p> + +<p>Louisa had always been the nurse in the family, +and had by nature the magnetic power which +encourages and helps the feeble and suffering; +therefore, since no other way of serving the cause +opened to her, it was most like her to take her +own life in her hands and join the corps of devoted +nurses. She was accepted, and went to Washington. +Her journal gives an account of her situation +in the Union Hospital at Georgetown. It was +a small hospital, much inferior in its appointments +to those which were afterward arranged. Although +Louisa had never been very ill up to that +time, and thought herself exceptionally strong, yet +she had not the rugged constitution fit to bear the +labors and exposures of such a position; and the +healthful habits of outdoor life and simple food to +which she had always been accustomed made the +conditions of the crowded, ill-ventilated hospital +peculiarly perilous to her. She says, "I was never +ill before this time, and never well afterward."</p> + +<p>But with all its hardships, Miss Alcott found in +the hospital the varied and intense human life she +had longed to know. Her great heart went out to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> +all the men, black or white, the Virginia blacksmith +and the rough Michigander. She even tried to +befriend the one solitary rebel who had got left +behind, and who was taken into the hospital to the +disgust of some of the men; but he was impervious +to all kindness, and she could find nothing +in him for sympathy or romance to fasten upon.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott remained in the hospital only about +six weeks. Yet this short period had a very strong +influence, both for good and evil, on her future +life. The severe attack of fever which drove her +from her post left her with shattered nerves and +weakened constitution, and she never again knew +the fulness of life and health which she had before. +The chamber in her quiet home at Concord +was evermore haunted by the fearful visions of delirium, +and she could not regain there the peace +she needed for work. But the experience of life, +the observation of men under the excitement of +war, the way in which they met the great conqueror +Death, the revelations of heroism and love, +and sometimes of bitterness and hate, brought +her a deeper insight into human life than she +ever had before, and gave to her writings greater +reality.</p> + +<p>Louisa constantly wrote to the family of her +experiences, and these letters were so interesting +that she was persuaded to publish them in the +"Commonwealth" newspaper. They attracted +great attention, and first made her widely and +favorably known to a higher public than that +which had read her stories.</p> + +<p>These letters were published by James Redpath +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> +in book form, and Miss Alcott received $200 for +the book,–a welcome sum to her at that time. +The sketches are almost a literal reproduction of +her letters to her family; but as they have been +so extensively read, and are accessible to every +one, I shall give in preference to them extracts +from her journal kept at the hospital. Other +stories growing out of her experience in the hospital, +or more remotely connected with it, have +been published in the same volume in later editions. +"My Contraband" is one of the most dramatic +and powerful stories she ever wrote. She +portrays the intensity of hatred in a noble nature,–hatred +justified by the provocation, and +yet restrained from fatal execution by the highest +suggestions of religion. This story called forth a +letter of commendation and frank criticism from +Col. T. W. Higginson, which was very encouraging +to the young writer.</p> + +<p>The beautiful lines on Thoreau's flute, the most +perfect of her poems, excepting the exquisite tribute +to her mother, were first composed in the +watches of the night in the hospital, and afterwards +recalled during the tedious days of convalescence +at Concord. This poem was printed in +the "Atlantic," and brought her a welcome ten-dollar +bill.</p> + +<p>"Hospital Sketches" were hastily written, and +with little regard to literary execution, but they +are fresh and original, and, still more, they are +true, and they appeared at just the time the public +wanted them. Every heart was longing to hear +not only from field and camp, but from the hospitals, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> +where sons and brothers were tenderly cared +for. The generous, hopeful spirit with which Miss +Alcott entered into the work was recognized as +that which animated the brave corps of women +who answered so promptly to their country's call, +and every loyal and loving heart vibrated in unison +with the strings she touched so skilfully.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal kept at the Hospital, Georgetown, D. C., +1862.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>November.</i>–Thirty years old. Decided to go to +Washington as nurse if I could find a place. Help +needed, and I love nursing, and <i>must</i> let out my pent-up +energy in some new way. Winter is always a hard and a +dull time, and if I am away there is one less to feed and +warm and worry over.</p> + +<p>I want new experiences, and am sure to get 'em if I +go. So I've sent in my name, and bide my time writing +tales, to leave all snug behind me, and mending up my +old clothes,–for nurses don't need nice things, thank +Heaven!</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–On the 11th I received a note from Miss +H. M. Stevenson telling me to start for Georgetown next +day to fill a place in the Union Hotel Hospital. Mrs. +Ropes of Boston was matron, and Miss Kendall of Plymouth +was a nurse there, and though a hard place, help +was needed. I was ready, and when my commander +said "March!" I marched. Packed my trunk, and +reported in B. that same evening.</p> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus147" id="illus147"></a> +<img src="images/illus147.jpg" width="650" height="612" alt="From a photograph of Miss Alcott" /> +<p class="caption">From a photograph of Miss Alcott taken about 1862.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>We had all been full of courage till the last moment +came; then we all broke down. I realized that I had +taken my life in my hand, and might never see them all +again. I said, "Shall I stay, Mother?" as I hugged her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> +close. "No, go! and the Lord be with you!" answered +the Spartan woman; and till I turned the corner she +bravely smiled and waved her wet handkerchief on the +door-step. Shall I ever see that dear old face again?</p> + +<p>So I set forth in the December twilight, with May and +Julian Hawthorne as escort, feeling as if I was the son of +the house going to war.</p> + +<p>Friday, the 12th, was a very memorable day, spent in +running all over Boston to get my pass, etc., calling for +parcels, getting a tooth filled, and buying a veil,–my +only purchase. A. C. gave me some old clothes; the +dear Sewalls money for myself and boys, lots of love +and help; and at 5 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, saying "good-by" to a group +of tearful faces at the station, I started on my long journey, +full of hope and sorrow, courage and plans.</p> + +<p>A most interesting journey into a new world full of +stirring sights and sounds, new adventures, and an ever-growing +sense of the great task I had undertaken.</p> + +<p>I said my prayers as I went rushing through the country +white with tents, all alive with patriotism, and already +red with blood.</p> + +<p>A solemn time, but I'm glad to live in it; and am +sure it will do me good whether I come out alive or +dead.</p> + +<p>All went well, and I got to Georgetown one evening +very tired. Was kindly welcomed, slept in my narrow +bed with two other room-mates, and on the morrow began +my new life by seeing a poor man die at dawn, and +sitting all day between a boy with pneumonia and a man +shot through the lungs. A strange day, but I did my +best; and when I put mother's little black shawl round +the boy while he sat up panting for breath, he smiled +and said, "You are real motherly, ma'am." I felt as if +I was getting on. The man only lay and stared with his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> +big black eyes, and made me very nervous. But all were +well behaved; and I sat looking at the twenty strong +faces as they looked back at me,–the only new thing +they had to amuse them,–hoping that I looked "motherly" +to them; for my thirty years made me feel old, +and the suffering round me made me long to comfort +every one.</p> + +<p><i>January, 1863. Union Hotel Hospital, Georgetown, +D. C.</i>–I never began the year in a stranger place +than this: five hundred miles from home, alone, among +strangers, doing painful duties all day long, and leading +a life of constant excitement in this great house, surrounded +by three or four hundred men in all stages of +suffering, disease, and death. Though often homesick, +heartsick, and worn out, I like it, find real pleasure in +comforting, tending, and cheering these poor souls who +seem to love me, to feel my sympathy though unspoken, +and acknowledge my hearty good-will, in spite of the +ignorance, awkwardness, and bashfulness which I cannot +help showing in so new and trying a situation. The men +are docile, respectful, and affectionate, with but few exceptions; +truly lovable and manly many of them. John +Sulie, a Virginia blacksmith, is the prince of patients; +and though what we call a common man in education +and condition, to me is all I could expect or ask from +the first gentleman in the land. Under his plain speech +and unpolished manner I seem to see a noble character, +a heart as warm and tender as a woman's, a nature fresh +and frank as any child's. He is about thirty, I think, +tall and handsome, mortally wounded, and dying royally +without reproach, repining, or remorse. Mrs. Ropes +and myself love him, and feel indignant that such a man +should be so early lost; for though he might never distinguish +himself before the world, his influence and example +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> +cannot be without effect, for real goodness is never +wasted.</p> + +<p><i>Monday, 4th.</i>–I shall record the events of a day as +a sample of the days I spend:–</p> + +<p>Up at six, dress by gaslight, run through my ward and +throw up the windows, though the men grumble and +shiver; but the air is bad enough to breed a pestilence; +and as no notice is taken of our frequent appeals for +better ventilation, I must do what I can. Poke up the +fire, add blankets, joke, coax, and command; but continue +to open doors and windows as if life depended +upon it. Mine does, and doubtless many another, for +a more perfect pestilence-box than this house I never +saw,–cold, damp, dirty, full of vile odors from wounds, +kitchens, wash-rooms, and stables. No competent head, +male or female, to right matters, and a jumble of good, +bad, and indifferent nurses, surgeons, and attendants, to +complicate the chaos still more.</p> + +<p>After this unwelcome progress through my stifling +ward, I go to breakfast with what appetite I may; find +the uninvitable fried beef, salt butter, husky bread, and +washy coffee; listen to the clack of eight women and a +dozen men,–the first silly, stupid, or possessed of one +idea; the last absorbed with their breakfast and themselves +to a degree that is both ludicrous and provoking, +for all the dishes are ordered down the table <i>full</i> and +returned <i>empty</i>; the conversation is entirely among +themselves, and each announces his opinion with an air +of importance that frequently causes me to choke in my +cup, or bolt my meals with undignified speed lest a laugh +betray to these famous beings that a "chiel's amang +them takin' notes."</p> + +<p>Till noon I trot, trot, giving out rations, cutting up +food for helpless "boys," washing faces, teaching my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> +attendants how beds are made or floors are swept, dressing +wounds, taking Dr. F. P.'s orders (privately wishing +all the time that he would be more gentle with my big +babies), dusting tables, sewing bandages, keeping my +tray tidy, rushing up and down after pillows, bed-linen, +sponges, books, and directions, till it seems as if I would +joyfully pay down all I possess for fifteen minutes' rest. +At twelve the big bell rings, and up comes dinner for the +boys, who are always ready for it and never entirely satisfied. +Soup, meat, potatoes, and bread is the bill of fare. +Charley Thayer, the attendant, travels up and down the +room serving out the rations, saving little for himself, yet +always thoughtful of his mates, and patient as a woman +with their helplessness. When dinner is over, some sleep, +many read, and others want letters written. This I like +to do, for they put in such odd things, and express their +ideas so comically, I have great fun interiorally, while as +grave as possible exteriorally. A few of the men word +their paragraphs well and make excellent letters. John's +was the best of all I wrote. The answering of letters +from friends after some one had died is the saddest and +hardest duty a nurse has to do.</p> + +<p>Supper at five sets every one to running that can run; +and when that flurry is over, all settle down for the evening +amusements, which consist of newspapers, gossip, +the doctor's last round, and, for such as need them, the +final doses for the night. At nine the bell rings, gas is +turned down, and day nurses go to bed. Night nurses +go on duty, and sleep and death have the house to +themselves.</p> + +<p>My work is changed to night watching, or half night +and half day,–from twelve to twelve. I like it, as it +leaves me time for a morning run, which is what I need +to keep well; for bad air, food, and water, work and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> +watching, are getting to be too much for me. I trot up +and down the streets in all directions, sometimes to the +Heights, then half way to Washington, again to the hill, +over which the long trains of army wagons are constantly +vanishing and ambulances appearing. That way the fighting +lies, and I long to follow.</p> + +<p>Ordered to keep my room, being threatened with +pneumonia. Sharp pain in the side, cough, fever, and +dizziness. A pleasant prospect for a lonely soul five +hundred miles from home! Sit and sew on the boys' +clothes, write letters, sleep, and read; try to talk and +keep merry, but fail decidedly, as day after day goes, and +I feel no better. Dream awfully, and wake unrefreshed, +think of home, and wonder if I am to die here, as Mrs. +R., the matron, is likely to do. Feel too miserable to +care much what becomes of me. Dr. S. creaks up twice +a day to feel my pulse, give me doses, and ask if I am +at all consumptive, or some other cheering question. +Dr. O. examines my lungs and looks sober. Dr. J. +haunts the room, coming by day and night with wood, +cologne, books, and messes, like a motherly little man as +he is. Nurses fussy and anxious, matron dying, and +everything very gloomy. They want me to go home, +but I <i>won't</i> yet.</p> + +<p><i>January 16th.</i>–Was amazed to see Father enter the +room that morning, having been telegraphed to by order +of Mrs. R. without asking leave. I was very angry at +first, though glad to see him, because I knew I should +have to go. Mrs. D. and Miss Dix came, and pretty +Miss W., to take me to Willard's to be cared for by them. +I wouldn't go, preferring to keep still, being pretty ill by +that time.</p> + +<p>On the 21st I suddenly decided to go home, feeling +very strangely, and dreading to be worse. Mrs. R. died, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> +and that frightened the doctors about me; for my trouble +was the same,–typhoid pneumonia. Father, Miss K., +and Lizzie T. went with me. Miss Dix brought a basket +full of bottles of wine, tea, medicine, and cologne, besides +a little blanket and pillow, a fan, and a testament. She +is a kind old soul, but very queer and arbitrary.</p> + +<p>Was very sorry to go, and "my boys" seemed sorry +to have me. Quite a flock came to see me off; but +I was too sick to have but a dim idea of what was +going on.</p> + +<p>Had a strange, excited journey of a day and night,–half +asleep, half wandering, just conscious that I was +going home; and, when I got to Boston, of being taken +out of the car, with people looking on as if I was a sight. +I daresay I was all blowzed, crazy, and weak. Was too +sick to reach Concord that night, though we tried to do +so. Spent it at Mr. Sewall's; had a sort of fit; they +sent for Dr. H., and I had a dreadful time of it.</p> + +<p>Next morning felt better, and at four went home. +Just remember seeing May's shocked face at the depot, +Mother's bewildered one at home, and getting to bed in +the firm belief that the house was roofless, and no one +wanted to see me.</p> + +<p>As I never shall forget the strange fancies that haunted +me, I shall amuse myself with recording some of them.</p> + +<p>The most vivid and enduring was the conviction that I +had married a stout, handsome Spaniard, dressed in black +velvet, with very soft hands, and a voice that was continually +saying, "Lie still, my dear!" This was Mother, +I suspect; but with all the comfort I often found in her +presence, there was blended an awful fear of the Spanish +spouse who was always coming after me, appearing out +of closets, in at windows, or threatening me dreadfully +all night long. I appealed to the Pope, and really got +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> +up and made a touching plea in something meant for +Latin, they tell me. Once I went to heaven, and found +it a twilight place, with people darting through the air in +a queer way,–all very busy, and dismal, and ordinary. +Miss Dix, W. H. Channing, and other people were there; +but I thought it dark and "slow," and wished I hadn't +come.</p> + +<p>A mob at Baltimore breaking down the door to get +me, being hung for a witch, burned, stoned, and otherwise +maltreated, were some of my fancies. Also being +tempted to join Dr. W. and two of the nurses in worshipping +the Devil. Also tending millions of rich men +who never died or got well.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Recovered my senses after three weeks +of delirium, and was told I had had a very bad typhoid +fever, had nearly died, and was still very sick. All of +which seemed rather curious, for I remembered nothing +of it. Found a queer, thin, big-eyed face when I looked +in the glass; didn't know myself at all; and when I +tried to walk discovered that I couldn't, and cried because +my legs wouldn't go.</p> + +<p>Never having been sick before, it was all new and very +interesting when I got quiet enough to understand matters. +Such long, long nights; such feeble, idle days; +dozing, fretting about nothing; longing to eat, and no +mouth to do it with,–mine being so sore, and full of all +manner of queer sensations, it was nothing but a plague. +The old fancies still lingered, seeming so real I believed +in them, and deluded Mother and May with the most +absurd stories, so soberly told that they thought them +true.</p> + +<p>Dr. B. came every day, and was very kind. Father +and Mother were with me night and day, and May sang +"Birks of Aberfeldie," or read to me, to wile away the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> +tiresome hours. People sent letters, money, kind inquiries, +and goodies for the old "Nuss." I tried to sew, +read, and write, and found I had to begin all over again. +Received $10 for my labors in Washington. Had all my +hair, a yard and a half long, cut off, and went into caps +like a grandma. Felt badly about losing my one beauty. +Never mind, it might have been my head, and a wig +outside is better than a loss of wits inside.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–Began to get about a little, sitting up nearly +all day, eating more regularly, and falling back into my +old ways. My first job was characteristic: I cleared +out my piece-bags and dusted my books, feeling as tired +as if I had cleaned the whole house. Sat up till nine +one night, and took no lunch at three <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>,–two facts +which I find carefully recorded in my pocket diary in my +own shaky handwriting.</p> + +<p>Father had two courses of conversations: one at Mr. +Quincy's, very select and fine; the other at a hall not so +good. He was tired out with taking care of me, poor +old gentleman; and typhus was not inspiring.</p> + +<p>Read a great deal, being too feeble to do much else. +No end of rubbish, with a few good things as ballast. +"Titan" was the one I enjoyed the most, though it tired +my weak wits to read much at a time. Recalled, and +wrote some lines on "Thoreau's Flute," which I composed +one night on my watch by little Shaw at the +hospital.</p> + +<p>On the 28th Father came home from Boston, bringing +word that Nan had a fine boy. We all screamed out +when he burst in, snowy and beaming; then Mother +began to cry, May to laugh, and I to say, like B. Trotwood, +"There, I knew it wouldn't be a girl!" We were +all so glad it was safely over, and a jolly little lad was +added to the feminine family. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span></p> + +<p>Mother went straight down to be sure that "mother +and child were doing well," and I fell to cleaning house, +as good work for an invalid and a vent for a happy +aunt. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>First Birth in the Alcott and Pratt Branch, 1863.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Monday Eve.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Little Mother</span>,–Allow me to ask who +was a true prophet.</p> + +<p>Also to demand, "Where is my niece, Louisa Caroline?"</p> + +<p>No matter, I will forgive you, and propose three cheers +for my <i>nephew</i>. Hurrah! hurrah! Hurray!</p> + +<p>I wish you could have seen the performance on Saturday +evening.</p> + +<p>We were all sitting deep in a novel, not expecting +Father home owing to the snowstorm, when the door +burst open, and in he came, all wet and white, waving +his bag, and calling out, "Good news! good news! +Anna has a fine boy!"</p> + +<p>With one accord we opened our mouths and screamed +for about two minutes. Then Mother began to cry; I +began to laugh; and May to pour out questions; while +Papa beamed upon us all,–red, damp, and shiny, the +picture of a proud old Grandpa. Such a funny evening +as we had! Mother kept breaking down, and each time +emerged from her handkerchief saying solemnly, "I must +go right down and see that baby!" Father had told +every one he met, from Mr. Emerson to the coach driver, +and went about the house saying, "Anna's boy! yes, +yes, Anna's boy!" in a mild state of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>May and I at once taxed our brains for a name, and +decided upon "Amos Minot Bridge Bronson May Sewall +Alcott Pratt," so that all the families would be suited. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span></p> + +<p>I was so anxious to hear more that I went up to town +this <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> and found John's note.</p> + +<p>Grandma and Grandpa Pratt came to hear the great +news; but we could only inform them of the one tremendous +fact, that Pratt, Jr., had condescended to arrive. +Now tell us his weight, inches, color, etc.</p> + +<p>I know I shall fall down and adore when I see that +mite; yet my soul is rent when I think of the <i>L. C.</i> on +the pincushion, and all the plans I had made for "my +niece."</p> + +<p>Now get up quickly, and be a happy mamma. Of +course John does <i>not</i> consider his son as <i>the</i> most amazing +product of the nineteenth century.</p> + +<p>Bless the baby!</p> + +<p class="sig"> +Ever your admiring <span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>April.</i>–Had some pleasant walks and drives, and felt +as if born again, everything seemed so beautiful and new. +I hope I was, and that the Washington experience may +do me lasting good. To go very near to death teaches +one to value life, and this winter will always be a very +memorable one to me.</p> + +<p>Sewed on little shirts and gowns for my blessed +nephew, who increased rapidly in stature and godliness.</p> + +<p>Sanborn asked me to do what Conway suggested before +he left for Europe; viz., to arrange my letters in a printable +shape, and put them in the "Commonwealth." +They thought them witty and pathetic. I didn't; but I +wanted money; so I made three hospital sketches. Much +to my surprise, they made a great hit; and people bought +the papers faster than they could be supplied. The second, +"A Night" was much liked, and I was glad; for +my beautiful "John Sulie" was the hero, and the praise +belonged to him. More were wanted; and I added a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> +postscript in the form of a letter, which finished it up, as +I then thought.</p> + +<p>Received $100 from F. L. for a tale which won the +prize last January; paid debts, and was glad that my +winter bore visible fruit. Sent L. another tale. Went to +Boston, and saw "our baby;" thought him ugly, but +promising. Got a set of furniture for my room,–a long-talked-of +dream of ours.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Spent the first week or two in putting the +house in order. May painted and papered the parlors. +I got a new carpet and rug besides the paper, and put +things to rights in a thorough manner. Mother was away +with Nan, so we had full sweep; and she came home to +a clean, fresh house.</p> + +<p>Nan and the Royal Infanta came as bright as a whole +gross of buttons, and as good as a hairless brown angel. +Went to Readville, and saw the 54th Colored Regiment, +both there and next day in town as they left for +the South. Enjoyed it very much; also the Antislavery +meetings.</p> + +<p>Had a fresh feather in my cap; for Mrs. Hawthorne +showed Fields "Thoreau's Flute," and he desired it for +the "Atlantic." Of course I didn't say no. It was +printed, copied, praised, and glorified; also <i>paid for</i>, and +being a mercenary creature, I liked the $10 nearly as +well as the honor of being "a new star" and "a literary +celebrity."</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Began to write again on "Moods," feeling encouraged +by the commendation bestowed on "Hospital +Sketches," which were noticed, talked of, and inquired +about, much to my surprise and delight. Had a fine +letter from Henry James, also one from Wasson, and a +request from Redpath to be allowed to print the sketches +in a book. <i>Roberts Bros. also asked, but I preferred the</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> +<i>Redpath</i>, and said yes; so he fell to work with all his +might.</p> + +<p>Went to Class Day for the first time; had a pleasant +day seeing new sights and old friends.</p> + +<p>G. H. came to the H.'s. Didn't like her as well as +Miss H.; too sharp and full of herself; insisted on talking +about religion with Emerson, who glided away from +the subject so sweetly, yet resolutely, that the energetic +lady gave it up at last.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[1877.–Short-sighted Louisa! Little did you dream that +this same Roberts Bros. were to help you to make your fortune +a few years later. The "Sketches" never made much money, +but showed me "my style," and taking the hint, I went where +glory waited me.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>July.</i>–Sanborn asked for more contributions, and I +gave him some of my old Mountain Letters vamped up. +They were not good, and though they sold the paper, I +was heartily ashamed of them, and stopped in the middle, +resolving never again to try to be funny, lest I should be +rowdy and nothing more. I'm glad of the lesson, and +hope it will do me good.</p> + +<p>Had some pleasant letters from Sergeant Bain,–one +of my boys who has not forgotten me, though safely at +home far away in Michigan. It gratified me very much, +and brought back the hospital days again. He was a +merry, brave little fellow, and I liked him very much. +His right arm was amputated after Fredericksburg, and +he took it very cheerfully, trying at once to train his left +hand to do duty for both, and never complained of his +loss. "Baby B."</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–Redpath carried on the publishing of the +"Sketches" vigorously, sending letters, proof, and notices +daily, and making all manner of offers, suggestions, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> +prophecies concerning the success of the book and its +author.</p> + +<p>Wrote a story, "My Contraband," and sent it to Fields, +who accepted and paid $50 for it, with much approbation +for it and the "Sketches." L. sent $40 for a story, and +wanted another.</p> + +<p>Major M. invited me to Gloucester; but I refused, being +too busy and too bashful to be made a lion of, even +in a very small way. Letters from Dr. Hyde, Wilkie +(home with a wound from Wagner), Charles Sumner, +Mr. Hale, and others,–all about the little "Sketches," +which keep on making friends for me, though I don't +get used to the thing at all, and think it must be all +a mistake.</p> + +<p>On the 25th my first morning-glory bloomed in my +room,–a hopeful blue,–and at night up came my +book in its new dress. I had added several chapters to +it, and it was quite a neat little affair. An edition of +one thousand, and I to have five cents on each copy.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Redpath anxious for another book. Send +him a volume of stories and part of a book to look at. +He likes both; but I decide on waiting a little, as I'm +not satisfied with the stories, and the novel needs time. +"Sketches" sell well, and a new edition is called for.</p> + +<p>Dear old Grandma died at Aunt Betsey's in her eighty-ninth +year,–a good woman, and much beloved by her +children. I sent money to help lay her away; for Aunt +B. is poor, and it was all I could do for the kind little old +lady.</p> + +<p>Nan and Freddy made us a visit, and we decided that +of all splendid babies he was the king. Such a hearty, +happy, funny boy, I could only play with and adore him +all the while he stayed, and long for him when he went. +Nan and John are very fond of "our son," and well they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> +may be. Grandma and Grandpa think him perfect, and +even artistic Aunty May condescends to say he is "a +very nice thing."</p> + +<p>"My Contraband; or, The Brothers," my story in the +"Atlantic," came out, and was liked. Received $40 +from Redpath for "Sketches,"–first edition; wanted +me to be editor of a paper; was afraid to try, and let +it go.</p> + +<p>Poor old "Moods" came out for another touching +up.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Thought much about going to Port Royal +to teach contrabands. Fields wanted the letters I should +write, and asked if I had no book. Father spoke of +"Moods," and he desired to see it. So I fell to work, +and finished it off, thinking the world must be coming +to an end, and all my dreams getting fulfilled in a most +amazing way. If there was ever an astonished young +woman, it is myself; for things have gone on so swimmingly +of late I don't know who I am. A year ago I +had no publisher, and went begging with my wares; now +<i>three</i> have asked me for something, several papers are +ready to print my contributions, and F. B. S. says "any +publisher this side of Baltimore would be glad to get a +book." There is a sudden hoist for a meek and lowly +scribbler, who was told to "stick to her teaching," and +never had a literary friend to lend a helping hand! Fifteen +years of hard grubbing may be coming to something +after all; and I may yet "pay all the debts, fix the +house, send May to Italy, and keep the old folks cosey," +as I've said I would so long, yet so hopelessly.</p> + +<p>May began to take anatomical drawing lessons of Rimmer. +I was very glad to be able to pay her expenses up +and down and clothe her neatly. Twenty dollars more +from Redpath on account. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span></p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Earnings 1863, $380.</p> + +<p>The principal event of this otherwise quiet month was +the Sanitary Fair in Boston, and our part in it. At G. G. +B.'s request, I dramatized six scenes from Dickens, and +went to town on the 14th to play. Things did not go +well for want of a good manager and more time. Our +night was not at all satisfactory to us, owing to the falling +through of several scenes for want of actors. People +seemed to like what there was of it, and after a wearisome +week I very gladly came home again. Our six +entertainments made twenty-five hundred dollars for +the Fair.</p> + +<p>Rewrote the fairy tales, one of which was published; +but owing to delays it was late for the holidays, and badly +bound in the hurry; so the poor "Rose Family" fared +badly.</p> + +<p>Had a letter from the publisher of a new magazine, +called the "Civil Service Magazine," asking for a long +tale. Had no time to write one; but will by and by, if +the thing is good.</p> + +<p>While in town received $10 of F. B. S. and $20 of +Redpath, with which I bought May hat, boots, gloves, +ribbons, and other little matters, besides furnishing money +for her fares up and down to Rimmer.</p> + +<p><i>January, 1864.</i>–New Year's Day was a very quiet +one. Nan and Freddy were here, and in the evening we +went to a dance at the hall. A merry time; for all the +town was there, as it was for the Soldiers' Aid Society, +and every one wanted to help. Nan and I sat in the +gallery, and watched the young people dance the old +year out, the new year in as the clock struck twelve.</p> + +<p>On looking over my accounts, I find I have earned by +my <i>writing</i> alone nearly <i>six hundred dollars</i> since last +January, and spent less than a hundred for myself, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> +I am glad to know. May has had $70 for herself, and +the rest has paid debts or bought necessary things for +the family.</p> + +<p>Received from the "Commonwealth" $18 for "A +Hospital Christmas." Wrote a fairy tale, "Fairy Pinafores." +"Picket Duty" and other tales came out,–first +of Redpath's series of books for the "Camp Fires." +Richardson sent again for a long story for the "Civil +Service Magazine." Tried a war story, but couldn't +make it go.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Nan quite sick again. Mother passed +most of the month with her; so I had to be housekeeper, +and let my writing go,–as well perhaps, as my wits are +tired, and the "divine afflatus" don't descend as readily +as it used to do. Must wait and fill up my idea-box before +I begin again. There is nothing like work to set +fancy a-going.</p> + +<p>Redpath came flying up on the 4th to get "Moods," +promising to have it out by May. Gave it to him with +many fears, and he departed content. The next day received +a telegram to come down at once and see the +printers. Went, and was told the story was too long for +a single volume, and a two-volume novel was bad to begin +with. Would I cut the book down about half? No, +I wouldn't, having already shortened it all it would bear. +So I took my "opus" and posted home again, promising +to try and finish my shorter book in a month.</p> + +<p>A dull, heavy month, grubbing in the kitchen, sewing, +cleaning house, and trying to like my duty.</p> + +<p>Mrs. S. takes a great fancy to May; sends her flowers, +offers to pay for her to go to the new Art School, and arranges +everything delightfully for her. She is a fortunate +girl, and always finds some one to help her as she wants +to be helped. Wish I could do the same, but suppose as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> +I never do that it is best for me to work and wait and do +all for myself.</p> + +<p>Mr. Storrs, D.D., wrote for a sketch for his little paper, +"The Drum Beat," to be printed during the Brooklyn +Sanitary Fair. A very cordial, pleasant letter, which I +answered by a little sketch called "A Hospital Lamp." +He sent me another friendly letter, and all the daily +papers as they came out. A very gentlemanly D.D. is +Dr. Storrs. +</p> +</div> + +<p>The "Hospital Sketches" were fully entitled to +their wide and rapid popularity; and for the first +time perhaps Miss Alcott felt sure of her vocation, +and knew that it would bring at last the success +which would enable her to carry out her plans for +the family. And yet the battle was not over. +She gained in reputation, was received with great +attention in society, and lionized more than she +cared for. But she still continued writing stories +for the various papers at very low prices. Some +of them were refused by the publishers, as she +thinks, on account of the Antislavery sentiments +expressed in them. Her "blood and thunder" +stories continued in demand, and she wrote them +rapidly, and was glad of the money they brought. +But she had not yet found her true path, and +she suffered at times from keen depression of +spirits; for the way seemed long and dark, and +she did not see the end. In more than one +sense she struggled with Moods; for that unhappy +book was still tossed from publisher to +publisher, who gave her much praise, but no +satisfaction. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span></p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +A busy month getting settled. Freddy's birthday on +the 28th, one year old. He had a dozen nice little presents +laid out in a row when he came down to breakfast, +and seemed quite overpowered with his riches. On being +told to take what he liked best, he chose the picture of +little Samuel which Father gave him, and the good pope +was much delighted at that.</p> + +<p>Was asked for a poem for the great album at the St. +Louis Fair, and sent "Thoreau's Flute" as my best. +Also received a letter from the Philadelphia managers +asking contributions for the paper to be printed at their +Fair.</p> + +<p>Wrote nothing this month.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–At Father's request I sent "Moods" to T., +and got a very friendly note from him, saying they had +so many books on hand that they could do nothing about +it now. So I put it back on the shelf, and set about my +other work. Don't despair, "Moods," we'll try again +by and by!</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Alas! we did try again.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Wrote the first part of a story for Professor C. called +"Love and Loyalty,"–flat, patriotic, and done to order. +Wrote a new fairy tale, "Nelly's Hospital."</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Had a letter from Mrs. Gildersleeve, asking +for my photograph and a sketch of my life, for a book +called "Heroic Women" which she was getting up. +Respectfully refused. Also a letter and flattering notice +from "Ruth Hall," and a notice from a Chicago critic +with a long extract from "Rose Family." My tale +"Enigmas" came out, and was much liked by readers +of sensation rubbish. Having got my $50, I was +resigned. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span></p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–To town with Father on the 3d to a Fraternity +Festival to which we were invited. Had a fine +time, and was amazed to find my "'umble" self made a +lion of, set up among the great ones, stared at, waited +upon, complimented, and made to hold a "layvee" +whether I would or no; for Mr. S. kept bringing up +people to be introduced till I was tired of shaking hands +and hearing the words "Hospital Sketches" uttered in +every tone of interest, admiration, and respect. Mr. +Wasson, Whipple, Alger, Clarke, Calthrop, and Chadwick +came to speak to me, and many more whose names +I forget. It was a very pleasant surprise and a new experience. +I liked it, but think a small dose quite as +much as is good for me; for after sitting in a corner +and grubbing <i>à la</i> Cinderella, it rather turns one's head +to be taken out and be treated like a princess all of +a sudden.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–Went to Gloucester for a fortnight with May +at the M.'s. Found a family of six pretty daughters, a +pleasant mother, and a father who was an image of one +of the Cheeryble brothers. Had a jolly time boating, +driving, charading, dancing, and picnicking. One mild +moonlight night a party of us camped out on Norman's +Woe, and had a splendid time, lying on the rocks singing, +talking, sleeping, and rioting up and down. Had a +fine time, and took coffee at all hours. The moon rose +and set beautifully, and the sunrise was a picture I never +shall forget.</p> + +<p>Wrote another fairy tale, "Jamie's Wonder Book," +and sent the "Christmas Stories" to W. & W., with +some lovely illustrations by Miss Greene. They liked +the book very much, and said they would consult about +publishing it, though their hands were full.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Mrs. D. made a visit, and getting hold +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> +of my old book of stories liked them, and insisted on +taking "Moods" home to read. As she had had experience +with publishers, was a good business woman, and +an excellent critic, I let her have it, hoping she might +be able to give the poor old book the lift it has been +waiting for all these years. She took it, read it, and +admired it heartily, saying that "no American author +had showed so much promise; that the plan was admirable; +the execution unequal, but often magnificent; +that I had a great field before me, and my book must be +got out."</p> + +<p>Mrs. D. sent it to L., who liked it exceedingly, and +asked me to shorten it if I could, else it would be too +large to sell well. Was much disappointed, said I'd +never touch it again, and tossed it into the spidery little +cupboard where it had so often returned after fruitless +trips. +</p> +</div> + +<p>At last, in the excited hours of a wakeful night, +Miss Alcott thought of a way to curtail the objectionable +length of the book, and she spent a fortnight +in remodelling it,–as she then thought improving +it greatly,–although she afterwards returned to +her original version as decidedly the best. The +book was brought out, and she had the pleasure +of presenting the first copy to her mother on her +sixty fourth birthday. She had various projects in +her mind, one of which was a novel, with two characters +in it like Jean Paul Richter and Goethe. It +is needless to say this was never carried out. Miss +Alcott had great powers of observation, and a keen +insight into character as it fell within her own +range of life, but she had not the creative imagination +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> +which could paint to the life the subtlest +workings of thought and feeling in natures foreign +to her own experience. She could not have portrayed +such men: but who could?</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>October.</i>–Wrote several chapters of "Work," and +was getting on finely, when, as I lay awake one night, +a way to shorten and arrange "Moods" came into my +head. The whole plan laid itself smoothly out before +me, and I slept no more that night, but worked on it as +busily as if mind and body had nothing to do with +one another. Up early, and began to write it all over +again. The fit was on strong, and for a fortnight I hardly +ate, slept, or stirred, but wrote, wrote, like a thinking +machine in full operation. When it was all rewritten +without copying, I found it much improved, though I'd +taken out ten chapters, and sacrificed many of my favorite +things; but being resolved to make it simple, strong, +and short, I let everything else go, and hoped the book +would be better for it.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[It wasn't. 1867.] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Sent it to L.; and a week after, as I sat hammering +away at the parlor carpet,–dusty, dismal, and tired,–a +letter came from L. praising the story more enthusiastically +than ever, thanking me for the improvements, and +proposing to bring out the book at once. Of course +we all had a rapture, and I finished my work "double +quick," regardless of weariness, toothache, or blue +devils.</p> + +<p>Next day I went to Boston and saw L. A brisk, business-like +man who seemed in earnest and said many +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> +complimentary things about "Hospital Sketches" and +its author. It was agreed to bring out the book immediately, +and Mrs. D. offered to read the proof with me.</p> + +<p>Was glad to have the old thing under way again, but +didn't quite believe it would ever come out after so +many delays and disappointments.</p> + +<p>Sewed for Nan and Mary, heard Anna Dickinson and +liked her. Read "Emily Chester" and thought it an +unnatural story, yet just enough like "Moods" in a few +things to make me sorry that it came out now.</p> + +<p>On Mother's sixty-fourth birthday I gave her "Moods" +with this inscription,–"To Mother, my earliest patron, +kindest critic, dearest reader, I gratefully and affectionately +inscribe my first romance."</p> + +<p>A letter from T. asking me to write for the new magazine +"Our Young Folks," and saying that "An Hour" +was in the hands of the editors.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Proof began to come, and the chapters +seemed small, stupid, and no more my own in print. I +felt very much afraid that I'd ventured too much and +should be sorry for it. But Emerson says "that what +is true for your own private heart is true for others." So +I wrote from my own consciousness and observation and +hope it may suit some one and at least do no harm.</p> + +<p>I sent "An Hour" to the "Commonwealth" and it +was considered <i>excellent</i>. Also wrote a Christmas Story, +"Mrs. Todger's Teapot." T. asked to see the other fairy +tales and designs and poems, as he liked "Nelly's Hospital" +so much.</p> + +<p>On my thirty-second birthday received Richter's Life +from Nan and enjoyed it so much that I planned a story +of two men something like Jean Paul and Goethe, only +more every-day people. Don't know what will come of +it, but if "Moods" goes well "Success" shall follow. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span></p> + +<p>Sewed for Wheeler's colored company and sent them +comfort-bags, towels, books, and bed-sacks. Mr. W. +sent me some relics from Point Look Out and a pleasant +letter.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Earnings, 1864,–$476.</p> + +<p>On Christmas Eve received ten copies of "Moods" +and a friendly note from L. The book was hastily got +out, but on the whole suited me, and as the inside was +considered good I let the outside go. For a week wherever +I went I saw, heard, and talked "Moods;" found +people laughing or crying over it, and was continually +told how well it was going, how much it was liked, how +fine a thing I'd done. I was glad but not proud, I +think, for it has always seemed as if "Moods" grew in +spite of me, and that I had little to do with it except to +put into words the thoughts that would not let me rest +until I had. Don't know why.</p> + +<p>By Saturday the first edition was gone and the second +ready. Several booksellers ordered a second hundred, +the first went so fast, and friends could not get it but had +to wait till more were ready.</p> + +<p>Spent a fortnight in town at Mary's, shopping, helping +Nan, and having plays. Heard Emerson once. Gave +C. "Mrs. Todger's Teapot," which was much liked. +Sent L. the rest of his story and got $50. S. paid $35 +for "An Hour." R. promised $100 for "Love and +Loyalty," so my year closes with a novel well-launched +and about $300 to pay debts and make the family happy +and comfortable till spring. Thank God for the success +of the old year, the promise of the new! +</p> +</div> + +<p>The sale of "Moods" was at first very rapid; +for "Hospital Sketches" had created an interest in +the author, and welcome recognition came to her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> +from many sources. She received a handsome +sum from the copyright, and "the year closed with +enough to make her feel free of debt and the +family comfortable." She ends the year's journal +triumphantly.</p> + +<p>The following year was spent mostly in Boston. +Miss Alcott went into society and enjoyed the +friendly attentions of men and women of ability. +She continued to write stories for money, but now +received fifty, seventy-five, or a hundred dollars for +them. She frequently took part in theatrical performances +for charities. She was always brilliant +and successful and enjoyed them with something +of her early zest.</p> + +<p>Her long story of "Success," or "Work," as she +afterwards named it, was still in her mind, but she +did not finish it at this time.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>January, 1865.</i>–The month began with some plays +at the town hall to raise funds for the Lyceum. We did +very well and some Scenes from Dickens were excellent. +Father lectured and preached a good deal, being asked +like a regular minister and paid like one. He enjoyed +it very much and said good things on the new religion +which we ought to and shall have. May had orders +from Canada and England for her pretty pen-and-ink +work and did well in that line.</p> + +<p>Notices of "Moods" came from all directions, and +though people didn't understand my ideas owing to my +shortening the book so much, the notices were mostly +favorable and gave quite as much praise as was good for +me. I had letters from Mrs. Parker, Chadwick, Sanborn, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> +E. B. Greene, the artist, T. W. Higginson and some +others. All friendly and flattering.</p> + +<p>Saw more notices of "Moods" and received more +letters, several from strangers and some very funny. +People seemed to think the book finely written, very +promising, wise, and interesting; but some fear it isn't +moral, because it speaks freely of marriage.</p> + +<p>Wrote a little on poor old "Work" but being tired of +novels, I soon dropped it and fell back on rubbishy tales, +for they pay best, and I can't afford to starve on praise, +when sensation stories are written in half the time and +keep the family cosey.</p> + +<p>Earned $75 this month.</p> + +<p>I went to Boston and heard Father lecture before the +Fraternity. Met Henry James, Sr., there, and he asked me +to come and dine, also called upon me with Mrs. James. +I went, and was treated like the Queen of Sheba. Henry +Jr. wrote a notice of "Moods" for the "North American," +and was very friendly. Being a literary youth he +gave me advice, as if he had been eighty and I a girl. +My curly crop made me look young, though thirty-one.</p> + +<p>Acted in some public plays for the N. E. Women's +Hospital and had a pleasant time.</p> + +<p>L. asked me to be a regular contributor to his new +paper, and I agreed if he'd pay beforehand; he said he +would, and bespoke two tales at once, $50 each, longer +ones as often as I could, and whatever else I liked to +send. So here's another source of income and Alcott +brains seem in demand, whereat I sing "Hallyluyer" +and fill up my inkstand.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Richmond taken on the 2d. Hurrah! Went +to Boston and enjoyed the grand jollification. Saw +Booth again in Hamlet and thought him finer than ever. +Had a pleasant walk and talk with Phillips. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span></p> + +<p>On the 15th in the midst of the rejoicing came the +sad news of the President's assassination, and the city went +into mourning. I am glad to have seen such a strange +and sudden change in a nation's feelings. Saw the great +procession, and though few colored men were in it, one +was walking arm in arm with a white gentleman, and I +exulted thereat.</p> + +<p>Nan went to housekeeping in a pleasant house at +Jamaica Plain, and I went to help her move. It was +beautiful to see how Freddy enjoyed the freedom, after +being cooped up all winter, and how every morning, +whether it rained or shone, he looked out and said, with +a smile of perfect satisfaction, "Oh, pretty day!"–for +all days <i>were</i> pretty to him, dear little soul!</p> + +<p>Had a fine letter from Conway, and a notice in the +"Reader,"–an English paper. He advised sending +copies to several of the best London papers. English +people don't understand "transcendental literature," as +they call "Moods." My next book shall have no <i>ideas</i> +in it, only facts, and the people shall be as ordinary as +possible; then critics will say it's all right. I seem to +have been playing with edge tools without knowing it. +The relations between Warwick, Moor, and Sylvia are +pronounced impossible; yet a case of the sort exists, and +the woman came and asked me how I knew it. I did +<i>not</i> know or guess, but perhaps felt it, without any other +guide, and unconsciously put the thing into my book, for +I changed the ending about that time. It was meant to +show a life affected by <i>moods</i>, not a discussion of marriage, +which I knew little about, except observing that +very few were happy ones.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Busy writing, keeping house, and sewing. Company +often; and strangers begin to come, demanding to +see the authoress, who does not like it, and is porcupiny. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> +Admire the books, but let the woman alone, if you +please, dear public!</p> + +<p>On the 24th Anna's second boy was born, at half-past +three in the morning,–Lizzie's birthday. A fine, stout, +little lad, who took to life kindly, and seemed to find the +world all right. Freddy could not understand it at first, +and told his mother that "the babee" had got his place. +But he soon loved the "tunning sing," and would stand +watching it with a grave face, till some funny little idea +found vent in still funnier words or caresses.</p> + +<p>Nan was very happy with her two boys, so was John, +though both had wished for a daughter.</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–While at Nan's Mrs. B. asked me if I would +go abroad with her sister. I said "yes;" but as I +spoke neither French nor German, she didn't think I'd +do. I was sorry; but being used to disappointment, +went to work for Nan, and bided my time, which came +very soon. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Anna.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +[Date uncertain.]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Lass</span>,–This must be a frivolous and dressy letter, +because you always want to know about our clothes, and +we have been at it lately. May's bonnet is a sight for +gods and men. Black and white outside, with a great +cockade boiling over the front to meet a red ditto surging +from the interior, where a red rainbow darts across +the brow, and a surf of white lace foams up on each side. +I expect to hear that you and John fell flat in the dust +with horror on beholding it.</p> + +<p>My bonnet has nearly been the death of me; for, +thinking some angel might make it possible for me to go +to the mountains, I felt a wish for a tidy hat, after wearing +an old one till it fell in tatters from my brow. Mrs. +P. promised a bit of gray silk, and I built on that; but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> +when I went for it I found my hat was founded on sand; +for she let me down with a crash, saying she wanted the +silk herself, and kindly offering me a flannel petticoat +instead. I was in woe for a spell, having one dollar in +the world, and scorning debt even for that prop of life, +a "bonnet." Then I roused myself, flew to Dodge, +demanded her cheapest bonnet, found one for a dollar, +took it, and went home wondering if the sky would open +and drop me a trimming. I am simple in my tastes, but +a naked straw bonnet is a little too severely chaste even +for me. Sky did not open; so I went to the "Widow +Cruise's oil bottle"–my ribbon box–which, by the +way, is the eighth wonder of the world, for nothing is +ever put in, yet I always find some old dud when all +other hopes fail. From this salvation bin I extracted the +remains of the old white ribbon (used up, as I thought, +two years ago), and the bits of black lace that have +adorned a long line of departed hats. Of the lace I +made a dish, on which I thriftily served up bows of ribbon, +like meat on toast. Inside put the lace bow, which +adorns my form anywhere when needed. A white flower +A. H. gave me sat airily on the brim,–fearfully unbecoming, +but pretty in itself, and in keeping. Strings are +yet to be evolved from chaos. I feel that they await me +somewhere in the dim future. Green ones <i>pro tem.</i> hold +this wonder of the age upon my gifted brow, and I survey +my hat with respectful awe. I trust you will also, and +see in it another great example of the power of mind +over matter, and the convenience of a colossal brain in +the primeval wrestle with the unruly atoms which have +harassed the feminine soul ever since Eve clapped on a +modest fig-leaf and did up her hair with a thorn for a +hairpin.</p> + +<p>I feel very moral to-day, having done a big wash alone, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> +baked, swept the house, picked the hops, got dinner, and +written a chapter in "Moods." May gets exhausted +with work, though she walks six miles without a murmur.</p> + +<p>It is dreadfully dull, and I work so that I may not +"brood." Nothing stirring but the wind; nothing to see +but dust; no one comes but rose-bugs; so I grub and +scold at the "A." because it takes a poor fellow's tales +and keeps 'em years without paying for 'em. If I think +of my woes I fall into a vortex of debts, dishpans, and +despondency awful to see. So I say, "every path has +its puddle," and try to play gayly with the tadpoles in +<i>my</i> puddle, while I wait for the Lord to give me a lift, or +some gallant Raleigh to spread his velvet cloak and fetch +me over dry shod.</p> + +<p>L. W. adds to my woe by writing of the splendors of +Gorham, and says, "When tired, run right up here and +find rest among these everlasting hills." All very aggravating +to a young woman with one dollar, no bonnet, +half a gown, and a discontented mind. It's a mercy +the mountains are everlasting, for it will be a century +before <i>I</i> get there. Oh, me, such is life!</p> + +<p>Now I've done my Jeremiad, and I will go on twanging +my harp in the "willow tree."</p> + +<p>You ask what I am writing. Well, two books half +done, nine stories simmering, and stacks of fairy stories +moulding on the shelf. I can't do much, as I have no +time to get into a real good vortex. It unfits me for +work, worries Ma to see me look pale, eat nothing, and +ply by night. These extinguishers keep genius from +burning as I could wish, and I give up ever hoping to +do anything unless luck turns for your</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER VIII.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">EUROPE AND LITTLE WOMEN.</p> +<p class="p2 center">LITTLE WOMEN.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +Four little chests all in a row,<br /> +<span class="i1">Dim with dust and worn by time,</span><br /> +All fashioned and filled long ago<br /> +<span class="i1">By children now in their prime.</span><br /> +Four little keys hung side by side,<br /> +<span class="i1">With faded ribbons, brave and gay</span><br /> +When fastened there with childish pride<br /> +<span class="i1">Long ago on a rainy day.</span><br /> +Four little names, one on each lid,<br /> +<span class="i1">Carved out by a boyish hand;</span><br /> +And underneath there lieth hid<br /> +<span class="i1">Histories of the happy band</span><br /> +Once playing here, and pausing oft<br /> +<span class="i1">To hear the sweet refrain</span><br /> +That came and went on the roof aloft<br /> +<span class="i1">In the falling summer rain.</span></p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>Four little chests all in a row,<br /> +<span class="i1">Dim with dust and worn by time:</span><br /> +Four women, taught by weal and woe<br /> +<span class="i1">To love and labor in their prime;</span><br /> +Four sisters parted for an hour,–<br /> +<span class="i1">None lost, one only gone before,</span><br /> +Made by love's immortal power<br /> +<span class="i1">Nearest and dearest evermore.</span><br /> +Oh! when these hidden stores of ours<br /> +<span class="i1">Lie open to the Father's sight,</span><br /> +May they be rich in golden hours,–<br /> +<span class="i1">Deeds that show fairer for the light,</span><br /> +Deeds whose brave music long shall ring<br /> +<span class="i1">Like a spirit-stirring strain,</span><br /> +Souls that shall gladly soar and sing<br /> +<span class="i1">In the long sunshine, after rain.</span><br /></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE years which followed the war and Miss +Alcott's experience as a hospital nurse were +rather sad and anxious from many causes. Louisa +felt deeply the loss of one sister by death and the +separation from another by marriage. The success +of "Hospital Sketches" and a few other stories +published about the same time had given her confidence +in her powers and hopes of a successful future. +But for nearly five years she accomplished nothing +which met with equal favor. The reception of the +novel "Moods," in which she thought she had expressed +her best life, was not cheering to her; and +she had become wholly dissatisfied with the sensational +stories, which formed the most ready resource +for earning money. Her health was seriously injured +by the fever from which she suffered in the +hospital, and she had no longer the physical energy +to sustain the unceasing activity of her brain.</p> + +<p>Under these difficulties she naturally desired a +change of circumstances; and the old longing for +a journey to Europe–which she had felt strongly +in her youth, and which, like all Americans of culture, +she felt more and more as time passed on–became +her ruling desire. She was very fond +of new scenes and variety of people, and she +often expressed a wish to live many years in +Europe.</p> + +<p>The circumstances of the family were not yet +such as to justify Louisa, in her own eyes, in +taking her earnings for the desired trip. But in +1865 an opportunity was offered her to go to +Europe as companion to an invalid lady. From +her experience in nursing–for which she had a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> +natural gift–she and her friends thought her +suited to the position, and advised her acceptance +of the offer.</p> + +<p>Although devotedly kind, unselfish, and generous, +Louisa had not the temperament suited to the +needs of a nervous invalid. She was impetuous +and impatient, and her own life was too strong +within her and too earnest in its cravings, for her +to restrain her moods and actions within the narrow +limits of a companion's service. She found even +what she recognized as fair services wearisome and +distasteful, and sometimes chafed severely under +what seemed unnecessary demands on her time, +strength, and patience. Looking back on this experience +in later years, she recognized these facts, +and wrote in 1885: "Now, being a nervous invalid +myself, I understand what seemed whims, selfishness, +and folly in others."</p> + +<p>Louisa finally decided to leave her companions +and go on alone to Paris and England, where she +would find many of her own and her father's friends. +At Vevay she had made the acquaintance of a +young Polish lad, whom she found very interesting, +and who was the original of the charming Laurie in +"Little Women." He met her again in Paris, and +contributed greatly to the pleasure of her stay there. +He afterwards came to America, and visited her; +but finally returned to his own country.</p> + +<p>The journal gives a sufficient account of her life +while on this journey. I have no letters written +at this time, as she wished all her family letters +destroyed. Her few weeks in London passed very +happily. Her wide reading in English history +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> +and in contemporary fiction, especially the works +of Dickens and Thackeray, filled London with interesting +associations, and she enjoyed thoroughly +her free rambles through the old city, as well as +the interesting people, who received her with great +kindness.</p> + +<p>That Louisa might have these few weeks of +entire relaxation and enjoyment, her mother had +been obliged to borrow means for the support +of the family; and Louisa was very anxious to +clear off this debt like all others. She was very +exact in pecuniary matters. Money to her was +not an end, but a most necessary means. She +paid every debt that her father had incurred, +even though outlawed by time. It is often asked +whether she ever sold her beautiful hair, as represented +in "Little Women." The deed was never +really done; but she and her sisters always held this +treasure as a possible resource in case of need; and +Louisa once says in her journal, "I will pay my +debts, if I have to sell my hair to do it." She even +went so far as to inquire of a barber as to its money +value.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>1865.</i>–Mr. W., hearing that I was something of a +nurse and wanted to travel, proposed my going with his +invalid daughter. I agreed, though I had my doubts. +But every one said "Go;" so after a week of worry I +did go. On the 19th we sailed in the "China." I could +not realize that my long-desired dream was coming true; +and fears that I might not see all the dear home faces +when I came back made my heart very full as we steamed +down the harbor and Boston vanished. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p> + +<p>Was not very sick, but uncomfortable all the way, and +found the Ladies' Saloon my only refuge till we were +nearly across; enjoyed intervals of quiet, and had many +fine glimpses of the sea in its various moods, sunsets and +sunrises, fogs, icebergs, rain-storms, and summer calms. +No very pleasant people on board; so I read, took notes, +and <i>wiled</i> away the long days as I best could.</p> + +<p>We had a very quiet and quick passage of nine days, +and on Saturday, the 29th, steamed up the Mersey at +dawn, and got to Liverpool at nine. I was heartily glad +to set my feet on the solid earth, and thought I'd never +go to sea again; rested, and looked about a little.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–Went up to London, and there spent four +dull, drizzly days. I amused myself in my usual way, +looking well about me, and writing down all I saw in my +pocket-diary or letters. Went to the parks, Westminster +Abbey, and some of the famous streets. I felt as if I'd +got into a novel while going about in the places I'd read +so much of; saw no one I knew, and thought English +weather abominable.</p> + +<p>On the 5th to Dover through a lovely green country; +took steamer there to Ostende; but was ill all the way, +and saw nothing but a basin; spent two days at a queer +hotel near the fine promenade, which was a very foreign +and brilliant scene. To Brussels on the 7th. Here I +enjoyed much, for the quaint old city was full of interesting +things. The ancient square, where the statues of +Egmont and Horn stand, was my delight; for the old +Dutch houses were still standing, and everything was so +new and strange I wanted to stay a month.</p> + +<p>To Cologne on the 9th, and the country we passed +through was like a big picture-book. The city was very +hot, dirty, and evil-smelling. We saw the Cathedral, got +eau de Cologne, and very gladly left after three days. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span></p> + +<p>On the 12th began a lovely voyage up the Rhine. It +was too beautiful to describe, so I shall not try; but I feel +richer and better for that memorable day. We reached +Coblenz at sunset, and I was up half the night enjoying +the splendid view of the fortress opposite the town, the +moonlit river with its bridges of boats, and troops crossing +at midnight.</p> + +<p>A second day, still more charming, took us through +the famous parts of the Rhine, and filled my head with +pictures that will last all my life.</p> + +<p>Before we reached Bieberich we stopped at a queer +little Dutch town, and had a queer time; for no one +spoke English, and we only a little bad French. Passed +the night there, and next day reached Schwalbach after +many trials and tribulations.</p> + +<p>The place is a narrow valley shut in by high hills, the +town being divided into two parts: the lowest is the +original town–queer ale-houses, churches, and narrow +streets; the upper part, near the springs, is full of fine +hotels, pleasure-grounds, and bath-houses.</p> + +<p>We took lodgings with Madame Genth, wife of the +Forestmeister (forest master),–two rooms,–and began +the water under Dr. Genth's care.</p> + +<p>We walked a little, talked a little, bathed and rode a +little, worried a good deal, and I grubbed away at French, +with no master and small success.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Still at Schwalbach, A. doing her best to +get well, and I doing mine to help her. Rather dull +days,–bathing, walking, and quiddling about.</p> + +<p>A letter from home on the 20th. All well and happy, +thank God. It touched and pleased me very much to +see how they missed me, thought of me, and longed to +have me back. Every little thing I ever did for them is +now so tenderly and gratefully remembered; and my absence +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> +seems to have left so large a gap that I begin to +realize how much I am to them in spite of all my faults. +The letters made me very happy, and everything brightened +immensely. A. got stronger, and when G. came on +the 28th was able to start off next day on the way to +Vevay, where we are to pass some weeks before we are +to go to Nice.</p> + +<p>Went to Wiesbaden first, a pleasant, gay place, full of +people. Saw the gambling hall and people playing, the +fine grounds and drives, and then went on to Frankfort. +Here I saw and enjoyed a good deal. The statues of +Goethe, Schiller, Faust, Gutenberg, and Schaeffer are in +the squares. Goethe's house is a tall, plain building, with +each story projecting over the lower, and a Dutch roof; +a marble slab over the front door recording the date of +Goethe's birth. I took a look at it and wanted to go in, +as it was empty, but there was no time. Some Americans +said, "Who was Goethe, to fuss about?"</p> + +<p>Frankfort is a pleasant old city on the river, and I'm +glad to have been there.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–On to Heidelberg, a charming old place +surrounded by mountains. We went to the Castle and +had a fine time roving about the ruins, looking at the +view from the great terrace, admiring the quaint stone +images of knights, saints, monsters, and angels, and visiting +the big tun in the cellar by torchlight.</p> + +<p>The moon rose while we were there and completed the +enchantment of the scene.</p> + +<p>The drive home was like looking at a picture-book, for +the street was narrow, the carriage high, and we looked +in at the windows, seeing pretty scenes. Here, men drinking +beer in a Dutch-looking room; there, little children +going to bed; a pair of lovers with a pot of flowers between +them; an old woman brooding over the fire like a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> +witch; and in one room some one lay dead surrounded +by candles.</p> + +<p>From H. we went to Baden-Baden, a very fashionable +place. The old château was my delight, and we passed +a morning going up and down to visit it. Next to Freiburg, +where the Cathedral delighted me extremely, being +full of old carved images and grotesque designs; the +market-place with the fountains, statues, water running +beside the streets, and queer costumes.</p> + +<p>Basle came next, and a firemen's fête made the city +very gay. The hotel was on the river, and moonlight +made a Venetian scene for me with the lighted bridge, +covered with gondola-like boats and music from both +shores. I walk while A. rests, and enjoy sights from my +window when she is asleep, as I cannot leave her at +night.</p> + +<p>On our way to Berne I caught my first glimpse of the +Alps, October 8th, mother's birthday. Tall, white, spectral-looking +shapes they were, towering above the green +hills and valleys that lay between. Clouds half hid them, +and the sun glittered on the everlasting snow that lay +upon their tops. Sharp, strange outlines against the sky +they became as night came on, and in the morning I had +a fine view of the Jungfrau, the Blümlis, the Wetterhorn, +and Mönch from the terrace at Berne.</p> + +<p>B. was a queer old city, but I saw little of it except the +bears and shops. No time.</p> + +<p>Freiburg No. 2 was the most romantic place we have +been in. The town is built in a wide crevice or valley +between two steep hills, so that suspension bridges are +hung from height to height over a winding river and the +streets of the town. Watch-towers stand all about on the +hills, and give a very romantic air to the place. The hotel +overhung the valley, and from our rooms we went out +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> +along a balcony to a wide, paved platform with a fountain +in the middle, an aviary, and flowers all about. The view +down the valley was charming,–the airy bridges, green +or rocky slopes, busy squares below, cows and goats feeding +on the hills, the towers, the old church, and a lovely +blue sky overhead. I longed to sketch it.</p> + +<p>At Lausanne we stopped at the Hotel Gibbon and saw +the garden where the great historian wrote his history. +The view of the lake was lovely, with rocky mountains +opposite, little towns at their feet, vineyards along the +hillsides, and pretty boats on the lake, the water of which +was the loveliest blue.</p> + +<p>To Vevay at last,–a pleasant hour's sail to a very +pleasant place. We took rooms at the Pension Victoria.</p> + +<p>Our landlady was an English woman who had married a +French courier. Very kind sort of people: rooms comfortable, +meals good, and surroundings agreeable. Our +fellow-boarders varied from time to time,–an English +doctor and wife, a fine old lady with them who looked +like Marie Antoinette; two Scotch ladies named Glennie, +very pleasant, well-bred ladies who told me about Beattie +who was their grandfather, and Walter Scott whom they +knew; Colonel –– and family, rebels, and very bitter +and rude to us. Had queer times with them.</p> + +<p>I did not enjoy the life nor the society after the first +novelty wore off, for I missed my freedom and grew very +tired of the daily worry which I had to go through with.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–(Laurie) Took some French lessons with +Mademoiselle Germain and learned a little, but found it +much harder than I thought, and often got discouraged, +I was so stupid. A. got much better, and some new +people came. The doctor and his set left, and in their +place came a Russian family, an Irish lady and daughter, +and a young Pole with whom we struck up a friendship. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> +Ladislas Wisinewski (Laurie) was very gay and agreeable, +and being ill and much younger we petted him. He +played beautifully, and was very anxious to learn English, +so we taught him that and he taught us French.</p> + +<p>On my birthday A. gave me a pretty painting of Chillon. +Ladislas promised me the notes of the Polish National +Hymn, and played me his sweetest airs as a present after +wishing me "All good and happiness on earth, and a high +place in Heaven as my reward." It was a mild, windy +day, very like me in its fitful changes of sunshine and +shade. Usually I am sad on my birthday, but not this +time; for though nothing very pleasant happened, I was +happy and hopeful and enjoyed everything with unusual +relish. I feel rather old with my thirty-three years, but +have much to keep me young, and hope I shall not grow +older in heart as the time goes on. I thought much of +dear father on this his sixty-sixth birthday, and missed +the little ceremony that always takes place on these occasions. +Hope I shall be safely at home before another +November comes.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Laurie very interesting and good. Pleasant +walks and talks with him in the château garden and +about Vevay. A lovely sail on the lake, and much fun +giving English and receiving French lessons. Every one +very kind, and the house quite home-like. Much indecision +about going to Nice owing to the cholera. At last +we decided to go, and started on the 6th to meet G. at +Geneva. L. went with us to Lausanne, kissed our hands +at parting, and went back to V. disconsolate. Sad times +for all, but we journeyed away to Nice and tried to forget +our troubles. A flat uninteresting country till we approached +the sea.</p> + +<p>Nice very pleasant, climate lovely, and sea beautiful. +We lived in our own rooms, and saw no one but the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> +doctor and Consul and a few American callers. A +pleasant drive every day on the Promenade,–a wide +curving wall along the bay with hotels and Pensions on +one side and a flowery walk on the other. Gay carriages +and people always to be seen; shops full of fine +and curious things; picturesque castles, towers, and walls +on one hill; a lighthouse on each point of the moon-shaped +bay; boats and our fleet on the water; gardens, +olive and orange-trees, queer cacti, and palms +all about on the land; monks, priests, soldiers, peasants, +etc.</p> + +<p>A dull Christmas within doors, though a lovely day +without. Windows open, roses blooming, air mild, and +city gay. With friends, health, and a little money how +jolly one might be in this perpetual summer.</p> + +<p><i>January, 1866.</i>–Nice. Rained all New Year's day, +and I spent it sewing, writing, and reading an American +newspaper which came in the morning, my only present. +I hoped for letters but got none, and was much disappointed. +A. was ill, so I had to receive in American style. +Mr. Perkins, Cooper, and the Consul called. At dinner +we drank the healths of all at home, and did not forget +Laddie (Laurie).</p> + +<p>A quiet, dull time generally, driving sometimes, walking +little, and writing letters. Now and then I got a pleasant +walk by myself away among the vineyards and olive-trees +or down into the queer old city. I soon tired of the +fashionable Promenade, for every one was on exhibition. +Sometimes before or after the fashionable hour I walked +there and enjoyed the sea and sky.</p> + +<p>A ball was given at our Pension and we went. A +queer set,–Russians, Spaniards, French, English, +Americans, Italians, Jews, and Sandwich Islanders. They +danced wildly, dressed gayly, and sounded as if the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> +"confusion of tongues" was come again. A few pleasant +Americans called on us, but we were very lonely and +uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>Decided to take an apartment No. 10 Rue Geoffredo, +paying six hundred francs for ten weeks, six rooms, all +large and handsome. Dr. P. got us a good maid, and +on the 17th we went to our new quarters. Madame +Rolande was French governess for six years to Victoria's +children, and was a funny old party.</p> + +<p>Couldn't sleep at all for some nights, and felt very +poorly, for my life didn't suit me and the air was too +exciting.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Got on excellently with our housekeeping, +for Julie proved a treasure and we were very comfortable. +Had many lovely drives, and saw something of Nice and +its beauties. To Cimies, an old Franciscan monastery +near the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. The convent +stands where a temple of Diana once stood, and is surrounded +by ancient ilex trees. A monk in his cowl, +brown robe, sandals, and rope girdle did the honors of +the church, which was dark and full of bad pictures. San +Andre with its château and grotto, Villa Franca in a +lovely little bay, the wood of Var where the daisies grew, +Valrosa, a villa in a rose garden, and the Porte were all +interesting. Also Castle Hill, which overlooks the town.</p> + +<p>I decided to go home in May, though A. wants me to +stay. I'm tired of it, and as she is not going to travel, +my time is too valuable to be wasted.</p> + +<p>The carnival occurred. Funny, but not so fine a sight +as I expected. Also went to the theatre to see "Lady +Tartuffe." Had a pleasant time, though I couldn't understand +much. The acting was so natural and good +that I caught the plot, and with a little telling from +Hosmer knew what was going on. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span></p> + +<p>Wrote a little on three stories which would come into +my head and worry me till I gave them a "vent."</p> + +<p>Good letters from home. All well and busy, and longing +for me in the spring.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–A tedious month, which might have been +quite the reverse had I been free to enjoy it in my own +way. Read French, walked to my favorite places, and +wrote letters when I found time.</p> + +<p>Went often to Valrosa, a lovely villa buried in roses. +Got a wheeled chair and a man to draw it, then with +books, lunch, and work, I tempted A. out into the woods, +and we had some pleasant hours.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Went to the Cathedral to see the Easter ceremonies. +Fine music, the Gloria was sung, a Franciscan +monk preached, the Bishop blessed every one, and was +fussed over like a great doll. A very splendid scene.</p> + +<p>Saw Ristori twice, once in "Medea" and once in "Elizabeth." +Never saw such acting; especially in Queen Bess, +it was splendid, as she changes from the young, violent, +coquettish woman to the peevish old crone dying with her +crown on, vain, ambitious, and remorseful.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–On the first day of the month left A. and Nice +and started alone for Paris, feeling as happy as a freed +bird.</p> + +<p>A pleasant journey, Laddie waiting for me in Paris to +take me to my room at Madame Dyne's. A very charming +fortnight here; the days spent in seeing sights with +my Laddie, the evenings in reading, writing, hearing "my +boy" play, or resting. Saw all that I wished to see in a +very pleasant way, and on the 17th reluctantly went to +London.</p> + +<p>Passed a fortnight at a lovely old place on Wimbledon +Common with the Conways, going to town with them to +see the lions, Royal Exhibition, Hampton Court, Kensington +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> +and British Museums, Crystal Palace, and many other +pleasant places. But none were lovelier to me than the +old farm-house with the thatched roof, the common of +yellow gorse, larks going up in the morning, nightingales +flying at night, hawthorne everywhere, and Richmond +Park full of deer close by. Also Robin Hood's barn.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Passed the first ten days of the month at +Aubrey House with the Peter Taylors. A lovely English +home with kind, pure, and friendly people. Saw many +interesting persons,–Miss Cobbe, Jean Ingelow, Dr. +Garrett, Madame Bodichon, Matilde Blinde, Mill, Bright, +Gladstone, Hughes, and the rest at the House of Commons +where Mr. T. took me.</p> + +<p>Went to a dinner-party or two, theatres, to hear Dickens +read, a concert, <i>conversazione</i> and receptions, seeing +English society, or rather one class of it, and liking what +I saw.</p> + +<p>On the 11th went to board with Mrs. Travers in Westbourne +Grove Terrace. A pleasant little room, plain +living, and for society Mrs. T. and daughter, two sisters +from Dublin, and ten young men,–barristers, clerks, +ministers, and students. A guinea a week.</p> + +<p>Very free and jolly, roaming about London all day, +dining late and resting, chatting, music, or fun in the +evening.</p> + +<p>Saw the Tower, Windsor, Parks, Gardens, and all manner +of haunts of famous men and women,–Milton's house, +Johnson's in Bolt Court, Lamb's, Sairy Gamp's, Saracen's +Head, the Charter House where Thackeray was when a +lad, Furnival's Inn where Dickens wrote Pickwick, Bacon's +Walk, and endless memorable sights. St. Paul's I liked +better than Notre Dame.</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–At Mrs. Travers's till the 7th. Saw Routledge +about "Moods." He took it, would like another book, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> +and was very friendly. Said good-by all round, and at +six <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> on the 7th left for Liverpool with Mr. W., who +saw to my luggage and went part way. Reached the +"Africa" safely.</p> + +<p>A trip of fourteen stormy, dull, long, sick days, but at +last at eleven at night we sailed up the harbor in the +moonlight, and I saw dear John waiting for me on the +wharf. Slept on board, and next day reached home at +noon to find Father at the station, Nan and babies at the +gate, May flying wildly round the lawn, and Marmee crying +at the door. Into her arms I went, and was at home +at last.</p> + +<p>Happy days, talking and enjoying one another. Many +people came to see me, and all said I was much improved; +of which I was glad, as there was, is, and always will be +room for it.</p> + +<p>Found Mother looking old, sick, and tired; Father as +placid as ever; Nan poorly, but blest in her babies; May +full of plans, as usual; Freddy very stout and loving; and +my Jack the dearest, prettiest, merriest baby boy that ever +kissed and loved everybody.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–Soon fell to work on some stories, for things +were, as I expected, behindhand when the money-maker +was away. Found plenty to do, as orders from E., L., +"Independent," "U. S. C. S. Magazine," and several +other offers waited for me. Wrote two long tales for L. +and got $200 for them. One for E. for which he paid +$75, also a bit of poetry for $5. He wanted a long +story in twenty-four chapters, and I wrote it in a fortnight,–one +hundred and eighty-five pages,–besides +work, sewing, nursing, and company.</p> + +<p>Sent S. E. S. the first $100 on my account; could have +sent $300, but it was needed, so I gave it up unwillingly, +and must work away for the rest. Mother borrowed the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> +money that I might stay longer and see England, as I had +missed much while condemned to "hard work and solitary +confinement for nine months," as she expressed it.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Mother sick, did little with my pen. Got +a girl, and devoted myself to Mother, writing after she was +abed. In this way finished a long tale. But E. would +not have it, saying it was too long and too sensational!</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Mother slowly mending. A sensible Western +woman "rubbed" her, and did her a great deal of +good. She left her room and seemed more like herself. +I never expect to see the strong, energetic Marmee of old +times, but, thank the Lord! she is still here, though pale +and weak, quiet and sad; all her fine hair gone, and +face full of wrinkles, bowed back, and every sign of age. +Life has been so hard for her, and she so brave, so glad +to spend herself for others. Now we must live for her. +</p> +</div> + +<p>On Miss Alcott's return from Europe in July, +1866, she devoted herself as earnestly as ever to the +personal care of her mother and to story-writing +for the support of the family. She agreed to +write a fifty-dollar tale once a month, and besides +this wrote many short stories for other publishers. +Her father's return from the West with two hundred +dollars, earned on his western trip, gave her +some relief; and she was cheered by hearing that +"Moods" was selling well in Europe. But she +was not well, and she felt anxious and troubled +about many things. Her journal of these months +is very meagre; and January, 1867, opens with the +statement that she is "sick from too hard work." +Yet the account of stories furnished to publishers +continues till August, when she went to Clark's +Island for a few weeks of recreation. Here her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> +spirits returned, and she spent, as she says, "a +harem-scarem fortnight," which must have given her +great refreshment. She says: "Got to work again +after my long vacation, for bills accumulate and +worry me. I dread debt more than anything."</p> + +<p>In the journal occurs this slight notice of the +first step in one of the most important achievements +of her life, of which I shall speak more fully +hereafter:–</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>September, 1867.</i>–Niles, partner of Roberts, asked +me to write a girls' book. Said I'd try.</p> + +<p>F. asked me to be the editor of "Merry's Museum." +Said I'd try.</p> + +<p>Began at once on both new jobs; but didn't like +either.</p> + +<p>The Radical Club met at Sargent's. Fine time. +Bartol inspired; Emerson chairman; Alcott on his legs; +strong-minded ladies out in full force; æsthetic tea for +refreshment.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Agreed with F. to be editor for $500 a +year. Read manuscripts, write one story each month and +an editorial. On the strength of this engagement went +to Boston, took a room–No. 6 Hayward Place–furnished +it, and set up housekeeping for myself. Cannot +keep well in C., so must try Boston, and not work too +hard.</p> + +<p>On the 28th rode to B. on my load of furniture with +Fred, feeling as if I was going to camp out in a new country; +hoped it would prove a hospitable and healthy +land. +</p> +</div> + +<p>This incident appears in "The Old-fashioned +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> +Girl" (p. 153), where the country girl goes into +the city in a farmer's cart, with a squash pie in +her hand given her at parting by an old friend. +Her sister May had a drawing class at her room +every day, which gave Louisa the pleasure of +companionship.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott was an enthusiastic admirer of +Dickens, and she entered into the humor of his +homely characters most heartily. She acted "Mrs. +Jarley displaying her waxwork" nine times this +winter, and was always successful in giving life and +variety to the representation. She was constantly +called upon to act for charity. She enjoyed the +fun, and as she could not give money, it satisfied +her generous nature to be able to help in any way.</p> + +<p>She wrote an article for Mr. B., called "Happy +Women," in which she gratified her love of single +life by describing the delightful spinsters of her acquaintance. +Her sketches are all taken from life, +and are not too highly colored. The Physician, +the Artist, the Philanthropist, the Actress, the +Lawyer, are easily recognizable. They were a +"glorious phalanx of old maids," as Theodore +Parker called the single women of his Society, +who aided him so much in his work.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Mother.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">January, 1868.</span></p> + +<p>Things look promising for the new year. F. $20 for +the little tales, and wrote two every month; G. $25 for +the "Bells;" L. $100 for the two "Proverb" stories. +L. takes all I'll send; and F. seems satisfied.</p> + +<p>So my plan will work well, and I shall make my $1,000 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> +this year in spite of sickness and worry. Praise the Lord +and keep busy, say I.</p> + +<p>I am pretty well, and keep so busy I haven't time to +be sick. Every one is very clever to me; and I often +think as I go larking round, independent, with more work +than I can do, and half-a-dozen publishers asking for +tales, of the old times when I went meekly from door to +door peddling my first poor little stories, and feeling so +rich with $10.</p> + +<p>It's clear that Minerva Moody is getting on, in spite of +many downfalls, and by the time she is a used up old lady +of seventy or so she may finish her job, and see her family +well off. A little late to enjoy much maybe; but I guess +I shall turn in for my last long sleep with more content, in +spite of the mortal weariness, than if I had folded my hands +and been supported in elegant idleness, or gone to the +devil in fits of despair because things moved so slowly.</p> + +<p>Keep all the money I send; pay up every bill; get +comforts and enjoy yourselves. Let's be merry while we +may, and lay up a bit for a rainy day.</p> + +<p>With which gem from Aristotle, I am, honored Madam, +your dutiful and affectionate</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott.</span></p> +<p>Regards to Plato. Don't he want new socks? Are +his clothes getting shiny? +</p> +</div> + +<p>Although, as I have said, little direct European +influence is observable in Miss Alcott's writings +from her journeys in Europe, yet this first visit had +a marked effect upon her life and writings. She +was unfavorably situated to gain the refreshment +she sorely needed; and yet she did get a great deal +from the entire change of surroundings, from the +larger horizon into which she entered, from her +rich enjoyment of scenery, and from the variety +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> +of companions she met. Probably she looked +through new spectacles at her own work, as she describes +herself as looking through those of Professor +Bhaer, and she saw all the defects of the pot-boiling +stories which she had been pouring out one after +another, without strong purpose, or regard for artistic +excellence. She had also the chance to look +upon her own early life and home from a distance; +and as she thought of the incidents of those years +they grouped into more harmonious lines, and she +saw how much they contained of real life, of true +poetry and humor, as well as moral significance. +So the old idea of "The Pathetic Family" took +shape anew in her mind.</p> + +<p>In July, 1863, the enterprising firm of Roberts +Brothers asked her for the publication in book +form of "Hospital Sketches," which were then appearing +in the "Commonwealth" newspaper, being +struck by their intense reality and originality. At +the time, as she states in her journal, she preferred +to allow Mr. Redpath to publish them. Later, in +September, 1867, Roberts Brothers asked her to +write a girls' book for them, and in May, 1868, +they repeated the request through her father, who +had brought to them a collection of short stories +for publication.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott's fancy had always been for depicting +the life of boys rather than girls; but she fortunately +took the suggestion of the publisher, and +said, like Col. Miller, "I'll try, sir." The old idea +of "The Pathetic Family" recurred to her mind; +and she set herself to describe the early life of her +home. The book was finished in July, named +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> +"Little Women," and sent to the publishers, who +promptly accepted it, making Miss Alcott an outright +offer for the copyright, but at the same time +advising her not to part with it. It was published +in October, and the result is well known. She was +quite unconscious of the unusual merit of the book, +thinking, as she says, the first chapters dull, and so +was quite surprised at her success. "It reads better +than I expected," she says; and she truly adds, +"We really lived most of it, and if it succeeds, that +will be the reason of it."</p> + +<p>But that is not the whole secret of its success. +Through many trials and many failures Louisa +had learned her literary art. By her experience in +melodrama she had proved the emptiness of sensational +writing, and knew how to present the simple +and true,–seemingly without art, but really with +the nicest art of discrimination and emphasis. All +her previous training and experience were needed +to fit her for the production of her masterpiece; +for in spite of all the good work she did later, this +remains her masterpiece, by which she will be remembered +and loved. Already twenty-one years +have passed, and another generation has come up +since she published this book, yet it still commands +a steady sale; and the mothers who read it in their +childhood renew their enjoyment as they watch the +faces of their little girls brighten with smiles over +the theatricals in the barn, or moisten with tears at +the death of the beloved sister. One of the greatest +charms of the book is its perfect truth to New +England life. But it is not merely local; it touches +the universal heart deeply. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span></p> + +<p>The excitement of the children was intense; +they claimed the author as their own property, and +felt as if she were interpreting their very lives and +thoughts. The second series was anticipated with +the eagerness of a bulletin from the war and the +stock market. But unlike Miss Alcott herself, the +children took especial interest in the love-story, +and when poor Laurie was so obstinately refused +by Jo, "they wept aloud, and refused to be comforted," +and in some instances were actually made +ill by grief and excitement.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott had now secured publishers in +whom she placed perfect confidence, and who +henceforth relieved her of the worry of business +matters, dealing directly and fairly by her, and +consulting her interests as well as their own. This +is abundantly shown by her private journals and +letters.</p> + +<p>The success of "Little Women" was so well +assured that Miss Alcott at once set about preparing +the second part, which was eagerly demanded +by the little women outside, who wanted all the +girls to marry, and rather troubled her by wishing +to settle matters their own way. She finished +writing the sequel, which had been rapid work, +Jan. 1, 1869.</p> + +<p>The success of "Little Women" was not confined +to this country. The book was translated +into French, German, and Dutch, and has become +familiarly known in England and on the Continent. +In Holland the first series was published under the +title "Under the Mother's Wings," and the second +part as "On Their Own Wings;" and these two +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> +books with "Work" established her fame among +the children, who still continue to read her stories +with fresh delight.</p> + +<p>It is hardly necessary to analyze or criticise this +happy production. It is a realistic transcript of +life, but idealized by the tenderness of real feeling. +It teaches the lessons of every-day conduct and +inculcates the simplest virtues of truth, earnest +effort, and loving affection. There is abundant +humor, but no caricature, and tender, deep feeling +without sentimentality.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott herself did not wish her representative, +Jo, to marry; but the demand of the publisher +and the public was so imperative that she created +her German professor, of whom no prototype existed. +While some of her romantic young readers +were not satisfied at Jo's preferring him to the +charming Laurie, he is certainly a genuine, warm-hearted +man, who would probably have held her +affections by his strong moral and intellectual traits. +That he became a very living personality to the +author is evident from his reappearance in "Jo's +Boys," where he has the same strong, cheery influence +in the school and home that she found from +him in her girlhood. The style of the book is +thoroughly easy and colloquial; and the girls talk +and act like girls, and not like prim little women. +The influence of the book has been wide and +deep, and has helped to make a whole generation +of girls feel a deeper sense of family love and +the blessings to be gained from lives of earnest +effort, mutual sacrifice, and high aims.</p> + +<p>Much interest has been expressed in regard to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> +the originals of the characters in "Little Women." +This is the author's own statement:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +Facts in the stories that are true, though often changed +as to time and place:–</p> + +<p>"Little Women"–The early plays and experiences; +Beth's death; Jo's literary and Amy's artistic experiences; +Meg's happy home; John Brooke and his death; Demi's +character. Mr. March did not go to the war, but Jo did. +Mrs. March is all true, only not half good enough. +Laurie is not an American boy, though every lad I ever +knew claims the character. He was a Polish boy, met +abroad in 1865. Mr. Lawrence is my grandfather, +Colonel Joseph May. Aunt March is no one. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>January, 1868. Gamp's Garret, Hayward Place, +Boston.</i>–The year begins well and cheerfully for us +all. Father and Mother comfortable at home; Anna +and family settled in Chelsea; May busy with her drawing +classes, of which she has five or six, and the prospect +of earning $150 a quarter; also she is well and in good +spirits.</p> + +<p>I am in my little room, spending busy, happy days, +because I have quiet, freedom, work enough, and +strength to do it. F. pays me $500 a year for my name +and some editorial work on Merry's Museum; "The +Youth's Companion" pays $20 for two short tales each +month; L. $50 and $100 for all I will send him; and +others take anything I have. My way seems clear for +the year if I can only keep well. I want to realize +my dream of supporting the family and being perfectly +independent. Heavenly hope! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span></p> + +<p>I have written twenty-five stories the past year, besides +the fairy book containing twelve. Have earned $1,000, +paid my own way, sent home some, paid up debts, and +helped May.</p> + +<p>For many years we have not been so comfortable: +May and I both earning, Annie with her good John to +lean on, and the old people in a cosey home of our own.</p> + +<p>After last winter's hard experience, we cannot be too +grateful.</p> + +<p>To-day my first hyacinth bloomed, white and sweet,–a +good omen,–a little flag of truce, perhaps, from the +enemies whom we have been fighting all these years. +Perhaps we are to win after all, and conquer poverty, +neglect, pain, and debt, and march on with flags flying +into the new world with the new year.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, 7th.</i>–A queer day. Up early, and had +my bread and milk and baked apples. Fed my doves. +Made May a bonnet, and cut out a flannel wrapper for +Marmee, who feels the cold in the Concord snowbanks. +Did my editorial work in the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and fixed my dresses +for the plays. L. sent $50, and F. $40, for tales. A. +and boys came.</p> + +<p>To Dorchester in evening, and acted Mrs. Pontifex, in +"Naval Engagements," to a good house. A gay time, +had flowers, etc. Talked half the night with H. A. about +the fast ways of young people nowadays, and gave the +child much older-sisterly advice, as no one seems to see +how much she needs help at this time of her young life.</p> + +<p>Dreamed that I was an opera dancer, and waked up +prancing.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, 15th.</i>–Wrote all day. Did two short +tales for F. In the evening with A. M. to hear Fanny +Kemble read "The Merchant of Venice." She was a +whole stock company in herself. Looked younger and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> +handsomer than ever before, and happy, as she is to be +with her daughters now. We went to supper afterwards +at Mrs. Parkman's, and saw the lioness feed. It was a +study to watch her face, so full of varying expression +was it,–always strong, always sweet, then proud and +fierce as she sniffed at nobodies who passed about her. +Being one, I kept away, and enjoyed the great creature +afar off, wondering how a short, stout, red woman <i>could</i> +look so like a queen in her purple velvet and point lace.</p> + +<p>Slipped behind a door, but Dr. Holmes found me +out, and affably asked, "How many of you children are +there?" As I was looking down on the top of his illustrious +head, the question was funny. But I answered +the little man with deep respect, "Four, sir." He +seemed to catch my naughty thought, and asked, with +a twinkle in his eye, looking up as if I were a steeple, +"And all as tall as you?" Ha! ha!</p> + +<p><i>18th.</i>–Played again at D., and had a jolly time. +Home early, and putting off my fine feathers, fell to +work on my stories. F. seems to expect me to write the +whole magazine, which I did not bargain for.</p> + +<p>To Nan's in p. m., to take care of her while the Papa +and Freddie went to C. The dear little man, so happy +and important with his bit of a bag, six pennies, and a +cake for refreshment during the long journey of an hour.</p> + +<p>We brooded over Johnny as if he were a heavenly +sort of fire to warm and comfort us with his sunny little +face and loving ways. She is a happy woman! I sell +<i>my</i> children; and though they feed me, they don't love +me as hers do.</p> + +<p>Little Tranquillity played alone all day, and made a +pretty picture sitting in "marmar's" lap in his night-gown, +talking through the trumpet to her. She never heard his +sweet little voice in any other way. Poor Nan! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, 22d.</i>–To the Club with Father. A good +paper on the "Historical View of Jesus." Father spoke +finely. It amuses me to see how people listen and applaud +<i>now</i> what was hooted at twenty years ago.</p> + +<p>The talk lasted until two, and then the hungry philosophers +remembered they had bodies and rushed away, +still talking.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Hard to feed.–L. M. A.] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Got a snow-slide on my bonnet, so made another in the +<span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and in the evening to the Antislavery Festival. All +the old faces and many new ones. Glad I have lived in +the time of this great movement, and known its heroes +so well. War times suit me, as I am a fighting <i>May</i>.</p> + +<p><i>24th.</i>–My second hyacinth bloomed pale blue, like a +timid hope, and I took the omen for a good one, as I +<i>am</i> getting on, and have more than I can do of the work +that I once went begging for. Enjoyed the little spring +my little flower made for me, and Buzzy, my pet fly, +moved into the sweet mansion from his hanging garden +in the ivy pot.</p> + +<p>Acted in Cambridge, Lucretia Buzzard and Mrs. +Jarley.</p> + +<p><i>Sunday, 31st.</i>–Last day of the month, but I'm not +satisfied with my four weeks' work. Acting for charity +upsets my work. The change is good for me, and so I +do it, and because I have no money to give.</p> + +<p>Four tales this month. Received $70; sent $30 +home. No debts.</p> + +<p><i>February 1st.</i>–Arranged "Hospital Sketches and +War Stories" for a book. By taking out all Biblical +allusions, and softening all allusions to rebs., the book +may be made "quite perfect," I am told. Anything to +suit customers. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Friday, 14th.</i>–My third hyacinth bloomed this <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, +a lovely pink. So I found things snug, and had a busy +day chasing––who dodged. Then I wrote my tales. +Made some shirts for my boys, and went out to buy +a squash pie for my lonely supper. It snowed; was +very cold. No one paid, and I wanted to send some +money home. Felt cross and tired as I trudged back +at dusk. My pie turned a somersault, a boy laughed, +so did I, and felt better. On my doorstep I found a +gentleman who asked if Miss A. lived here. I took +him up my winding stair and found him a very delightful +fly, for he handed me a letter out of which fell a +$100 bill. With this bait Mr. B. lured me to write "one +column of Advice to Young Women," as Mrs. Shaw +and others were doing. If he had asked me for a +Greek oration I would have said "yes." So I gave a +receipt, and the very elegant agent bowed himself away, +leaving my "'umble" bower full of perfume, and my soul +of peace.</p> + +<p>Thriftily taking advantage of the enthusiastic moment, +I planned my article while I ate my dilapidated pie, and +then proceeded to write it with the bill before me. It +was about old maids. "Happy Women" was the title, +and I put in my list all the busy, useful, independent +spinsters I know, for liberty is a better husband than love +to many of us. This was a nice little episode in my +trials of an authoress, so I record it.</p> + +<p>So the pink hyacinth was a true prophet, and I went +to bed a happy millionaire, to dream of flannel petticoats +for my blessed Mother, paper for Father, a new dress for +May, and sleds for my boys.</p> + +<p><i>Monday, 17th.</i>–Father came full of plans about his +book. Went with him to the Club. P. read a paper, +and the Rabbi Nathan talked. A curious jumble of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> +fools and philosophers. The Club should be kept more +select, and not be run by one person.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday, 25th.</i>–Note from Lady Amberly as I sat +sewing on my ninepenny dress. She wanted to come +and see me, and I told her to do so, and I'd show her +how I lived in my sky-parlor,–spinning yarns like a +spider. Met her at the Club, and liked her, so simple +and natural.</p> + +<p>Acted for Mr. Clarke's Church Fair in the evening. +Did Mrs. Jarley three times. Very hoarse with a cold, +but kept my promise.</p> + +<p>"Proverb Stories" suggested, and "Kitty's Class-Day" +written.</p> + +<p><i>Friday, 28th.</i>–Packed for home, as I am needed +there, and acted Jarley for the third evening. Have +done it nine times this week, and my voice is gone.</p> + +<p>I am sorry to leave my quiet room, for I've enjoyed +it very much.</p> + +<p>Written eight long tales, ten short ones, read stacks of +manuscripts, and done editorial work. Acted for charity +twelve times.</p> + +<p>Not a bad two months' work. I can imagine an easier +life, but with love, health, and work I can be happy; for +these three help one to do, to be, and to endure all +things.</p> + +<p><i>March, April, and May.</i>–Had the pleasure of providing +Marmee with many comforts, and keeping the +hounds of care and debt from worrying her. She sits +at rest in her sunny room, and that is better than any +amount of fame to me.</p> + +<p><i>May, 1868.</i>–Father saw Mr. Niles about a fairy +book. Mr. N. wants a <i>girls' story</i>, and I begin "Little +Women." Marmee, Anna, and May all approve my +plan. So I plod away, though I don't enjoy this sort +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> +of thing. Never liked girls or knew many, except my +sisters; but our queer plays and experiences may prove +interesting, though I doubt it.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Good joke.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>June.</i>–Sent twelve chapters of "L. W." to Mr. N. +He thought it <i>dull</i>; so do I. But work away and mean +to try the experiment; for lively, simple books are very +much needed for girls, and perhaps I can supply the +need.</p> + +<p>Wrote two tales for Ford, and one for F. L. clamors +for more, but must wait.</p> + +<p><i>July 15th.</i>–Have finished "Little Women," and sent +it off,–402 pages. May is designing some pictures for +it. Hope it will go, for I shall probably get nothing for +"Morning Glories."</p> + +<p>Very tired, head full of pain from overwork, and heart +heavy about Marmee, who is growing feeble.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Too much work for one young woman. No wonder she +broke down. 1876.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>August.</i>–Roberts Bros. made an offer for the story, +but at the same time advised me to keep the copyright; +so I shall.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[An honest publisher and a lucky author, for the copyright +made her fortune, and the "dull book" was the first +golden egg of the ugly duckling. 1885.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>August 26th.</i>–Proof of whole book came. It reads +better than I expected. Not a bit sensational, but simple +and true, for we really lived most of it; and if it succeeds +that will be the reason of it. Mr. N. likes it better +now, and says some girls who have read the manuscripts +say it is "splendid!" As it is for them, they are the +best critics, so I should be satisfied. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span></p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Father's book ["Tablets"] came out. +Very simple outside, wise and beautiful within. Hope it +will bring him praise and profit, for he has waited long.</p> + +<p>No girl, Mother poorly, May busy with pupils, Nan +with her boys, and much work to be done. We don't +like the kitchen department, and our tastes and gifts lie +in other directions, so it is hard to make the various +Pegasuses pull the plan steadily.</p> + +<p><i>October 8th.</i>–Marmee's birthday; sixty-eight. After +breakfast she found her gifts on a table in the study. +Father escorted her to the big red chair, the boys +prancing before blowing their trumpets, while we "girls" +marched behind, glad to see the dear old Mother better +and able to enjoy our little fête. The boys proudly +handed her the little parcels, and she laughed and cried +over our gifts and verses.</p> + +<p>I feel as if the decline had begun for her; and each +year will add to the change which is going on, as time +alters the energetic, enthusiastic home-mother into a +gentle, feeble old woman, to be cherished and helped +tenderly down the long hill she has climbed so bravely +with her many burdens.</p> + +<p><i>October 26th.</i>–Came to Boston, and took a quiet +room in Brookline Street. Heard Emerson in the evening. +Sent a report of it to A. P. for the "Standard" at +his desire.</p> + +<p>Anna is nicely settled in her new house, and Marmee +is with her. Helped put down carpets and settle things.</p> + +<p><i>30th.</i>–Saw Mr. N. of Roberts Brothers, and he gave +me good news of the book. An order from London for +an edition came in. First edition gone and more called +for. Expects to sell three or four thousand before the +New Year.</p> + +<p>Mr. N. wants a second volume for spring. Pleasant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> +notices and letters arrive, and much interest in my +little women, who seem to find friends by their truth +to life, as I hoped.</p> + +<p><i>November 1st.</i>–Began the second part of "Little +Women." I can do a chapter a day, and in a month +I mean to be done. A little success is so inspiring that +I now find my "Marches" sober, nice people, and as I +can launch into the future, my fancy has more play. +Girls write to ask who the little women marry, as if that +was the only end and aim of a woman's life. I <i>won't</i> +marry Jo to Laurie to please any one.</p> + +<p><i>Monday, 16th.</i>–To the Club for a change, as I have +written like a steam engine since the 1st. Weiss read a +fine paper on "Woman Suffrage." Good talk afterward. +Lunched with Kate Field, Celia Thaxter, and Mr. Linton. +Woman's Club in <span class="smcap">p.m.</span></p> + +<p><i>17th.</i>–Finished my thirteenth chapter. I am so full +of my work, I can't stop to eat or sleep, or for anything +but a daily run.</p> + +<p><i>29th.</i>–My birthday; thirty-six. Spent alone, writing +hard. No presents but Father's "Tablets."</p> + +<p>I never seem to have many presents, as some do, +though I give a good many. That is best perhaps, and +makes a gift very precious when it does come.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Home to shut up the house, as Father +goes West and Mother to Anna's. A cold, hard, dirty +time; but was so glad to be off out of C. that I worked +like a beaver, and turned the key on Apple Slump with +joy.</p> + +<p>May and I went to the new Bellevue Hotel in Beacon +Street. She doesn't enjoy quiet corners as I do, so we +took a sky-parlor, and had a queer time whisking up and +down in the elevator, eating in a marble café, and sleeping +on a sofa bed, that we might be genteel. It did not suit +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> +me at all. A great gale nearly blew the roof off. Steam +pipes exploded, and we were hungry. I was very tired +with my hard summer, with no rest for the brains that +earn the money.</p> + +<p><i>January, 1869.</i>–Left our lofty room at Bellevue and +went to Chauncey Street. Sent the sequel of "L. W." +to Roberts on New Year's Day. Hope it will do as well +as the first, which is selling finely, and receives good +notices. F. and F. both want me to continue working +for them, and I shall do so if I am able; but my head-aches, +cough, and weariness keep me from working as I +once could, fourteen hours a day.</p> + +<p>In March we went home, as Mother was restless at +Nan's, and Father wanted his library. Cold and dull; +not able to write; so took care of Marmee and tried to +rest.</p> + +<p>Paid up all the debts, thank the Lord!–every penny +that money can pay,–and now I feel as if I could die +in peace. My dream is beginning to come true; and if +my head holds out I'll do all I once hoped to do.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Very poorly. Feel quite used up. Don't +care much for myself, as rest is heavenly even with pain; +but the family seem so panic-stricken and helpless when +I break down, that I try to keep the mill going. Two +short tales for L., $50; two for Ford, $20; and did +my editorial work, though two months are unpaid for. +Roberts wants a new book, but am afraid to get into a +vortex lest I fall ill. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Publishers.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Boston</span>, Dec. 28, 1869.</p> + +<p>Many thanks for the check which made my Christmas +an unusually merry one.</p> + +<p>After toiling so many years along the uphill road,–always +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> +a hard one to women writers,–it is peculiarly +grateful to me to find the way growing easier at last, with +pleasant little surprises blossoming on either side, and +the rough places made smooth by the courtesy and kindness +of those who have proved themselves friends as well +as publishers.</p> + +<p> +With best wishes for the coming year,</p> + +<p class="left45">I am yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">August</span>, 1871.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Many thanks for the fortune and +the kind note accompanying it. Please hand the money +to S. E. S., and he will put it somewhere for me....</p> + +<p>You are very kind to find a minute out of your hurried +day to attend to this affair.... I'm not sure but I shall +try Dr. B. if my present and ninth doctor fails to cure my +aching bones. I haven't a bit of faith in any of them; +but my friends won't let me gently slip away where bones +cease from troubling, so I must keep trying.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Very gratefully your friend,</p> + +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p>Written in 1871, just after the publication of +"Little Men":–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">August 5th</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Thanks for the parcel and notes.</p> + +<p>... The letters were very gushing from Nellie and +Dollie and Sallie Somebody asking for pictures, autographs, +family history, and several new books right away.</p> + +<p>I must give Dr. R. a fair trial, and if he fails I'll try +Dr. B., just to make up the number of doctors to a +round ten.</p> + +<p>"Happy Thoughts" is very funny, especially the trip +to Antwerp.</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p></div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER IX.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">EUROPE.</p> + +<p class="center p2">THE LAY OF A GOLDEN GOOSE.</p> +<div class="poem"> + +<p class="stanza"> +Long ago in a poultry yard<br /> +<span class="i1">One dull November morn,</span><br /> +Beneath a motherly soft wing<br /> +<span class="i1">A little goose was born.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Who straightway peeped out of the shell<br /> +<span class="i1">To view the world beyond,</span><br /> +Longing at once to sally forth<br /> +<span class="i1">And paddle in the pond.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">"Oh! be not rash," her father said,<br /> +<span class="i1">A mild Socratic bird;</span><br /> +Her mother begged her not to stray<br /> +<span class="i1">With many a warning word.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">But little goosey was perverse,<br /> +<span class="i1">And eagerly did cry,</span><br /> +"I've got a lovely pair of wings,<br /> +<span class="i1">Of course I ought to fly."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">In vain parental cacklings,<br /> +<span class="i1">In vain the cold sky's frown,</span><br /> +Ambitious goosey tried to soar,<br /> +<span class="i1">But always tumbled down.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">The farm-yard jeered at her attempts,<br /> +<span class="i1">The peacocks screamed, "Oh fie!</span><br /> +You're only a domestic goose,<br /> +<span class="i1">So don't pretend to fly."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Great cock-a-doodle from his perch<br /> +<span class="i1">Crowed daily loud and clear,</span><br /> +"Stay in the puddle, foolish bird,<br /> +<span class="i1">That is your proper sphere."</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza">The ducks and hens said, one and all,<br /> +<span class="i1">In gossip by the pool,</span><br /> +"Our children never play such pranks;<br /> +<span class="i1">My dear, that fowl's a fool."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">The owls came out and flew about,<br /> +<span class="i1">Hooting above the rest,</span><br /> +"No useful egg was ever hatched<br /> +<span class="i1">From transcendental nest."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Good little goslings at their play<br /> +<span class="i1">And well-conducted chicks</span><br /> +Were taught to think poor goosey's flights<br /> +<span class="i1">Were naughty, ill-bred tricks.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"><i>They</i> were content to swim and scratch,<br /> +<span class="i1">And not at all inclined</span><br /> +For any wild-goose chase in search<br /> +<span class="i1">Of something undefined.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Hard times she had as one may guess,<br /> +<span class="i1">That young aspiring bird,</span><br /> +Who still from every fall arose<br /> +<span class="i1">Saddened but undeterred.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">She knew she was no nightingale,<br /> +<span class="i1">Yet spite of much abuse,</span><br /> +She longed to help and cheer the world,<br /> +<span class="i1">Although a plain gray goose.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">She could not sing, she could not fly,<br /> +<span class="i1">Nor even walk with grace,</span><br /> +And all the farm-yard had declared<br /> +<span class="i1">A puddle was her place.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">But something stronger than herself<br /> +<span class="i1">Would cry, "Go on, go on!</span><br /> +Remember, though an humble fowl,<br /> +<span class="i1">You're cousin to a swan."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">So up and down poor goosey went,<br /> +<span class="i1">A busy, hopeful bird.</span><br /> +Searched many wide unfruitful fields,<br /> +<span class="i1">And many waters stirred.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">At length she came unto a stream<br /> +<span class="i1">Most fertile of all <i>Niles</i>,</span><br /> +Where tuneful birds might soar and sing<br /> +<span class="i1">Among the leafy isles.</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza">Here did she build a little nest<br /> +<span class="i1">Beside the waters still,</span><br /> +Where the parental goose could rest<br /> +<span class="i1">Unvexed by any <i>bill</i>.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">And here she paused to smooth her plumes,<br /> +<span class="i1">Ruffled by many plagues;</span><br /> +When suddenly arose the cry,<br /> +<span class="i1">"This goose lays golden eggs."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">At once the farm-yard was agog;<br /> +<span class="i1">The ducks began to quack;</span><br /> +Prim Guinea fowls relenting called,<br /> +<span class="i1">"Come back, come back, come back."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Great chanticleer was pleased to give<br /> +<span class="i1">A patronizing crow,</span><br /> +And the contemptuous biddies clucked,<br /> +<span class="i1">"I wish my chicks did so."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">The peacocks spread their shining tails,<br /> +<span class="i1">And cried in accents soft,</span><br /> +"We want to know you, gifted one,<br /> +<span class="i1">Come up and sit aloft."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Wise owls awoke and gravely said,<br /> +<span class="i1">With proudly swelling breasts,</span><br /> +"Rare birds have always been evoked<br /> +<span class="i1">From transcendental nests!"</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">News-hunting turkeys from afar<br /> +<span class="i1">Now ran with all thin legs</span><br /> +To gobble facts and fictions of<br /> +<span class="i1">The goose with golden eggs.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">But best of all the little fowls<br /> +<span class="i1">Still playing on the shore,</span><br /> +Soft downy chicks and goslings gay,<br /> +<span class="i1">Chirped out, "Dear Goose, lay more."</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">But goosey all these weary years<br /> +<span class="i1">Had toiled like any ant,</span><br /> +And wearied out she now replied,<br /> +<span class="i1">"My little dears, I can't.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">"When I was starving, half this corn<br /> +<span class="i1">Had been of vital use,</span><br /> +Now I am surfeited with food<br /> +<span class="i1">Like any Strasbourg goose."</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza">So to escape too many friends,<br /> +<span class="i1">Without uncivil strife,</span><br /> +She ran to the Atlantic pond<br /> +<span class="i1">And paddled for her life.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Soon up among the grand old Alps<br /> +<span class="i1">She found two blessed things,</span><br /> +The health she had so nearly lost,<br /> +<span class="i1">And rest for weary limbs.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">But still across the briny deep<br /> +<span class="i1">Couched in most friendly words,</span><br /> +Came prayers for letters, tales, or verse,<br /> +<span class="i1">From literary birds.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Whereat the renovated fowl<br /> +<span class="i1">With grateful thanks profuse,</span><br /> +Took from her wing a quill and wrote<br /> +<span class="i1">This lay of a Golden Goose.</span> +</p> +<p class="o2"> +<span class="smcap">Bex, Switzerland</span>, August, 1870. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE year 1869 was less fruitful in work than +the preceding one. Miss Alcott spent the +winter in Boston and the summer in Concord. +She was ill and very tired, and felt little inclined +for mental effort. "Hospital Sketches," which +had been first published by Redpath, was now republished +by Roberts Brothers, with the addition +of six shorter "Camp and Fireside Stories." The +interest of the public in either the author or the +work had not lessened; for two thousand copies +of the book in its new form were sold the first +week. In her weary condition she finds her celebrity +rather a burden than a pleasure, and says in +her journal:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +People begin to come and stare at the Alcotts. Reporters +haunt the place to look at the authoress, who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> +dodges into the woods <i>à la</i> Hawthorne, and won't be +even a very small lion.</p> + +<p>Refreshed my soul with Goethe, ever strong and fine +and alive. Gave S. E. S. $200 to invest. What richness +to have a little not needed! +</p> +</div> + +<p>Miss Alcott had some pleasant refreshment in +travelling during the summer.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>July.</i>– ... Spent in Canada with my cousins, the +Frothinghams, at their house at Rivière du Loup,–a +little village on the St. Lawrence, full of queer people. +Drove, read, and walked with the little ones. A pleasant, +quiet time.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>– ... A month with May at Mt. Desert. +A gay time, and a little rest and pleasure before the old +pain and worry began again.</p> + +<p>Made up $1,000 for S. E. S. to invest. Now I have +$1,200 for a rainy day, and no debts. With that thought +I can bear neuralgia gayly. +</p> +</div> + +<p>In the autumn the whole family went to Boston, +the father and mother staying with Mrs. Pratt; +while Louisa and her sister May, "the workers," +occupied rooms in Pinckney Street. Not being +well enough to do much new work, Louisa began +using up her old stories, and found that the little +women "helped their rejected sisters to good +places where once they went a-begging." In +January, 1870, she suffered from loss of voice, +for which she tried "heroic treatment" under a +distinguished physician. She got well enough to +write a little, and in February wrote the conclusion +to "The Old-fashioned Girl," which was published +in March. She says:– +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +I wrote it with left hand in a sling, one foot up, head +aching, and no voice. Yet, as the book is funny, people +will say, "Didn't you enjoy doing it?" I often think of +poor Tom Hood as I scribble, rather than lie and groan. +I certainly earn my living by the sweat of my brow. +</p> +</div> + +<p>The book does not reveal this condition; for +nothing could be fresher, brighter, and more +wholesome than the heroine Polly, many of whose +adventures are drawn from the author's own experience. +She steps out of her usual surroundings +into the fashionable life of the city, but betrays +her own want of sympathy with it. The book has +always been very popular.</p> + +<p>In 1870, the success of "Hospital Sketches" and +the continued receipts from "Little Women" put +their author in a pecuniary position which enabled +her to go abroad for the rest and refreshment which +she sorely needed. The younger sister was invited +to go by her friend A. B. on condition that Louisa +would accompany them. This journey was very +free and independent. She has given an account–somewhat +travestied certainly, but very true to +the general facts–in "Shawl Straps," although +the reader would hardly suppose the old lady described +in that book had not yet reached her +fortieth year. These sketches were arranged after +her return, at the request of Mrs. Stowe, for the +"Christian Union," and were published in a book +forming one volume of "Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag" in +1872.</p> + +<p>Fortunately we have many of Louisa's original +letters preserved in her father's copies, which have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> +escaped the destruction of her correspondence. +With some extracts from her journals, they give +a sufficient account of this journey. In many respects +the contrast to her former visit to Europe is +most pleasant. She has now become pecuniarily independent +by her own exertions, and has a popular +reputation which brings her welcome and recognition +wherever she goes. But she has paid a heavy +price for these gains. Her health has become seriously +shattered. The long application to writing, +sometimes even for fourteen hours a day,–a pressure +of excitement which kept her from eating and +sleeping,–added to sorrow and anxiety, have told +upon her nerves and strength, and she is often unfitted +to enjoy the pleasures which are open to her. +Yet her journal and letters are as full of wit and +humor as ever; and she laid up stores of pleasant +memories which lasted her through life. Readers +of "Shawl Straps" will recognize the originals of +those bright sketches in the series of letters from +Dinan.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Second Trip to Europe.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>April.</i>–... On the first day of the month (fit day +for <i>my</i> undertaking I thought) May and I went to N. Y. +to meet A. B., with John for escort. Every one very kind. +Thirty gifts, a parting ball among our house-mates, and +a great cake. Half-a-dozen devoted beings at the station +to see us off. But I remember only Father and Mother +as they went away the day before, leaving the two ambitious +daughters to sail away, perhaps forever.</p> + +<p>Marmee kept up bravely, and nodded and smiled; but +at the corner I saw the white handkerchief go up to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> +eyes, after being gayly waved to us. May and I broke +down, and said, "We won't go;" but next day we set +forth, as young birds will, and left the nest empty for a +year.</p> + +<p>Sailed on the 2d in a gale of wind in the French +steamer "Lafayette" for Brest. Our adventures are told +in "Shawl Straps."</p> + +<p>"O. F. G." came out in March, and sold well. Train-boy +going to N. Y. put it into my lap; and when I said +I didn't care for it, exclaimed with surprise,–</p> + +<p>"Bully book, ma'am! Sell a lot; better have it."</p> + +<p>John told him I wrote it; and his chuckle, stare, and +astonished "No!" was great fun. On the steamer little +girls had it, and came in a party to call on me, very sea-sick +in my berth, done up like a mummy.</p> + +<p>Spent some charming weeks in Brittany.</p> + +<p><i>June and July.</i>–"O. F. G." was published in London +by Sampson Low & Co. We left Dinan on the +15th, and had a lovely trip through France to Vevay and +Bex.</p> + +<p>Talk of war between France and Prussia.</p> + +<p>Much excitement at Vevay. Refugees from Lyons +come in. Isabella and Don Carlos were there, with +queer followers.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–... On the 3d came news of the Emperor's +surrender. Great wailing among the French here. +All well at home. Books going finely; no debts.</p> + +<p>We decide to go to Rome for the winter, as May pines +for the artist's Paradise; and war will not trouble us I +hope.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Ship</span> "<span class="smcap">Lafayette</span>," April 9, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Marmee</span>,–To-morrow we come to our long +journey's end [Brest, France], thank the Lord. It has +been a good one on the whole, and I have got along +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> +as well as I expected. But it is tiresome to be day after +day doing nothing; for my head will not let me read. +May has done well, and has been very kind to me and +good, and is the life of the table, I guess. I never go up +to meals, for Marie takes such good care of me; I lie +and peck all sorts of funny messes, and receive calls in my +den. People seem to think we are "guns," and want to +know us; but as they are not interesting, we are on the +reserve, and it has a fine effect. About three thousand +miles away does not seem possible in so little while. +How do you all get along,–Marmee, Father, the laddies, +my lass, and dear old John? He was so good and kind +all the way I had no care or worry, but just lopped round +and let him do all the work. Bless the dear!</p> + +<p>I shall despatch a good long letter as soon as we arrive +and have something to tell. We send this to ease +your mind. Letters here are not prepaid, so pay for +mine out of my money. Don't forget to tell the post-master +in Boston about my letters.</p> + +<p>Bless you all, says your</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Morlaix</span>, April 14, 1870. +</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Marmee</span>,–Having got our "poise" a bit by +a day and night on land, I begin at once to scribble to +you, as I mean to keep a letter on hand all the time, and +send them off as fast as they are done. We had a twelve +days' passage, owing to a double screw which they were +trying and which delayed us, though it is safer than one. +The weather was cold and rainy, and the sea rough, so I +only went up once or twice, and kept warm in my den +most of the time. After the first two days I didn't feel +sick, except my head as usual. I slept, ate, ruminated, +and counted the hours. May poked about more, and was +liked by all. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span></p> + +<p>We got to Brest about noon Wednesday. A. and I got +our trunks through the custom-house, and after some +squabbling with the men, got all aboard for Morlaix, +which is a curious old place worth seeing. It was a +lovely day, warm as our June, and we had a charming +trip of three hours through a country already green and +flowery. We reached our hotel all right, and after a +nice dinner had baths and went to bed. May's room +being some way from mine, she came and bunked in +with me in my little bed, and we slept.</p> + +<p>To-day is lovely, warm, and I am sitting at an open +window looking at the square, enjoying the queer sights +and sounds; for the air resounds with the rattle of +wooden shoes on the stones.</p> + +<p>Market-women sit all about selling queer things, among +which are snails; they buy them by the pint, pick them +out with a pin like nuts, and seem to relish them mightily. +We went out this <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> after breakfast, and took a stroll +about the queer old town. May was in heaven, and +kept having raptures over the gables, the turrets with +storks on them, the fountains, people, and churches. +She is now sketching the tower of St. Melanie, with a +crowd of small boys round her enjoying the sight and +criticising the work. It don't seem very new to me, but +I enjoy it, and feel pretty well. We are to study French +every day when we settle, and I am to do the mending, +etc., for A., who is to talk for us, and make our bargains. +So far we go well together.</p> + +<p>To-morrow we go on to Lamballe, where we take the +diligence to Dinan, fourteen miles farther, and there settle +for some weeks. I wish the boys could see the funny +children here in little wooden shoes like boats, the girls +in blue cloth caps, aprons, and shawls, just like the women, +and the boys in funny hats and sheepskin jackets. Now +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> +I must go and get May, who can't speak a word of French, +and has a panic if any one speaks to her. The beggars +afflict her, and she wants to give them money on all occasions. +This <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> we go for a drive to see all there is, as +neither A. nor I are good walkers; "adoo" till by and +by. I wish I could send you this balmy day.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Dinan</span>, Sunday, April 17, 1870.</p> + +<p>Here we are, all settled at our first neat stopping-place, +and are in clover, as you will see when I tell you how +plummy and lovely it is. We left Morlaix Friday at 8 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, +and were so amazed at the small bill presented us that +we couldn't praise the town enough. You can judge of +the cheapness of things, when I say that my share of the +expenses from Brest here, including two days at a hotel, +car, 'bus, and diligence fare, fees, and everything, was $8. +The day was divine, and we had a fine little journey to +Lamballe, where the fun began; for instead of a big diligence, +we found only a queer ramshackle thing like an +insane carryall, with a wooden boot and queer porch for +the driver.</p> + +<p>Our four trunks were piled up behind and tied on with +old ropes, our bags stowed in a wooden box on top, and +ourselves inside with a fat Frenchman. The humpbacked +driver "ya hooped" to the horses, and away we clattered +at a wild pace, all feeling dead sure that something would +happen, for the old thing bounded and swayed awfully, +the trunks were in danger of tumbling off, and to our dismay +we soon discovered that the big Frenchman was +tipsy. He gabbled to A. as only a tipsy person could, +quoted poetry; said he was Victor Hugo's best friend, and +a child of Nature; that English ladies were all divine, but +too cold,–for when he pressed A.'s hand she told him +it was not allowed in England, and he was overwhelmed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> +with remorse; bowed, sighed, rolled his eyes, and told +her that he drank much ale, because it flew to his head +and gave him "commercial ideas."</p> + +<p>I never saw anything so perfectly absurd as it was, and +after we got used to it we laughed ourselves sick over the +lark. You ought to have seen us and our turnout, tearing +over the road at a breakneck pace, pitching, creaking, +and rattling, the funny driver hooting at the horses, who +had their tails done up in chignons, blue harness, and +strings of bells, the drunken man warbling, exhorting, and +languishing at us all by turns, while A. headed him off +with great skill. I sat, a mass of English dignity and +coolness, suffering alternate agonies of anxiety and amusement, +and May, who tied her head up in a bundle, looked +like a wooden image.</p> + +<p>It was rich; and when we took up first a peasant woman +in wooden shoes and fly-away cap, and then a red-nosed +priest smoking a long pipe, we were a superb spectacle. +In this style we banged into Dinan, stopped at the gate, +and were dumped bag and baggage in the square. Finding +Madame Coste's man was not here for us, we hired a +man to bring our trunks up. To our great amazement, +an oldish woman, who was greasing the wheels of a diligence, +came, and catching up our big trunks, whipped +them into two broad carts, and taking one trotted down +the street at a fine pace, followed by the man with the +other. That was the finishing touch; and we went laughing +after them through the great arched gate into the +quaintest, prettiest, most romantic town I ever saw. Narrow +streets with overhanging gables, distracting roofs, +windows, and porches, carved beams, and every sort of +richness. The strong old lady beat the man, and finally +landed us close by another old gate at a charming house +fronting the south, overlooking a lovely green valley, full +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> +of gardens, blooming plum and peach trees, windmills, +and a ruined castle, at sight of which we all skipped. +Madame Coste received us with rapture, for A. brought +a letter from Mrs. L., who stayed here and was the joy +of the old lady's soul. We were in great luck, for being +early in the season she had three rooms left, and we nabbed +them at once,–a salon with old oak walls and wardrobes, +blue damask furniture, a fireplace, funny windows, and +quaint furniture. A little room out of it for A., and upstairs +a larger room for May and me, with two beds draped in +green chintz, and carved big wardrobe, etc., and best of +all, a sunny window toward the valley. For these rooms +and our board we each pay $1 a day, and I call that +cheap. It would be worth that to get the fun and air +alone, for it is like June, and we sit about with open +windows, flowers in the fields, birds singing, and everything +spring-like.</p> + +<p>We took possession at once, and dressed for a dinner +at six. We were then presented to our fellow-boarders,–Madame +Forney, a buxom widow, her son Gaston, a handsome +Frenchy youth of twenty-three, and her daughter, a +homely girl of twenty, who is to be married here on the +3d of May. After a great bowing and scraping we had +a funny fish dinner, it being Good Friday. When they +found we didn't speak French they were "desolated," +and begged us to learn at once, which we solemnly vowed +to do. Gaston "knew English," so May at once began to +teach him more, and the ice being broken we got gay and +friendly at once. I could understand them pretty well, +but can't talk, and A. told them that I was forbidden to +say much on account of my throat. This will give me a +chance to get a fair start. May pegs away at her grammar, +and with that and the elegant Gaston, she will soon +begin to "parlez-vous." +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span></p> + +<p>After dinner we were borne to the great salon, where a +fire, lights, and a piano appeared. Every one sat round +and gabbled except the Alcotts, who looked and laughed. +Mademoiselle Forney played, and then May convulsed +them by singing some <i>Chants Amériques</i>, which they +thought very lively and droll. They were all attention +and devotion to Madame Coste,–a tall old lady with +whiskers, who kept embracing A. and beaming at us in +her great content at being friends of <i>chère</i> Madame L. +A. told them that I was a celebrated authoress, and May +a very fine artist, and we were beamed at more than ever. +Being tired, we turned in early, after a jolly time in our +own little salon, eating chocolate and laying plans.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Dinan</span>, April 20, 1870.</p> + +<p>... A. and I went shopping. A. got a little bird to +enliven our parlor, a sort of sparrow, gray with a red head +and a lively song. We named him Bernard du Guesclin +(the hero of the town), and call him Bernie. I got some +nice gloves for three francs (sixty cents), and a white sun-umbrella +for May (forty cents). She needs it when she +sketches, and there is always a crowd of children round +her to watch and admire; she gives one of them a sou to +hold the umbrella, and so gets on nicely.</p> + +<p>In the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> A. and I went to the little village of Lahou, +in the valley where the ruined castle is, to a fair. It was +a very picturesque sight, for the white-capped women, +sitting about on the green hillside, looked like flowers, +and the blue blouses of the men and wide-brimmed hats +added to the effect. The little street was lined with +booths, where they sold nuts, queer cakes, hot sausages, +and pancakes, toys, etc. I got a funny cake, just the +size and shape of a deep pie-dish, and a jack-knife, for a +sou. We also indulged in nuts, and sat on our campstools +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> +in a shady place and ate them boldly in the public +mart, while enjoying the lively scene. French and English +people went by in droll parties, and we coolly sat and +stared at them. May is going to sketch the castle, so I +won't waste paper describing the pretty place with the +ruined church full of rooks, the old mill with the waterwheel +housed in vines, or the winding river, and meadows +full of blue hyacinths and rosy daisies.</p> + +<p>Yesterday, A. and I had to return the call of Mademoiselle +M., and as she speaks English I got on very +well. The stairs to her apartment were so steep that we +held on by a velvet-covered rope as we climbed up. In +the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> we had fun, for we took two donkey carriages +and rode to the mineral spring. Gaston was sick and +couldn't go, as we had planned, so May drove herself in +one, and A. and I in the other. I wish the boys could +have seen us, it was so funny. The carriages were bath-chairs +with a wee donkey harnessed to each, so small, so +neat, and looking so venerable with thin long ears and +bits of feet that I felt as if I was driving my grandmother. +May was a very imposing sight, alone in her chair under +her new umbrella, in her gray suit, with bright gloves and +a big whip, driving a gray rat who wouldn't trot unless +pounded and banged and howled at in the maddest +way. Our steed was bigger, but the most pig-headed old +scamp you ever saw, for it took two big women to make +him go. I drove, and A. thrashed away with all her +might,–our joint efforts only producing occasional short +trots which enraged us dreadfully.</p> + +<p>We laughed till we were sick, it was so very absurd; +while May trundled serenely along, enjoying the fine views +regardless of her rat, who paced along at his ease, wagging +his ears and meditating.</p> + +<p>We had a nice trip, but didn't drink the water, as iron +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> +don't suit us. Coming home, we passed the home of the +donkeys, and they at once turned in, and were with much +difficulty persuaded to go on by two short girls in caps +and short gowns, who ran and shouted "E! E! va oui!" +and punched sticks into the poor asses, rattling us over +the stones till our eyes danced in our heads. We found +it rather hard work, and A. means to buy a horse and +straw pony-chaise, so we can drive ourselves in peace +where we like....</p> + +<p>A. is bargaining for a horse which an Englishman wishes +to sell for $50, including harness and cart. We can't hire +horses for less than $2 a drive, and donkeys are vile, so +it is cheaper to buy, and sell when we go away, and so +drive as much as we like. A. knows about such things, +and takes all the responsibility.... To-morrow we go on a +little excursion in the steamboat down the river, and return +<i>à la</i> donkey with the English ladies, who have returned +our call and are very friendly.</p> + +<p>Please forward this little note in an envelope to its address. +The child wrote me a pretty letter, which N. sent, +and the pa said I wouldn't answer. The child said, "I +know she will, she is so nice." So I do. Best love to +every one. Don't go home too soon. I shall write to +Fred and Jack next time. Good-by.</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To M. S.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>... They call each other pet names that convulse us,–"my +little pig," "my sweet hen," "my cabbage," and +"my tom-cat." A French lady with her son and daughter +board here, and their ways amuse us mightily. The +girl is to be married next week to a man whom she has +seen twice, and never talked to but an hour in her life. +She writes to him what her mother dictates, and says she +should be ashamed to love him before they were married. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> +Her wedding clothes absorb her entire mind, and her +Jules will get a pretty doll when he takes Mademoiselle +A. F. to wife. Gaston, the son, puts on <i>blasé</i> airs, +though only twenty-two, and languishes at May, for +they can't talk, as he does not know English nor she +French.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +April 27.</p> + +<p>I left my letter to drive to a ruined château, which we +went all over, as a part is inhabited by a farmer who keeps +his hog in the great banqueting hall, his grain in the chapel, +and his hens in the lady's chamber. It was very picturesque; +the old rooms, with ivy coming in at the windows, +choking up the well, and climbing up the broken towers. +The lady of the château was starved to death by her cruel +brothers, and buried in the moat, where her bones were +found long afterward, and her ghost still haunts the place +they say. Here we had cider, tell Pa.</p> + +<p>Coming home we saw a Dolmen, one of the Druidical +remains. It stood in a grove of old pines,–a great post of +gray stone, some twenty-five feet high, and very big round. +It leaned as if falling, and had queer holes in it. Brittany +is full of these relics, which no one can explain, and +I was glad to see the mysterious things.</p> + +<p>Yesterday we took a little trip down the river in a tiny +steamer, going through a lock and skimming along between +the green banks of the narrow river to Miss M.'s +country-house, where we had new milk, and lay on the +grass for an hour or so. Then May and Miss M. walked +home, and A. and I went in a donkey cart.</p> + +<p>To-day the girls have gone to La Garaye with Gaston +on donkeys. The weather has been cold for a day or +two with easterly winds. So I feel it at once and keep +warm. It is very unusual at this time, but comes, I suppose, +because I've travelled hundreds of miles to get rid +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> +of them. It won't last long, and then we shall be hot +enough.</p> + +<p>We lead such quiet, lazy lives I really have nothing +to tell.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, the <i>fiancé</i> of Mademoiselle has arrived, and +amuses us very much. He is a tiny man in uniform, with +a red face, big moustache, and blue eyes. He thinks he +talks English, and makes such very funny mistakes. He +asked us if we had been to "promenade on monkeys" +meaning donkeys, and called the Casino "the establishment +of dance." He addresses all his attentions to the +ma, and only bows to his future wife, who admires her +diamonds and is contented. We are going away on the +day of the wedding, as it is private.</p> + +<p>The girls have just returned in great spirits, for A.'s +donkey kept lying down, and it took all three to get him +up again. They sat in a sort of chair, and looked very +funny with the four little legs under them and long ears +flopping before. I shall go to Garaye some fine day, and +will tell you about it.</p> + +<p> +Adieu, love to all. +Yours,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<i>Dinan</i>, May 6, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear People</span>,–I have just got a fat letter full of +notices from N.,–all good, and news generally pleasant.</p> + +<p>The great event of the season is over, and Miss F. is +Mrs. C. It was a funny scene, for they had a breakfast +the day before, then on Tuesday the wedding. We did +not go, as the church is like a tomb, but we saw the +bride, in white satin, pearls, orange flowers, and lace, +very pretty, and like other brides. Her ma, in purple +moire and black lace, was fine to see; and the little +groom, in full regimentals, with a sabre as large as himself, +was very funny. A lot of people came in carriages +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> +to escort them to church; and our little square was full +of queer turnouts, smartly dressed people, and a great +bustle. There was some mistake about the bride's carriage, +and it did not drive up in time, so she stood on +the steps till it came as near as it could, and then she +trotted out to it on Gaston's arm, with her maid holding +up her satin train. Uncle, ma, bride, and brother drove +off, but the groom's carriage was delayed by the breaking +of a trace, and there he sat, with his fat pa and ma, after +every one had gone, fuming, and poking his little cocked +hat out of the window, while the man mended the harness, +and every one looked on with breathless interest.</p> + +<p>We went to D–– with Coste in the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and had a +fine view of the sea and San Malo. We didn't like +D––, and won't go there. When we got home about +eight o'clock the wedding dinner was in full blast, and I +caught a glimpse of a happy pair at the head of the +table, surrounded by a lot of rigged-up ladies and fine +men, all gabbing and gabbling as only French folk can. +The couple are still here, resting and getting acquainted +before they go to Lamballe for a week of festivity. A +church wedding is a very funny thing, and I wish you +could have seen it.</p> + +<p>The dry season continues, and the people have processions +and masses to pray for rain. One short flurry +of hail is all we have had, and the cold winds still blow. +When our month is out we shall go somewhere near the +sea if it is at all warm. Nothing could be kinder than +dear old Coste, and I couldn't be in a better place to be +poorly in than this; she coddles me like a mother, and +is so grieved that I don't get better.</p> + +<p>Send Ma a bit of the gorse flower with which the fields +are now yellow.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Dinan</span>, May 13, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Folks</span>,–We drove to Guildo yesterday to +see if we should like it for July. It is a queer little town +on the seashore, with ruins near by, bright houses, and +lots of boats. Rooms a franc a day, and food very +cheap. The man of the house–a big, brown, Peggotty +sailor–has a sloop, and promised the girls as much +sailing as they liked. We may go, but our plans are +very vague, and one day we say we will go to one place +and the next to another, and shall probably end by staying +where we are.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Dinan</span>, May 17, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest People</span>,–We run out and do errands in the +cool before breakfast at ten, then we write, sew, and +read, and look round, till four, when we go to drive. +May and I in the cherry bounce with M. Harmon to +drive us, and A. on horseback; for, after endless fuss, she +has at last evoked a horse out of chaos, and comes galloping +gayly after us as we drive about the lovely roads +with the gallant hotel-keeper, Adolph Harmon. We are +getting satiated with ruins and châteaux, and plan a trip +by water to Nantes; for the way they do it is to hire a +big boat and be towed by a horse in the most luxurious +manner.</p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To Anna.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Dinan</span>, May 25, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Betsey</span>,<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>–All well. We have also had fun +about the queer food, as we don't like brains, liver, etc. +A. does; and when we eat some mess, not knowing what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> +it is, and find it is sheep's tails or eels, she exults over +us, and writes poems.</p> + +<p>I wander dreadfully, but the girls are racketing, birdie +singing like mad, and nine horses neighing to one another +in the place, so my ideas do not flow as clearly +as they should. Besides, I expect Gaston to come in +every minute to show us his rig; for he is going to a +picnic in Breton costume,–a very French affair, for +the party are to march two and two, with fiddlers in +front, and donkeys bearing the feast in the rear. Such +larks!</p> + +<p>Yesterday we had a funny time. We went to drive in +a basket chair, very fine, with a perch behind and a +smart harness; but most of the horses here are stallions, +and act like time. Ours went very well at first, but in +the town took to cutting up, and suddenly pounced on +to a pile of brush, and stuck his head into a bake-shop. +We tried to get him out, but he only danced and neighed, +and all the horses in town seemed to reply. A man +came and led him on a bit, but he didn't mean to go, +and whisked over to the other side, where he tangled us +and himself up with a long string of team horses. I flew +out and May soon followed. A. was driving, and kept in +while the man led the "critter" back to the stable. I +declined my drive with the insane beast, and so we left +him and bundled home in the most ignominious manner. +All the animals are very queer here, and, unlike ours, +excessively big.</p> + +<p>We went to a ruin one day, and were about to explore +the castle, when a sow, with her family of twelve, charged +through the gateway at us so fiercely that we fled in dismay; +for pigs are not nice when they attack, as we don't +know where to bone 'em, and I saw a woman one day +whose nose had been bitten off by an angry pig. I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> +flew over a hedge; May tried to follow. I pulled her +over head first, and we tumbled into the tower like a +routed garrison. It wasn't a nice ruin, but we were +bound to see it, having suffered so much. And we did +see it, in spite of the pigs, who waylaid us on all sides, +and squealed in triumph when we left,–dirty, torn, and +tired. The ugly things wander at their own sweet will, +and are tall, round-backed, thin wretches, who run like +race horses, and are no respecters of persons.</p> + +<p>Sunday was a great day here, for the children were +confirmed. It was a pretty sight to see the long procession +of little girls, in white gowns and veils, winding +through the flowery garden and the antique square, into +the old church, with their happy mothers following, and +the boys in their church robes singing as they went. The +old priest was too ill to perform the service, but the +young one who did announced afterward that if the children +would pass the house the old man would bless +them from his bed. So all marched away down the +street, with crosses and candles, and it was very touching +to see the feeble old man stretch out his hands above +them as the little white birds passed by with bended +heads, while the fresh, boyish voices chanted the responses. +This old priest is a very interesting man, for +he is a regular saint, helping every one, keeping his +house as a refuge for poor and old priests, settling quarrels +among the people, and watching over the young people +as if they were his own. I shall put him in a story.</p> + +<p><i>Voilà!</i> Gaston has just come in, rigged in a white +embroidered jacket, with the Dinan coat-of-arms worked +in scarlet and yellow silk on it fore and aft; a funny hat, +with streamers, and a belt, with a knife, horn, etc. He +is handsome, and as fond of finery as a girl. I'll send +you his picture next time, and one of Dinan. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span></p> + +<p>You will see that Marmee has all she needs, and a +girl, and as much money as she wants for being cosey and +comfortable. S. E. S. will let her have all she wants, and +make her take it. I'm sorry the chapel $100 didn't come, +for she likes to feel that she has some of her very own.</p> + +<p>I have written to Conway and Mrs. Taylor, so that if +we decide to take a run to England before we go to +Italy, the way will be open....</p> + +<p>But Dinan is so healthy and cosey, that we shall linger +till the heat makes us long for the sea. Roses, cherries, +strawberries, and early vegetables are come, and we are +in clover. Dear old Coste broods over us like a motherly +hen, and just now desired me to give her affectionate +and respectful compliments to my <i>bonne mère</i>.</p> + +<p>Now I'm spun out; so adieu, my darling Nan. +Write often, and I will keep sending,–trusting that +you will get them in time.</p> + +<p>Kisses all round.</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Yours,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Dinan</span>, May 30, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Folks</span>,–May has made up such a big letter +that I will only add a line to give you the last news of +the health of her Highness Princess Louisa. She is such +a public character nowadays that even her bones are not +her own, and her wails of woe cannot be kept from the +long ears of the world,–old donkey as it is!</p> + +<p>Dr. Kane, who was army surgeon in India, and doctor +in England for forty years, says my leg trouble and many +of my other woes come from the calomel they gave me +in Washington. He has been through the same thing +with an Indian jungle fever, and has never got the +calomel out of him.... I don't know anything about +it, only my leg is the curse of my life. But I think +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> +Dr. K.'s iodine of potash will cure it in the end, as it did +his arms, after taking it for three months. It is simple, +pleasant, and seems to do something to the bones that gives +them ease; so I shall sip away and give it a good trial.</p> + +<p>We are now revelling in big strawberries, green peas, +early potatoes, and other nice things, on which we shall +grow fat as pigs.</p> + +<p>We are beginning to think of a trip into Normandy, +where the H.'s are.</p> + +<p> +Love to all. By-by!</p> +<p class="left65">Your loving</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> + +<p>No news except through N., who yesterday sent me a +nice letter with July account of $6,212,–a neat little +sum for "the Alcotts, who can't make money!" With +$10,000 well invested, and more coming in all the time, +I think we may venture to enjoy ourselves, after the hard +times we have all had.</p> + +<p>The cream of the joke is, that we made our own +money ourselves, and no one gave us a blessed penny. +That does soothe my rumpled soul so much that the +glory is not worth thinking of.</p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To Anna.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Dinan</span>, June 4, 1870.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>The present excitement is the wood which Coste is +having put in. Loads keep coming in queer, heavy carts +drawn by four horses each, and two men to work the +machine. Two men chop the great oak stumps, and +a woman puts it in down cellar by the armful. The +men get two francs a day,–forty cents! (Wouldn't +our $3 a day workmen howl at that sort of wages!) +When several carts arrive at once the place is a lively +scene. Just now there were three carts and twelve +horses, and eight were all up in a snarl, while half-a-dozen +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> +ladies stood at their doors and gave advice. One +had a half-dressed baby in her arms; one a lettuce she +was washing; another her distaff; and a fourth her little +bowl of soup, which she ate at on the sidewalk, in the +intervals gesticulating so frantically that her sabots rattled +on the stones. The horses had a free fight, and the +man couldn't seem to manage one big one, who romped +about like a wild elephant, till the lady with the baby +suddenly set the half-naked cherub on the doorsteps, +charged in among the rampant beasts, and, by some +magic howl or jerk, brought the bad horse to order, +when she quietly returned to her baby, who had sat placidly +eating dirt, and with a calm <i>Voilà, messieurs</i>, +she skipped little Jean into his shirt, and the men sat +down to smoke.</p> + +<p>We are now in great excitement over Gaston, who has +lately become so very amiable that we don't know him. +We began by letting the spoiled child severely alone. +This treatment worked well, and now he offers us things +at table, bows when we enter, and to-day presented us +with green tulips, violet shrubs, and queer medals all +round. We have let little bits of news leak out about us, +and they think we are dukes and duchesses in <i>Amérique</i>, +and pronounce us <i>très spirituelles; très charmantes; +très seductives femmes</i>. We laugh in private, +and are used to having the entire company rise +when we enter, and embrace us with ardor, listen with +uplifted hands and shrieks of <i>mon Dieu! grand ciel!</i> +etc., to all remarks, and point us out in public as <i>les +dames Américaines</i>. Such is fame!</p> + +<p>An English lady arrived to-day–a Miss B.–dressed, +with English taste, in a little green skirt, pink calico waist, +a large crumpled frill, her hair in a tight knot, one front +tooth sticking straight out, and a golden oriole in a large +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> +cage. She is about forty, very meek and pursy, and the +old ladies have been sitting in a heap since breakfast, +talking like mad.</p> + +<p>May has "sack" on the brain just now, and A. has +"hose" on the brain; and at this moment they are both +gabbling wildly, one saying, "I shall trim it with blue +and have it pinked!" the other shrieking, "My hose +must be red, with little dragons in black all over it, like +small-pox!" and the bird flies to her upper perch in dismay +at the riot, while I sit and laugh, with an occasional +duennaish, "Young ladies, less noise if you please!"</p> + +<p>It rained last eve, and we are waiting for it to dry +before going out in the donkey chaise to buy a warm +bun and some strawberries for lunch, to be eaten as we +parade the town and drink ale at intervals.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>Do tell me how things are about my pictures. I see +they are advertised, and if they sell I want my share +of the profits. Send me one of those that are in the +market, after taking off the heavy card.</p> + +<p>Love to all, and the best of luck.</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Ever your</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Hotel d'Universe, Tours</span>, June 17, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest People</span>,–Our wanderings have begun again, +and here we are in this fine old city in a cosey hotel, as +independent and happy as three old girls can be. We +left Dinan Wednesday at 7 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> Gaston got up to see us +off,–a most unusual and unexpected honor; also Mrs. B. +and all the old ladies, whom we left dissolved in tears.</p> + +<p>We had a lovely sail down the river to St. Malo, +where we breakfasted at Hotel Franklin, a quaint old +house in a flowery corner. At twelve we went by rail to +Le Mans,–a long trip,–and arrived at 6 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> so tired +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> +that we went to bed in the moonlight while a band +played in the square before the hotel, and the sidewalks +before the café were full of people taking ices and coffee +round little tables.</p> + +<p>Next morning we went to see the famous cathedral +and had raptures, for it is like a dream in stone. Pure +Gothic of the twelfth century, with the tomb of Berengaria, +wife of Cœur de Leon, stained glass of the richest +kind, dim old chapels with lamps burning, a gorgeous +high altar all crimson and gold and carmine, and several +organs. Anything more lovely and divine I never saw, +for the arches, so light and graceful, seemed to soar up +one above the other like the natural curves of trees or the +spray of a great fountain. We spent a long time here +and I sat above in the quaint old chapel with my eyes +and heart full, and prayed a little prayer for my family. +Old women and men knelt about in corners telling their +beads, and the priest was quietly saying his prayers at +the altar. Outside it was a pile of gray stone, with towers +and airy pinnacles full of carved saints and busy rooks. +I don't think we shall see anything finer anywhere. It +was very hot for there had been no rain for four months, +so we desired to start for town at 5 and get in about 8 +as it is light then.</p> + +<p>We had a pleasant trip in the cool of the day, and +found Tours a great city, like Paris on a small scale. +Our hotel is on the boulevard, and the trees, fountains, +and fine carriages make our windows very tempting. We +popped into bed early; and my bones are so much better +that I slept without any opium or anything,–a feat I +have not performed for some time.</p> + +<p>This morning we had coffee and rolls in bed, then as +it was a fine cool day we dressed up clean and nice and +went out for a walk. At the post-office we found your +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> +letters of May 31, one from Nan and Ma, and one from +L. We were exalted, and went into the garden and +read them in bliss, with the grand cathedral right before +us. Cathedral St. Martin, twelfth century, with tomb of +Charles XIII.'s children, the armor of Saint Louis, fine +pictures of Saint Martin, his cloak, etc. May will tell you +about it and I shall put in a photograph, if I can find +one. We are now–12 o'clock–in our pleasant room +all round the table writing letters and resting for another +trip by and by.</p> + +<p>The <i>Fête Dieu</i> is on Monday,–very splendid,–and +we shall then see the cathedral in its glory. To-day a few +hundred children were having their first communion +there, girls all in white, with scarlet boys, crosses, candles, +music, priests, etc. Get a Murray, and on the map of +France follow us to Geneva, <i>via</i> St. Malo, Le Mans, +Tours, Amboise and Blois, Orleans, Nevers, Autun. +We may go to the Vosges instead of the Jura if Mrs. H. +can go, as A. wants to see her again. But we head for +the Alps of some sort and will report progress as we go.</p> + +<p>My money holds out well so far, as we go second class.</p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To her Father.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Tours</span>, June 20, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,–Before we go on to fresh "châteaux +and churches new," I must tell you about the sights here +in this pleasant, clean, handsome old city. May has +done the church for you, and I send a photograph to +give some idea of it. The inside is very beautiful; and +we go at sunset to see the red light make the gray walls +lovely outside and the shadows steal from chapel to +chapel inside, filling the great church with what is really +"a dim religious gloom." We wandered about it the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> +other evening till moonrise, and it was very interesting +to see the people scattered here and there at their +prayers; some kneeling before Saint Martin's shrine, some +in a flowery little nook dedicated to the infant Christ, +and one, a dark corner with a single candle lighting up +a fine picture of the Mater Dolorosa, where a widow all +in her weeds sat alone, crying and praying. In another +a sick old man sat, while his old wife knelt by him praying +with all her might to Saint Gratien (the patron saint of +the church) for her dear old invalid. Nuns and priests +glided about, and it was all very poetical and fine, till I +came to an imposing priest in a first class chapel who was +taking snuff and gaping, instead of piously praying.</p> + +<p>The <i>Fête Dieu</i> was yesterday, and I went out to see +the procession. The streets were hung with old tapestry, +and sheets covered with flowers. Crosses, crowns, and +bouquets were suspended from house to house, and as +the procession approached, women ran out and scattered +green boughs and rose-leaves before the train. A fine +band and a lot of red soldiers came first, then the different +saints on banners, carried by girls, and followed by +long trains of girls bearing the different emblems. Saint +Agnes and her lamb was followed by a flock of pretty +young children all in white, carrying tall white lilies that +filled the air with their fragrance.</p> + +<p>"Mary our Mother" was followed by orphans with +black ribbons crossed on their breasts. Saint Martin led +the charity boys in their gray suits, etc. The Host under +a golden canopy was borne by priests in gorgeous rig, +and every one knelt as it passed with censors swinging, +candles burning, boys chanting, and flowers dropping +from the windows. A pretty young lady ran out and set +her baby in a pile of green leaves in the middle of the +street before the Host, and it passed over the little thing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> +who sat placidly staring at the show and admiring its +blue shoes. I suppose it is a saved and sacred baby +henceforth.</p> + +<p>It was a fine pageant and quite touching, some of it; +but as usual, I saw something funny to spoil the solemnity. +A very fat and fine priest, who walked with +his eyes upon his book and sung like a pious bumblebee, +suddenly destroyed the effect by rapping a boy over +the head with his gold prayer-book, as the black sheep +strayed a little from the flock. I thought the old saint +swore also.</p> + +<p>The procession went from the cathedral to Charlemagne's +Tower, an old, old relic, all that is left of the +famous church which once covered a great square. We +went to see it, and the stones looked as if they were +able to tell wonderful tales of the scenes they had +witnessed all these hundreds of years. I think the "Reminiscences +of a Rook" would be a good story, for +these old towers are full of them, and they are long-lived +birds.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Amboise, The Golden Lion</span>, +Tuesday, June 21, 1870.</p> + +<p>Here we go again! now in an utterly different scene +from Tours. We left at 5 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and in half an hour +were here on the banks of the Loire in a queer little +inn where we are considered duchesses at least, owing to +our big trunks and A.'s good French. I am the Madame, +May Mam'selle, and A. the companion.</p> + +<p>Last evening being lovely, we went after dinner up to +the castle where Charles VIII. was born in 1470. The +Arab chief, Abd-el-Kader, and family were kept prisoners +here, and in the old garden is a tomb with the crescent +over it where some of them were buried. May was told +about the terrace where the Huguenots hung thick and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> +the court enjoyed the sight till the Loire, choked up with +dead bodies, forced them to leave. We saw the little +low door where Anne of Brittany's first husband Charles +VIII. "bumped his head" and killed himself, as he was +running through to play bowls with his wife.</p> + +<p>It has been modernized and is now being restored as +in old times, so the interior was all in a toss. But we +went down the winding road inside the tower, up which +the knights and ladies used to ride. Father would +have enjoyed the <i>pleached</i> walks, for they are cut so +that looking down on them, it is like a green floor, and +looking up it is a thick green wall. There also Margaret +of Anjou and her son were reconciled to Warwick. Read +Murray, I beg, and see all about it. We sat in the twilight +on the terrace and saw what Fred would have liked, +a little naked boy ride into the river on one horse after +another, and swim them round in the deep water till +they were all clean and cool.</p> + +<p>This morning at 7 o'clock we drove to Chenonceaux, +the chateau given by Henry II. to Diane de Poictiers. +It was a lovely day, and we went rolling along through the +most fruitful country I ever saw. Acre on acre of yellow +grain, vineyards miles long, gardens and orchards full of +roses and cherries. The Cher is a fine river winding +through the meadows, where haymakers were at work +and fat cattle feeding. It was a very happy hour, and +the best thing I saw was May's rapturous face opposite, as +she sat silently enjoying everything, too happy to talk.</p> + +<p>The château built over the water is very interesting; +Catherine de Medicis took it away from Diane when the +king died, and her room is still seen as she left it; also +a picture of Diane, a tall simpering woman in a tunic, +with hounds, stag, cupids, and other rubbish round her. +The gallery of pictures was fine; for here were old, old +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> +portraits and bas-reliefs, Agnes Sorel, Montaigne, Rabelais, +many kings and queens, and among them Lafayette +and dear old Ben Franklin.</p> + +<p>There is a little theatre where Rousseau's plays were +acted. This place at the time of the Revolution belonged +to the grandmother of George Sand, and she was +so much respected that no harm was done to it. So +three cheers for Madame Dupin! Among the pictures were +Ninon D'Enclos, and Madame Sevigné holding a picture +of her beloved daughter. The Guidos, etc. I don't care +for so much as they were all grimy and convulsive, and +I prefer pictures of people who really lived, to these +impossible Venuses and repulsive saints,–bad taste, but +I can't help it. The walls were hung with stamped +leather and tapestry, carved chairs in which queens had +sat, tables at which kings had eaten, books they had +read, and glasses that had reflected their faces were all +about, and I just revelled. The old kitchen had a fireplace +quaint enough to suit Pa, with immense turn-spits, +cranes, andirons, etc. The chapel, balcony, avenue, +draw-bridge, and all the other pleasing bits were enjoyed, +and I stole a sprig of jasmine from the terrace which I +shall press for Mamma. Pray take extra care of the +photographs, for if lost, we cannot replace them, and I +want to make a fine album of pictures with flowers and +descriptions after I get home.... But all goes well and +we enjoy much every day. Love to all,</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Mother.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Blois</span>, June 24, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Marmee</span>,–On this, Lizzie's and Johnny's birthday, +I'll begin a letter to you. We found at the Poste +Restante here two "Moods" and a paper for me, one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> +book from L., and one from N. I think the pictures +horrid, and sent them floating down the Loire as soon as +possible, and put one book at the bottom of my trunk +and left the other where no one will find it. I couldn't +read the story, and try to forget that I ever wrote it.</p> + +<p>Blois is a noisy, dusty, soldierly city with nothing to +admire but the river, nearly dry now with this four +months' drought, and the old castle where Francis I., +Louis XII., Catherine de Medicis, and other great folks +lived. It has been very splendidly restored by the Government, +and the ceilings are made with beams blazoned +with coats-of-arms, the walls hung with cameos, painted +with the same design as the stamped leather in old +times, and the floors inlaid with colored tiles. Brown +and gold, scarlet, blue, and silver, quaint dragons and +flowers, porcupines and salamanders, crowns and letters, +glittered everywhere. We saw the guard-room and the +very chimney where the Duc de Guise was leaning when +the king Henry III. sent for him; the little door where +the king's gentlemen fell upon and stabbed him with +forty wounds; the cabinet where the king and his +mother plotted the deed; the chapel where the monks +prayed for success; and the great hall where the body +lay covered with a cloak till the king came and looked +at it and kicked his dead enemy, saying, "I did not +think he was so tall." We also saw the cell where the +brother of the duke was murdered the next day, and the +attic entire where their bodies were burnt, after which +the ashes were thrown into the Loire by order of the +king; the window out of which Marie de Medicis lowered +herself when her son Louis XIII. imprisoned her +there; the recess where Catherine de Medicis died; and +many other interesting places. What a set of rascals +these old kings and queens were! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span></p> + +<p>The <i>Salle des États</i> was very gorgeous, and here in a +week or so are to be tried the men who lately fired at +the Emperor. It will be a grand, a fine sight when the +great arched hall is full. I got a picture of the castle, and +one of a fireplace for Pa. It is a mass of gold and color, +with the porcupine of Louis XIII. and the ermine of his +wife Anne of Brittany, their arms, in medallion over it.</p> + +<p>At 5 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> we go on to Orleans for a day, where I shall +get some relics of Joan of Arc for Nan. We shall pass +Sunday at Bourges where the great church is, and then +either to Geneva or the Jura, for a few weeks of rest.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Geneva</span>, June 29, 1870.</p> + +<p>It seems almost like getting home again to be here +where I never thought to come again when I went away +five years ago. We are at the Metropole Hotel right on +the lake with a glimpse of Mount Blanc from our windows. +It is rather fine after the grimy little inns of +Brittany, and we enjoy a sip of luxury and put on our +best gowns with feminine satisfaction after living in old +travelling suits for a fortnight.</p> + +<p>I began my letter at Blois, where we spent a day or +two. At Orleans we only passed a night, but we had +time to see the famous statue of the Maid, put up in gratitude +by the people of the city she saved. It is a fine +statue of Joan in her armor on horseback, with her sword +drawn. Round the base of the statue are bronzed bas-reliefs +of her life from the girl with her sheep, to the +martyr at the stake. They were very fine, but don't show +much in the photograph which I got for Nan, remembering +the time when she translated Schiller's play for me.</p> + +<p>At Bourges we saw the great cathedral, but didn't +like it as well as that in Tours. We only spent a night +there, and A. bought an antique ring of the time of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> +Francis I.,–an emerald set in diamonds. It cost $9, +and is very quaint and handsome.</p> + +<p>Moulins we reached Sunday noon, and at 3 o'clock +went to vespers in the old church, where we saw a good +deal of mumbo-jumbo by red, purple, and yellow priests, +and heard a boy with a lovely voice sing in the hidden +choir like a little angel among the clouds. A. had a +fancy to stay a week, if we could find rooms out of town +in some farm-house; for the handsome white cattle have +captivated her, and we were rather tired. So the old +lady at the hotel said she had a little farm-house out +in the fields, and we should go see it with her in basket +<i>chay</i>. After dinner we all piled in and went along +a dusty road to a little dirty garden-house with two rooms +and a few cabbages and rose-bushes round it. She said +we could sleep and eat at the hotel and come down +here for the day. That didn't suit at all, so we declined; +and on Monday morning we set out for Lyons. It was a +very interesting trip under, over, and through the mountains +with two engines and much tunnelling and up-and-down +grading. May was greatly excited at the queer +things we did, and never knew that cars could turn such +sharp corners. We wound about so that we could see the +engine whisking out of sight round one corner while we +were turning another, and the long train looked like a +snake winding through the hills. The tunnels were so +long that lamps were lighted, and so cold we put on our +sacks while passing in the darkness. The scenery was +very fine; and after we left Lyons, where we merely slept, +the Alps began to appear, and May and I stared in blissful +silence; for we had two tall old men opposite, and a +little priest, so young that we called him the Rev. boy. +He slept and said his prayers most of the time, stealing +sly looks at May's hair, A.'s pretty hands, and my buckled +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> +shoes, which were like his own and seemed to strike him +as a liberty on my part. The old boys were very jolly, +especially the one with three chins, who smiled paternally +upon us and tried to talk. But we were very English +and mum, and he thought we didn't understand +French, and confided to his friend that he didn't see +"how the English could travel and know not the French +tongue." They sang, gabbled, slept, and slapped one +another at intervals, and were very amusing till they left, +and another very handsome Booth-like priest took their +places. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Father.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Bex</span>, July 14, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Pa</span>,–As I have not written to you yet, I will +send you a picture-letter and tell you about the very interesting +old Count Sz– who is here. This morning he +asked us to go to the hills and see some curious trees +which he says were planted from acorns and nuts brought +from Mexico by Atala. We found some very ancient +oaks and chestnuts, and the enthusiastic old man told us +the story about the Druids who once had a church, amphitheatre, +and sacrificial altar up there. No one knows +much about it, and he imagines a good deal to suit his own +pet theory. You would have liked to hear him hold forth +about the races and Zoroaster, Plato, etc. He is a Hungarian +of a very old family, descended from Semiramide +and Zenobia. He believes that the body can be cured +often by influencing the soul, and that doctors should be +priests, and priests doctors, as the two affect the body +and soul which depend on one another. He is doing +a great deal for Miss W., who has tried many doctors +and got no help. I never saw such a kindly, simple, enthusiastic, +old soul, for at sixty-seven he is as full of hope +and faith and good-will as a young man. I told him I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> +should like my father to see a little book he has written, +and he is going to give me one.</p> + +<p>We like this quiet little place among the mountains, +and pass lazy days; for it is very warm, and we sit about on +our balconies enjoying the soft air, the moonlight, and the +changing aspect of the hills.</p> + +<p>May had a fine exciting time going up St. Bernard, +and is now ready for another....</p> + +<p>The Polish Countess and her daughter have been reading +my books and are charmed with them. Madame +says she is not obliged to turn down any pages so that +the girls may not read them, as she does in many books, +"All is so true, so sweet, so pious, she may read every +word."</p> + +<p>I send by this mail the count's little pamphlet. I +don't know as it amounts to much, but I thought you +might like to see it.</p> + +<p> +Love to every one, and write often to your</p> +<p class="left65">Affectionate daughter</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">Bex</span>, July 18, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear People</span>,–The breaking out of this silly little +war between France and Prussia will play the deuce with +our letters. I have had none from you for a long time; +and Alexandre, the English waiter here, says that the mails +will be left to come as they can, for the railroads are all +devoted to carrying troops to the seat of war. The +French have already crossed the Rhine, and rumors of a +battle came last eve; but the papers have not arrived, and +no letters for any one, so all are fuming for news, public +and private, and I am howling for my home letter, which +is more important than all the papers on the continent....</p> + +<p>Don't be worried if you don't hear regularly, or think +us in danger. Switzerland is out of the mess, and if she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> +gets in, we can skip over into Italy, and be as cosey as +possible. It will make some difference in money, perhaps, +as Munroe in Paris is our banker, and we shall be +plagued about our letters, otherwise the war won't effect +us a bit; I dare say you know as much about it as we do, +and Marmee is predicting "a civil war" all over the +world. We hear accounts of the frightful heat with you. +Don't wilt away before we come....</p> + +<p>Lady Amberley is a trump, and I am glad she says a +word for her poor sex though she <i>is</i> a peeress....</p> + +<p>I should like to have said of me what Hedge says of +Dickens; and when I die, I should prefer such a memory +rather than a tomb in Westminster Abbey.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>I hope to have a good letter from Nan soon. May +does the descriptions so well that I don't try it, being +lazy.</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">Lu.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Anna.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Sunday</span>, July 24, 1870.</p> + +<p>... The war along the Rhine is sending troops of +travellers to Switzerland for refuge; and all the large +towns are brimful of people flying from Germany. It +won't trouble us, for we have done France and don't +mean to do Germany. So when August is over, we shall +trot forward to Italy, and find a warm place for our winter-quarters. +At any time twenty-four hours carries us +over the Simplon, so we sit at ease and don't care a +straw for old France and Prussia. Russia, it is reported, +has joined in the fight, but Italy and England are not +going to meddle, so we can fly to either "in case of +fire."<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Bex</span>, July 27, 1870.</p> + +<p>We heard of Dickens's death some weeks ago and have +been reading notices, etc., in all the papers since. One +by G. Greenwood in the Tribune was very nice. I shall +miss my old Charlie, but he is not the old idol he once +was....</p> + +<p>Did you know that Higginson and a little girl friend +had written out the Operatic Tragedy in "Little Women" +and set the songs to music and it was all to be put in +"Our Young Folks." What are we coming to in our old +age? Also I hope to see the next designs N. has got for +"Little Women." I know nothing about them. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Mother.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +3 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, <span class="smcap">Bex</span>, July 31, 1870.</p> + +<p>Papers are suppressed by the Government so we know +nothing about the war, except the rumors that float about. +But people seem to think that Europe is in for a general +fight, and there is no guessing when it will end.</p> + +<p>The trouble about getting into Italy is, that civil war +always breaks out there and things are so mixed up that +strangers get into scrapes among the different squabblers. +When the P.'s were abroad during the last Italian fuss, they +got shut up in some little city and would have been killed +by Austrians, who were rampaging round the place drunk +and mad, if a woman had not hid them in a closet for a +day and night, and smuggled them out at last, when they +ran for their lives. I don't mean to get into any mess, +and between Switzerland and England we can manage +for a winter. London is so near home and so home-like +that we shall be quite handy and can run up to Boston +at any time. Perhaps Pa will step across to see us.</p> + +<p>All these plans may be knocked in the head to-morrow +and my next letter may be dated from the Pope's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> +best parlor or Windsor Castle; but I like to spin about on +ups and downs so you can have something to talk about +at Apple Slump. Uncertainty gives a relish to things, so +we chase about and have a dozen plans a day. It is an +Alcott failing you know....</p> + +<p> +Love to all and bless you,</p> +<p class="left65">Ever yours,</p> +<p class="sig"> <span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Bex</span>, Aug. 7, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–I keep receiving requests from +editors to write for their papers and magazines. I am +truly grateful, but having come abroad for rest I am not +inclined to try the treadmill till my year's vacation is +over. So to appease these worthy gentlemen and excuse +my seeming idleness I send you a trifle in rhyme,<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> which +you can (if you think it worth the trouble) set going as +a general answer to everybody; for I can't pay postage +in replies to each separately,–"it's very costly." Mr. +F. said he would pay me $10, $15, $20 for any little +things I would send him; so perhaps you will let him +have it first.</p> + +<p>The war makes the bankers take double toll on our +money, so we feel very poor and as if we ought to be +earning, not spending; only we are <i>so</i> lazy we can't bear +to think of it in earnest....</p> + +<p>We shall probably go to London next month if the +war forbids Italy for the winter; and if we can't get one +dollar without paying five for it, we shall come home +disgusted.</p> + +<p>Perhaps if I can do nothing else this year I could have +a book of short stories, old and new, for Christmas. F. +and F. have some good ones, and I have the right to +use them. We could call them "Jo March's Necessity +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> +Stories." Would it go with new ones added and good +illustrations?</p> + +<p>I am rising from my ashes in a most phœnix-like +manner.</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Mother.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Vevay, Pension Paradis</span>, Aug. 11, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Marmee</span>,–.... This house is very cosey, and +the food excellent. I thought it would be when I heard +gentlemen liked it,–they always want good fodder. +There are only three now,–an old Spaniard and his son, +and a young Frenchman. We see them at meals, and +the girls play croquet with them....</p> + +<p>This is the gay season here, and in spite of the war +Vevay is full. The ex-Queen of Spain and her family +are here at the Grand Hotel; also Don Carlos, the rightful +heir to the Spanish throne. Our landlady says that +her house used to be full of Spaniards, who every day +went in crowds to call on the two kings, Alphonse and +Carlos. We see brown men and women with black eyes +driving round in fine coaches, with servants in livery, who +I suppose are the Court people.</p> + +<p>The papers tell us that the French have lost two big +battles; the Prussians are in Strasbourg, and Paris in a +state of siege. The papers are also full of theatrical +messages from the French to the people, asking them to +come up and be slaughtered for <i>la patrie</i>, and sober, +cool reports from the Prussians. I side with the Prussians, +for they sympathized with us in our war. Hooray +for old Pruss!...</p> + +<p>France is having a bad time. Princess Clotilde passed +through Geneva the other day with loads of baggage, flying +to Italy; and last week a closed car with the imperial arms +on it went by here in the night,–supposed to be Matilde +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> +and other royal folks flying away from Paris. The Prince +Imperial has been sent home from the seat of war; and +poor Eugénie is doing her best to keep things quiet in +Paris. The French here say that a republic is already +talked of; and the Emperor is on his last legs in every +way. He is sick, and his doctor won't let him ride, and +so nervous he can't command the army as he wanted to. +Poor old man! one can't help pitying him when all his +plans fail.</p> + +<p>We still dawdle along, getting fat and hearty. The +food is excellent. A breakfast of coffee and tip-top +bread, fresh butter, with eggs or fried potatoes, at 8; a real +French dinner at 1.30, of soup, fish, meat, game, salad, +sweet messes, and fruit, with wine; and at 7 cold meat, +salad, sauce, tea, and bread and butter. It is grape time +now, and for a few cents we get pounds, on which we feast +all day at intervals. We walk and play as well as any +one, and feel so well I ought to do something....</p> + +<p>Fred and Jack would like to look out of my window +now and see the little boys playing in the lake. They +are there all day long like little pigs, and lie around on +the warm stones to dry, splashing one another for exercise. +One boy, having washed himself, is now washing +his clothes, and all lying out to dry together....</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Ever yours,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Anna.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Vevay</span>, Aug. 21, 1870.</p> + +<p>I had such a droll dream last night I must tell you. I +thought I was returning to Concord after my trip, and +was alone. As I walked from the station I missed Mr. +Moore's house, and turning the corner, found the scene +so changed that I did not know where I was. Our house +was gone, and in its place stood a great gray stone castle, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> +with towers and arches and lawns and bridges, very fine +and antique. Somehow I got into it without meeting +any one of you, and wandered about trying to find my +family. At last I came across Mr. Moore, papering a +room, and asked him where his house was. He didn't +know me, and said,–</p> + +<p>"Oh! I sold it to Mr. Alcott for his school, and we +live in Acton now."</p> + +<p>"Where did Mr. Alcott get the means to build this +great concern?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, he <i>gave</i> his own land, and took the great pasture +his daughter left him,–the one that died some ten +years ago."</p> + +<p>"So I am dead, am I?" says I to myself, feeling so +queerly.</p> + +<p>"Government helped build this place, and Mr. A. has a +fine college here," said Mr. Moore, papering away again.</p> + +<p>I went on, wondering at the news, and looked into a +glass to see how I looked dead. I found myself a fat old +lady, with gray hair and specs,–very like E. P. P. I +laughed, and coming to a Gothic window, looked out and +saw hundreds of young men and boys in a queer flowing +dress, roaming about the parks and lawns; and among +them was Pa, looking as he looked thirty years ago, with +brown hair and a big white neckcloth, as in the old times. +He looked so plump and placid and young and happy I +was charmed to see him, and nodded; but he didn't +know me; and I was so grieved and troubled at being +a Rip Van Winkle, I cried, and said I had better go +away and not disturb any one,–and in the midst of my +woe, I woke up. It was all so clear and funny, I can't +help thinking that it may be a foreshadowing of something +real. I used to dream of being famous, and it has partly +become true; so why not Pa's college blossom, and he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> +get young and happy with his disciples? I only hope he +won't quite forget me when I come back, fat and gray +and old. Perhaps his dream is to come in another world, +where everything is fresh and calm, and the reason why +he didn't recognize me was because I was still in this +work-a-day world, and so felt old and strange in this +lovely castle in the air. Well, he is welcome to my fortune; +but the daughter who did die ten years ago is more +likely to be the one who helped him build his School of +Concord up aloft.</p> + +<p>I can see how the dream came; for I had been looking +at Silling's boys in their fine garden, and wishing I could +go in and know the dear little lads walking about there, +in the forenoon. I had got a topknot at the barber's, +and talked about my gray hairs, and looking in the glass +thought how fat and old I was getting, and had shown +the B.'s Pa's picture, which they thought saintly, etc. I +believe in dreams, though I am free to confess that +"cowcumbers" for tea may have been the basis of this +"ally-gorry-cal wision."...</p> + +<p>As we know the Consul at Spezzia,–that is, we have +letters to him, as well as to many folks in Rome, etc.,–I +guess we shall go; for the danger of Europe getting +into the fight is over now, and we can sail to England or +home any time from Italy.... Love to every one.</p> + +<p> +Kiss my <i>cousin</i> for me.</p> +<p class="left65">Ever your</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Niles.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">August</span> 23, 1870.</p> + +<p>Your note of August 2 has just come, with a fine +budget of magazines and a paper, for all of which many +thanks.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span></p> + +<p>Don't give my address to any one. I don't want the +young ladies' notes. They can send them to Concord, +and I shall get them next year.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>The boys at Silling's school are a perpetual source of +delight to me; and I stand at the gate, like the Peri, longing +to go in and play with the lads. The young ladies +who want to find live Lauries can be supplied here, for +Silling has a large assortment always on hand.</p> + +<p>My B. says she is constantly trying to incite me to +literary effort, but I hang fire. So I do,–but only that +I may go off with a bang by and by, <i>à la mitrailleuse</i>.</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Family.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Vevay</span>, Aug. 29, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear People</span>,–... M. Nicaud, the owner of this +house,–a funny old man, with a face so like a parrot +that we call him M. Perrot,–asked us to come and +visit him at his <i>châlet</i> up among the hills. He is +building a barn there, and stays to see that all goes +well; so we only see him on Sundays, when he convulses +us by his funny ways. Last week seven of us +went up in a big landau, and the old dear entertained +us like a prince. We left the carriage at the foot of +a little steep path, and climbed up to the dearest old +<i>châlet</i> we ever saw. Here Pa Nicaud met us, took +us up the outside steps into his queer little salon, and +regaled us with his sixty-year old wine and nice little +cakes. We then set forth, in spite of clouds and wind, +to view the farm and wood. It showered at intervals, +but no one seemed to care; so we trotted about under +umbrellas, getting mushrooms, flowers, and colds, viewing +the Tarpeian Rock, and sitting on rustic seats to enjoy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> +the <i>belle vue</i>, which consisted of fog. It was such a droll +lark that we laughed and ran, and enjoyed the damp picnic +very much. Then we had a tip-top Swiss dinner, followed +by coffee, three sorts of wine, and cigars. Every +one smoked, and as it poured guns, the old Perrot had +a blazing fire made, round which we sat, talking many +languages, singing, and revelling. We had hardly got +through dinner and seen another foggy view when tea was +announced, and we stuffed again, having pitchers of cream, +fruit, and a queer but very nice dish of slices of light +bread dipped in egg and fried, and eaten with sugar. +The buxom Swiss maid flew and grinned, and kept serving +up some new mess from her tiny dark kitchen. It +cleared off, and we walked home in spite of our immense +exploits in the eating line. Old Perrot escorted us part +way down, and we gave three cheers for him as we +parted. Then we showed Madame and the French governess +and Don Juan (the Spanish boy) some tall walking, +though the roads were very steep and rough and muddy. +We tramped some five miles; and our party (May, A., +the governess, and I) got home long before Madame and +Don Juan, who took a short cut, and wouldn't believe +that we didn't get a lift somehow. I felt quite proud +of my old pins; for they were not tired, and none the +worse for the long walk. I think they are really all right +now, for the late cold weather has not troubled them in +the least; and I sleep–O ye gods, how I do sleep!–ten +or twelve hours sound, and get up so drunk with dizziness +it is lovely to see. Aint I grateful? Oh, yes! oh, yes!</p> + +<p>We began French lessons to-day, May and I, of the +French governess,–a kind old girl who only asks two +francs a lesson. We <i>must</i> speak the language, for it is +disgraceful to be so stupid; so we have got to work, and +mean to be able to <i>parlez-vous</i> or die. The war is still +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> +a nuisance, and we may be here some time, and really +need some work; for we are so lazy we shall be spoilt, if +we don't fall to....</p> + +<p>I gave Count C. Pa's message, and he was pleased. +He reads no English, and is going to Hungary soon; so +Pa had better not send the book....</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Vevay</span>, Sept. 10, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear People</span>,–As all Europe seems to be going to +destruction, I hasten to drop a line before the grand +smash arrives. We mean to skip over the Alps next week, +if weather and war permit; for we are bound to see +Milan and the lakes, even if we have to turn and come +back without a glimpse of Rome. The Pope is beginning +to perk up; and Italy and England and Russia seem +ready to join in the war, now that France is down. Think +of Paris being bombarded and smashed up like Strasbourg. +We never shall see the grand old cathedral at +Strasbourg now, it is so spoilt.</p> + +<p>Vevay is crammed with refugees from Paris and Strasbourg. +Ten families applied here yesterday....</p> + +<p>Our house is brimful, and we have funny times. The +sick Russian lady and her old Ma make a great fuss if a +breath of air comes in at meal times, and expect twenty +people to sit shut tight in a smallish room for an hour on +a hot day. We protested, and Madame put them in the +parlor, where they glower as we pass, and lock the door +when they can. The German Professor is learning English, +and is a quiet, pleasant man. The Polish General, +a little cracked, is very droll, and bursts out in the middle +of the general chat with stories about transparent apples +and golden horses.... Benda, the crack book-and-picture +man, has asked May if she was the Miss Alcott +who wrote the popular books; for he said he had many calls +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> +for them, and wished to know where they could be found. +We told him "at London," and felt puffed up....</p> + +<p>May and I delve away at French; but it makes my +head ache, and I don't learn enough to pay for the +trouble. I never could <i>study</i>, you know, and suffer such +agony when I try that it is piteous to behold. The +little brains I have left I want to keep for future works, +and not exhaust them on grammar,–vile invention +of Satan! May gets on slowly, and don't have fits after +it; so she had better go on (the lessons only cost two +francs)....</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Mother.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Lago di Como</span>, Oct. 8, 1870.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Marmee</span>,–A happy birthday, and many of +'em! Here we actually are in the long-desired Italy, and +find it as lovely as we hoped. Our journey was a perfect +success,–sunlight, moonlight, magnificent scenery, pleasant +company, no mishaps, and one long series of beautiful +pictures all the way.</p> + +<p>Crossing the Simplon is an experience worth having; +for without any real danger, fatigue, or hardship, one +sees some of the finest as well as most awful parts of these +wonderful Alps.</p> + +<p>The road,–a miracle in itself! for all Nature seems +to protest against it, and the elements never tire of trying +to destroy it. Only a Napoleon would have dreamed of +making a path through such a place; and he only cared +for it as a way to get his men and cannon into an enemy's +country by this truly royal road.</p> + +<p>May has told you about our trip; so I will only add a +few bits that she forgot.</p> + +<p>Our start in the dawn from Brieg, with two diligences, +a carriage, and a cart, was something between a funeral +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> +and a caravan: first an immense diligence with seven +horses, then a smaller one with four, then our <i>calèche</i> +with two, and finally the carrier's cart with one. It was +very exciting,–the general gathering of sleepy travellers +in the dark square, the tramping of horses, the packing +in, the grand stir of getting off; then the slow winding +up, up, up out of the valley toward the sun, which came +slowly over the great hills, rising as we never saw it rise +before. The still, damp pine-forests kept us in shadow +a long time after the white mountain-tops began to shine. +Little by little we wound through a great gorge, and then +the sun came dazzling between these grand hills, showing +us a new world. Peak after peak of the Bernese Oberland +rose behind us, and great white glaciers lay before +us; while the road crept like a narrow line, in and out +over chasms that made us dizzy to look at, under tunnels, +and through stone galleries with windows over which +dashed waterfalls from the glaciers above. Here and +there were refuges, a hospice, and a few <i>châlets</i>, where +shepherds live their wild, lonely lives. In the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> +we drove rapidly down toward Italy through the great +Valley of Gondo,–a deep rift in rock thousands of feet +deep, and just wide enough for the road and a wild stream +that was our guide; a never-to-be-forgotten place, and a +fit gateway to Italy, which soon lay smiling below us. +The change is very striking; and when we came to Lago +Maggiore lying in the moonlight we could only sigh for +happiness, and love and look and look. After a good +night's rest at Stresa, we went in a charming gondola-sort +of boat to see Isola Bella,–the island you see in the +chromo over the fireplace at home,–a lovely island, +with famous castle, garden, and town on it. The day was +as balmy as summer, and we felt like butterflies after a +frost, and fluttered about, enjoying the sunshine all day. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span></p> + +<p>A sail by steamer brought us to Luino, where we went +on the diligence to Lugano. Moonlight all the way, and +a gay driver, who wound his horn as we clattered into +market-places and over bridges in the most gallant style. +The girls were on top, and in a state of rapture all the +way. After supper in a vaulted, frescoed hall, with marble +floors, pillars, and galleries, we went to a room which had +green doors, red carpet, blue walls, and yellow bed-covers,–all +so gay! It was like sleeping in a rainbow.</p> + +<p>As if a heavenly lake under our windows with moonlight +<i>ad libitum</i> wasn't enough, we had music next door; +and on leaning out of a little back window, we made the +splendid discovery that we could look on to the stage +of the opera-house across a little alley. My Nan can +imagine with what rapture I stared at the scenes going +on below me, and how I longed for her as I stood there +wrapped in my yellow bed-quilt, and saw gallant knights +in armor warble sweetly to plump ladies in masks, or +pretty peasants fly wildly from ardent lovers in red tights; +also a dishevelled maid who tore her hair in a forest, +while a man aloft made thunder and lightning,–and <i>I +saw him do it</i>!</p> + +<p>It was the climax to a splendid day; for few travellers +can go to the opera luxuriously in their night-gowns, and +take naps between the acts as I did.</p> + +<p>A lovely sail next morning down the lake; then a +carriage to Menaggio; and then a droll boat, like a big +covered market-wagon with a table and red-cushioned +seats, took us and our trunks to Cadenabbia, for there is +only a donkey road to the little town. At the hotel on +the edge of the lake we found Nelly L., a sweet girl as +lovely as Minnie, and so glad to see us; for since her +mother died in Venice last year she has lived alone with +her maid. She had waited for us, and next day went to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> +Milan, where we join her on Monday. She paints; and +May and she made plans at once to study together, and +enjoy some of the free art-schools at Milan and Naples +or Florence, if we can all be together. It is a great +chance for May, and I mean she shall have a good time, +and not wait for tools and teachers; for all is in the way +of her profession, and of use to her.</p> + +<p>Cadenabbia is only two hotels and a few villas opposite +Bellagio, which is a town, and fashionable. We +were rowed over to see it by our boatman, who spends +his time at the front of the stone steps before the hotel, +and whenever we go out he tells us, "The lake is tranquil; +the hour is come for a walk on the water," and is +as coaxing as only an Italian can be. He is amiably +tipsy most of the time.</p> + +<p>To-day it rains so we cannot go out, and I rest and +write to my Marmee in a funny room with a stone floor +inlaid till it looks like castile soap, a ceiling in fat cupids +and trumpeting fairies, a window on the lake, with balcony, +etc. Hand-organs with jolly singing boys jingle +all day, and two big bears go by led by a man with a +drum. The boys would laugh to see them dance on +their hind legs, and shoulder sticks like soldiers.</p> + +<p>... All looks well, and if the winter goes on rapidly +and pleasantly as the summer we shall soon be thinking +of home, unless one of us decides to stay. I shall post +this at Milan to-morrow, and hope to find letters there +from you. By-by till then. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>October</i>, 1870.–A memorable month.... Off for +Italy on the 2d. A splendid journey over the Alps and +Maggiore by moonlight. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span></p> + +<p>Heavenly days at the lakes, and so to Milan, Parma, +Pisa, Bologna, and Florence. Disappointed in some +things, but found Nature always lovely and wonderful; +so didn't mind faded pictures, damp rooms, and the +cold winds of "sunny Italy." Bought furs at Florence, +and arrived in Rome one rainy night.</p> + +<p><i>November 10th.</i>–In Rome, and felt as if I had been +there before and knew all about it. Always oppressed +with a sense of sin, dirt, and general decay of all things. +Not well; so saw things through blue glasses. May in +bliss with lessons, sketching, and her dreams. A. had +society, her house, and old friends. The artists were +the best company; counts and princes very dull, what +we saw of them. May and I went off on the Campagna, +and criticised all the world like two audacious +Yankees.</p> + +<p>Our apartment in Piazza Barbarini was warm and +cosey; and I thanked Heaven for it, as it rained for +two months, and my first view most of the time was the +poor Triton with an icicle on his nose.</p> + +<p>We pay $60 a month for six good rooms, and $6 a +month for a girl, who cooks and takes care of us.</p> + +<p><i>29th.</i>–My thirty-eighth birthday. May gave me a +pretty sketch, and A. a fine nosegay. +</p> +</div> + +<p>In Rome Miss Alcott was shocked and grieved by +the news of the death of her well-beloved brother-in-law, +Mr. Pratt. She has drawn so beautiful a +picture of him in "Little Women" and in "Little +Men," that it is hardly needful to dwell upon his +character or the grief which his death caused her. +With her usual care for others, her thoughts at +once turned to the support of the surviving family, +and she found comfort in writing "Little Men" +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> +with the thought of the dear sister and nephews +constantly in her heart.</p> + +<p>In spite of this great sorrow and anxiety for +the dear ones at home, the year of travel was very +refreshing to her. Her companions were congenial, +she took great delight in her sister's work, +and she was independent in her plans, and could +go whither and when she would.</p> + +<p>The voyage home was a hard one; there was small-pox +on board, but Miss Alcott fortunately escaped +the infection. "Little Men" was out the day she +arrived, as a bright red placard in the carriage announced, +and besides all the loving welcomes from +family and friends, she received the pleasing news +that fifty thousand of the books were already sold.</p> + +<p>But the old pains and weariness came home with +her also. She could not stay in Concord, and +went again to Boston, hoping to rest and work. +Her young sister came home to brighten up the +family with her hopeful, helpful spirit.</p> + +<p>At forty years of age Louisa had accomplished +the task she set for herself in youth. By unceasing +toil she had made herself and her family independent; +debts were all paid, and enough was invested +to preserve them from want. And yet +wants seemed to increase with their satisfaction, +and she felt impelled to work enough to give to +all the enjoyments and luxuries which were fitted +to them after the necessaries were provided for. +It may be that her own exhausted nervous condition +made it impossible for her to rest, and the +demand which she fancied came from without was +the projection of her own thought. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span></p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +1871.–<i>Rome.</i>–Great inundation. Streets flooded, +churches with four feet of water in them, and queer +times for those who were in the overflowed quarters. +Meals hoisted up at the window; people carried across +the river-like streets to make calls; and all manner of +funny doings. We were high and dry at Piazza Barbarini, +and enjoyed the flurry.</p> + +<p>To the Capitol often, to spend the <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> with the Roman +emperors and other great men. M. Aurelius as a boy +was fine; Cicero looked very like W. Phillips; Agrippina +in her chair was charming; but the other ladies, +with hair <i>à la sponge</i>, were ugly; Nero & Co. a set +of brutes and bad men. But a better sight to me was +the crowd of poor people going to get the bread and +money sent by the king; and the splendid snow-covered +hills were finer than the marble beauty inside. Art tires; +Nature never.</p> + +<p>Professor Pierce and his party just from Sicily, where +they had been to see the eclipse,–all beaming with +delight, and well repaid for the long journey by a <i>two +minutes'</i> squint at the sun when darkest.</p> + +<p>Began to write a new book, "Little Men," that John's +death may not leave A. and the dear little boys in want. +John took care that they should have enough while the +boys are young, and worked very hard to have a little +sum to leave, without a debt anywhere.</p> + +<p>In writing and thinking of the little lads, to whom I +must be a father now, I found comfort for my sorrow. +May went on with her lessons, "learning," as she wisely +said, how little she knew and how to go on.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–A gay month in Rome, with the carnival, +artists' fancy ball, many parties, and much calling. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span></p> + +<p>Decided to leave May for another year, as L. sends +$700 on "Moods," and the new book will provide +$1,000 for the dear girl; so she may be happy and free +to follow her talent.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–Spent at Albano. A lovely place. Walk, +write, and rest. A troop of handsome officers from +Turin, who clatter by, casting soft glances at my two +blonde signorinas, who enjoy it very much.<a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> Baron and +Baroness Rothschild were there, and the W.'s from Philadelphia, +Dr. O. W. and wife, and S. B. Mrs. W. and +A. B. talk <i>all day</i>, May sketches, I write, and so we go +on. Went to look at rooms at the Bonapartes.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Venice. Floated about for two weeks seeing +sights. A lovely city for a short visit. Not enough going +on to suit brisk Americans. May painted, A. hunted up +old jewelry and friends, and I dawdled after them.</p> + +<p>A very interesting trip to London,–over the Brenner +Pass to Munich, Cologne, Antwerp, and by boat to +London.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–A busy month. Settled in lodgings, Brompton +Road, and went sight-seeing. Mrs. P. Taylor, Conway, +and others very kind. Enjoyed showing May my favorite +places and people.</p> + +<p>A. B. went home on the 11th, after a pleasant year +with us. I am glad to know her, for she is true and very +interesting. May took lessons of Rowbotham and was +happy. "Little Men" came out in London.</p> + +<p>I decided to go home on the 25th, as I am needed. +A very pleasant year in spite of constant pain, John's +death, and home anxieties. Very glad I came, for May's +sake. It has been a very useful year for her.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–After an anxious passage of twelve days, got +safely home. Small-pox on board, and my room-mate, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> +Miss D., very ill. I escaped, but had a sober time lying +next door to her, waiting to see if my turn was to +come. She was left at the island, and I went up the +harbor with Judge Russell, who took some of us off in +his tug.</p> + +<p>Father and T. N. came to meet me with a great red +placard of "Little Men" pinned up in the carriage. +After due precautions, hurried home and found all well. +My room refurnished and much adorned by Father's +earnings.</p> + +<p>Nan well and calm, but under her sweet serenity is a +very sad soul, and she mourns for her mate like a tender +turtle-dove.</p> + +<p>The boys were tall, bright lads, devoted to Marmee, +and the life of the house.</p> + +<p>Mother feeble and much aged by this year of trouble. +I shall never go far away from her again. Much company, +and loads of letters, all full of good wishes and +welcome.</p> + +<p>"Little Men" was out the day I arrived. Fifty thousand +sold before it was out.</p> + +<p>A happy month, for I felt well for the first time in two +years. I knew it wouldn't last, but enjoyed it heartily +while it did, and was grateful for rest from pain and a +touch of the old cheerfulness. It was much needed at +home.</p> + +<p><i>July, August, September.</i>–Sick. Holiday soon over. +Too much company and care and change of climate +upset the poor nerves again. Dear Uncle S. J. May +died; our best friend for years. Peace to his ashes. +He leaves a sweeter memory behind him than any man +I know. Poor Marmee is the last of her family now.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Decided to go to B.; Concord is so hard +for me, with its dampness and worry. Get two girls to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> +do the work, and leave plenty of money and go to +Beacon Street to rest and try to get well that I may +work. A lazy life, but it seemed to suit; and anything +is better than the invalidism I hate worse than death.</p> + +<p>Bones ached less, and I gave up morphine, as sunshine, +air, and quiet made sleep possible without it. Saw +people, pictures, plays, and read all I could, but did not +enjoy much, for the dreadful weariness of nerves makes +even pleasure hard.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–May sent pleasant letters and some fine +copies of Turner. She decides to come home, as she +feels she is needed as I give out. Marmee is feeble, +Nan has her boys and her sorrow, and one strong head +and hand is wanted at home. A year and a half of holiday +is a good deal, and duty comes first always. Sorry +to call her back, but her eyes are troublesome, and +housework will rest them and set her up. Then she can +go again when I am better, for I don't want her to be +thwarted in her work more than just enough to make +her want it very much.</p> + +<p>On the 19th she came. Well, happy, and full of sensible +plans. A lively time enjoying the cheerful element +she always brings into the house. Piles of pictures, +merry adventures, and interesting tales of the fine London +lovers.</p> + +<p>Kept my thirty-ninth and Father's seventy-second +birthday in the old way.</p> + +<p>Thanksgiving dinner at Pratt Farm. All well and all +together. Much to give thanks for.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Enjoyed my quiet, sunny room very +much; and this lazy life seems to suit me, for I am +better, mind and body. All goes well at home, with +May to run the machine in her cheery, energetic style, +and amuse Marmee and Nan with gay histories. Had a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> +furnace put in, and all enjoyed the new climate. No +more rheumatic fevers and colds, with picturesque open +fires. Mother is to be cosey if money can do it. She +seems to be now, and my long-cherished dream has come +true; for she sits in a pleasant room, with no work, no +care, no poverty to worry, but peace and comfort all +about her, and children glad and able to stand between +trouble and her. Thank the Lord! I like to stop and +"remember my mercies." Working and waiting for them +makes them very welcome.</p> + +<p>Went to the ball for the Grand Duke Alexis. A fine +sight, and the big blonde boy the best of all. Would +dance with the pretty girls, and leave the Boston dowagers +and their diamonds in the lurch.</p> + +<p>To the Radical Club, where the philosophers mount +their hobbies and prance away into time and space, while +we gaze after them and try to look wise.</p> + +<p>A merry Christmas at home. Tree for the boys, +family dinner, and frolic in the evening.</p> + +<p>A varied, but on the whole a good year, in spite of +pain. Last Christmas we were in Rome, mourning for +John. What will next Christmas bring forth? I have no +ambition now but to keep the family comfortable and not +ache any more. Pain has taught me patience, I hope, if +nothing more.</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1872.–Roberts Brothers paid $4,400 as six +months' receipts for the books. A fine New Year's gift. +S. E. S. invested $3,000, and the rest I put in the bank +for family needs. Paid for the furnace and all the bills. +What bliss it is to be able to do that and ask no help!</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>Mysterious bouquets came from some unknown admirer +or friend. Enjoyed them very much, and felt +quite grateful and romantic as day after day the lovely +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> +great nosegays were handed in by the servant of the +unknown.</p> + +<p><i>February and March.</i>–At Mrs. Stowe's desire, wrote +for the "Christian Union" an account of our journey +through France, and called it "Shawl Straps."... +Many calls and letters and invitations, but I kept quiet, +health being too precious to risk, and sleep still hard to +get for the brain that would work instead of rest.</p> + +<p>Heard lectures,–Higginson, Bartol, Frothingham, and +Rabbi Lilienthal. Much talk about religion. I'd like +to see a little more really <i>lived</i>.</p> + +<p><i>April and May.</i>–Wrote another sketch for the "Independent,"–"A +French Wedding;" and the events +of my travels paid my winter's expenses. All is fish that +comes to the literary net. Goethe puts his joys and sorrows +into poems; I turn my adventures into bread and +butter.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p><i>June</i>, 1872.–Home, and begin a new task. Twenty +years ago I resolved to make the family independent if I +could. At forty that is done. Debts all paid, even the +outlawed ones, and we have enough to be comfortable. +It has cost me my health, perhaps; but as I still live, +there is more for me to do, I suppose. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER X.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">FAMILY CHANGES.</p> + +<p class="center p2">TRANSFIGURATION.<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p> + +<p class="center s1">IN MEMORIAM.</p> + +<p class="center s1">Lines written by Louisa M. Alcott on the death of her mother.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +Mysterious death! who in a single hour<br /> +<span class="i2">Life's gold can so refine,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And by thy art divine</span><br /> +Change mortal weakness to immortal power!</p> + +<p class="stanza">Bending beneath the weight of eighty years,<br /> +<span class="i2">Spent with the noble strife</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of a victorious life,</span><br /> +We watched her fading heavenward, through our tears.</p> + +<p class="stanza">But ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung,<br /> +<span class="i2">A miracle was wrought;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And swift as happy thought</span><br /> +She lived again,–brave, beautiful, and young.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Age, pain, and sorrow dropped the veils they wore<br /> +<span class="i2">And showed the tender eyes</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of angels in disguise,</span><br /> +Whose discipline so patiently she bore.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The past years brought their harvest rich and fair;<br /> +<span class="i2">While memory and love,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Together, fondly wove</span><br /> +A golden garland for the silver hair.</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza">How could we mourn like those who are bereft,<br /> +<span class="i2">When every pang of grief</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Found balm for its relief</span><br /> +In counting up the treasures she had left?–</p> + +<p class="stanza">Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time;<br /> +<span class="i2">Hope that defied despair;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Patience that conquered care;</span><br /> +And loyalty, whose courage was sublime;</p> + +<p class="stanza">The great deep heart that was a home for all,–<br /> +<span class="i2">Just, eloquent, and strong</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In protest against wrong;</span><br /> +Wide charity, that knew no sin, no fall;</p> + +<p class="stanza">The spartan spirit that made life so grand,<br /> +<span class="i2">Mating poor daily needs</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With high, heroic deeds,</span><br /> +That wrested happiness from Fate's hard hand.</p> + +<p class="stanza">We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,<br /> +<span class="i2">Full of the grateful peace</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That follows her release;</span><br /> +For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Oh, noble woman! never more a queen<br /> +<span class="i2">Than in the laying down</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of sceptre and of crown</span><br /> +To win a greater kingdom, yet unseen;</p> + +<p class="stanza">Teaching us how to seek the highest goal,<br /> +<span class="i2">To earn the true success,–</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To live, to love, to bless,–</span><br /> +And make death proud to take a royal soul. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE history of the next six years offers little +variety of incident in Miss Alcott's busy life. +She could not work at home in Concord as well as +in some quiet lodging in Boston, where she was +more free from interruption from visitors; but she +spent her summers with her mother, often taking +charge of the housekeeping. In 1872 she wrote +"Work," one of her most successful books. She +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> +had begun it some time before, and originally +called it "Success." It represents her own personal +experience more than any other book. She +says to a friend: "Christie's adventures are many +of them my own; Mr. Power is Mr. Parker; Mrs. +Wilkins is imaginary, and all the rest. This was +begun at eighteen, and never finished till H. W. +Beecher wrote to me for a serial for the 'Christian +Union' in 1872, and paid $3,000 for it."</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott again sent May to Europe in 1873 +to finish her studies, and herself continued writing +stories to pay the expenses of the family. The +mother's serious illness weighed heavily on Louisa's +heart, and through the summer of 1873 she was +devoted to the invalid, rejoicing in her partial recovery, +though sadly feeling that she would never +be her bright energetic self again. Mrs. Alcott +was able, however, to keep her birthday (October +8) pleasantly, and out of this experience came +a story called "A Happy Birthday." This little +tale paid for carriages for the invalid. It is included +in "Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag."</p> + +<p>Louisa and her mother decided to spend the +winter in Boston, while Mr. Alcott was at the +West. Her thoughts dwell much upon her father's +life, and she is not content that he has not +all the recognition and enjoyment that she would +gladly give him. She helps her mother to perform +the sacred duty of placing a tablet on Colonel +May's grave, and the dear old lady recognizes +that her life has gone down into the past, and +says, "This isn't my Boston, and I never want to +see it any more." +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span></p> + +<p>Louisa was at this time engaged in writing for +"St. Nicholas" and "The Independent."</p> + +<p>The return of the young artist, happy in her +success, brings brightness to the home-circle. In +the winter of 1875 Miss Alcott takes her old place +at the Bellevue, where May can have her drawing-classes. +She was herself ill, and the words, "No +sleep without morphine!" tell the story of nervous +suffering.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>July</i>, 1872.–May makes a lovely hostess, and I fly +round behind the scenes, or skip out of the back window +when ordered out for inspection by the inquisitive +public. Hard work to keep things running smoothly, +for this sight-seeing fiend is a new torment to us.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–May goes to Clark's Island for rest, having +kept hotel long enough. I say "No," and shut the +door. People <i>must</i> learn that authors have some rights; +I can't entertain a dozen a day, and write the tales they +demand also. I'm but a human worm, and when walked +on must turn in self-defence.</p> + +<p>Reporters sit on the wall and take notes; artists +sketch me as I pick pears in the garden; and strange +women interview Johnny as he plays in the orchard.</p> + +<p>It looks like impertinent curiosity to me; but it is +called "fame," and considered a blessing to be grateful +for, I find. Let 'em try it.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–To Wolcott, with Father and Fred. A +quaint, lovely old place is the little house on Spindle +Hill, where the boy Amos dreamed the dreams that have +come true at last.</p> + +<p>Got hints for my novel, "The Cost of an Idea," if I +ever find time to write it. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span></p> + +<p>Don't wonder the boy longed to climb those hills, and +see what lay beyond.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Went to a room in Allston Street, in a +quiet, old-fashioned house. I can't work at home, and +need to be alone to spin, like a spider.</p> + +<p>Rested; walked; to the theatre now and then. Home +once a week with books, etc., for Marmee and Nan. +Prepared "Shawl Straps" for Roberts.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Forty on the 29th. Got Father off for +the West, all neat and comfortable. I enjoyed every +penny spent, and had a happy time packing his new +trunk with warm flannels, neat shirts, gloves, etc., and +seeing the dear man go off in a new suit, overcoat, hat, +and all, like a gentleman. We both laughed over the +pathetic old times with tears in our eyes, and I reminded +him of the "poor as poverty, but serene as heaven" +saying.</p> + +<p>Something to do came just as I was trying to see what +to take up, for work is my salvation. H. W. Beecher +sent one of the editors of the "Christian Union" to ask +for a serial story. They have asked before, and offered +$2,000, which I refused; now they offered $3,000, and +I accepted.</p> + +<p>Got out the old manuscript of "Success," and called it +"Work." Fired up the engine, and plunged into a vortex, +with many doubts about getting out. Can't work slowly; +the thing possesses me, and I must obey till it's done. +One thousand dollars was sent as a seal on the bargain, +so I was bound, and sat at the oar like a galley-slave.</p> + +<p>F. wanted eight little tales, and offered $35 apiece; +used to pay $10. Such is fame! At odd minutes I +wrote the short ones, and so paid my own expenses. +"Shawl Straps," Scrap-Bag, No. 2, came out, and +went well. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span></p> + +<p>Great Boston fire; up all night. Very splendid and +terrible sight.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Busy with "Work." Write three pages +at once on impression paper, as Beecher, Roberts, and +Low of London all want copy at once.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[This was the cause of the paralysis of my thumb, which +disabled me for the rest of my life.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Nan and the boys came to visit me, and break up the +winter. Rested a little, and played with them.</p> + +<p>Father very busy and happy. On his birthday had +a gold-headed cane given him. He is appreciated out +there. +</p> +</div> + +<p>During these western trips, Mr. Alcott found +that his daughter's fame added much to the +warmth of his reception. On his return he loved +to tell how he was welcomed as the "grandfather +of 'Little Women.'" When he visited schools, he +delighted the young audiences by satisfying their +curiosity as to the author of their favorite book, +and the truth of the characters and circumstances +described in it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Boston</span>, 1872.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Marmee</span>,–Had a very transcendental day yesterday, +and at night my head was "swelling wisibly" with +the ideas cast into it.</p> + +<p>The club was a funny mixture of rabbis and weedy +old ladies, the "oversoul" and oysters. Papa and B. +flew clean out of sight like a pair of Platonic balloons, +and we tried to follow, but couldn't.</p> + +<p>In the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> went to R. W. E.'s reading. All the literary +birds were out in full feather. This "'umble" worm +was treated with distinguished condescension. Dr. B. gave +me his noble hand to press, and murmured compliments +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> +with the air of a bishop bestowing a benediction. Dear +B. beamed upon me from the depths of his funny little +cloak and said, "We are getting on well, ain't we?" +W. bowed his Jewish head, and rolled his fine eye at me. +Several dreadful women purred about me, and I fled.</p> + +<p>M. said what I liked,–that he'd sent my works to +his mother, and the good old lady told him to tell me +that she couldn't do a stroke of work, but just sat and +read 'em right through; she wished she was young so as +to have a long life in which to keep on enjoying such +books. The peacock liked that.</p> + +<p>I have paid all my own expenses out of the money +earned by my little tales; so I have not touched the +family income.</p> + +<p>Didn't mean to write; but it has been an expensive +winter, and my five hundred has made me all right. The +$500 I lent K. makes a difference in the income; but I +could not refuse her, she was so kind in the old hard +times.</p> + +<p>At the reading a man in front of me sat listening and +knitting his brows for a time, but had to give it up and +go to sleep. After it was over some one said to him, +"Well, what do you think of it?" "It's all very fine I +have no doubt; but I'm blessed if I can understand a +word of it," was the reply....</p> + +<p>The believers glow when the oracle is stuck, rustle and +beam when he is audible, and nod and smile as if they +understood perfectly when he murmurs under the desk! +We are a foolish set! +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>January</i>, 1873.–Getting on well with "Work;" have +to go slowly now for fear of a break-down. All well at +home. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span></p> + +<p>A week at Newport with Miss Jane Stewart. Dinners, +balls, calls, etc. Saw Higginson and "H. H." Soon +tired of gayety, and glad to get home to my quiet den +and pen.</p> + +<p>Roberts Brothers paid me $2,022 for books. S. E. S. +invested most of it, with the $1,000 F. sent. Gave C. M. +$100,–a thank-offering for my success. I like to help +the class of "silent poor" to which we belonged for so +many years,–needy, but respectable, and forgotten because +too proud to beg. Work difficult to find for such +people, and life made very hard for want of a little money +to ease the necessary needs.</p> + +<p><i>February and March.</i>–Anna very ill with pneumonia; +home to nurse her. Father telegraphed to come home, +as we thought her dying. She gave me her boys; but +the dear saint got well, and kept the lads for herself. +Thank God!</p> + +<p>Back to my work with what wits nursing left me.</p> + +<p>Had Johnny for a week, to keep all quiet at home. +Enjoyed the sweet little soul very much, and sent him +back much better.</p> + +<p>Finished "Work,"–twenty chapters. Not what it +should be,–too many interruptions. Should like to do +one book in peace, and see if it wouldn't be good.</p> + +<p><i>April</i>–The job being done I went home to take +May's place. Gave her $1,000, and sent her to London +for a year of study. She sailed on the 26th, brave and +happy and hopeful. I felt that she needed it, and was +glad to be able to help her.</p> + +<p>I spent seven months in Boston; wrote a book and +ten tales; earned $3,250 by my pen, and am satisfied +with my winter's work.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–D. F. wanted a dozen little tales, and agreed +to pay $50 apiece, if I give up other things for this. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> +Said I would, as I can do two a day, and keep house between +times. Cleaned and grubbed, and didn't mind +the change. Let head rest, and heels and feet do the +work.</p> + +<p>Cold and dull; but the thought of May free and happy +was my comfort as I messed about.</p> + +<p><i>June and July.</i>–Settled the servant question by getting +a neat American woman to cook and help me with +the housework.</p> + +<p>Peace fell upon our troubled souls, and all went well. +Good meals, tidy house, cheerful service, and in the <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> +an intelligent young person to read and sew with us.</p> + +<p>It was curious how she came to us. She had taught +and sewed, and was tired, and wanted something else; +decided to try for a housekeeper's place, but happened +to read "Work," and thought she'd do as Christie did,–take +anything that came.</p> + +<p>I was the first who answered her advertisement, and +when she found I wrote the book, she said, "I'll go and +see if Miss A. practises as she preaches."</p> + +<p>She found I did, and we had a good time together. +My new helper did so well I took pale Johnny to the +seaside for a week; but was sent for in haste, as poor +Marmee was very ill. Mental bewilderment came after +one of her heart troubles (the dropsy affected the brain), +and for three weeks we had a sad time. Father and I +took care of her, and my good A. S. kept house nicely +and faithfully for me.</p> + +<p>Marmee slowly came back to herself, but sadly feeble,–never +to be our brave, energetic leader any more. +She felt it, and it was hard to convince her that there was +no need of her doing anything but rest.</p> + +<p><i>August, September, October.</i>–Mother improved steadily. +Father went to the Alcott festival in Walcott, A. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> +and boys to Conway for a month; and it did them all +much good.</p> + +<p>I had quiet days with Marmee; drove with her, and +had the great pleasure of supplying all her needs and +fancies.</p> + +<p>May busy and happy in London. A merry time on +Mother's birthday, October 8. All so glad to have her +still here; for it seemed as if we were to lose her.</p> + +<p>Made a little story of it for F.,–"A Happy Birthday."–and +spent the $50 in carriages for her.</p> + +<p><i>November and December.</i>–Decided that it was best +not to try a cold, lonely winter in C., but go to B. with +Mother, Nan, and boys, and leave Father free for the +West.</p> + +<p>Took sunny rooms at the South End, near the Park, +so the lads could play out and Marmee walk. She enjoyed +the change, and sat at her window watching people, +horse-cars, and sparrows with great interest. Old friends +came to see her, and she was happy. Found a nice +school for the boys; and Nan enjoyed her quiet days.</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1874.–Mother quite ill this month. Dr. +Wesselhoeft does his best for the poor old body, now +such a burden to her. The slow decline has begun, +and she knows it, having nursed her mother to the +same end.</p> + +<p>Father disappointed and rather sad, to be left out of +so much that he would enjoy and should be asked to +help and adorn. A little more money, a pleasant house +and time to attend to it, and I'd bring all the best people +to see and entertain <i>him</i>. When I see so much twaddle +going on I wonder those who can don't get up something +better, and have really good things.</p> + +<p>When I had the youth I had no money; now I have +the money I have no time; and when I get the time, if +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> +I ever do, I shall have no health to enjoy life. I suppose +it's the discipline I need; but it's rather hard to love the +things I do and see them go by because duty chains me +to my galley. If I come into port at last with all sail set +that will be reward perhaps.</p> + +<p>Life always was a puzzle to me, and gets more mysterious +as I go on. I shall find it out by and by and see +that it's all right, if I can only keep brave and patient to +the end.</p> + +<p>May still in London painting Turners, and doing pretty +panels as "pot-boilers." They sell well, and she is a +thrifty child. Good luck to our mid-summer girl.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Father has several conversations at the +Clubs and Societies and Divinity School. No one pays +anything; but they seem glad to listen. There ought to +be a place for him.</p> + +<p>Nan busy with her boys, and they doing well at school,–good, +gay, and intelligent; a happy mother and most +loving little sons.</p> + +<p>I wrote two tales, and got $200. Saw Charles Kingsley,–a +pleasant man. His wife has Alcott relations, +and likes my books. Asked us to come and see him +in England; is to bring his daughters to Concord by +and by.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–May came home with a portfolio full of fine +work. Must have worked like a busy bee to have done +so much.</p> + +<p>Very happy in her success; for she has proved her +talent, having copied Turner so well that Ruskin (meeting +her in the National Gallery at work) told her that +she had "caught Turner's spirit wonderfully." She has +begun to copy Nature, and done well. Lovely sketches +of the cloisters in Westminster Abbey, and other charming +things. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span></p> + +<p>I write a story for all my men, and make up the $1,000 +I planned to earn by my "pot-boilers" before we go +back to C.</p> + +<p>A tablet to Grandfather May is put in Stone Chapel, +and one Sunday <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> we take Mother to see it. A +pathetic sight to see Father walk up the broad aisle with +the feeble old wife on his arm as they went to be married +nearly fifty years ago. Mother sat alone in the old pew +a little while and sung softly the old hymns; for it was +early, and only the sexton there. He asked who she was +and said his father was sexton in Grandfather's time.</p> + +<p>Several old ladies came in and knew Mother. She +broke down thinking of the time when she and her mother +and sisters and father and brothers all went to church together, +and we took her home saying, "This isn't my +Boston; all my friends are gone; I never want to see it +any more."</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[She never did.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>April and May.</i>–Back to Concord, after May and I +had put all in fine order and made the old house lovely +with her pictures. When all were settled, with May to +keep house, I went to B. for rest, and took a room in +Joy Street.</p> + +<p>The Elgin Watch Company offered me a gold watch or +$100 for a tale. Chose the money, and wrote the story +"My Rococo Watch"<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> for them.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Took two nice rooms at the Hotel Bellevue +for the winter; May to use one for her classes. Tried to +work on my book, but was in such pain could not do +much. Got no sleep without morphine. Tried old Dr. +Hewett, who was sure he could cure the woe....</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Funny time with the publishers about the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> +tale; for all wanted it at once, and each tried to outbid +the other for an unwritten story. I rather enjoyed it, and +felt important with Roberts, Low, and Scribner all clamoring +for my "'umble" works. No peddling poor little +manuscripts now, and feeling rich with $10. The golden +goose can sell her eggs for a good price, if she isn't killed +by too much driving.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Better and busier than last month.</p> + +<p>All well at home, and Father happy among his kind +Westerners. Finish "Eight Cousins," and get ready to +do the temperance tale, for F. offers $700 for six +chapters,–"Silver Pitchers."</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1875.– ... Father flourishing about the +Western cities, "riding in Louisa's chariot, and adored +as the grandfather of 'Little Women,'" he says.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Finish my tale and go to Vassar College +on a visit. See M. M., talk with four hundred girls, write +in stacks of albums and school-books, and kiss every one +who asks me. Go to New York; am rather lionized, +and run away; but things look rather jolly, and I may +try a winter there some time, as I need a change and +new ideas.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–Home again, getting ready for the centennial +fuss.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–On the 19th a grand celebration. General +<i>break-down</i>, owing to an unwise desire to outdo all the +other towns; too many people.... +</p> +</div> + +<p>Miss Alcott was very much interested in the +question of Woman Suffrage, and exerted herself +to get up a meeting in Concord. The subject was +then very unpopular, and there was an ill-bred +effort to destroy the meeting by noise and riot. +Although not fond of speaking in public, she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> +always put herself bravely on the side of the unpopular +cause, and lent to it all the argument of +her heroic life. When Mrs. Livermore lectured +at Concord, Miss Alcott sat up all night talking +with her on the great question. She had an opportunity +of trying which was most exhausting, abuse +or admiration, when she went to a meeting of the +Women's Congress at Syracuse, in October. She +was introduced to the audience by Mrs. Livermore, +and the young people crowded about her +like bees about a honeycomb. She was waylaid +in the streets, petitioned for autographs, kissed by +gushing young maidens, and made emphatically +the lion of the hour. It was all so genial and +spontaneous, that she enjoyed the fun. No amount +of adulation ever affected the natural simplicity of +her manners. She neither despised nor overrated +her fame; but was glad of it as a proof of success +in what she was ever aiming to do. She spent +a few weeks in New York enjoying the gay and +literary society which was freely opened to her; +but finding most satisfaction in visiting the +Tombs, Newsboys' Home, and Randall's Island, +for she liked these things better than parties and +dinners.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>June, July, August</i>, 1875.–Kept house at home, with +two Irish incapables to trot after, and ninety-two guests +in one month to entertain. Fame is an expensive luxury. +I can do without it. This is my worst scrape, I +think. I asked for bread, and got a stone,–in the +shape of a pedestal. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span></p> + +<p><i>September and October</i>, 1875.–I go to Woman's +Congress in Syracuse, and see Niagara. Funny time +with the girls.</p> + +<p>Write loads of autographs, dodge at the theatre, and +am kissed to death by gushing damsels. One energetic +lady grasped my hand in the crowd, exclaiming, "If you +ever come to Oshkosh, your feet will not be allowed to +touch the ground: you will be borne in the arms of the +people! Will you come?" "Never," responded Miss +A., trying to look affable, and dying to laugh as the good +soul worked my arm like a pump-handle, and from the +gallery generations of girls were looking on. "This, +this, is fame!"</p> + +<p><i>November, December.</i>–Take a room at Bath Hotel, +New York, and look about me. Miss Sally Holly is here, +and we go about together. She tells me much of her +life among the freedmen, and Mother is soon deep in +barrels of clothes, food, books, etc., for Miss A. to take +back with her.</p> + +<p>See many people, and am very gay for a country-mouse. +Society unlike either London or Boston.</p> + +<p>Go to Sorosis, and to Mrs. Botta's, O. B. Frothingham's, +Miss Booth's, and Mrs. Croly's receptions.</p> + +<p>Visit the Tombs, Newsboys' Home, and Randall's +Island on Christmas Day with Mrs. Gibbons. A memorable +day. Make a story of it. Enjoy these things +more than the parties and dinners. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Dodge.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">New York</span>, Oct. 5, 1875.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–So far, New York seems inviting, +though I have not seen or done much but "gawk +round" as the country folks do. I have seen Niagara, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> +enjoyed my vacation very much, especially the Woman's +Congress in Syracuse. I was made a member, so have +the honor to sign myself,</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott, M. C</span>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Father.</i></p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">New York</span>, Nov. 26, 1875.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Seventy-six</span>,–As I have nothing else to send +you on our joint birthday, I'll despatch a letter about +some of the people I have lately seen in whom you take +an interest.</p> + +<p>Tuesday we heard Gough on "Blunders," and it was +very good,–both witty and wise, earnest and sensible. +Wednesday eve to Mr. Frothingham's for his Fraternity +Club meeting. Pleasant people. Ellen F.; Abby Sage +Richardson, a very lovely woman; young Putnam and +wife; Mrs. Stedman; Mattie G. and her spouse, Dr. B., +who read a lively story of Mormon life; Mrs. Dodge; +O. Johnson and wife, and many more whose names I +forget.</p> + +<p>After the story the given subject for discussion was +brought up,–"Conformity and Noncomformity." Mr. +B., a promising young lawyer, led one side, Miss B. the +other, and Mr. F. was in the chair. It was very lively; +and being called upon, I piped up, and went in for nonconformity +when principle was concerned. Got patted +on the head for my remarks, and didn't disgrace myself +except by getting very red and talking fast.</p> + +<p>Ellen F. was very pleasant, and asked much about +May. Proudly I told of our girl's achievements, and E. +hoped she would come to New York. Mrs. Richardson +was presented, and we had some agreeable chat. She +is a great friend of O. B. F., and is lecturing here on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> +"Literature." Shall go and hear her, as she is coming +to see me.</p> + +<p>O. B. F. was as polished and clear and cool and witty +as usual; most gracious to the "'umble" Concord worm; +and Mrs. F. asked me to come and see them.</p> + +<p>Yesterday took a drive with Sally H. in Central Park +as it was fine, and she had no fun on her Thanksgiving. +I dined at Mrs. Botta's, for she kindly came and asked +me. Had a delightful time, and felt as if I'd been to +Washington; for Professor Byng, a German ex-consul, +was there, full of Capitol gossip about Sumner and all +the great beings that there do congregate. Mr. Botta +you know,–a handsome, long-haired Italian, very cultivated +and affable.</p> + +<p>Also about Lord H., whom B. thought "an amiable +old woman," glad to say pretty things, and fond of being +lionized. Byng knew Rose and Una, and asked about +them; also told funny tales of Victor Emmanuel and his +Court, and queer adventures in Greece, where he, B., +was a consul, or something official. It was a glimpse +into a new sort of world; and as the man was very +accomplished, elegant, and witty, I enjoyed it much.</p> + +<p>We had music later, and saw some fine pictures. +Durant knew Miss Thackeray, J. Ingelow, and other +English people whom I did, so we had a good dish of +gossip with Mrs. Botta, while the others talked three or +four languages at once.</p> + +<p>It is a delightful house, and I shall go as often as I +may, for it is the sort of thing I like much better than +B. H. and champagne.</p> + +<p>To-night we go to hear Bradlaugh; to-morrow, a new +play; Sunday, Frothingham and Bellows; and Monday, +Mrs. Richardson and Shakespeare.</p> + +<p>But it isn't all play, I assure you. I'm a thrifty butterfly, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> +and have written three stories. The "G." has +paid for the little Christmas tale; the "I." has "Letty's +Tramp;" and my "girl paper" for "St. Nick" is +about ready. Several other papers are waiting for tales, +so I have a ballast of work to keep me steady in spite of +much fun.</p> + +<p>Mr. Powell has been twice to see me, and we go to +visit the charities of New York next week. I like to see +both sides, and generally find the busy people most +interesting.</p> + +<p>So far I like New York very much, and feel so well I +shall stay on till I'm tired of it. People begin to tell +me how much better I look than when I came, and +I have not an ache to fret over. This, after such a long +lesson in bodily ails, is a blessing for which I am duly +grateful.</p> + +<p>Hope all goes well with you, and that I shall get a line +now and then. I'll keep them for you to <i>bind</i> up by +and by instead of mine....</p> + +<p>We can buy a carriage some other time, and a barn +likewise, and a few other necessities of life. Rosa has +proved such a good speculation we shall dare to let May +venture another when the ship comes in. I am glad the +dear "rack-a-bones" is a comfort to her mistress, only +don't let her break my boy's bones by any antics when +she feels her oats.</p> + +<p>I suppose you are thinking of Wilson just now, and +his quiet slipping away to the heavenly council chambers +where the good senators go. Rather like Sumner's end, +wasn't it? No wife or children, only men and servants. +Wilson was such a genial, friendly soul I should have +thought he would have felt the loneliness very much. +Hope if he left any last wishes his mates will carry them +out faithfully.... +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, dear Plato, the Lord bless you, and keep you +serene and happy for as many years as He sees fit, and +me likewise, to be a comfort as well as a pride to you.</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Ever your loving</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Forty-three</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Nephews.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">New York</span>, Dec. 4, 1875.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Fred and Donny</span>,–We went to see the news-boys, +and I wish you'd been with us, it was so interesting. +A nice big house has been built for them, with +dining-room and kitchen on the first floor, bath-rooms +and school-room next, two big sleeping-places,–third and +fourth stories,–and at the top a laundry and gymnasium. +We saw all the tables set for breakfast,–a plate and +bowl for each,–and in the kitchen great kettles, four +times as big as our copper boiler, for tea and coffee, +soup, and meat. They have bread and meat and coffee +for breakfast, and bread and cheese and tea for supper, +and get their own dinners out. School was just over +when we got there, and one hundred and eighty boys +were in the immense room with desks down the middle, +and all around the walls were little cupboards numbered. +Each boy on coming in gives his name, pays six cents, +gets a key, and puts away his hat, books, and jacket (if +he has 'em) in his own cubby for the night. They pay +five cents for supper, and schooling, baths, etc., are free. +They were a smart-looking set, larking round in shirts +and trousers, barefooted, but the faces were clean, and +the heads smooth, and clothes pretty decent; yet they +support themselves, for not one of them has any parents +or home but this. One little chap, only six, was trotting +round as busy as a bee, locking up his small shoes and +ragged jacket as if they were great treasures. I asked +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> +about little Pete, and the man told us his brother, only +nine, supported him and took care of him entirely; and +wouldn't let Pete be sent away to any home, because <i>he</i> +wished to have "his family" with him.</p> + +<p>Think of that, Fred! How would it seem to be all +alone in a big city, with no mamma to cuddle you; no +two grandpa's houses to take you in; not a penny but +what you earned, and Donny to take care of? Could +you do it? Nine-year-old Patsey does it capitally; buys +Pete's clothes, pays for his bed and supper, and puts +pennies in the savings-bank. There's a brave little man +for you! I wanted to see him; but he is a newsboy, +and sells late papers, because, though harder work, it +pays better, and the coast is clear for those who do it.</p> + +<p>The savings-bank was a great table all full of slits, each +one leading to a little place below and numbered outside, +so each boy knew his own. Once a month the bank is +opened, and the lads take out what they like, or have it +invested in a big bank for them to have when they find +homes out West, as many do, and make good farmers. +One boy was putting in some pennies as we looked, and +I asked how much he had saved this month. "Fourteen +dollars, ma'am," says the thirteen-year-older, proudly +slipping in the last cent. A prize of $3 is offered to the +lad who saves the most in a month.</p> + +<p>The beds upstairs were in two immense rooms, ever so +much larger than our town hall,–one hundred in one, +and one hundred and eighty in another,–all narrow +beds with a blue quilt, neat pillow, and clean sheet. +They are built in long rows, one over another, and the +upper boy has to climb up as on board ship. I'd have +liked to see one hundred and eighty all in their "by-lows" +at once, and I asked the man if they didn't train when +all were in. "Lord, ma'am, they're up at five, poor +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> +little chaps, and are so tired at night that they drop off +right away. Now and then some boy kicks up a little +row, but we have a watchman, and he soon settles 'em."</p> + +<p>He also told me how that very day a neat, smart +young man came in, and said he was one of their boys +who went West with a farmer only a little while ago; and +now he owned eighty acres of land, had a good house, +and was doing well, and had come to New York to find +his sister, and to take her away to live with him. Wasn't +that nice? Lots of boys do as well. Instead of loafing +round the streets and getting into mischief, they are +taught to be tidy, industrious, and honest, and then sent +away into the wholesome country to support themselves.</p> + +<p>It was funny to see 'em scrub in the bath-room,–feet +and faces,–comb their hair, fold up their old clothes in +the dear cubbies, which make them so happy because +they feel that they <i>own</i> something.</p> + +<p>The man said every boy wanted one, even though he +had neither shoes nor jacket to put in it; but would lay +away an old rag of a cap or a dirty tippet with an air +of satisfaction fine to see. Some lads sat reading, and +the man said they loved it so they'd read all night, if +allowed. At nine he gave the word, "Bed!" and away +went the lads, trooping up to sleep in shirts and trousers, +as nightgowns are not provided. How would a boy I +know like that,–a boy who likes to have "trommin" +on his nighties? Of course, I don't mean dandy Don! +Oh, dear no!</p> + +<p>After nine [if late in coming in] they are fined five +cents; after ten, ten cents; and after eleven they can't +come in at all. This makes them steady, keeps them +out of harm, and gives them time for study. Some go +to the theatre, and sleep anywhere; some sleep at the +Home, but go out for a better breakfast than they get +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> +there, as the swell ones are fond of goodies, and live +well in their funny way. Coffee and cakes at Fulton +Market is "the tip-top grub," and they often spend all +their day's earnings in a play and a supper, and sleep in +boxes or cellars after it.</p> + +<p>Lots of pussies were round the kitchen; and one black +one I called a bootblack, and a gray kit that yowled +loud was a newsboy. That made some chaps laugh, and +they nodded at me as I went out. Nice boys! but I +know some nicer ones. Write and tell me something +about my poor Squabby.</p> + +<p class="left65"> +By-by, your</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Weedy</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To her Family.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Saturday Evening</span>, Dec. 25, 1875.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Family</span>,– ... I had only time for a word this +<span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, as the fourth letter was from Mrs. P. to say they could +not go; so I trotted off in the fog at ten to the boat, +and there found Mr. and Mrs. G. and piles of goodies for +the poor children. She is a dear little old lady in a +close, Quakerish bonnet and plain suit, but wide-awake +and full of energy. It was grand to see her tackle the +big mayor and a still bigger commissioner, and tell them +what <i>ought</i> to be done for the poor things on the Island, +as they are to be routed; for the city wants the land for +some dodge or other. Both men fled soon, for the brave +little woman was down on 'em in a way that would have +made Marmee cry "Ankore!" and clap her dress-gloves +to rags.</p> + +<p>When the rotundities had retired, she fell upon a +demure priest, and read him a sermon; and then won +the heart of a boyish reporter so entirely that he stuck to +us all day, and helped serve out dolls and candy like a +man and a brother. Long life to him! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. G. and I discussed pauperism and crime like two +old wiseacres; and it was sweet to hear the gray-headed +couple say "thee" and "thou," "Abby" and "James," to +one another, he following with the bundles wherever the +little poke-bonnet led the way. I've had a pretty good +variety of Christmases in my day, but never one like this +before. First we drove in an old ramshackle hack to +the chapel, whither a boy had raced before us, crying +joyfully to all he met, "She's come! Miss G.–she's +come!" And all faces beamed, as well they might, +since for thirty years she has gone to make set after set +of little forlornities happy on this day.</p> + +<p>The chapel was full. On one side, in front, girls in +blue gowns and white pinafores; on the other, small +chaps in pinafores likewise; and behind them, bigger +boys in gray suits with cropped heads, and larger girls +with ribbons in their hair and pink calico gowns. They +sang alternately; the girls gave "Juanita" very well, the +little chaps a pretty song about poor children asking a +"little white angel" to leave the gates of heaven ajar, so +they could peep in, if no more. Quite pathetic, coming +from poor babies who had no home but this.</p> + +<p>The big boys spoke pieces, and I was amused when +one bright lad in gray, with a red band on his arm, spoke +the lines I gave G.,–"Merry Christmas." No one +knew me, so I had the joke to myself; and I found +afterward that I was taken for the mayoress, who was +expected. Then we drove to the hospital, and there the +heart-ache began, for me at least, so sad it was to see +these poor babies, born of want and sin, suffering every +sort of deformity, disease, and pain. Cripples half blind, +scarred with scrofula, burns, and abuse,–it was simply +awful and indescribable!</p> + +<p>As we went in, I with a great box of dolls and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> +young reporter with a bigger box of candy, a general +cry of delight greeted us. Some children tried to run, +half-blind ones stretched out their groping hands, little +ones crawled, and big ones grinned, while several poor +babies sat up in their bed, beckoning us to "come +quick."</p> + +<p>One poor mite, so eaten up with sores that its whole +face was painted with some white salve,–its head covered +with an oilskin cap; one eye gone, and the other half +filmed over; hands bandaged, and ears bleeding,–could +only moan and move its feet till I put a gay red dolly in +one hand and a pink candy in the other; then the dim +eye brightened, the hoarse voice said feebly, "Tanky, +lady!" and I left it contentedly sucking the sweetie, and +<i>trying</i> to <i>see</i> its dear new toy. It can't see another +Christmas, and I like to think I helped make this one +happy, even for a minute.</p> + +<p>It was pleasant to watch the young reporter trot round +with the candy-box, and come up to me all interest to +say, "One girl hasn't got a doll, ma'am, and looks <i>so</i> +disappointed."</p> + +<p>After the hospital, we went to the idiot house; and +there I had a chance to see faces and figures that will +haunt me a long time. A hundred or so of half-grown +boys and girls ranged down a long hall, a table of toys +in the middle, and an empty one for Mrs. G.'s gifts. A +cheer broke out as the little lady hurried in waving her +handkerchief and a handful of gay bead necklaces, and +"Oh! Ohs!" followed the appearance of the doll-lady +and the candy man.</p> + +<p>A pile of gay pictures was a new idea, and Mrs. G. +told me to hold up some bright ones and see if the poor +innocents would understand and enjoy them. I held up +one of two kittens lapping spilt milk, and the girls began +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> +to mew and say "Cat! ah, pretty." Then a fine horse, +and the boys bounced on their benches with pleasure; +while a ship in full sail produced a cheer of rapture from +them all.</p> + +<p>Some were given out to the good ones, and the rest +are to be pinned round the room; so the pictures were a +great success. All wanted dolls, even boys of nineteen; +for all were children in mind. But the girls had them, +and young women of eighteen cuddled their babies and +were happy. The boys chose from the toy-table, and it +was pathetic to see great fellows pick out a squeaking dog +without even the wit to pinch it when it was theirs. One +dwarf of thirty-five chose a little Noah's ark, and brooded +over it in silent bliss.</p> + +<p>Some with beards sucked their candy, and stared at a +toy cow or box of blocks as if their cup was full. One +French girl sang the Marseillaise in a feeble voice, and +was so overcome by her new doll that she had an epileptic +fit on the spot, which made two others go off likewise; +and a slight pause took place while they were +kindly removed to sleep it off.</p> + +<p>A little tot of four, who hadn't sense to put candy in +its mouth, was so fond of music that when the girls sang +the poor vacant face woke up, and a pair of lovely soft +hazel eyes stopped staring dully at nothing, and went +wandering to and fro with light in them, as if to find the +only sound that can reach its poor mind.</p> + +<p>I guess I gave away two hundred dolls, and a soap-box +of candy was empty when we left. But rows of sticky +faces beamed at us, and an array of gay toys wildly +waved after us, as if we were angels who had showered +goodies on the poor souls.</p> + +<p>Pauper women are nurses; and Mrs. G. says the babies +die like sheep, many being deserted so young nothing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> +can be hoped or done for them. One of the teachers in +the idiot home was a Miss C., who remembered Nan at +Dr. Wilbur's. Very lady-like, and all devotion to me. +But such a life! Oh, me! Who <i>can</i> lead it, and not +go mad?</p> + +<p>At four, we left and came home, Mrs. G. giving a box +of toys and sweeties on board the boat for the children +of the men who run it. So leaving a stream of blessings +and pleasures behind her, the dear old lady drove away, +simply saying, "There now, I shall feel better for the +next year!" Well she may; bless her!</p> + +<p>She made a speech to the chapel children after the +Commissioner had prosed in the usual way, and she told +'em that <i>she</i> should come as long as she could, and when +she was gone her children would still keep it up in memory +of her; so for thirty years more she hoped this, their +one holiday, would be made happy for them. I could +have hugged her on the spot, the motherly old dear!</p> + +<p>Next Wednesday we go to the Tombs, and some day +I am to visit the hospital with her, for I like this better +than parties, etc.</p> + +<p>I got home at five, and then remembered that I'd had +no lunch; so I took an apple till six, when I discovered +that all had dined at one so the helpers could go early +this evening. Thus my Christmas day was without dinner +or presents, for the first time since I can remember. +Yet it has been a very memorable day, and I feel as if +I'd had a splendid feast seeing the poor babies wallow +in turkey soup, and that every gift I put into their hands +had come back to me in the dumb delight of their +unchild-like faces trying to smile. +</p> +</div> + +<p>After the pleasant visit in New York, Miss Alcott +returned to Boston, where she went into society +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> +more than usual, often attending clubs, theatres, +and receptions. She was more lionized than ever, +and had a natural pleasure in the attention she +received.</p> + +<p>The summer of 1876 she spent at Concord, nursing +her mother, who was very ill. She here wrote +"Rose in Bloom," the sequel to "Eight Cousins," +in three weeks. It was published in November.</p> + +<p>Louisa was anxious that her sister should have +a home for her young family. Mrs. Pratt invested +what she could of her husband's money in the +purchase, and Louisa contributed the rest. This +was the so-called Thoreau House on the main +street in Concord, which became Mrs. Pratt's +home, and finally that of her father.</p> + +<p>Louisa spent the summer of 1877 in Concord. +Her mother's illness increased, and she was herself +very ill in August. Yet she wrote this summer +one of her brightest and sweetest stories, +"Under the Lilacs." Her love of animals is specially +apparent in this book, and she records going +to the circus to make studies for the performing +dog Sanch.</p> + +<p>During the winter of 1877, Miss Alcott went to +the Bellevue for some weeks, and having secured +the necessary quiet, devoted herself to the writing +of a novel for the famous No Name Series published +by Roberts Brothers. This book had been +in her mind for some time, as is seen by the journal. +As it was to appear anonymously, and was +not intended for children, she was able to depart +from her usual manner, and indulge the weird +and lurid fancies which took possession of her in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span> +her dramatic days, and when writing sensational +stories. She was much interested, and must have +written it very rapidly, as it was published in April. +She enjoyed the excitement of her <i>incognito</i>, and +was much amused at the guesses of critics and +friends, who attributed the book to others, and +were sure Louisa Alcott did not write it, because +its style was so unlike hers.</p> + +<p>It certainly is very unlike the books Miss Alcott +had lately written. It has nothing of the home-like +simplicity and charm of "Little Women," +"Old-Fashioned Girl," and the other stories with +which she was delighting the children, and, with +"Moods," must always be named as exceptional +when speaking of her works. Still, a closer study +of her life and nature will reveal much of her own +tastes and habits of thought in the book; and it is +evident that she wrote <i>con amore</i>, and was fascinated +by the familiars she evoked, however little +charm they may seem to possess to others. She +was fond of Hawthorne's books. The influence of +his subtle and weird romances is undoubtedly perceptible +in the book, and it is not strange that it +was attributed to his son. She says it had been +simmering in her brain ever since she read "Faust" +the year before; and she clearly wished to work +according to Goethe's thought,–that the Prince +of Darkness was a gentleman, and must be represented +as belonging to the best society.</p> + +<p>The plot is powerful and original. A young poet, +with more ambition than genius or self-knowledge, +finds himself, at nineteen, friendless, penniless, and +hopeless, and is on the point of committing suicide. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> +He is saved by Helwyze, a middle-aged man, +who has been severely crippled by a terrible fall, +and his heart seared by the desertion of the woman +he loved. A man of intellect, power, imagination, +and wealth, but incapable of conscientious feeling +or true love, he is a dangerous savior for the impulsive +poet; but he takes him to his home, warms, +feeds, and shelters him, and promises to bring out +his book. The brilliant, passionate woman who +gave up her lover when his health and beauty were +gone, returned to him when youth had passed, +and would gladly have devoted herself to soothing +his pain and enriching his life. Her feeling +is painted with delicacy and tenderness.</p> + +<p>But Helwyze's heart knew nothing of the divine +quality of forgiveness; for his love there was no resurrection; +and he only valued the power he could +exercise over a brilliant woman, and the intellectual +entertainment she could bring him. A sweet young +girl, Olivia's protegee, completes the very limited +<i>dramatis personæ</i>.</p> + +<p>The young poet, Felix Canaris, under the guidance +of his new friend, wins fame, success, and the +young girl's heart; but his wayward fancy turns +rather to the magnificent Olivia. The demoniac +Helwyze works upon this feeling, and claims of +Olivia her fair young friend Gladys as a wife for +Felix, who is forced to accept her at the hands of +his master. She is entirely responsive to the love +which she fancies she has won, and is grateful for +her fortunate lot, and devotes herself to the comfort +and happiness of the poor invalid who delights +in her beauty and grace. For a time Felix +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> +enjoys a society success, to which his charming +wife, as well as his book, contribute. But at last +this excitement flags. He writes another book, +which he threatens to burn because he is dissatisfied +with it. Gladys entreats him to spare it, and +Helwyze offers to read it to her. She is overcome +and melted with emotion at the passion and pathos +of the story; and when Helwyze asks, "Shall I +burn it?" Felix answers, "No!" Again the book +brings success and admiration, but the tender wife +sees that it does not insure happiness, and that +her husband is plunging into the excitement of +gambling.</p> + +<p>The demon Helwyze has complete control over +the poet, which he exercises with such subtle tyranny +that the young man is driven to the dreadful +thought of murder to escape from him; but he is +saved from the deed by the gentle influence of his +wife, who has won his heart at last, unconscious +that it had not always been hers.</p> + +<p>Helwyze finds his own punishment. One being +resists his power,–Gladys breathes his poisoned +atmosphere unharmed. He sends for Olivia as his +ally to separate the wife from her husband's love. +A passion of curiosity possesses him to read her +very heart; and at last he resorts to a strange +means to accomplish his purpose. He gives her +an exciting drug without her knowledge, and under +its influence she speaks and acts with a rare +genius which calls forth the admiration of all the +group. Left alone with her, Helwyze exercises his +magnetic power to draw forth the secrets of her +heart; but he reads there only a pure and true +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> +love for her husband, and fear of the unhallowed +passion which he is cherishing. The secret of +his power over the husband is at last revealed. +Canaris has published as his own the work of +Helwyze, and all the fame and glory he has received +has been won by deceit, and is a miserable +mockery.</p> + +<p>The tragic result is inevitable. Gladys dies under +the pressure of a burden too heavy for her,–the +knowledge of deceit in him she had loved and +trusted; while the stricken Helwyze is paralyzed, +and lives henceforth only a death in life.</p> + +<p>With all the elements of power and beauty in +this singular book, it fails to charm and win the +heart of the reader. The circumstances are in a +romantic setting, but still they are prosaic; and +tragedy is only endurable when taken up into the +region of the ideal, where the thought of the universal +rounds out all traits of the individual. In +Goethe's Faust, Margaret is the sweetest and simplest +of maidens; but in her is the life of all +wronged and suffering womanhood.</p> + +<p>The realism which is delightful in the pictures +of little women and merry boys is painful when +connected with passions so morbid and lives so far +removed from joy and sanity. As in her early +dramas and sensational stories, we do not find +Louisa Alcott's own broad, generous, healthy life, +or that which lay around her, in this book, but the +reminiscences of her reading, which she had striven +to make her own by invention and fancy.</p> + +<p>This note refers to "A Modern Mephistopheles":– +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +[1877.]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–I had to keep the proof longer +than I meant because a funeral came in the way.</p> + +<p>The book as last sent is lovely, and much bigger than +I expected.</p> + +<p>Poor "Marmee," ill in bed, hugged it, and said, "It +is perfect! only I do wish your name could be on it." +She is very proud of it; and tender-hearted Anna weeps +and broods over it, calling Gladys the best and sweetest +character I ever did. So much for home opinion; now +let's see what the public will say.</p> + +<p>May clamors for it; but I don't want to send this till +she has had one or two of the others. Have you sent +her "Is That All?" If not, please do; then it won't +look suspicious to send only "M. M."</p> + +<p>I am so glad the job is done, and hope it won't disgrace +the series. Is not another to come before this? +I hope so; for many people suspect what is up, and I +could tell my fibs about No. 6 better if it was not mine.</p> + +<p>Thanks for the trouble you have taken to keep the +secret. Now the fun will begin.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span></p> + +<p>P. S.–Bean's expressman grins when he hands in the +daily parcel. He is a Concord man.</p> +</div> + +<p>By Louisa's help the younger sister again went +abroad in 1876; and her bright affectionate letters +cheered the little household, much saddened by +the mother's illness.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>January</i>, 1876.–Helped Mrs. Croly receive two +hundred gentlemen.</p> + +<p>A letter from Baron Tauchnitz asking leave to put my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> +book in his foreign library, and sending 600 marks to +pay for it. Said, "Yes, thank you, Baron."</p> + +<p>Went to Philadelphia to see Cousin J. May installed +in Dr. Furness's pulpit. Dull place is Philadelphia. +Heard Beecher preach; did not like him....</p> + +<p>Went home on the 21st, finding I could not work +here. Soon tire of being a fine lady.</p> + +<p><i>February and March.</i>–Took a room in B., and fell +to work on short tales for F. T. N. wanted a centennial +story; but my frivolous New York life left me no ideas. +Went to Centennial Ball at Music Hall, and got an idea.</p> + +<p>Wrote a tale of "'76," which with others will make a +catchpenny book. Mother poorly, so I go home to nurse +her.</p> + +<p><i>April, May, and June.</i>–Mother better. Nan and +boys go to P. farm. May and I clean the old house. +It seems as if the dust of two centuries haunted the +ancient mansion, and came out spring and fall in a ghostly +way for us to clear up.</p> + +<p>Great freshets and trouble.</p> + +<p>Exposition in Philadelphia; don't care to go. America +ought to pay her debts before she gives parties. "Silver +Pitchers," etc., comes out, and goes well. Poor stuff; +but the mill must keep on grinding even chaff.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Lovely month! Keep hotel and wait on +Marmee.</p> + +<p>Try to get up steam for a new serial, as Mrs. Dodge +wants one, and Scribner offers $3,000 for it. Roberts +Brothers want a novel; and the various newspapers and +magazines clamor for tales. My brain is squeezed dry, +and I can only wait for help.</p> + +<p><i>July, August.</i>–Get an idea and start "Rose in Bloom," +though I hate sequels.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–On the 9th my dear girl sails in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> +"China" for a year in London or Paris. God be with +her! She has done her distasteful duty faithfully, and +deserved a reward. She cannot find the help she needs +here, and is happy and busy in her own world over there.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[She never came home.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Finish "Rose."</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p><i>November.</i>–"Rose" comes out; sells well.</p> + +<p>... Forty-four years old. My new task gets on +slowly; but I keep at it, and can be a prop, if not an +angel, in the house, as Nan is.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Miss P. sends us a pretty oil sketch of +May,–so like the dear soul in her violet wrapper, with +yellow curls piled up, and the long hand at work. Mother +delights in it.</p> + +<p>She (M.) is doing finely, and says, "I am getting on, +and I feel as if it was not all a mistake; for I have some +talent, and will prove it." Modesty is a sign of genius, +and I think our girl has both. The money I invest in her +pays the sort of interest I like. I am proud to have her +show what she can do, and have her depend upon no +one but me. Success to little Raphael! My dull winter +is much cheered by her happiness and success.</p> + +<p><i>January, February, 1877.</i>–The year begins well. +Nan keeps house; boys fine, tall lads, good and gay; +Father busy with his new book; Mother cosey with her +sewing, letters, Johnson, and success of her "girls."</p> + +<p>Went for some weeks to the Bellevue, and wrote "A +Modern Mephistopheles" for the No Name Series. It +has been simmering ever since I read Faust last year. +Enjoyed doing it, being tired of providing moral pap for +the young. Long to write a novel, but cannot get time +enough. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p> + +<p>May's letters our delight. She is so in earnest she +will not stop for pleasure, rest, or society, but works away +like a Trojan. Her work admired by masters and mates +for its vigor and character.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–Begin to think of buying the Thoreau place +for Nan. The $4,000 received from the Vt. and Eastern +R. Rs. must be invested, and she wants a home of her +own, now the lads are growing up.</p> + +<p>Mother can be with her in the winter for a change, and +leave me free to write in B. Concord has no inspiration +for me.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–May, at the request of her teacher, M. Muller, +sends a study of still life to the Salon. The little picture +is accepted, well hung, and praised by the judges. No +friend at court, and the modest work stood on its own +merits. She is very proud to see her six months' hard +work bear fruit. A happy girl, and all say she deserves +the honor.</p> + +<p>"M. M." appears and causes much guessing. It is +praised and criticised, and I enjoy the fun, especially +when friends say, "I know <i>you</i> didn't write it, for you +can't hide your peculiar style."</p> + +<p>Help to buy the house for Nan,–$4,500. So she has +<i>her</i> wish, and is happy. When shall I have mine? +Ought to be contented with knowing I help both sisters +by my brains. But I'm selfish, and want to go away and +rest in Europe. Never shall.</p> + +<p><i>May, June.</i>–Quiet days keeping house and attending +to Marmee, who grows more and more feeble. Helped +Nan get ready for her new home.</p> + +<p>Felt very well, and began to hope I had outlived the +neuralgic worries and nervous woes born of the hospital +fever and the hard years following.</p> + +<p>May living alone in Paris, while her mates go jaunting,–a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> +solitary life; but she is so busy she is happy and +safe. A good angel watches over her. Take pleasant +drives early in the <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> with Marmee. She takes her +comfort in a basket wagon, and we drive to the woods, +picking flowers and stopping where we like. It keeps +her young, and rests her weary nerves.</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–Got too tired, and was laid up for some weeks. +A curious time, lying quite happily at rest, wondering +what was to come next.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–As soon as able began "Under the Lilacs," +but could not do much. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Mrs. Alcott grew rapidly worse, and her devoted +daughter recognized that the final parting was near. +As Louisa watched by the bedside she wrote "My +Girls," and finished "Under the Lilacs."</p> + +<p>The journal tells the story of the last days of +watching, and of the peaceful close of the mother's +self-sacrificing yet blessed life. Louisa was very +brave in the presence of death. She had no dark +thoughts connected with it; and in her mother's +case, after her long, hard life, she recognized how +"growing age longed for its peaceful sleep."</p> + +<p>The tie between this mother and daughter was +exceptionally strong and tender. The mother saw +all her own fine powers reproduced and developed +in her daughter; and if she also recognized the +passionate energy which had been the strength and +the bane of her own life, it gave her only a more +constant watchfulness to save her child from the +struggles and regrets from which she had suffered +herself. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span></p> +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>September</i>, 1877.–On the 7th Marmee had a very ill +turn, and the doctor told me it was the beginning of the +end. [Water on the chest.] She was so ill we sent for +Father from Walcott; and I forgot myself in taking care +of poor Marmee, who suffered much and longed to go.</p> + +<p>As I watched with her I wrote "My Girls," to go with +other tales in a new "Scrap Bag," and finished "Under +the Lilacs." I foresaw a busy or a sick winter, and wanted +to finish while I could, so keeping my promise and earning +my $3,000.</p> + +<p>Brain very lively and pen flew. It always takes an +exigency to spur me up and wring out a book. Never +have time to go slowly and do my best.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Fearing I might give out, got a nurse and +rested a little, so that when the last hard days come I +might not fail Marmee, who says, "Stay by, Louy, and +help me if I suffer too much." I promised, and watched +her sit panting life away day after day. We thought she +would not outlive her seventy-seventh birthday, but, +thanks to Dr. W. and homœopathy, she got relief, and we +had a sad little celebration, well knowing it would be the +last. Aunt B. and L. W. came up, and with fruit, flowers, +smiling faces, and full hearts, we sat round the brave +soul who faced death so calmly and was ready to go.</p> + +<p>I overdid and was very ill,–in danger of my life for a +week,–and feared to go before Marmee. But pulled +through, and got up slowly to help her die. A strange +month.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Still feeble, and Mother failing fast. On +the 14th we were both moved to Anna's at Mother's +earnest wish.</p> + +<p>A week in the new home, and then she ceased to care +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> +for anything. Kept her bed for three days, lying down +after weeks in a chair, and on the 25th, at dusk, that +rainy Sunday, fell quietly asleep in my arms.</p> + +<p>She was very happy all day, thinking herself a girl +again, with parents and sisters round her. Said her Sunday +hymn to me, whom she called "Mother," and smiled +at us, saying, "A smile is as good as a prayer." Looked +often at the little picture of May, and waved her hand to +it, "Good-by, little May, good-by!"</p> + +<p>Her last words to Father were, "You are laying a very +soft pillow for me to go to sleep on."</p> + +<p>We feared great suffering, but she was spared that, and +slipped peacefully away. I was so glad when the last +weary breath was drawn, and silence came, with its rest +and peace.</p> + +<p>On the 27th it was necessary to bury her, and we took +her quietly away to Sleepy Hollow. A hard day, but the +last duty we could do for her; and there we left her at +sunset beside dear Lizzie's dust,–alone so long.</p> + +<p>On the 28th a memorial service, and all the friends at +Anna's,–Dr. Bartol and Mr. Foote of Stone Chapel. A +simple, cheerful service, as she would have liked it.</p> + +<p>Quiet days afterward resting in her rest.</p> + +<p>My duty is done, and now I shall be glad to follow +her.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Many kind letters from all who best knew +and loved the noble woman.</p> + +<p>I never wish her back, but a great warmth seems gone +out of life, and there is no motive to go on now.</p> + +<p>My only comfort is that I <i>could</i> make her last years +comfortable, and lift off the burden she had carried so +bravely all these years. She was so loyal, tender, and +true; life was hard for her, and no one understood all she +had to bear but we, her children. I think I shall soon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span> +follow her, and am quite ready to go now she no longer +needs me.</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1878.–An idle month at Nan's, for I can +only suffer.</p> + +<p>Father goes about, being restless with his anchor gone. +Dear Nan is house-mother now,–so patient, so thoughtful +and tender; I need nothing but that cherishing which +only mothers can give.</p> + +<p>May busy in London. Very sad about Marmee; but +it was best not to send for her, and Marmee forbade it, +and she has some very <i>tender friends</i> near her.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–... Wrote some lines on Marmee. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Dodge.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Concord</span>, June 3 [1877].</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–The tale<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> goes slowly owing to +interruptions, for summer is a busy time, and I get few +quiet days. Twelve chapters are done, but are short +ones, and so will make about six or seven numbers in +"St. Nicholas."</p> + +<p>I will leave them divided in this way that you may put +in as many as you please each month; for trying to suit +the magazine hurts the story in its book form, though +this way does no harm to the monthly parts, I think.</p> + +<p>I will send you the first few chapters during the week +for Mrs. Foote, and with them the schedule you suggest, +so that my infants may not be drawn with whiskers, +and my big boys and girls in pinafores, as in "Eight +Cousins."</p> + +<p>I hope the new baby won't be set aside too soon for +my illustrations; but I do feel a natural wish to have one +story prettily adorned with good pictures, as hitherto artists +have much afflicted me. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span></p> + +<p>I am daily waiting with anxiety for an illumination of +some sort, as my plot is very vague so far; and though I +don't approve of "sensations" in children's books, one +must have a certain thread on which to string the small +events which make up the true sort of child-life.</p> + +<p>I intend to go and simmer an afternoon at Van Amburg's +great show, that I may get hints for the further +embellishment of Ben and his dog. I have also put in +a poem by F. B. S.'s small son,<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> and that hit will give +Mrs. Foote a good scene with the six-year-old poet reciting +his verses under the lilacs.</p> + +<p>I shall expect the small tots to be unusually good, +since the artist has a live model to study from. Please +present my congratulations to the happy mamma and +Mr. Foote, Jr.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours <i>warmly</i>,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">August</span> 21, 1879.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–I have not been able to do +anything on the serial.... But after a week at the +seaside, to get braced up for work, I intend to begin. +The Revolutionary tale does not seem to possess me. I +have casually asked many of my young folks, when they +demand a new story, which they would like, one of that +sort or the old "Eight Cousin" style, and they all say +the latter. It would be much the easier to do, as I have +a beginning and a plan all ready,–a village, and the +affairs of a party of children. We have many little romances +going on among the Concord boys and girls, +and all sorts of queer things, which will work into "Jack +and Jill" nicely. Mrs. Croly has been anxious for a +story, and I am trying to do a short one, as I told her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> +you had the refusal of my next serial. I hope you will +not be very much disappointed about the old-time tale. +It would take study to do it well, and leisure is just what +I have not got, and I shall never have, I fear, when writing +is to be done. I will send you a few chapters of +"Jack and Jill" when in order, if you like, and you can +decide if they will suit. I shall try to have it unlike the +others if possible, but the dears <i>will</i> cling to the "Little +Women" style.</p> + +<p>I have had a very busy summer, but have been pretty +well, and able to do my part in entertaining the four +hundred philosophers.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">September</span> 17 [1879].</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–Don't let me <i>prose</i>. If I +seem to be declining and falling into it, pull me up, and +I'll try to prance as of old. Years tame down one's spirit +and fancy, though they only deepen one's love for the +little people, and strengthen the desire to serve them +wisely as well as cheerfully. Fathers and mothers tell +me they use my books as helps for themselves; so now +and then I like to slip in a page for them, fresh from the +experience of some other parent, for education seems to +me to be <i>the</i> problem in our times.</p> + +<p>Jack and Jill are right out of our own little circle, +and the boys and girls are in a twitter to know what is +going in; so it will be a "truly story" in the main.</p> + +<p>Such a long note for a busy woman to read! but your +cheery word was my best "starter;" and I'm, more than +ever,</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span></p> +</div> + +<p class="section">MAY ALCOTT NIERIKER.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +Born at Concord, July, 1840. Died in Paris, December, 1879. +</p> +</div> + +<p>This younger sister became so dear to Louisa, +and through the legacy which she left to her of +an infant child, exercised so great an influence +over the last ten years of her life, that it will not +be uninteresting to trace out the course of her life +and the development of her character. May was +born before the experiments at Fruitlands, and her +childhood passed during the period when the fortunes +of the family were at the lowest ebb; but +she was too young to feel in all their fulness the +cares which weighed upon the older sisters. Her +oldest sister–the affectionate, practical Anna–almost +adopted May as her own baby, and gave her +a great deal of the attention and care which the +mother had not time for amid her numerous avocations. +The child clung to Anna with trust and +affection; but with her quick fancy and lively +spirit, she admired the brilliant qualities of Louisa. +Hasty in temperament, quick and impulsive in action, +she quarrelled with Louisa while she adored +her, and was impatient with her rebukes, which yet +had great influence over her. She had a more +facile nature than the other sisters, and a natural, +girlish love of attention, and a romantic fondness +for beauty in person and style in living. Graceful +in figure and manners, with a fine complexion, +blue eyes, and a profusion of light wavy hair, she +was attractive in appearance; and a childish frankness, +and acceptance of sympathy or criticism, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> +disarmed those who were disposed to find fault +with her.</p> + +<p>May is very truly described in "Little Women," +and her character is painted with a discerning but +loving hand: "A regular snow maiden, with blue +eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale +and slender, and always carrying herself like a +young lady mindful of her manners." Many little +touches of description show the consciousness of +appearance and love of admiration which she innocently +betrayed, and illustrate the relation of the +sisters: "'Don't stop to quirk your little finger +and prink over your plate, Amy,' cried Jo." Her +mother says of this daughter in her diary: "She +does all things well; her capabilities are much in +her eyes and fingers. When a child, I observed +with what ease and grace she did little things."</p> + +<p>According to Louisa, "If anybody had asked +Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she +would have answered at once, 'My nose.' No one +minded it but herself, and it was doing its best to +grow; but Amy felt deeply the want of a Grecian +nose, and drew whole sheets of handsome ones to +console herself." "Little Raphael," as the sisters +called her, very early developed a love and talent +for drawing which became the delight of her life. +She covered her books with sketches, but managed +to escape reprimand by being a model of deportment. +Always having in her mind an ideal of +elegant life, the many little trials of their times of +poverty were of course severe mortifications to her; +and the necessity of wearing dresses which came +to her from others, and which were ugly in themselves +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span> +or out of harmony with her own appearance, +caused her much affliction. She was always +generous and easily reconciled after a quarrel, and +was a favorite with her companions, and the heroine +of those innocent little love episodes which, +as Tennyson says,–</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span class="i4">"Are but embassies of love</span><br /> +To tamper with the feelings, ere he found<br /> +Empire for life."<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<p>While May was too young to take the part in +the support of the family which fell to Anna and +Louisa, she was yet a blessing and comfort by her +kind, bright nature. After the death of Elizabeth +in 1858, her mother speaks of "turning to the little +May for comfort," and her father's letters show how +dear she was to him, although she never entered +into his intellectual life.</p> + +<p>May shared in the blessing of Louisa's first success, +for she went to the School of Design in 1859 +for the lessons in her art, for which she longed so +eagerly. In 1860 an old friend sent her thirty +dollars for lessons in drawing, and she had the +best instruction she could then receive in Boston.</p> + +<p>In 1863, Louisa procured for her the great advantage +of study with Dr. Rimmer, who was then +giving his precious lessons in art anatomy in Boston. +Under his instructions, May gave some attention +to modelling, and completed an ideal bust. +Although she did not pursue this branch of art, it +was undoubtedly of great service in giving her +more thorough knowledge of the head, and a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span> +bolder and firmer style of drawing than she would +have gained in any other way.</p> + +<p>As will be seen from Louisa's journal, May was +frequently with her in Boston, engaged in studying +or teaching. By the kindness of a friend, she went +to Europe in 1870, when Louisa accompanied her. +Louisa sent her to Europe for a year of study in +1873, and again in 1877. In London and Paris she +had good opportunities for study, and improved +rapidly in her art. She made some admirable +copies from Turner which attracted the attention +of Ruskin; and a picture from still life was accepted +at the Paris Salon, which event gave great happiness +to the family circle and friends at home.</p> + +<p>May was very generous in giving to others help +in the art she loved. While at home, in the intervals +of her studies in Europe, she tried to form an +art centre in Concord, and freely gave her time, +her instruction, and the use of her studio to young +artists. She wrote a little book to aid them in +prosecuting their studies abroad, called "Studying +Art Abroad, and How to do it Cheaply."</p> + +<p>Like the rest of the family, May composed with +great ease, and sometimes wrote little stories. Her +letters are very sprightly and agreeable.</p> + +<p>While residing in London, May had become +acquainted with a young Swiss gentleman, whose +refined and artistic tastes were closely in unison +with her own. During the sad days of bereavement +caused by her mother's death he was a kind +and sympathetic friend, soothing her grief and +cheering her solitude by his music. Thus, frequently +together, their friendship became love, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span> +they were betrothed. The course of this true love, +which for a time ran swiftly and smoothly, is most +exquisitely depicted in May's letters to her family. +The charming pictures of herself and her young +lover are so like Amy and her Laurie in his happiest +moods, that we almost feel as if Miss Alcott +had been prophetic in her treatment of these characters +in "Little Women."</p> + +<p>I wish I could give her own natural, frank account +of this event. May had the secret of perpetual +youth, at least in spirit; and in reading her +letters, one has no consciousness that more than +thirty years had passed over her head, for they had +taken no drop of freshness from her heart.</p> + +<p>The union of this happy pair was not a surprise +to the friends at home, who had read May's heart, +revealed in her frank, innocent letters, more clearly +than she had supposed. When the claims of business +called Mr. Nieriker from London, the hearts +of the young couple quailed before the idea of +separation, and they decided to be married at +once, and go together. The simple ceremony was +performed in London, March 22, 1878; and May +started on her journey, no longer alone, but with a +loving friend by her side.</p> + +<p>May's letters are full of the most artless joy in +her new life. The old days of struggle and penury +are gone; the heart-loneliness is no more; the +world is beautiful, and everybody loving and kind. +Life in the modest French home is an idyllic +dream, and she writes to her sisters of every detail +of her household. The return of her husband at +sunset is a feast, and the evening is delightful with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span> +poetry and music. Her blue dress, her crimson +furniture, satisfy her artistic sense. She does not +neglect her art, but paints with fresh inspiration, +and waits for his criticism and praise. She says, +"He is very ambitious for my artistic success, and +is my most severe critic." In the morning she +finds her easel set out for her, a fire burning ready +for her comfort, and her husband in the big arm-chair +waiting to read to her, or to take his violin +and pose for his picture in gray velvet paletot and +red slippers.<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> + +<p>For the time conjugal love is all sufficient, and +May wonders at herself that the happiness of the +moment can so drown every remembrance of sorrow. +Yet a pathetic note is occasionally heard, as +she mourns for the mother who is gone, or yearns +for the sister who has been such a strength to her +through life. The picturesqueness and ease of +French life make America look stupid and forlorn, +and she has no wish to go home, but only to have +her dear ones share in her happiness. Her work +in art was successful; and the money she received +for it was not unacceptable, although her husband's +income sufficed for their modest wants. She was +justified in her grateful feeling that she was singularly +blessed. Her husband's family were German-Swiss +of high standing, artistic temperament, and +warm affections. His mother and sister came to +visit them, and took May to their hearts with +cordial love.</p> + +<p>Among the pictures painted by May at this time +the most remarkable is the portrait of a negro girl, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span> +which is a very faithful study from life, and gives +the color and characteristic traits of a beautiful +negro without exaggeration. The expression of +the eyes is tender and pathetic, well-suited to the +fate of a slave girl. Such earnest study would have +borne richer fruit if longer life had been hers.</p> + +<p>May's own nature seems to have blossomed out +like a flower in this sunny climate. In her youth +at home she was impulsive, affectionate, and generous, +but quick in temper and sometimes exacting; +but the whole impression she made upon her husband +and his family was of grace and sweetness, +and she herself declares that her sisters at home +would not recognize her, she has "become so sweet +in this atmosphere of happiness."</p> + +<p>We would gladly linger over these records of a +paradisiacal home where Adam and Eve renewed +their innocent loves and happy labors. When +musing over the sorrows of humanity it refreshes +us to know that such joy is possible, and needs +only love and simple hearts to make it real.</p> + +<p>May's note of happiness is touchingly echoed +from the heart of her bereaved father, who recalls +the days of his own courtship. He cherished every +tender word from her; and the respectful and loving +words of his new son, to whom he responds +affectionately, were like balm to his stricken heart.</p> + +<p>May's joy was heightened by the expectation of +motherhood. Her health was excellent, and she +had the loving care of her new mother and sister. +The anxious family at home received the news of +the birth of a daughter with heartfelt delight. It +was a great disappointment to Louisa that she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span> +could not be with her sister at this time; but her +health was not equal to the voyage, and she felt +that May had most loving and sufficient care. An +American friend in Paris kindly wrote to Louisa +full details of the little niece and of the mother's +condition. "It is difficult," she says, "to say which +of that happy household is the proudest over that +squirming bit of humanity."</p> + +<p>For about two weeks all seemed well; but alarming +symptoms began to appear, and the mother's +strength failed rapidly. The brain was the seat +of disease; and she was generally unconscious, although +she had intervals of apparent improvement, +when she recognized her friends. She passed away +peacefully December 29, 1879.</p> + +<p>An American clergyman in Paris took charge of +the funeral service, which according to May's expressed +desire was very simple, and she was laid +in the tranquil cemetery of Montrouge outside of +the fortifications.</p> + +<p>Foreseeing the possibility of a fatal termination +to her illness, May had made every preparation for +the event, and obtained a promise from her sister-in-law +that she would carry the baby to Louisa to +receive the devoted care that she knew would be +given it. The child became a source of great +comfort to Miss Alcott as will be seen from the +journals. After her death Mr. Nieriker visited his +little girl in America, and in June, 1889, her aunt +took her to his home in Zurich, Switzerland.</p> + +<p>Before the sad letters describing May's illness +could reach America, came the cable message of +her death. It was sent to Mr. Emerson, the never-failing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span> +friend of the family, who bore it to Louisa, +her father being temporarily absent. His thoughtfulness +softened the blow as much as human tenderness +could, but still it fell with crushing weight +upon them all.</p> + +<p>The father and sister could not sleep, and in the +watches of the night he wrote that touching ode, +the cry of paternal love and grief entitled "Love's +Morrow."</p> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Bond.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Concord</span>, Jan. 1, 1880.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–It is hard to add one more sorrow +to your already full heart, particularly one of this sort, +but I did not want you to hear it from any one but us. +Dear May is dead. Gone to begin the new year with +Mother, in a world where I hope there is no grief like this. +Gone just when she seemed safest and happiest, after +nearly two years of such sweet satisfaction and love that +she wrote us, "If I die when baby comes, remember I +have been so unspeakably happy for a year that I ought +to be content...."</p> + +<p>And it is all over. The good mother and sister have +done everything in the most devoted way. We can +never repay them. My May gave me her little Lulu, and +in the spring I hope to get my sweet legacy. Meantime +the dear grandma takes her to a home full of loving +friends and she is safe. I will write more when we know, +but the cruel sea divides us and we must wait.</p> + +<p>Bless you dear Auntie for all your love for May; she +never forgot it, nor do we.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours ever,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Louisa.</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">January</span> 4.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–I have little further news to tell, but +it seems to comfort me to answer the shower of tender +sympathetic letters that each mail brings us....</p> + +<p>So we must wait to learn how the end came at last, +where the dear dust is to lie, and how soon the desolate +little home is to be broken up. It only remains for +May's baby to be taken away to fill our cup to overflowing. +But perhaps it would be best so, for even in Heaven +with Mother, I know May will yearn for the darling so +ardently desired, so tenderly welcomed, bought at such +a price.</p> + +<p>In all the troubles of my life I never had one so hard +to bear, for the sudden fall from such high happiness to +such a depth of sorrow finds me unprepared to accept or +bear it as I ought.</p> + +<p>Sometime I shall know why such things are; till then +must try to trust and wait and hope as you do.... Sorrow +has its lonely side, and sympathy is so sweet it takes +half its bitterness away.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours ever,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>After May's marriage and death Louisa remained +awhile in Concord, trying to forget her grief in care +for others. She went to the prison in Concord, +and told a story to the prisoners which touched +their hearts, and was long remembered by some of +them.</p> + +<p>She wrote some short stories for "St Nicholas," +among them "Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore," +called out by the acting of the popular opera of +that name by a juvenile troupe.</p> + +<p>She spent some weeks at Willow Cottage, Magnolia, +which she has described in her popular story +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> +of "Jack and Jill." The scene of the story is +mostly laid in Concord, or "Harmony" as she +calls it, and she has introduced many familiar +scenes and persons into the book.</p> + +<p>This summer, too, the long-dreamed of School +of Philosophy was established. The opening of the +School was a great event to Mr. Alcott, as it was +the realization of the dream of years. Louisa enjoyed +his gratification, and took pains to help him +to reap full satisfaction from it. She carried flowers +to grace the opening meeting, and was friendly to +his guests. She occasionally attended lectures +given by her friends,–Dr. Bartol, Mrs. Howe, and +others,–and she could not fail to enjoy meeting +many of the bright people who congregated there; +but she did not care for the speculative philosophy. +Her keen sense of humor led her to see all that +was incongruous or funny or simply novel in the +bearing of the philosophers. She felt that her +father had too much of the trying details, and perhaps +did not appreciate how much joy of recognition +it brought him. She had not much faith in +the practical success of the experiment. Philosophy +was much associated in her mind with early +poverty and suffering, and she did not feel its +charms. She was usually at the seashore at this +season, as she suffered from the heat at Concord. +Frequent allusions to the school appear in her +journal. The following anecdote is given by a +friend.</p> + +<p>"It was at Concord on Emerson day. After a +morning with Bartol and Alcott and Mrs. Howe, I +lunched with the Alcotts', who had for guest the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> +venerable Dr. McCosh. Naturally the conversation +turned on the events of the morning. 'I was +thinking,' said the Doctor, 'as I looked among +your audience, that there were no young men; +and that with none but old men your school would +soon die with them. By the way, madam,' he continued, +addressing Miss Alcott, 'will you tell me +what is your definition of a philosopher?'</p> + +<p>"The reply came instantly, 'My definition is of +a man up in a balloon, with his family and friends +holding the ropes which confine him to earth and +trying to haul him down.'</p> + +<p>"The laugh which followed this reply was +heartily joined in by the philosopher himself."</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>March</i>, 1878.–A happy event,–May's marriage to +Ernest Nieriker, the "tender friend" who has consoled +her for Marmee's loss, as John consoled Nan for Beth's. +He is a Swiss, handsome, cultivated, and good; an excellent +family living in Baden, and E. has a good business. +May is old enough to choose for herself, and seems so +happy in the new relation that we have nothing to say +against it.</p> + +<p>They were privately married on the 22d, and went to +Havre for the honeymoon, as E. had business in France; +so they hurried the wedding. Send her $1,000 as a gift, +and all good wishes for the new life.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Happy letters from May, who is enjoying life +as one can but once. E. writes finely to Father, and is +a son to welcome I am sure. May sketches and E. attends +to his business by day, and both revel in music in +the evening, as E. is a fine violin player. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span></p> + +<p>How different our lives are just now!–I so lonely, +sad, and sick; she so happy, well, and blest. She always +had the cream of things, and deserved it. My +time is yet to come somewhere else, when I am ready +for it.</p> + +<p>Anna clears out the old house; for we shall never go +back to it; it ceased to be "home" when Marmee left it.</p> + +<p>I dawdle about, and wait to see if I am to live or die. +If I live, it is for some new work. I wonder what?</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Begin to drive a little, and enjoy the spring. +Nature is always good to me.</p> + +<p>May settles in her own house at Meudon,–a pretty +apartment, with balcony, garden, etc.... I plan and +hope to go to them, if I am ever well enough, and find +new inspiration in a new life. May and E. urge it, and I +long to go, but cannot risk the voyage yet. I doubt if I +ever find time to lead my own life, or health to try it.</p> + +<p><i>June and July.</i>–Improving fast, in spite of dark +predictions and forebodings. The Lord has more work +for me, so I am spared.</p> + +<p>Tried to write a memoir of Marmee; but it is too +soon, and I am not well enough.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>May has had the new mother and brother-in-law with +her, and finds them most interesting and lovable. They +seem very proud of her, and happy in her happiness. +Bright times for our youngest! May they last!</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[They did.–L. M. A.] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>Got nicely ready to go to May in September; but at +the last moment gave it up, fearing to undo all the good +this weary year of ease has done for me, and be a burden +on her. A great disappointment; but I've learned +to wait. I long to see her happy in her own home. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span></p> + +<p>Nan breaks her leg; so it is well I stayed, as there +was no one to take her place but me. Always a little +chore to be done.</p> + +<p><i>October, November.</i>–Nan improved. Rode, nursed, +kept house, and tried to be contented, but was not. +Make no plans for myself now; do what I can, and +should be glad not to have to sit idle any longer.</p> + +<p>On the 8th, Marmee's birthday, Father and I went to +Sleepy Hollow with red leaves and flowers for her. A +cold, dull day, and I was glad there was no winter for +her any more.</p> + +<p><i>November 25th.</i>–A year since our beloved Marmee +died. A very eventful year. May marries, I live instead +of dying, Father comes to honor in his old age, and Nan +makes her home our refuge when we need one.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–A busy time. Nan gets about again. I +am so well I wonder at myself, and ask no more.</p> + +<p>Write a tale for the "Independent," and begin on an +art novel, with May's romance for its thread. Went to +B. for some weeks, and looked about to see what I +could venture to do....</p> + +<p>So ends 1878,–a great contrast to last December. +Then I thought I was done with life; now I can enjoy +a good deal, and wait to see what I am spared to do. +Thank God for both the sorrow and the joy.</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1879.–At the Bellevue in my little room +writing.</p> + +<p>Got two books well started, but had too many interruptions +to do much, and dared not get into a vortex for +fear of a break-down.</p> + +<p>Went about and saw people, and tried to be jolly. +Did Jarley for a fair, also for Authors' Carnival at Music +Hall. A queer time; too old for such pranks. A sad +heart and a used-up body make play hard work, I find. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span></p> + +<p>Read "Mary Wollstonecraft," "Dosia," "Danieli," +"Helène," etc. I like Gréville's books.</p> + +<p>Invest $1,000 for Fred's schooling, etc. Johnny has +his $1,000 also safely in the bank for his education and +any emergency.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–Home to Concord rather used up. Find +a very quiet life is best; for in B. people beset me to do +things, and I try, and get so tired I cannot work. Dr. C. +says rest is my salvation; so I rest. Hope for Paris in +the spring, as May begs me to come. She is leading +what she calls "an ideal life,"–painting, music, love, +and the world shut out. People wonder and gossip; but +M. and E. laugh and are happy. Wise people to enjoy +this lovely time!</p> + +<p>Went to a dinner, at the Revere House, of the Papyrus +Club. Mrs. Burnett and Miss A. were guests of honor. +Dr. Holmes took me in, and to my surprise I found myself +at the president's right hand, with Mrs. B., Holmes, +Stedman, and the great ones of the land. Had a gay +time. Dr. H. very gallant. "Little Women" often +toasted with more praise than was good for me.</p> + +<p>Saw Mrs. B. at a lunch, and took her and Mrs. M. M. +Dodge to Concord for a lunch. Most agreeable women.</p> + +<p>A visit at H. W.'s. Mission time at Church of the +Advent. Father Knox-Little preached, and waked up +the sinners. H. hoped to convert me, and took me to +see Father K.-L., a very interesting man, and we had a +pleasant talk; but I found that we meant the same thing, +though called by different names; and his religion had +too much ceremony about it to suit me. So he gave me +his blessing, and promised to send me some books.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Never did.–<span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Pleasant times with my "rainy-day friend," as I call +Dr. W. She is a great comfort to me, with her healthy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span> +common-sense and tender patience, aside from skill as a +doctor and beauty as a woman. I love her much, and +she does me good.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>Happy letters from May. Her hopes of a little son or +daughter in the autumn give us new plans to talk over. +I <i>must</i> be well enough to go to her then.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Very poorly and cross; so tired of being a +prisoner to pain. Long for the old strength when I +could do what I liked, and never knew I had a body. +Life not worth living in this way; but having over-worked +the wonderful machine, I must pay for it, and +should not growl, I suppose, as it is just.</p> + +<p>To B. to see Dr. S. Told me I was better than she +ever dreamed I could be, and need not worry. So took +heart, and tried to be cheerful, in spite of aches and +nerves. Warm weather comforted me, and green grass +did me good.</p> + +<p>Put a fence round A.'s garden. Bought a phaeton, so +I might drive, as I cannot walk much, and Father loves +to take his guests about.</p> + +<p><i>May and June.</i>–Go to B. for a week, but don't +enjoy seeing people. Do errands, and go home again. +Saw "Pinafore;" a pretty play.</p> + +<p>Much company.</p> + +<p>E.'s looked at the Orchard House and liked it; will +hire it, probably. Hope so, as it is forlorn standing +empty. I never go by without looking up at Marmee's +window, where the dear face used to be, and May's, with +the picturesque vines round it. No golden-haired, blue-gowned +Diana ever appears now; she sits happily sewing +baby-clothes in Paris. Enjoyed fitting out a box of +dainty things to send her. Even lonely old spinsters take +an interest in babies. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span></p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–A poor month. Try to forget my own worries, +and enjoy the fine weather, my little carriage, and +good friends. Souls are such slaves to bodies it is hard +to keep up out of the slough of despond when nerves +jangle and flesh aches.</p> + +<p>Went with Father on Sunday to the prison, and told +the men a story. Thought I could not face four hundred +at first; but after looking at them during the sermon, +I felt that I could at least <i>amuse</i> them, and they +evidently needed something new. So I told a hospital +story with a little moral to it, and was so interested in +watching the faces of some young men near me, who +drank in every word, that I forgot myself, and talked +away "like a mother." One put his head down, and +another winked hard, so I felt that I had caught them; +for even one tear in that dry, hard place would do +them good. Miss McC. and Father said it was well +done, and I felt quite proud of my first speech. [Sequel +later.]</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–Wrote a little tale called "Jimmy's Cruise in +the Pinafore," for "St. Nicholas;" $100.</p> + +<p>14<i>th.</i>–The philosophers begin to swarm, and the buzz +starts to-morrow. How much honey will be made is still +doubtful, but the hive is ready and drones also.</p> + +<p>On the 15th, the School of Philosophy began in the +study at Orchard House,–thirty students; Father, the +dean. He has his dream realized at last, and is in glory, +with plenty of talk to swim in. People laugh, but will +enjoy something new in this dull old town; and the fresh +Westerners will show them that all the culture of the +world is not in Concord. I had a private laugh when +Mrs. –– asked one of the new-comers, with her superior +air, if she had ever looked into Plato. And the +modest lady from Jacksonville answered, with a twinkle +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span> +at me, "We have been reading Plato in <i>Greek</i> for the +past six years." Mrs. –– subsided after that.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +[Oh, wicked L. M. A., who hates sham and loves a joke.–<span class="smcap">L. +M. A.</span>] +</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Was the first woman to register my name as a voter.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–To B. with a new "Scrap Bag." "Jimmy" +to the fore. Wrote a little tale.</p> + +<p>The town swarms with budding philosophers, and they +roost on our steps like hens waiting for corn. Father +revels in it, so we keep the hotel going, and try to look +as if we liked it. If they were philanthropists, I should +enjoy it; but speculation seems a waste of time when +there is so much real work crying to be done. Why +discuss the "unknowable" till our poor are fed and the +wicked saved?</p> + +<p>A young poet from New York came; nice boy.</p> + +<p>Sixteen callers to-day. Trying to stir up the women +about suffrage; so timid and slow.</p> + +<p>Happy letters from May. Sophie N. is with her now. +All well in the Paris nest.</p> + +<p>Passed a week in Magnolia with Mrs. H. School +ended for this year. Hallelujah!</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Home from the seaside refreshed, and go +to work on a new serial for "St. Nicholas,"–"Jack and +Jill." Have no plan yet but a boy, a girl, and a sled, with +an upset to start with. Vague idea of working in Concord +young folks and their doings. After two years of rest, I +am going to try again; it is so easy to make money now, +and so pleasant to have it to give. A chapter a day is +my task, and not that if I feel tired. No more fourteen +hours a day; make haste slowly now.</p> + +<p>Drove about and drummed up women to my suffrage +meeting. So hard to move people out of the old ruts. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span> +I haven't patience enough; if they won't see and work, +I let 'em alone, and steam along my own way.</p> + +<p>May sent some nice little letters of an "Artist's Holiday," +and I had them printed; also a book for artists +abroad,–very useful, and well done.</p> + +<p>Eight chapters done. Too much company for work.</p> + +<p><i>October 8th.</i>–Dear Marmee's birthday. Never forgotten. +Lovely day. Go to Sleepy Hollow with flowers. +Her grave is green; blackberry vines with red leaves +trail over it. A little white stone with her initials is at +the head, and among the tall grass over her breast a little +bird had made a nest; empty now, but a pretty symbol +of the refuge that tender bosom always was for all feeble +and sweet things. Her favorite asters bloomed all about, +and the pines sang overhead. So she and dear Beth are +quietly asleep in God's acre, and we remember them +more tenderly with each year that brings us nearer them +and home.</p> + +<p>Went with Dr. W. to the Woman's Prison, at Sherburne. +A lovely drive, and very remarkable day and +night. Read a story to the four hundred women, and +heard many interesting tales. A much better place than +Concord Prison, with its armed wardens, and "knock +down and drag out" methods. Only women here, and +they work wonders by patience, love, common-sense, and +the belief in salvation for all.</p> + +<p>First proof from Scribner of "Jack and Jill." Mrs. D. +likes the story, so I peg away very slowly. Put in Elly +D. as one of my boys. The nearer I keep to nature, +the better the work is. Young people much interested +in the story, and all want to "go in." I shall have a +hornet's nest about me if all are not <i>angels</i>.</p> + +<p>Father goes West.</p> + +<p>I mourn much because all say I must not go to May; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span> +not safe; and I cannot add to Mamma Nieriker's cares +at this time by another invalid, as the voyage would upset +me, I am so sea-sick.</p> + +<p>Give up my hope and long-cherished plan with grief. +May sadly disappointed. I know I shall wish I had +gone; it is my luck.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Went to Boston for a month, as some +solace for my great disappointment. Take my room at +the Bellevue, and go about a little. Write on "J. and J." +Anxious about May.</p> + +<p><i>8th.</i>–Little Louisa May Nieriker arrived in Paris at +9 p. m., after a short journey. All doing well. Much +rejoicing. Nice little lass, and May very happy. Ah, if +I had only been there! Too much happiness for me.</p> + +<p><i>25th.</i>–Two years since Marmee went. How she +would have enjoyed the little granddaughter, and all +May's romance! Perhaps she does.</p> + +<p>Went home on my birthday (forty-seven). Tried to +have a little party for Nan and the boys, but it was +rather hard work.</p> + +<p>Not well enough to write much, so give up my room. +Can lie round at home, and it's cheaper.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–May not doing well. The weight on my +heart is not all imagination. She was too happy to have +it last, and I fear the end is coming. Hope it is my +nerves; but this peculiar feeling has never misled me +before.</p> + +<p>Invited to the breakfast to O. W. H. No heart to go.</p> + +<p><i>8th.</i>–Little Lu one month old. Small, but lively. +Oh, if I could only be there to see,–to help! This is +a penance for all my sins. Such a tugging at my heart +to be by poor May, alone, so far away. The N.'s are +devoted, and all is done that can be; but not one of her +"very own" is there. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span></p> + +<p>Father came home.</p> + +<p><i>29th.</i>–May died at 8 a. m., after three weeks of fever +and stupor. Happy and painless most of the time. At +Mr. W.'s funeral on the 30th, I <i>felt</i> the truth before the +news came.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, 31st.</i>–A dark day for us. A telegram +from Ernest to Mr. Emerson tells us "May is dead." +Anna was gone to B.; Father to the post-office, anxious +for letters, the last being overdue. I was alone when +Mr. E. came. E. sent to him, knowing I was feeble, and +hoping Mr. E. would soften the blow. I found him looking +at May's portrait, pale and tearful, with the paper in +his hand. "My child, I wish I could prepare you; but +alas, alas!" There his voice failed, and he gave me the +telegram.</p> + +<p>I was not surprised, and read the hard words as if +I knew it all before. "I <i>am</i> prepared," I said, and +thanked him. He was much moved and very tender. +I shall remember gratefully the look, the grasp, the tears +he gave me; and I am sure that hard moment was made +bearable by the presence of this our best and tenderest +friend. He went to find Father but missed him, and +I had to tell both him and Anna when they came. A +very bitter sorrow for all.</p> + +<p>The dear baby may comfort E., but what can comfort +us? It is the distance that is so hard, and the thought +of so much happiness ended so soon. "Two years of +perfect happiness" May called these married years, and +said, "If I die when baby comes, don't mourn, for I +have had as much happiness in this short time as many +in twenty years." She wished me to have her baby and +her pictures. A very precious legacy! Rich payment +for the little I could do for her. I see now why I lived,–to +care for May's child and not leave Anna all alone. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span></p> + +<p><i>January 1st</i>, 1880.–A sad day mourning for May. +Of all the trials in my life I never felt any so keenly as +this, perhaps because I am so feeble in health that I +cannot bear it well. It seems so hard to break up that +happy little home and take May just when life was richest, +and to leave me who had done my task and could +well be spared. Shall I ever know why such things +happen?</p> + +<p>Letters came telling us all the sad story. May was +unconscious during the last weeks, and seemed not to +suffer. Spoke now and then of "getting ready for +Louy," and asked if she had come. All was done that +love and skill could do, but in vain. E. is broken-hearted, +and good Madame N. and Sophie find their +only solace in the poor baby.</p> + +<p>May felt a foreboding, and left all ready in case she +died. Some trunks packed for us, some for the N. +sisters. Her diary written up, all in order. Even chose +the graveyard where she wished to be, out of the city. +E. obeys all her wishes sacredly.</p> + +<p>Tried to write on "J. and J." to distract my mind; +but the wave of sorrow kept rolling over me, and I could +only weep and wait till the tide ebbed again.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–More letters from E. and Madame N. +Like us, they find comfort in writing of the dear soul +gone, now there is nothing more to do for her. I cannot +make it true that our May is dead, lying far away in a +strange grave, leaving a husband and child whom we +have never seen. It all reads like a pretty romance, +now death hath set its seal on these two happy years; +and we shall never know all that she alone could +tell us.</p> + +<p>Many letters from friends in France, England, and +America, full of sympathy for us, and love and pride and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span> +gratitude for May, who was always glad to help, forgive, +and love every one. It is our only consolation now.</p> + +<p>Father and I cannot sleep, but he and I make verses +as we did when Marmee died. Our grief seems to flow +into words. He writes "Love's Morrow" and "Our +Madonna."</p> + +<p>Lulu has gone to Baden with Grandmamma.</p> + +<p>Finish "J. and J." The world goes on in spite of +sorrow, and I must do my work. Both these last serials +were written with a heavy heart,–"Under the Lilacs" +when Marmee was failing, and "Jack and Jill" while +May was dying. Hope the grief did not get into +them.</p> + +<p>Hear R. W. E. lecture for his one hundredth time. +Mary Clemmer writes for a sketch of my life for a book +of "Famous Women." Don't belong there.</p> + +<p>Read "Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat." Not very +interesting. Beauties seldom amount to much. Plain +Margaret Fuller was worth a dozen of them. "Kings in +Exile," a most interesting book, a very vivid and terrible +picture of Parisian life and royal weakness and sorrow.</p> + +<p>Put papers, etc., in order. I feel as if one should +be ready to go at any moment....</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–A box came from May, with pictures, +clothes, vases, her ornaments, a little work-basket, and, +in one of her own sepia boxes, her pretty hair tied with +blue ribbon,–all that is now left us of this bright soul +but the baby, soon to come. Treasures all.</p> + +<p>A sad day, and many tears dropped on the dear dress, +the blue slippers she last wore, the bit of work she laid +down when the call came the evening Lulu was born. +The fur-lined sack feels like May's arms round me, and +I shall wear it with pleasure. The pictures show us her +great progress these last years. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span></p> + +<p>To Boston for a few days on business, and to try to forget. +Got gifts for Anna's birthday on the 16th,–forty-nine +years old. My only sister now, and the best God +ever made. Repaired her house for her.</p> + +<p>Lulu is not to come till autumn. Great disappointment; +but it is wiser to wait, as summer is bad for a +young baby to begin here.</p> + +<p><i>29th.</i>–Town meeting. Twenty women there, and +voted first, thanks to Father. Polls closed,–in joke, +we thought, as Judge Hoar proposed it; proved to be +in earnest, and <i>we</i> elected a good school committee. +Quiet time; no fuss.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">January 20, 1880.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–I have been so bowed down +with grief at the loss of my dear sister just when our +anxiety was over that I have not had a thought or care +for anything else.</p> + +<p>The story is done; but the last chapters are not copied, +and I thought it best to let them lie till I could give my +mind to the work.</p> + +<p>I never get a good chance to do a story without +interruption of some sort. "Under the Lilacs" was finished +by my mother's bedside in her last illness, and this +one when my heart was full of care and hope and then +grief over poor May.</p> + +<p>I trust the misery did not get into the story; but I'm +afraid it is not as gay as I meant most of it to be.</p> + +<p>I forgot to number the pages of the last two chapters, +and so cannot number these. I usually keep the run, but +this time sent off the parcel in a hurry. Can you send +me the right number to go on with in chapter seventeen? +I can send you four more as soon as I hear.</p> + +<p>I don't believe I shall come to New York this winter. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span> +May left me her little daughter for my own; and if she +comes over soon, I shall be too busy singing lullabies to +one child to write tales for others, or go anywhere, even +to see my kind friends.</p> + +<p>A sweeter little romance has just ended in Paris than +any I can ever make; and the sad facts of life leave me +no heart for cheerful fiction.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER XI.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">LAST YEARS.</p> + +<p class="center p2">MY PRAYER.</p> + +<p class="center s1">(Written October, 1886.)</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +Courage and patience, these I ask,<br /> +<span class="i1">Dear Lord, in this my latest strait;</span><br /> +For hard I find my ten years' task,<br /> +<span class="i1">Learning to suffer and to wait.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">Life seems so rich and grand a thing,<br /> +<span class="i1">So full of work for heart and brain,</span><br /> +It is a cross that I can bring<br /> +<span class="i1">No help, no offering, but pain.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">The hard-earned harvest of these years<br /> +<span class="i1">I long to generously share;</span><br /> +The lessons learned with bitter tears<br /> +<span class="i1">To teach again with tender care;</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">To smooth the rough and thorny way<br /> +<span class="i1">Where other feet begin to tread;</span><br /> +To feed some hungry soul each day<br /> +<span class="i1">With sympathy's sustaining bread.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">So beautiful such pleasures show,<br /> +<span class="i1">I long to make them mine;</span><br /> +To love and labor and to know<br /> +<span class="i1">The joy such living makes divine.</span></p> + +<p class="stanza">But if I may not, I will only ask<br /> +<span class="i1">Courage and patience for my fate,</span><br /> +And learn, dear Lord, thy latest task,–<br /> +<span class="i1">To suffer patiently and wait.</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE early part of the year 1880 was in the +deep shadow of sadness, from the death of +Louisa's sister. Boxes full of May's pictures, +clothes, and books came home to call up anew +all the memories of the bright spirit who had +blossomed into such beautiful life so quickly to +fade away.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott tried to rise above her grief and +busy herself with new interests. She took an active +part in the voting of the women in Concord, +and rejoiced in the election of a good school committee. +In April she returned to her old rooms at +the Bellevue, where she busied herself with dramatizing +"Michael Strogoff," which she never completed. +She kept up her interest in young girls, +and received with pleasure a visit from thirty pupils +of the Boston University, and she helped to give +the children of the North End Mission a happy +day at Walden Pond. She went to York for rest +and refreshment during the summer. Her heart +was filled with longing for the child, and everything +was done with reference to its coming.</p> + +<p>As September brought cooler weather, over the +sea came the little babe to the warm hearts that were +longing to welcome her. No woman as true and +loving as Louisa Alcott but has the mother-nature +strong in her heart; and she could not help feeling +a new spring of love and life when the child of one +so dear was put into her arms to be her very own. +Rosy and healthy, full of life and energy,–not a +model of sainthood, but a real human nature, with +a will to be regulated, not broken, with impulses to +be trained, talents and tendencies to be studied, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span> +and a true, loving heart to be filled with joy,–Louisa +found the child a constant source of interest +and pleasure. She brought her up as she herself +had been trained,–more by influences than +by rules,–and sought to follow the leadings which +she found in the young nature rather than to make +it over after a plan of her own. This new care and +joy helped to fill up the void in her life from the +loss of the mother for whom she had worked so +faithfully and the pet sister to whom she had ever +been a good providence.</p> + +<p>The principal interest of the next few years was +the care of this child. It was a pleasant occupation +to Louisa, occupying her heart, and binding her +with new ties to younger generations. The journal +tells all the simple story of the "voyage across +the seas."</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott was very attractive to children, especially +to the little ones, who thronged about her +and pleaded for stories; but this was the first one +who ever really filled the mother-longing in her +heart. She was now truly a "marmee;" and remembering +the blessing which her own mother +had been to her, her standard of motherhood must +have been very high. Much care was now also +given to her father, and she speaks with pride of +her handsome old philosopher in his new suit of +clothes.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott was gratified by a visit from one of +the men to whom she had spoken at Concord +Prison. He told her his story, and she assisted +him to find work, and had the satisfaction of hearing +of his well-doing. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span></p> + +<p>There is little record of writing done at this +period, Louisa's time and thoughts being absorbed +by the child. In the autumn of 1881 she wrote a +preface to a new edition of the "Prayers of Theodore +Parker," and also one to the new edition of +"Moods."</p> + +<p>Louisa kept the birthdays of November, though +with saddened heart. She wrote a tale for the +Soldiers' Home,–"My Red Cap," in "Proverb +Stories,"–and another for the New England Hospital +fair,–"A Baby's Birthday;" and also one for +her old publisher. Such was the feeling toward +her as a universal benefactor, that a poor woman +wrote her begging her to send some Christmas +gifts to her children, as they had asked her to +write to Santa Claus for some. With Lulu's help +she got up a box for the poor family, and then +made a story out of the incident, for which she +received a hundred dollars.</p> + +<p>A new project was that of a temperance society, +which was felt to be needed in Concord.</p> + +<p>Louisa occupied herself much in looking over +her mother's papers, and unfortunately destroyed +them, instead of preparing a memoir of her as she +had intended to do. It is a matter of great regret +that she did not feel able to do this work, for Mrs. +Alcott's letters would have been a most valuable +record of the life of her time, as well as a treasury +of bright thought and earnest feeling. Louisa was +not willing to commit the task to any other hand, +and the opportunity is gone. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span></p> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Dodge.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Concord</span>, May 29.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge,</span>–I was away from home, so your +letter did not reach me till I got back yesterday.</p> + +<p>Thanks for your kind thought of me, and recollections +of the pleasant week when the L. L.'s had a lark. I +should like another; but in this work-a-day world busy +folk don't get many, as we know.</p> + +<p>If I write a serial, you shall have it; but I have my +doubts as to the leisure and quiet needed for such tasks +being possible with a year-old baby. Of course little +Lu is a <i>very</i> remarkable child, but I fancy I shall feel as +full of responsibility as a hen with one chick, and cluck +and scratch industriously for the sole benefit of my +daughter.</p> + +<p>She may, however, have a literary turn, and be my +assistant, by offering hints and giving studies of character +for my work. She comes in September, if well.</p> + +<p>If I do begin a new story, how would "An Old-Fashioned +Boy" and his life do? I meant that for the title of a +book, but another woman took it. You proposed a revolutionary +tale once, but I was not up to it; for this I +have quaint material in my father's journals, letters, and +recollections. He was born with the century, and had +an uncle in the war of 1812; and his life was very pretty +and pastoral in the early days. I think a new sort of +story wouldn't be amiss, with fun in it, and the queer old +names and habits. I began it long ago, and if I have a +chance will finish off a few chapters and send them to +you, if you like.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours cordially,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott.</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span></p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Niles, about the new illustrated edition of +"Little Women."</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">York</span>, July 20, 1880.</p> + +<p>The drawings are all capital, and we had great fun +over them down here this rainy day.... Mr. Merrill +certainly deserves a good penny for his work. Such a +fertile fancy and quick hand as his should be well paid, +and I shall not begrudge him his well-earned compensation, +nor the praise I am sure these illustrations will earn. +It is very pleasant to think that the lucky little story has +been of use to a fellow-worker, and I am much obliged +to him for so improving on my hasty pen-and-ink +sketches. What a dear rowdy boy Teddy is with the +felt basin on!</p> + +<p>The papers are great gossips, and never get anything +quite straight, and I do mean to set up my own establishment +in Boston (D.V.). Now I have an excuse for +a home of my own, and as the other artistic and literary +spinsters have a house, I am going to try the plan, for a +winter at least.</p> + +<p>Come and see how cosey we are next October at 81 +Pinckney Street. Miss N. will receive.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Dodge.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter">81 <span class="smcap">Pinckney Street</span>, 1880.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–The editor of "Harper's Young +People" asked for a serial, and I declined; then they +wanted a short story for Christmas, and I sent one. But +it was not long enough, though longer than most of my +short $100 tales. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span></p> + +<p>So I said, "If you don't want it, send it to 'Saint +Nicholas.'"</p> + +<p>Therefore if "How It Happened" comes straying +along, you will know what it means. If you don't want +it, please send it to me in Boston, 81 Pinckney Street; +for Christmas tales are always in demand, and I have no +time to write more.</p> + +<p>You will like to know that my baby is safely here,–a +healthy, happy little soul, who comes like sunshine to our +sad hearts, and takes us all captive by her winning ways +and lovely traits.</p> + +<p>I shall soon be settled for the winter, and I hope have +good times after the hard ones.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Affectionately yours,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>April</i>, 1880.–So sad and poorly; went to B. for a +change. Old room at the Bellevue.</p> + +<p>Amused myself dramatizing "Michael Strogoff;" read, +walked, and rested. Reporters called for story of my +life; did not get much. Made my will, dividing all I +have between Nan and the boys, with Father as a legacy +to Nan, and to Lulu her mother's pictures and small +fortune of $500.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Thirty girls from Boston University called; +told stories, showed pictures, wrote autographs. Pleasant +to see so much innocent enthusiasm, even about so +poor a thing as a used-up old woman. Bright girls! +simple in dress, sensible ideas of life, and love of education. +I wish them all good luck.</p> + +<p>Ordered a stone for May's grave like Marmee's and +Beth's, for some day I hope to bring her dust home. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span></p> + +<p>Twenty-third is the anniversary of Mother's wedding. If +she had lived, it would have been the golden wedding.</p> + +<p>Went to see St. Botolph's Club rooms. Very prim and +neat, with easy chairs everywhere; stained glass, and a +pious little <i>bar</i>, with nothing visible but a moral ice-pitcher +and a butler like a bishop. The reverend gentlemen +will be comfortable and merry, I fancy, as there is +a smoking-room and card-tables, as well as a library and +picture-gallery. Divines nowadays are not as godly as in +old times, it seems.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dodge wants a new serial, but I doubt if I can +do it; boys, babies, illness, and business of all sorts leave +no time for story-telling.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–We all enjoy the new rooms very much, and +Father finds his study delightful. Prepare the Orchard +House for W. T. Harris, who is to rent it.</p> + +<p>North End Mission children at Walden Pond. Help +give them a happy day,–eleven hundred of them. Get +Anna and John off to Walpole. Cleaned house.</p> + +<p>Madame N. sends a picture of Lulu,–a funny, fat +little thing in her carriage. Don't realize that it is May's +child, and that she is far away in a French cemetery, +never to come home to us again.</p> + +<p>It is decided that Baby is to come to us in September.</p> + +<p><i>24th.</i>–Lizzie's birthday and Johnny's. He is fifteen,–a +lovely, good boy, whom every one loves. Got the +Dean a new suit of clothes, as he must be nice for his +duties at the School. Plato's toga was not so costly, +but even he did not look better than my handsome old +philosopher.</p> + +<p><i>July and August.</i>–To York with boys. Rest and +enjoy the fine air. Home in August, and let Anna go +down. Four hundred callers since the School began. +Philosophy is a bore to outsiders. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span></p> + +<p>Got things ready for my baby,–warm wrapper, and +all the dear can need on her long journey. On the 21st +saw Mrs. Giles (who went for baby) off; the last time I +went, it was to see May go. She was sober and sad, +not gay as before; seemed to feel it might be a longer +voyage than we knew. The last view I had of her, +was standing alone in the long blue cloak waving her +hand to us, smiling with wet eyes till out of sight. How +little we dreamed what an experience of love, joy, pain, +and death she was going to!</p> + +<p>A lonely time with all away. My grief meets me when +I come home, and the house is full of ghosts.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–Put papers in order, and arrange things +generally, to be in order when our Lulu comes. Make a +cosey nursery for the darling, and say my prayers over +the little white crib that waits for her, if she ever comes. +God watch over her!</p> + +<p>Paid my first <i>poll</i>-tax. As my <i>head</i> is my most valuable +piece of property, I thought $2 a cheap tax on it. +Saw my townswomen about voting, etc. Hard work to +stir them up; cake and servants are more interesting.</p> + +<p><i>18th.</i>–In Boston, waiting for the steamer that brings +my treasure. The ocean seems very wide and terrible +when I think of the motherless little creature coming so +far to us.</p> + +<p><i>19th.</i>–Lulu and Sophie N. arrived with poor G., +worn out by anxiety. A stormy passage, and much +care, being turned out of the stateroom I had engaged +for them and paid for, by a rude New York dressmaker. +No help for it, so poor G. went to a rat-hole below, and +did her best.</p> + +<p>As I waited on the wharf while the people came off +the ship, I saw several babies, and wondered each time +if that was mine. At last the captain appeared, and in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span> +his arms a little yellow-haired thing in white, with its hat +half off as it looked about with lively blue eyes and babbled +prettily. Mrs. G. came along by it, and I knew it +was Lulu. Behind, walked a lovely brown-eyed girl with +an anxious face, all being new and strange to Sophie.</p> + +<p>I held out my arms to Lulu, only being able to say her +name. She looked at me for a moment, then came to +me, saying "Marmar" in a wistful way, and resting close +as if she had found her own people and home at last,–as +she had, thank Heaven! I could only listen while I +held her, and the others told their tale. Then we got +home as soon as we could, and dear baby behaved very +well, though hungry and tired.</p> + +<p>The little princess was received with tears and smiles, +and being washed and fed went quietly to sleep in her +new bed, while we brooded over her and were never tired +of looking at the little face of "May's baby."</p> + +<p>She is a very active, bright child, not pretty yet, being +browned by sea air, and having a yellow down on her +head, and a pug nose. Her little body is beautifully +formed, broad shoulders, fine chest, and lovely arms. A +happy thing, laughing and waving her hands, confiding +and bold, with a keen look in the eyes so like May, +who hated shams and saw through them at once. She +always comes to me, and seems to have decided that I +am really "Marmar." My heart is full of pride and joy, +and the touch of the dear little hands seems to take +away the bitterness of grief. I often go at night to see +if she is really <i>here</i>, and the sight of the little head is +like sunshine to me. Father adores her, and she loves +to sit in his strong arms. They make a pretty picture +as he walks in the garden with her to "see birdies." +Anna tends her as she did May, who was her baby +once, being ten years younger, and we all find life +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span> +easier to live now the baby has come. Sophie is a sweet +girl, with much character and beauty. A charming sister +in love as in law.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Happy days with Lulu and Sophie; getting +acquainted with them. Lulu is rosy and fair now, +and grows pretty in her native air,–a merry little lass, +who seems to feel at home and blooms in an atmosphere +of adoration. People come to see "Miss Alcott's baby," +and strangers waylay her little carriage in the street +to look at her; but she does not allow herself to be +kissed.</p> + +<p>As Father wants to go West I decide to hire Cousin +L. W.'s house furnished for the winter, so that Sophie +and the boys can have a pleasant time. S. misses the +gayety of her home-life in stupid Concord, where the +gossip and want of manners strike her very disagreeably. +Impertinent questions are asked her, and she is amazed +at the queer, rude things people say.</p> + +<p><i>November 8th.</i>–Lulu's birthday. One year old. +Her gifts were set out on a table for her to see when +she came down in the afternoon,–a little cake with <i>one</i> +candle, a rose crown for the queen, a silver mug, dolly, +picture-books, gay ball, toys, flowers, and many kisses. +She sat smiling at her treasures just under her mother's +picture. Suddenly, attracted by the sunshine on the face +of the portrait which she knows is "Marmar," she held +up a white rose to it calling "Mum! Mum!" and smiling +at it in a way that made us all cry. A happy day for her, +a sad one to us.</p> + +<p><i>Thanksgiving.</i>–Family dinner.</p> + +<p>Father at Syracuse, having conversations at Bishop +Huntington's and a fine time everywhere.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Too busy to keep much of a journal. +My life is absorbed in my baby. On the twenty-third +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span> +she got up and walked alone; had never crept at all, +but when ready ran across the room and plumped down, +laughing triumphantly at her feat.</p> + +<p><i>Christmas.</i>–Tried to make it gay for the young +folks, but a heavy day for Nan and me. Sixty gifts +were set out on different tables, and all were much +pleased. Sophie had many pretty things, and gave to +all generously.</p> + +<p>A hard year for all, but when I hold my Lulu I feel +as if even death had its compensations. A new world +for me.</p> + +<p>Called down one day to see a young man. Found it +one of those to whom I spoke at the prison in Concord +last June. Came to thank me for the good my little +story did him, since it kept him straight and reminded +him that it is never too late to mend. Told me about +himself, and how he was going to begin anew and wipe +out the past. He had been a miner, and coming East +met some fellows who made him drink; while tipsy he +stole something in a doctor's office, and having no friends +here was sentenced to three years in prison. Did well, and +was now out. Had a prospect of going on an expedition +to South America with a geological surveying party. An +interesting young man. Fond of books, anxious to do +well, intelligent, and seemed eager to atone for his one +fault. Gave him a letter to S. G. at Chicago. Wrote to +the warden, who confirmed D.'s story and spoke well of +him. Miss Willard wrote me later of him, and he seemed +doing well. Asked if he might write to me, and did so +several times, then went to S. A. and I hear no more. +Glad to have said a word to help the poor boy.</p> + +<p><i>March</i>, 1881.–Voted for school committee.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–Wrote a preface for Parker's Prayers, just +got out by F. B. Sanborn. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span></p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Forty-nine on 29th. Wrote a preface to +the new edition of "Moods."</p> + +<p><i>8th.</i>–Gave my baby <i>two</i> kisses when she woke, and +escorted her down to find a new chair decked with +ribbons, and a doll's carriage tied with pink; toys, pictures, +flowers, and a cake, with a red and a blue candle +burning gayly.</p> + +<p>Wrote a tale for the Soldiers' Home,–"My Red +Cap,"–and one for the Woman's Hospital fair,–"A +Baby's Birthday." Also a tale for F.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–A poor woman in Illinois writes me to +send her children some Christmas gifts, being too poor +and ill to get any. They asked her to write to Santa +Claus and she wrote to <i>me</i>. Sent a box, and made a +story about it,–$100. Lulu much interested, and kept +bringing all her best toys and clothes "for poor little +boys." A generous baby. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Niles.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">February</span> 12, 1881.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Wendell Phillips wrote me a letter +begging me to write a preface for Mrs. Robinson's "History +of the Suffrage Movement;" but I refused him, as I +did Mrs. R., because I don't write prefaces well, and if I +begin to do it there will be no end....</p> + +<p>Cannot you do a small edition for her? All the believers +will buy the book, and I think the sketches of +L. M. Child, Abby May, Alcott, and others will add much +to the interest of the book.</p> + +<p>Has she seen you about it? Will you look at the +manuscripts by and by, or do you scorn the whole +thing? Better not; for we are going to win in time, +and the friend of literary ladies ought to be also the +friend of women generally. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span></p> + +<p>We are going to meet the Governor, council, and +legislature at Mrs. Tudor's next Wednesday eve and +have a grand set-to. I hope he will come out of the +struggle alive.</p> + +<p>Do give Mrs. R. a lift if you can, and your petitioners +will ever pray.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +February 19, 1881.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Thank you very much for so +kindly offering to look at Mrs. R.'s book. It is always +pleasant to find a person who can conquer his prejudices +to oblige a friend, if no more.</p> + +<p>I think we shall be glad by and by of every little help +we may have been able to give to this reform in its hard +times, for those who take the tug now will deserve the +praise when the work is done.</p> + +<p>I can remember when Antislavery was in just the +same state that Suffrage is now, and take more pride in +the very small help we Alcotts could give than in all the +books I ever wrote or ever shall write.</p> + +<p>"Earth's fanatics often make heaven's saints," you +know, and it is as well to try for that sort of promotion +in time.</p> + +<p>If Mrs. R. does send her manuscripts I will help all I +can in reading or in any other way. If it only records +the just and wise changes Suffrage has made in the laws +for women, it will be worth printing; and it is time +to keep account of these first steps, since they count +most.</p> + +<p>I, for one, don't want to be ranked among idiots, +felons, and minors any longer, for I am none of the +three, but very gratefully yours,</p> + +<p class="sig">L. M. A. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span></p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Stearns.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">February</span> 21, 1881.</p> + +<p><i>Dear Mrs. Stearns</i>,–Many thanks for the tender +thoughtfulness which sends us the precious little notes +from the dear dead hands.</p> + +<p>They are so characteristic that they bring both Mother +and May clearly up before me, alive and full of patient +courage and happy hopes. I am resigned to my blessed +mother's departure, since life was a burden, and the +heroic past made a helpless future very hard to think of. +But May's loss, just when life was fullest and sweetest, +seems very bitter to me still, in spite of the sweet baby +who is an unspeakable comfort. I wish you could see +the pretty creature who already shows many of her mother's +traits and tastes. Her love of pictures is a passion, +but she will not look at the common gay ones most +babies enjoy. She chooses the delicate, well-drawn, and +painted figures of Caldecott and Miss Greenaway; over +these she broods with rapture, pointing her little fingers +at the cows or cats, and kissing the children with funny +prattlings to these dumb playmates. She is a fine, tall +girl, full of energy, intelligence, and health; blonde +and blue-eyed like her mother, but with her father's features, +for which I am glad, for he is a handsome man. +Louisa May bids fair to be a noble woman; and I hope I +may live to see May's child as brave and bright and +talented as she was and, much happier in her fate.</p> + +<p>Father is at the West, busy and well. Anna joins me +in thanks and affectionate regards.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Ever yours,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. Alcott.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>March</i>, 1882.–Helped start a temperance society; +much needed in C. A great deal of drinking, not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">344</a></span> +among the Irish, but young American gentlemen, as +well as farmers and mill hands. Women anxious to do +something, but find no interest beyond a few. Have +meetings, and try to learn how to work. I was secretary, +and wrote records, letters, and sent pledges, etc.; also +articles in "Concord Freeman" and "Woman's Journal" +about the union and town meetings.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Read over and destroyed Mother's diaries, +as she wished me to do so. A wonderfully interesting +record of her life, from her delicate, cherished girlhood +through her long, hard, romantic married years, old age, +and death. Some time I will write a story or a memoir +of it.</p> + +<p>Lulu's teeth trouble her; but in my arms she seems to +find comfort, for I tell stories by the dozen; and lambs, +piggies, and "tats" soothe her little woes. Wish I were +stronger, so that I might take all the care of her. We +seem to understand each other, but my nerves make +me impatient, and noise wears upon me.</p> + +<p>Mr. Emerson ill. Father goes to see him. E. held +his hand, looking up at the tall, sorry old man, and saying, +with that smile of love that has been Father's sunshine +for so many years, "<i>You</i> are very well,–keep so, +keep so." After Father left, he called him back and +grasped his hand again, as if he knew it was for the last +time, and the kind eyes said, "Good-by, my friend!"</p> +</div> +<p>April 27, 1882, Louisa speaks most tenderly of +the death of Mr. Emerson. He had been to her +and to her family the truest and best of friends; +and her own profound reverence for him had been +a strong influence, from the time when she played +games with his children in the barn until she followed +him to his honored grave. Let critics and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">345</a></span> +philosophers judge him by his intellect; in the +hearts of this family, and in many an humble home +besides, he will always be remembered as the tenderest, +most sympathetic, most loyal of all friends, +whose bounty fell on them silently as the dew from +heaven, and whose presence could brighten the +highest joy and soothe the keenest sorrow they +could ever know. +</p> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>Thursday, 27th.</i>–Mr. Emerson died at 9 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> suddenly. +Our best and greatest American gone. The +nearest and dearest friend Father has ever had, and the +man who has helped me most by his life, his books, his +society. I can never tell all he has been to me,–from +the time I sang Mignon's song under his window (a +little girl) and wrote letters <i>à la</i> Bettine to him, my +Goethe, at fifteen, up through my hard years, when his +essays on Self-Reliance, Character, Compensation, Love, +and Friendship helped me to understand myself and life, +and God and Nature. Illustrious and beloved friend, +good-by!</p> + +<p><i>Sunday, 30th.</i>–Emerson's funeral. I made a yellow +lyre of jonquils for the church, and helped trim it up. +Private services at the house, and a great crowd at the +church. Father read his sonnet, and Judge Hoar and +others spoke. Now he lies in Sleepy Hollow among +his brothers, under the pines he loved.</p> + +<p>I sat up till midnight to write an article on R. W. E. +for the "Youth's Companion," that the children may +know something of him. A labor of love.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Twenty-seven boys signed pledge. Temperance +work. Meetings. I give books to schools. Wrote +an article for Mrs. Croly on R. W. E. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">346</a></span></p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–I visited A. B. in Mattapoisset for a week. A +queer time, driving about or talking over our year in +Europe. School children called upon me with flowers, +etc.</p> + +<p><i>24th.</i>–John's seventeenth birthday. A dear boy, +good and gay, full of love, manliness, and all honest and +lovely traits, like his father and mother. Long life to +my boy!</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–School of Philosophy opens on the 17th in +full force. I arrange flowers, oak branches, etc., and +then fly before the reporters come. Father very happy. +Westerners arrive, and the town is full with ideal speculators. +Penny has a new barge; we call it the "Blue +Plato" (not the "Black Maria"), and watch it rumble +by with Margaret Fullers in white muslin and Hegels in +straw hats, while stout Penny grins at the joke as he puts +money in his purse. The first year Concord people stood +aloof, and the strangers found it hard to get rooms. Now +every one is eager to take them, and the School is pronounced +a success because it brings money to the town. +Even philosophers can't do without food, beds, and washing; +so all rejoice, and the new craze flourishes. If all +our guests paid we should be well off; several hundred +a month is rather wearing. Father asked why we never +went, and Anna showed him a long list of four hundred +names of callers, and he said no more.</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–To Hotel Bellevue with John.</p> + +<p>Missed my dear baby, but need quiet. Brain began +to work, and plans for tales to simmer. Began "Jo's +Boys," as Mrs. Dodge wants a serial. +</p> +</div> + +<p>In the autumn of 1882 Mr. Alcott was attacked +by a severe stroke of paralysis, from which he +never fully recovered; and for the rest of his life +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">347</a></span> +his daughters shared in the duty of tending and +caring for him in his enfeebled state. It had been +the great reward of Louisa's years of hard work +that she could surround her mother with every +comfort that could make her happy in her last +declining years. Not less had she delighted to +gratify every wish of her father. His library was +fitted up with exquisite taste, his books and manuscripts +bound, and he was "throned in philosophic +ease" for the rest of his days. What a relief it +was now that she could have the faithful nurse +ready at his call; that she could give him the +pleasant drives which he enjoyed so much; and +lighten her sister's labors with every assistance +that money could procure!</p> + +<p>The Orchard House, which had been the family +home for twenty-five years, was sold to Mr. Harris, +and Mrs. Pratt's house was the home of all. Louisa +spent part of the summer at the seashore, and +finally bought a small house at Nonquit, where +the children could all spend the summer, while +she and her sister alternated in the care of her +father.</p> + +<p>In the autumn of 1885, Miss Alcott decided to +take a furnished house in Louisburg Square. Her +nephews were established in Boston, and their +mother wished to be with them. Mr. Alcott bore +the moving well, and they found many comforts +in the arrangement. Louisa's health was very +feeble. She had great trouble in the throat, and +her old dyspeptic symptoms returned to annoy +her. Still she cannot give up work, and busies +herself in preparing "Lulu's Library" for publication, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">348</a></span> +and hopes to be able to work on "Jo's +Boys."</p> + +<p>"Lulu's Library" was a collection of stories +which had been the delight of the child. The first +series was published in 1885, the second in 1887, +and the third in 1889. They are full of Louisa's +charming qualities, and have a special interest from +the tender feeling with which she gathered them +up for her niece. The touching preface to "Jo's +Boys" tells of the seven years of occasional work +on this book, and reveals the depth of feeling +which would not allow her to write as formerly of +Marmee and Amy, who were no longer here to +accept their own likenesses. During the latter +part of her work on this book, she could only +write from half an hour to one or two hours a +day. This was published in September, 1886. It +contains an engraving of her from a bas-relief by +Mr. Ricketson.</p> + +<p>This book was written under hard circumstances, +and cost its author more effort perhaps than any +other. It is evidently not the overflow of her delight +and fun in life like "Little Women," but it is +full of biographical interest. Her account of her +own career, and of the annoyances to which her +celebrity exposed her, is full of her old spirit and +humor. She has expressed many valuable thoughts +on education, and her spirit is as hopeful for her +boys as in her days of youth and health. She has +too many characters to manage; but we feel a keen +interest in the fortunes of Dan and Emil, and in the +courtship by the warm-hearted Tom of his medical +sweetheart. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">349</a></span></p> + +<p class="section"><i>Preface to "Jo's Boys."</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +Having been written at long intervals during the past +seven years, this story is more faulty than any of its very +imperfect predecessors; but the desire to atone for an +unavoidable disappointment, and to please my patient +little friends, has urged me to let it go without further +delay.</p> + +<p>To account for the seeming neglect of Amy, let me +add, that, since the original of that character died, it has +been impossible for me to write of her as when she was +here to suggest, criticise, and laugh over her namesake. +The same excuse applies to Marmee. But the folded +leaves are not blank to those who knew and loved them +and can find memorials of them in whatever is cheerful, +true, or helpful in these pages.</p> + +<p class="sig"> +<span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott.</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Concord, July 4, 1886.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Horace Chandler.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Chandler</span>,–The corrections are certainly +rather peculiar, and I fear my struggles to set them right +have only produced greater confusion.</p> + +<p>Fortunately punctuation is a free institution, and all +can pepper to suit the taste. I don't care much, and +always leave proof-readers to quibble if they like.</p> + +<p>Thanks for the tickets. I fear I cannot come till +Thursday, but will try, and won't forget the office, since +I am not that much-tried soul the editor.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">350</a></span></p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Williams (Betsey Prig).</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Nonquit</span>, August 25.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Betsey</span>,–I am so sorry the darling Doll is ill! +Brood over him, and will him well; for mother-love +works wonders.</p> + +<p>My poppet is a picture of health, vigor, and delightful +naughtiness. She runs wild in this fine place with some +twenty other children to play with,–nice babies, well-bred, +and with pleasant mammas for me to gossip with.</p> + +<p>It would be a good place for your little people, as the +air is delicious, bathing safe and warm, and cottages to be +quiet in if one cares to keep house. Do try it next year. +Let me know early. I can get a nice little cot for you +(near mine) for $100, or perhaps less, from June to October,–if +you care to stay; I do....</p> + +<p>We have been here since July, and are all hearty, +brown, and gay as larks.</p> + +<p>"John Inglesant" was too political for me. I am too +lazy here to read much; mean to find a den in Boston +and work for a month or two; then fly off to New York, +and perhaps run over and see my Betsey. I shall be at +home in October, and perhaps we may see you then, if +the precious little shadow gets nice and well again, and I +pray he may.</p> + +<p>Lulu has some trifling ail now and then,–just enough +to show me how dear she is to us all, and what a great +void the loss of our little girl would make in hearts and +home. She is very intelligent and droll. When I told +her the other day that the crickets were hopping and +singing in the grass with their mammas, she said at once, +"No; their Aunt Weedys." Aunty is nearer than mother +to the poor baby; and it is very sweet to have it so, since +it must be. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">351</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, my blessed Betsey, keep a brave heart, and I am +sure all will be well in the nest. Love and kisses to the +little birds, and all good wishes to the turtle-dove and her +mate.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours ever,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span></p> + +<p>The older birthdays are 29th of November, Lulu's +the 8th; so we celebrate for Grandpa, Auntie, and Lulu +all at once, in great style,–eighty-three, fifty, and three +years old.</p> + +<p>When I get on my pins I'm going (D. V.) to devote +myself to settling poor souls who need a gentle boost in +hard times. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Niles.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">June</span> 23, 1883.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Thanks for the Goethe book. I +want everything that comes out about him. "Princess +Amelia" is charming, and the surprise at the end well +done. Did the author of "My Wife's Sister" write it?</p> + +<p>I told L. C. M. she might put "A Modern Mephistopheles" +in my list of books. Several people had found +it out, and there was no use in trying to keep it secret +after that.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dodge begged me to consider myself mortgaged +to her for tales, etc., and as I see no prospect of any +time for writing books, I may be able to send her some +short stories from time to time, and so be getting material +for a new set of books like "Scrap-bag," but with +a new name. You excel in names, and can be evolving +one meantime....</p> + +<p class="left45">Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">July</span> 15, 1884.</p> + +<p>I wish I might be inspired to do those dreadful boys +["Jo's Boys"]; but rest is more needed than money. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">352</a></span> +Perhaps during August, my month at home, I may take +a grind at the old mill. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Journal.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<i>October</i> 24, 1882.–Telegram that Father had had a +paralytic stroke. Home at once, and found him stricken +down. Anxious days; little hope.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Gave up our rooms, and I went home to +help with the new care. My Lulu ran to meet me, rosy +and gay, and I felt as if I could bear anything with this +little sunbeam to light up the world for me.</p> + +<p>Poor Father dumb and helpless; feeble mind slowly +coming back. He knows us; but he's asleep most of +the time. Get a nurse, and wait to see if he will rally. +It is sad to see the change one moment makes, turning +the hale, handsome old man into this pathetic wreck. +The forty sonnets last winter and the fifty lectures at the +School last summer were too much for a man of eighty-three. +He was warned by Dr. W., but thought it folly +to stop; and now poor Father pays the penalty of breaking +the laws of health. I have done the same: may I +be spared this end!</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1883.–Too busy to keep a diary. Can +only jot down a fact now and then.</p> + +<p>Father improving. Much trouble with nurses; have +no idea of health; won't walk; sit over the fire, and drink +tea three times a day; ought to be an intelligent, hearty +set of women. Could do better myself; have to fill up +all the deficiencies and do double duty.</p> + +<p>People come to see Father; but it excites him, and we +have to deny him.</p> + +<p><i>February.</i>–To B. for a week of rest, having got Mrs. +H. settled with Father, and all comfortable for November.</p> + +<p>Began a book called "Genius." Shall never finish it, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">353</a></span> +I dare say, but must keep a vent for my fancies to escape +at. This double life is trying, and my head will work as +well as my hands.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>–To give A. rest I took Lulu and maid to +the Bellevue for a month. Lulu very happy with her new +world. Enjoys her walks, the canary I got her, and the +petting <i>she</i> gets from all. Showed her to friends; want +them to know May's child. Had her picture taken by +Notman; very good.</p> + +<p><i>April 2d.</i>–Town meeting. Seven women vote. I am +one of them, and A. another. A poor show for a town +that prides itself on its culture and independence.</p> + +<p><i>6th.</i>–Go home to stay; Father needs me. New +nurse; many callers; Lulu fretful, Anna tired, Father +feeble,–hard times for all.</p> + +<p>Wrote a story for "St. Nicholas" at odd moments. +Nurses and doctors take a deal of money.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Take care of Lulu, as we can find no good +woman to walk and dress and play with her. The ladies +are incapable or proud; the girls vulgar or rough; so my +poor baby has a bad time with her little temper and +active mind and body. Could do it myself if I had the +nerves and strength, but am needed elsewhere, and must +leave the child to some one. Long to go away with her +and do as I like. Shall never lead my own life.</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–Go to Nonquit with Miss H. and Lulu for the +summer. A quiet, healthy place, with pleasant people +and fine air. Turn Lulu loose, with H. to run after her, +and try to rest.</p> + +<p>Lulu takes her first bath in the sea. Very bold; +walks off toward Europe up to her neck, and is much +afflicted that I won't let her go to the bottom and see +the "little trabs;" makes a cupid of herself, and is very +pretty and gay. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">354</a></span></p> + +<p>The boys revel in the simple pleasures of Nonquit,–a +fine place for them to be in.</p> + +<p>Wrote a tale for "St. Nicholas,"–"Sophie's Secret,"–$100.</p> + +<p><i>August.</i>–Home to C., and let A. come for her holiday. +Much company.</p> + +<p>P. C. Mozoomdar preached, and had a conversation at +Mrs. Emerson's; a most interesting man. Curious to +hear a Hindu tell how the life of Christ impressed him.</p> + +<p><i>November 27th.</i>–Decide to lessen care and worry at +home; so take rooms in Boylston Street, and with Lulu +set forth to make a home of our own. The whole parlor +floor gives my lady room to run in doors, and the Public +Garden opposite is the out-door play-ground. Miss C. +comes as governess, and we settle down. Fred boards +with us. Heard Mathew Arnold.</p> + +<p><i>29th.</i>–Birthday,–fifty-one. Home with gifts to +poor Father,–eighty-four. Found a table full for +myself.</p> + +<p><i>December 25th.</i>–Home with gifts for all; sad day. +See H. Martineau's statue; very fine.</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1884.–New Year's Day is made memorable +by my solemnly spanking my child. Miss C. and +others assure me it is the only way to cure her wilfulness. +I doubt it; but knowing that mothers are usually +too tender and blind, I correct my dear in the old-fashioned +way. She proudly says, "Do it, do it!" and +when it is done is heartbroken at the idea of Aunt Wee-wee's +giving her pain. Her bewilderment was pathetic, +and the effect, as I expected, a failure. Love is better; +but also endless patience.</p> + +<p><i>February 2d.</i>–Wendell Phillips died. I shall mourn +for him next to R. W. E. and Parker.</p> + +<p><i>6th.</i>–Funeral at Hollis Street Church. Sat between +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">355</a></span> +Fred Douglas and his wife. A goodly gathering of all left +of the old workers. Glad and proud to be among them.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Sell the Orchard House to W. T. Harris. +Glad to be done with it, though after living in it twenty-five +years, it is full of memories; but places have not +much hold on me when the dear persons who made them +dear are gone....</p> + +<p>Bought a cottage at Nonquit, with house and furniture. +All like it, and it is a good investment I am told.</p> + +<p><i>24th.</i>–To Nonquit with Lulu and K. and John. +Fixed my house, and enjoyed the rest and quiet immensely. +Lulu wild with joy at the freedom....</p> + +<p><i>July and August.</i>–Restful days in my little house, +which is cool and quiet, and without the curse of a +kitchen to spoil it.</p> + +<p>Lulu happy and well, and every one full of summer fun.</p> + +<p>On the 7th of August I went home, and let A. go for +her holiday.</p> + +<p>Took care of Father and house, and idled away the hot +days with books and letters. Drove with Father, as he +enjoyed it very much....</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>–To Boston with John, and take rooms at +the Bellevue. Very tired of home-worry, and fly for rest +to my old refuge, with J. and L. to look after and make +a home for.</p> + +<p>Saw Irving. Always enjoy him, though he is very queer. +Ellen Terry always the same, though charming in her way.</p> + +<p><i>November.</i>–Find Bellevue uncomfortable and expensive, +so take rooms in Chestnut Street for self and boys.</p> + +<p><i>8th.</i>–My Lulu's birthday. Go home with flowers, +gifts, and a grateful heart that the dear little girl is so +well and happy and good. A merry day with the little +queen of the house. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">356</a></span></p> + +<p><i>29th.</i>–Our birthday,–Father eighty-five; L. M. A. +fifty-two. Quiet day; always sad for thinking of Mother +and John and May, who all left us at this season.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>–Began again on "Jo's Boys," as T. N. +wants a new book very much, and I am tired of being +idle. Wrote two hours for three days, then had a violent +attack of vertigo, and was ill for a week. Head won't +bear work yet. Put away papers, and tried to dawdle +and go about as other people do.</p> + +<p>Pleasant Christmas with Lulu and Nan and poor +Father, who loves to see us about him. A narrow +world now, but a happy one for him.</p> + +<p>Last day of the year. All well at home except myself; +body feeble, but soul improving.</p> + +<p><i>January</i> 1, 1885.–Pleasant greeting from brother +Ernest by telegram,–never forgets us. Opera in the +evening,–Emma Nevada. Sent box home. Very cold.</p> + +<p>John had his first dress-suit. Happy boy! Several +pleasant Sunday evenings at E. P. W.'s. See Mrs. Burnett, +and like her.</p> + +<p>Visit Blind Asylum and North End Mission. Lulu +passed a week with me for a change.</p> + +<p><i>19th.</i>–An old-fashioned party in an old-time house. +All in antique costume; Lulu very pretty in hers. Country +kitchen and country fare; spinning and weaving; +old songs and dances; tally-ho coach with P. as an +ancient Weller,–very funny.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Read Life of Saint Elizabeth by D'Alembert,–quaint +and sweet; also French novels. Write out the +little tales I tell Lulu for a new Christmas book, having +nothing else. Send one, "The Candy Country," to +"St. Nicholas."</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">357</a></span></p> + +<p><i>August 8th.</i>–Go home, and A. goes to N. Take +care of Father, arrange the little tales, and look at +houses in B. Have a plan to take a furnished house +for the winter, and all be together. A. is lonely in C.; +boys must be near business. I want Lulu, and Father +will enjoy a change.</p> + +<p>Sorted old letters, and burned many. Not wise to +keep for curious eyes to read and gossip-lovers to print +by and by.</p> + +<p>Lived in the past for days, and felt very old, recalling +all I have been through. Experiences go deep with me, +and I begin to think it might be well to keep some +record of my life, if it will help others to read it when +I'm gone. People seem to think our lives interesting +and peculiar.</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>–After a lively time with house-brokers, I +take a house in Louisburg Square for two years. It is a +large house, furnished, and well suited to our needs,–sunny, +trees in front, good air, and friends near by. All +are pleased, and we prepare to move October 1st....</p> + +<p>Father drove down very nicely. Pleased with his new +room; Lulu charmed with her big, sunny nursery and +the play-house left for her; boys in clover; and Nan +ready for the new sort of housekeeping.</p> + +<p>I shall miss my quiet, care-free life in B.; but it is +best for all, so I shall try to bear the friction and the +worry many persons always bring me.</p> + +<p>It will be an expensive winter; but T. N. tells me the +books never sold better, so a good run in January will +make all safe.</p> + +<p>"Lulu's Library" as a "pot-boiler" will appease the +children, and I may be able to work on "Jo's Boys."</p> + +<p><i>March</i>, 1886.–To Mrs. H.'s to hear Mr. Snyder +read the "Iliad;" enjoyed it. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">358</a></span></p> + +<p>Sixteen little girls call, and the autograph fiend is +abroad.</p> + +<p><i>27th.</i>–Another attack of vertigo,–ill for a week; +sleepless nights. Head worked like a steam-engine; +would not stop. Planned "Jo's Boys" to the end, and +longed to get up and write it. Told Dr. W. that he had +better let me get the ideas <i>out</i>, then I could rest. He +very wisely agreed, and said, "As soon as you can, write +half an hour a day, and see if it does you good. Rebellious +brains want to be attended to, or trouble comes." +So I began as soon as able, and was satisfied that we +were right; for my head felt better very soon, and with +much care about not overdoing, I had some pleasant +hours when I forgot my body and lived in my mind.</p> + +<p><i>April.</i>–Went on writing one or two hours a day, and +felt no ill effects.</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>–Began to think of Concord, and prepare to go +back for the summer. Father wants his books; Lulu, +her garden; Anna, her small house; and the boys, their +friends. I want to go away and rest.</p> + +<p>Anna goes up the last of the month and gets the +house ready. We send Lulu and Father later, and the +boys and I shut up No. 10....</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>–Home in C.,–sunny, clean, and pleasant. +Put Lulu in order, and get ready for a month in Princeton +with Mrs. H. Very tired.</p> + +<p>A quiet three weeks on the hillside,–a valley pink +with laurel in front, Mount Wachusett behind us, and +green hills all round. A few pleasant people. I read, +sleep, walk, and write,–get fifteen chapters done. Instinct +was right; after seven years of rest, the old brain +was ready for work and tired of feeding on itself, since +work it must at something. Enjoyed Hedge's "Hours +with German Classics," and "Baldwin," by Vernon Lee. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">359</a></span></p> + +<p>Home in time to get Anna and Lulu off to N. for +the summer. A. needs the rest very much, and Lulu +the freedom. I shall revel in the quiet, and finish my +book.</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>–The seashore party get off, and peace reigns. +I rest a day, and then to work. Finish "Jo's Boys," +and take it to T. N. Much rejoicing over a new book. +Fifty thousand to be the first edition; orders coming in +fast. Not good,–too great intervals between the parts, +as it was begun long ago; but the children will be happy, +and my promise kept. Two new chapters were needed, +so I wrote them, and gladly corked my inkstand.</p> + +<p>What next? Mrs. Dodge wants a serial, and T. N. a +novel. I have a dozen plots in my head, but think the +serial better come first. Want a great deal of money for +many things; every poor soul I ever knew comes for +help, and expenses increase. I am the only money-maker, +and must turn the mill for others, though my +own grist is ground and in the barn.</p> + +<p>The School begins. Father feeble, but goes,–for +the last time, I think. +</p> +</div> + +<p>A series of letters to her father's friend, Mrs. +Stearns, show how tenderly and carefully Louisa +watched over the slow decline of the stricken +man, but they are too full of details of the sickroom +for publication. A few extracts will give +her feeling.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">May</span> 23 [1885].</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Stearns</span>,–Many thanks for the sweet +nosegay you sent me. It came in good time, for to-day +is the anniversary of Father's wedding-day and my +sister's silver wedding. Rather sad for both mateless +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">360</a></span> +ones; but we have done our best to cheer them up, and +the soft rain is very emblematic of the memories their +own quiet tears keep green.</p> + +<p>Father remembered you, and smelled his flowers with +pleasure. He is very tired of living, and wants to "go +up," as he expresses it. A little more or little less light +would make him happier; but the still active mind beats +against the prison bars, and rebels against the weakness +of body that prevents the old independent life. I am +afraid the end is not to be peaceful unless it is sudden, +as I hope it may be for all our sakes; it is so wearing to +see this slow decline, and be able to do little but preach +and practise patience.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p class="left45"> +Affectionately yours,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Sunday</span>.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>It is only a temporary change, perhaps; but I still +hope that it will last, and his mind grow still clearer. +These painless, peaceful days have a certain sweetness, +sad as it is to see the dear, hale old man so feeble. If +he can know us, and enjoy something of the old life, +it is worth having, though the end may come at any +moment....</p> + +<p>Now and then a word comes without effort. "Up!" +was the first one, and seems very characteristic of this +beautiful, aspiring soul, almost on the wing for heaven. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Niles.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">Nonquit</span>, July 13, 1885.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–I want to know if it is too late to +do it and if it is worth doing; namely, to collect some +of the little tales I tell Lulu and put them with the two I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">361</a></span> +shall have printed the last year and the "Mermaid Tale" +to match the pictures we bought, and call it "Lulu's +Library"? I have several tiny books written down for +L.; and as I can do no great work, it occurred to me that +I might venture to copy these if it would do for a Christmas +book for the younger set.</p> + +<p>I ache to fall on some of the ideas that are simmering +in my head, but dare not, as my one attempt since the +last "Jo's Boys" break-down cost me a week or two of +woe and $30 for the doctor. I have lovely long days here, +and can copy these and see 'em along if you want them. +One has gone to "Harper's Young People," and one is for +"St. Nicholas" when it is done,–about the Kindergarten +for the blind. These with Lulu's would make a little +book, and might begin a series for small folks. Old +ladies come to this twaddle when they can do nothing +else. What say you?...</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">September</span> 18, 1885.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–I send you some funny sketches by +Mrs. L. She seems to be getting on. How would it do +to ask her to illustrate the fairy book? She has a pretty +taste in elves, and her little girl was good. I hope to +touch up the other stories this winter, and she can illustrate, +and next Christmas (or whenever it is ready) we +can have a little book out. This sort of work being all I +dare do now, I may as well be clearing the decks for +action when the order comes to "Up, and at 'em!" +again, if it ever does. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">362</a></span></p> +</div> +<div class="figcenter p6"><a name="illus370" id="illus370"></a> +<img src="images/illus370.jpg" width="574" height="530" alt="Fac-simile of Miss Alcott's Writing." /> +<img src="images/illus371.jpg" width="574" height="650" alt="Writing continuted" /> +<p class="caption">Fac-simile of Miss Alcott's Writing.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot p6"> +<p>I'd like to help Mrs. L. if I could, as we know something +of her, and I fancy she needs a lift. Perhaps we +could use these pictures in some way if she liked to have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">364</a></span> +us. Maybe I could work them into a story of our +"cullud bredren."</p> + +<p>Thanks for the books. Dear Miss –– is rather prim +in her story, but it is pretty and quite <i>correct</i>. So different +from Miss Alcott's slap-dash style.</p> + +<p>The "H. H." book ["Ramona"] is a noble record of +the great wrongs of her chosen people, and ought to wake +up the sinners to repentance and justice before it is too +late. It recalls the old slavery days, only these victims +are red instead of black. It will be a disgrace if "H. H." +gave her work and pity all in vain.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +[1885.]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Thanks for the book which I shall +like to read.</p> + +<p>Please tell Miss N. that she will find in Sanborn's +article in "St. Nicholas" or Mrs. Moulton's in the "Eminent +Women" book all that I wish to have said about +myself. You can add such facts about editions, etc., as +you think best. I don't like these everlasting notices; +one is enough, else we poor people feel like squeezed +oranges, and nothing is left sacred.</p> + +<p>George Eliot's new life and letters is well done, and we +are not sorry we have read them. Mr. Cross has been a +wise man, and leaves us all our love and respect instead +of spoiling them as Froude did for Carlyle,</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +January 2, 1886.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Thanks for the good wishes and +news. Now that I cannot work, it is very agreeable to +hear that the books go so well, and that the lazy woman +need not worry about things. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">365</a></span></p> + +<p>I appreciate my blessings, I assure you. I heartily +wish I could "swamp the book-room with 'Jo's Boys,'" +as Fred says, and hope to do it by and by when head and +hand can safely obey the desire of the heart, which will +never be too tired or too old to remember and be +grateful.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Your friend,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. Alcott.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +Monday, <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> [1886].</p> + +<p>Dear Mr. Niles,–My doctor forbids me to begin a +long book or anything that will need much thought this +summer. So I must give up "Tragedy of To-day," as it +will need a good deal of thinking to be what it ought.</p> + +<p>I can give you a girls' book however, and I think that +will be better than a novel. I have several stories done, +and can easily do more and make a companion volume +for "Spinning-Wheel Stories" at Christmas if you +want it.</p> + +<p>This, with the Lulu stories, will be better than the set +of novels I am sure.... Wait till I can do a novel, and +then get out the set in style, if Alcott is not forgotten by +that time.</p> + +<p>I was going to send Mrs. Dodge one of the tales for +girls, and if there is time she might have more. But +nearly all new ones would make a book go well in the +holiday season. You can have those already done now if +you want them. "Sophie's Secret" is one, "An Ivy +Spray: or Cinderella's Slippers" another, and "Mountain +Laurel" is partly done. "A Garland for Girls" +might do for a title perhaps, as they are all for girls.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p>In the spring of 1886, Dr. Rhoda Lawrence took +charge of Miss Alcott's health, and gave her treatment +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">366</a></span> +by massage and other appropriate means, from +which she received benefit. The summer was spent +at Concord with her father, and was varied by a +pleasant trip to the mountains. Miss Alcott finished +"Jo's Boys," which was published in September. +She occupied herself also in looking +over old journals and letters, and destroyed many +things which she did not wish to have come under +the public eye. She had enjoyed her life at Princeton, +and said that she felt better than for fifteen +years; but in August she was severely attacked +with rheumatism and troubled with vertigo. She +suffered very much, and was in a very nervous +condition.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott always looked bravely and calmly +upon all the possibilities of life, and she now made +full preparations for the event of her own death. +Her youngest nephew had always been especially +beloved, and she decided to take out papers of +adoption, to make him legally her son and heir. +She wished him to assume the name of Alcott, and +to be her representative.</p> + +<p>Louisa's journal closes July, 1886, with the old +feeling,–that she must grind away at the mill and +make money to supply the many claims that press +upon her from all sides. She feels the burden +of every suffering human life upon her own soul. +She knew that she could write what was eagerly +desired by others and would bring her the means +of helping those in need, and her heart and head +united in urging her to work. Whether it would +have been possible for her to have rested more +fully, and whether she might then have worked +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">367</a></span> +longer and better, is one of those questions which +no one is wise enough to answer. Yet the warning +of her life should not be neglected, and the eager +brain should learn to obey the laws of life and +health while it is yet time.</p> + +<p>In September, 1886, Miss Alcott returned to +Louisburg Square, and spent the winter in the care +of her father, and in the society of her sister and +nephews and the darling child. She suffered much +from hoarseness, from nervousness and debility, and +from indigestion and sleeplessness, but still exerted +herself for the comfort of all around her. She had +a happy Christmas, and sympathized with the joy +of her oldest nephew in his betrothal. In December +she was so weary and worn that she went out +to Dr. Lawrence's home in Roxbury for rest and +care. She found such relief to her overtasked +brain and nerves from the seclusion and quiet of +Dunreath Place, that she found her home and rest +there for the remainder of her life.</p> + +<p>It was a great trial to Louisa to be apart from +her family, to whom she had devoted her life. She +clung to her dying father, and to the dear sister still +left to her, with increasing fondness, and she longed +for her boys and her child; but her tired nerves +could not bear even the companionship of her +family, and sometimes for days she wanted to be +all alone. "I feel so safe out here!" she said +once.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alcott spent the summer at Melrose, and +Louisa went there to visit him in June. In June +and July, 1887, she went to Concord and looked +over papers and completed the plan for adopting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">368</a></span> +her nephew. She afterward went to Princeton, accompanied +by Dr. Lawrence. She spent eight +weeks there, and enjoyed the mountain air and +scenery with something of her old delight. She +was able to walk a mile or more, and took a solitary +walk in the morning, which she greatly enjoyed. +Her evening walk was less agreeable, because she +was then exposed to the eager curiosity of sight-seers, +who constantly pursued her.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott had a great intellectual pleasure here +in the society of Mr. James Murdock and his family. +The distinguished elocutionist took great pains to +gratify her taste for dramatic reading by selecting +her favorite scenes for representation, and she even +attended one of his public readings given in the +hall of the hotel. The old pain in her limbs from +which she suffered during her European journey +again troubled her, and she returned to Dr. Lawrence's +home in the autumn, where she was tenderly +cared for.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott was still continually planning stories. +Dr. Lawrence read to her a great deal, and the reading +often suggested subjects to her. She thought of +a series to be called "Stories of All Nations," and +had already written "Trudel's Siege," which was +published in "St. Nicholas," April, 1888, the scene +of which was laid at the siege of Leyden. The +English story was to be called "Madge Wildfire," +and she had thought of plots for others. She could +write very little, and kept herself occupied and +amused with fancy work, making flowers and pen-wipers +of various colors, in the form of pinks, to +send to her friends. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">369</a></span></p> + +<p>On her last birthday Louisa received a great many +flowers and pleasant remembrances, which touched +her deeply, and she said, "I did not mean to cry +to-day, but I can't help it, everybody is so good." +She went in to see her father every few days, and +was conscious that he was drawing toward the end.</p> + +<p>While riding with her friend, Louisa would tell +her of the stories she had planned, one of which +was to be called "The Philosopher's Wooing," +referring to Thoreau. She also had a musical +novel in her mind. She could not be idle, and +having a respect for sewing, she busied herself +with it, making garments for poor children, or helping +the Doctor in her work. She insisted upon +setting up a work-basket for the Doctor, amply +supplied with necessary materials, and was pleased +when she saw them used. A flannel garment for a +poor child was the last work of her hands. Her +health improved in February, especially in the +comfort of her nights, as the baths she took +brought her the long-desired sleep. "Nothing +so good as sleep," she said. But a little too much +excitement brought on violent headaches.</p> + +<p>During these months Miss Alcott wrote part of +the "Garland for Girls," one of the most fanciful +and pleasing of her books. These stories were suggested +by the flowers sent to her by different +friends, which she fully enjoyed. She rode a +great deal, but did not see any one.</p> + +<p>Her friends were much encouraged; and although +they dared not expect full recovery, they +hoped that she might be "a comfortable invalid, +able to enjoy life, and give help and pleasure to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">370</a></span> +others." She did not suffer great pain, but she +was very weak; her nervous system seemed to +be utterly prostrated by the years of work and +struggle through which she had passed. She said, +"I don't want to live if I can't be of use." She +had always met the thought of death bravely; and +even the separation from her dearest friends was +serenely borne. She believed in their continued +presence and influence, and felt that the parting +was for a little time. She had no fear of God, and +no doubt of the future. Her only sadness was in +leaving the friends whom she loved and who might +yet need her.</p> + +<p>A young man wrote asking Miss Alcott if she +would advise him to devote himself to authorship; +she answered, "Not if you can do anything else. +Even dig ditches." He followed her advice, and +took a situation where he could support himself, +but he still continued to write stories. A little +boy sent twenty-five cents to buy her books. She +returned the money, telling him it was not enough +to buy books, but sent him "Little Men." Scores +of letters remained unanswered for want of strength +to write or even to read.</p> + +<p>Early in March Mr. Alcott failed very rapidly. +Louisa drove in to see him, and was conscious that +it was for the last time. Tempted by the warm +spring-like day, she had made some change in +her dress, and absorbed in the thought of the parting, +when she got into the carriage she forgot to +put on the warm fur cloak she had worn.</p> + +<p>The next morning she complained of violent +pain in her head, amounting to agony. The physician +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">371</a></span> +who had attended her for the last weeks was +called. He felt that the situation was very serious. +She herself asked, "Is it not meningitis?" The +trouble on the brain increased rapidly. She recognized +her dear young nephew for a moment and +her friendly hostess, but was unconscious of everything +else. So, at 3.30 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, March 6, 1888, she +passed quietly on to the rest which she so much +needed. She did not know that her father had already +preceded her.</p> + +<p>The friends of the family who gathered to pay +their last tribute of respect and love to the aged +father were met at the threshold by the startling +intelligence, "Louisa Alcott is dead," and a deeper +sadness fell upon every heart. The old patriarch +had gone to his rest in the fulness of time, "corn +ripe for the sickle," but few realized how entirely +his daughter had worn out her earthly frame. Her +friends had hoped for renewed health and strength, +and for even greater and nobler work from her with +her ripened powers and greater ease and leisure.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott had made every arrangement for her +death; and by her own wish the funeral service was +very simple, in her father's rooms at Louisburg +Square, and attended only by a few of her family +and nearest friends. They read her exquisite poem +to her mother, her father's noble tribute to her, and +spoke of the earnestness and truth of her life. She +was remembered as she would have wished to be. +Her body was carried to Concord and placed in +the beautiful cemetery of Sleepy Hollow where +her dearest ones were already laid to rest. "Her +boys" went beside her as "a guard of honor," and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">372</a></span> +stood around as she was placed across the feet of +father, mother, and sister, that she might "take +care of them as she had done all her life."</p> + +<p>Of the silent grief of the bereaved family I will +not speak, but the sound of mourning filled all the +land, and was re-echoed from foreign shores. The +children everywhere had lost their friend. Miss +Alcott had entered into their hearts and revealed +them to themselves. In her childish journal her +oldest sister said, "I have not a secret from Louisa; +I tell her everything, and am not afraid she will +think me silly." It was this respect for the thought +and life of children that gave Louisa Alcott her +great power of winning their respect and affection. +Nothing which was real and earnest to them seemed +unimportant to her.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p class="section">LAST LETTERS.</p> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Niles.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">Sunday</span>, 1886.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–The goodly supply of books was +most welcome; for when my two hours pen-work are over +I need something to comfort me, and I long to go on +and finish "Jo's Boys" by July 1st.</p> + +<p>My doctor frowns on that hope, and is so sure it will +do mischief to get up the steam that I am afraid to try, +and keep Prudence sitting on the valve lest the old engine +run away and have another smash-up.</p> + +<p>I send you by Fred several chapters, I wish they were +neater, as some were written long ago and have knocked +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">373</a></span> +about for years; but I can't spare time to copy, so hope +the printers won't be in despair.</p> + +<p>I planned twenty chapters and am on the fifteenth. +Some are long, some short, and as we are pressed for +time we had better not try to do too much.</p> + +<p>... I have little doubt it will be done early in July, +but things are so contrary with me I can never be sure of +carrying out a plan, and I don't want to fail again; so far +I feel as if I could, without harm, finish off these dreadful +boys.</p> + +<p>Why have any illustrations? The book is not a child's +book, as the lads are nearly all over twenty, and pretty +pictures are not needed. Have the bas-relief if you like, +or one good thing for frontispiece.</p> + +<p>I can have twenty-one chapters and make it the size +of "Little Men." Sixteen chapters make two hundred +and sixteen pages, and I may add a page here and there +later,–or if need be, a chapter somewhere to fill up.</p> + +<p>I shall be at home in a week or two, much better for +the rest and fine air; and during my quiet days in C. +I can touch up proofs and confer about the book. Sha'n't +we be glad when it is done?</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Dodge</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">June</span> 29.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–I will evolve something for December +(D. V.) and let you have it as soon as it is done.</p> + +<p>Lu and I go to Nonquit next week; and after a few +days of rest, I will fire up the old engine and see if it will +run a short distance without a break-down.</p> + +<p>There are usually about forty young people at N., and +I think I can get a hint from some of them. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">374</a></span></p> + +<p>Had a call from Mr. Burroughs and Mr. Gilder last +eve. Mr. G. asked if you were in B., but I didn't +know.</p> + +<p>Father remains comfortable and happy among his +books. Our lads are making their first visit to New York, +and may call on "St. Nick," whom they have made their +patron saint.</p> + +<p>I should like to own the last two bound volumes of +"St. Nicholas," for Lulu. She adores the others, and +they are nearly worn out with her loving but careless +luggings up and down for "more towries, Aunt Wee-wee." +Charge to</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours affectionately,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> + +<p>P. S.–Wasn't I glad to see you in my howling wilderness +of wearisome domestic worrits! Come again.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Concord</span>, August 15.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–I like the idea of "Spinning-Wheel +Stories," and can do several for a series which +can come out in a book later. Old-time tales, with a +thread running through all from the wheel that enters in +the first one.</p> + +<p>A Christmas party of children might be at an old +farm-house and hunt up the wheel, and grandma spins and +tells the first story; and being snow-bound, others amuse +the young folks each evening with more tales. Would +that do? The mother and child picture would come in +nicely for the first tale,–"Grandma and her Mother."</p> + +<p>Being at home and quiet for a week or so (as Father +is nicely and has a capable nurse), I have begun the +serial, and done two chapters; but the spinning-tales +come tumbling into my mind so fast I'd better pin a +few while "genius burns." Perhaps you would like to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">375</a></span> +start the set Christmas. The picture being ready and +the first story can be done in a week, "Sophie's Secret" +can come later. Let me know if you would like that, +and about how many pages of the paper "S. S." was +written on you think would make the required length of +tale (or tail?). If you don't want No. 1 yet, I will take +my time and do several.</p> + +<p>The serial was to be "Mrs. Gay's Summer School," +and have some city girls and boys go to an old farm-house, +and for fun dress and live as in old times, and +learn the good, thrifty old ways, with adventures and fun +thrown in. That might come in the spring, as it takes +me longer to grind out yarns now than of old.</p> + +<p>Glad you are better. Thanks for kind wishes for the +little house; come and see it, and gladden the eyes of +forty young admirers by a sight of M. M. D. next year.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours affectionately,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +31 <span class="smcap">Chestnut St., December</span> 31.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–A little cousin, thirteen years +old, has written a story and longs to see it in print. It is +a well written bit and pretty good for a beginner, so I +send it to you hoping it may find a place in the children's +corner. She is a grandchild of S. J. May, and a bright +lass who paints nicely and is a domestic little person in +spite of her budding accomplishments. Good luck to +her!</p> + +<p>I hoped to have had a Christmas story for some one, +but am forbidden to write for six months, after a bad turn +of vertigo. So I give it up and take warning. All good +wishes for the New Year.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +From yours affectionately,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott</span>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">376</a></span></p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. Niles</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter">1886.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Sorry you don't like the bas-relief +[of herself]; I do. A portrait, if bright and comely, +wouldn't be me, and if like me would disappoint the +children; so we had better let them imagine "Aunt Jo +young and beautiful, with her hair in two tails down her +back," as the little girl said.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +In haste,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Bond.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Concord</span>, Tuesday, 1886.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–I want to find Auntie Gwinn, and +don't know whom to ask but you, as your big motherly +heart yearns over all the poor babies, and can tell them +where to go when the nest is bare. A poor little woman +has just died, leaving four children to a drunken father. +Two hard-working aunts do all they can, and one will +take the oldest girl. We want to put the two small girls +and boy into a home till we can see what comes next. +Lulu clothes one, and we may be able to put one with a +cousin. But since the mother died last Wednesday they +are very forlorn, and must be helped. If we were not +so full I'd take one; but Lu is all we can manage +now.</p> + +<p>There is a home at Auburndale, but it is full; and I +know of no other but good Auntie Gwinn's. What is her +address, please? I shall be in town on Saturday, and +can go and see her if I know where.</p> + +<p>Don't let it be a bother; but one turns at once in such +cases to the saints for direction, and the poor aunts don't +know what to do; so this aunt comes to the auntie +of all. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">377</a></span></p> + +<p>I had a pleasant chat with the Papa in the cars, and +was very glad to hear that W. is better. My love to +both and S.</p> + +<p>Thanks for the news of portraits. I'll bear them in +mind if G. H. calls. Lulu and Anna send love, and I +am as always,</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Your</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Louisa Alcott</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Dodge.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">April</span> 13, 1886.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–I am glad you are going to have +such a fine outing. May it be a very happy one.</p> + +<p>I cannot promise anything, but hope to be allowed to +write a little, as my doctor has decided that it is as well +to let me put on paper the tales "knocking at the saucepan +lid and demanding to be taken out" (like Mrs. +Cratchit's potatoes), as to have them go on worrying me +inside. So I'm scribbling at "Jo's Boys," long promised +to Mr. Niles and clamored for by the children. I +may write but one hour a day, so cannot get on very fast; +but if it is ever done, I can think of a serial for "St. +Nicholas." I began one, and can easily start it for '88, +if head and hand allow. I will simmer on it this summer, +and see if it can be done. Hope so, for I don't want to +give up work so soon.</p> + +<p>I have read "Mrs. Null," but don't like it very +well,–too slow and colorless after Tolstoi's "Anna +Karenina."</p> + +<p>I met Mr. and Mrs. S. at Mrs. A.'s this winter. Mr. +Stockton's child-stories I like very much. The older +ones are odd but artificial.</p> + +<p>Now, good-by, and God be with you, dear woman, and +bring you safely home to us all.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Affectionately yours,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott</span>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">378</a></span></p> +</div> +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Bond.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">Dunreath Place, Roxbury</span>, March 15, 1887</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–I have been hoping to get out and +see you all winter, but have been so ill I could only live +on hope as a relish to my gruel,–that being my only +food, and not of a nature to give me strength. Now I +am beginning to live a little, and feel less like a sick +oyster at low tide. The spring days will set me up I +trust, and my first pilgrimage shall be to you; for I want +you to see how prettily my May-flower is blossoming into +a fine off-shoot of the old plant.</p> + +<p>Lizzy Wells has probably told you our news of Fred +and his little bride, and Anna written you about it as +only a proud mamma can.</p> + +<p>Father is very comfortable, but says sadly as he looks +up from his paper, "Beecher has gone now; all go but +me." Please thank Mr. Bond for the poems, which are +interesting, even to a poor, ignorant worm who does +not know Latin. Mother would have enjoyed them +very much. I should have acknowledged his kindness +sooner; but as I am here in Roxbury my letters are +forwarded, and often delayed.</p> + +<p>I was sorry to hear that you were poorly again. Isn't +it hard to sit serenely in one's soul when one's body is in +a dilapidated state? I find it a great bore, but try to do +it patiently, and hope to see the why by and by, when +this mysterious life is made clear to me. I had a lovely +dream about that, and want to tell it you some day.</p> + +<p>Love to all.</p> +<p class="left45">Ever yours,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p>Her publisher wished to issue a new edition +of "A Modern Mephistopheles," and to add to it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">379</a></span> +her story "A Whisper in the Dark," to which she +consented.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">May</span> 6, 1887.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>.–This is about what I want to say. +You may be able to amend or suggest something. I only +want it understood that the highfalutin style was for a +disguise, though the story had another purpose; for I'm +not ashamed of it, and like it better than "Work" or +"Moods."</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours in haste,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +<p>P. S.–Do you want more fairy tales?</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Preface.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"A Modern Mephistopheles" was written among the +earlier volumes of the No Name Series, when the chief +idea of the authors was to puzzle their readers by disguising +their style as much as possible, that they might +enjoy the guessing and criticism as each novel appeared. +This book was very successful in preserving its incognito; +and many persons still insist that it could not have been +written by the author of "Little Women." As I much enjoyed +trying to embody a shadow of my favorite poem in +a story, as well as the amusement it has afforded those in +the secret for some years, it is considered well to add +this volume to the few romances which are offered, not +as finished work by any means, but merely attempts +at something graver than magazine stories or juvenile +literature.</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott.</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">380</a></span></p> +</div> +<div class="figcenter p6"><a name="illus388" id="illus388"></a> +<img src="images/illus388.jpg" width="478" height="650" alt="Fac-simile of Preface to "A Modern +Mephistopheles."" /> +<img src="images/illus389.jpg" width="478" height="292" alt="Fac-simile continued" /> +<p class="caption">Fac-simile of Preface to "A Modern +Mephistopheles."</p> +</div> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Saturday a.m.</span>, May 7, 1887.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Niles</span>,–Yours just come. "A Whisper" +is rather a lurid tale, but might do if I add a few lines to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">382</a></span> +the preface of "Modern Mephistopheles," saying that +this is put in to fill the volume, or to give a sample of +Jo March's necessity stories, which many girls have asked +for. Would that do?</p> + +<p>It seems to me that it would be better to wait till I +can add a new novel, and then get out the set. Meantime +let "Modern Mephistopheles" go alone, with my +name, as a summer book before Irving comes [Irving as +Faust].</p> + +<p>I hope to do "A Tragedy of To-day" this summer, +and it can come out in the fall or next spring, with +"Modern Mephistopheles," "Work," and "Moods."</p> + +<p>A spunky new one would make the old ones go. +"Hospital Sketches" is not cared for now, and is filled +up with other tales you know....</p> + +<p>Can that plan be carried out? I have begun my +tragedy, and think it will be good; also a shorter thing +called "Anna: An Episode," in which I do up Boston +in a jolly way, with a nice little surprise at the end. It +would do to fill up "Modern Mephistopheles," as it is +not long, unless I want it to be.</p> + +<p>I will come in next week and see what can be +done.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. A.</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Bond.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">Sunday</span>, Oct. 16, [1887].</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–As you and I belong to the "Shut-in +Society," we may now and then cheer each other by a +line. Your note and verse are very good to me to-day, +as I sit trying to feel all right in spite of the stiffness that +won't walk, the rebel stomach that won't work, and the +tired head that won't rest.</p> + +<p>My verse lately has been from the little poem found +under a good soldier's pillow in the hospital. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">383</a></span></p> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +I am no longer eager, bold, and strong,–<br /> +<span class="i2">All that is past;</span><br /> +I am ready not to do<br /> +<span class="i2">At last–at last.</span><br /> +My half-day's work is done,<br /> +<span class="i2">And this is all my part.</span><br /> +I give a patient God<br /> +<span class="i2">My patient heart.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>The learning not to do is so hard after being the hub +to the family wheel so long. But it is good for the energetic +ones to find that the world can get on without them, +and to learn to be still, to give up, and wait cheerfully.</p> + +<p>As we have "fell into poetry," as Silas Wegg says, I add +a bit of my own; for since you are Marmee now, I feel +that you won't laugh at my poor attempts any more than +she did, even when I burst forth at the ripe age of eight.</p> + +<p>Love to all the dear people, and light to the kind eyes +that have made sunshine for others so many years.</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Always your</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu</span>. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Bond, with first copy of "Lulu's Library," +second volume.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">October</span>, 1887.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–I always gave Mother the first author's +copy of a new book. As her representative on earth, +may I send you, with my love, the little book to come +out in November?</p> + +<p>The tales were told at sixteen to May and her playmates; +then are related to May's daughter at five; and +for the sake of these two you may care to have them for +the little people.</p> + +<p>I am still held by the leg, but seem to gain a little, +and hope to be up by and by. Slow work, but part of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">384</a></span> +the discipline I need, doubtless; so I take it as well as +I can.</p> + +<p>You and I won't be able to go to the golden wedding +of S. J. May. I have been alone so long I feel as if I'd +like to see any one, and be in the good times again. +L. W. reports you as "nicely, and sweet as an angel;" +so I rejoice, and wish I could say the same of</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Your loving</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Dodge.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">December</span> 22, 1887.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Dodge</span>,–I send you the story your assistant +editor asked for. As it is needed at once I do not +delay to copy it, for I can only write an hour a day and +do very little. You are used to my wild manuscript, and +will be able to read it. I meant to have sent the Chinese +tale, but this was nearly done, and so it goes, as it does +not matter where we begin.... I hope you are well, +and full of the peace which work well done gives the +happy doer.</p> + +<p>I mend slowly, but surely, and my good Doctor says +my best work is yet to come; so I will be content with +health if I can get it. With all good wishes,</p> + +<p class="left45">Yours affectionately,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. A.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mrs. Bond.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">February</span> 7 [1888].</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–My blessed Anna is so busy, and I +can do so little to help her, I feel as if I might take upon +me the pleasant duty of writing to you.</p> + +<p>Father is better, and we are all so grateful, for just +now we want all to be bright for our boy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">385</a></span></p> + +<p>The end is not far off, but Father rallies wonderfully +from each feeble spell, and keeps serene and happy +through everything.</p> + +<p>I don't ask to keep him now that life is a burden, and +am glad to have him go before it becomes a pain. We +shall miss the dear old white head and the feeble saint so +long our care; but as Anna says, "He will be with +Mother." So we shall be happy in the hope of that +meeting.</p> + +<p>Sunday he seemed very low, and I was allowed to +drive in and say "good-by." He knew me and smiled, +and kissed "Weedy," as he calls me, and I thought the +drowsiness and difficulty of breathing could not last long. +But he revived, got up, and seemed so much as usual, I +may be able to see him again. It is a great grief that +I am not there as I was with Lizzie and Mother, but +though much better, the shattered nerves won't bear +much yet, and quiet is my only cure.</p> + +<p>I sit alone and bless the little pair like a fond old +grandmother. You show me how to do it. With love +to all,</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Yours ever,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="section"><i>Her last note. To Mrs. Bond.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"><span class="smcap">February</span> 8, 1888.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Air</i>,–"Haste to the Wedding."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Auntie</span>,–I little knew what a sweet surprise +was in store for me when I wrote to you yesterday.</p> + +<p>As I awoke this morning my good Doctor L. came +in with the lovely azalea, her round face beaming through +the leaves like a full moon.</p> + +<p>It was very dear of you to remember me, and cheer +up my lonely day with such a beautiful guest. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">386</a></span></p> + +<p>It stands beside me on Marmee's work-table, and reminds +me tenderly of her favorite flowers; and among +those used at her funeral was a spray of this, which lasted +for two weeks afterward, opening bud after bud in the +glass on her table, where lay the dear old "Jos. May" +hymn book, and her diary with the pen shut in as she left +it when she last wrote there, three days before the end, +"The twilight is closing about me, and I am going to +rest in the arms of my children."</p> + +<p>So you see I love the delicate flower, and enjoy it very +much.</p> + +<p>I can write now, and soon hope to come out and see +you for a few minutes, as I drive out every fine day, and +go to kiss my people once a week for fifteen minutes.</p> + +<p>Slow climbing, but I don't slip back; so think up my +mercies, and sing cheerfully, as dear Marmee used to do, +"Thus far the Lord has led me on!"</p> + +<p class="left45"> +Your loving</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Lu.</span></p> +</div> +<p class="center p6"><span class="b1">CHAPTER XII.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">387</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">CONCLUSION.</p> + +<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">TO MY FATHER,</span></p> + +<p class="center s1">ON HIS EIGHTY-SIXTH BIRTHDAY.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza"> +Dear Pilgrim, waiting patiently,<br /> +<span class="i1">The long, long journey nearly done,</span><br /> +Beside the sacred stream that flows<br /> +<span class="i1">Clear shining in the western sun;</span><br /> +Look backward on the varied road<br /> +<span class="i1">Your steadfast feet have trod,</span><br /> +From youth to age, through weal and woe,<br /> +<span class="i1">Climbing forever nearer God.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Mountain and valley lie behind;<br /> +<span class="i1">The slough is crossed, the wicket passed;</span><br /> +Doubt and despair, sorrow and sin,<br /> +<span class="i1">Giant and fiend, conquered at last.</span><br /> +Neglect is changed to honor now;<br /> +<span class="i1">The heavy cross may be laid down;</span><br /> +The white head wins and wears at length<br /> +<span class="i1">The prophet's, not the martyr's, crown.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">Greatheart and Faithful gone before,<br /> +<span class="i1">Brave Christiana, Mercy sweet,</span><br /> +Are Shining Ones who stand and wait<br /> +<span class="i1">The weary wanderer to greet.</span><br /> +Patience and Love his handmaids are,<br /> +<span class="i1">And till time brings release,</span><br /> +Christian may rest in that bright room<br /> +<span class="i1">Whose windows open to the east.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza">The staff set by, the sandals off,<br /> +<span class="i1">Still pondering the precious scroll,</span><br /> +Serene and strong, he waits the call<br /> +<span class="i1">That frees and wings a happy soul.</span><br /> +Then, beautiful as when it lured<br /> +<span class="i1">The boy's aspiring eyes,</span><br /> +Before the pilgrim's longing sight<br /> +<span class="i1">Shall the Celestial City rise.</span> +</p> + +<p><i>November 29, 1885.</i><span class="i6">L. M. A.</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">388</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">M</span>ISS ALCOTT'S appearance was striking +and impressive rather than beautiful. Her +figure was tall and well-proportioned, indicating +strength and activity, and she walked with freedom +and majesty. Her head was large, and her +rich brown hair was long and luxuriant, giving a +sense of fulness and richness of life to her massive +features. While thoroughly unconventional, and +even free and easy in her manner, she had a dignity +of deportment which prevented undue liberties, +and made intruders stand in awe of her. +Generous in the extreme in serving others, she +knew her own rights, and did not allow them to +be trampled on. She repelled "the spurns that +patient merit of the unworthy takes," and had +much of the Burns spirit that sings "A man's +a man for a' that" in the presence of insolent +grandeur.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott always took her stand not for herself, +but for her family, her class, her sex. The humblest +writer should not be imposed upon in her person; +every woman should be braver and stronger from +her attitude. She was careless of outward distinctions; +but she enjoyed the attentions which her +fame brought her with simple pleasure, and was +delighted to meet bright, intelligent, distinguished +people, who added to her stores of observation and +thought. She had the rare good fortune, which an +heir of millions might envy, of living all her life in +the society of the noblest men and women. The +Emersons, the Thoreaus, the Hawthornes, and Miss +Elizabeth Peabody were the constant companions +of her childhood and youth. It was from them +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">389</a></span> +that her standard of character was formed, and she +could never enter any circle higher than that in +which she had breathed freely from a child. She +was quite capable of hero-worship, but her heroes +were few.</p> + +<p>With all her imagination and romance, Miss +Alcott was a tremendous destroyer of illusions; +she remorselessly tore them away from herself, +persisting in holding a lens before every fault and +folly of her own, and she did the same for those +she loved best. Only what was intrinsically noble +and true could stand the searching test of her +intellectual scrutiny and keen perception of the +incongruous and ridiculous.</p> + +<p>This disposition was apparent in Louisa's relation +to her father, whom she did not always fully +understand. Perhaps he had a perception of this +when he wrote–</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"I press thee to my heart, as Duty's faithful child."</p> + +<p>She had little sympathy with his speculative fancy, +and saw plainly the impracticability of his schemes, +and did not hesitate to touch with light and kindly +satire his little peculiarities; yet in her deepest +heart she gave him not only affection, but deep +reverence. She felt the nobility and grandeur of +his mind and heart. In "Little Women" the portrait +of the father is less vivid and less literal than +that of any other member of the family, and is +scarcely recognizable; but it was impossible to +make the student and idealist a part of the family +life as she painted it,–full of fun, frolic, and adventure. +In the second part she has taken pains +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">390</a></span> +to make up for this seeming neglect, and pays homage +to the quiet man at the end of the house, +whose influence was so potent and so sweet over +all within it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Alcott was a rich and noble nature, full of +zeal and impulse, daily struggling with a temper +threatening to burst out into fire, ready to fight +like a lioness for her young, or to toil for them till +Nature broke down under the burden. She had +a rich appreciation of heroism and beauty in all +noble living, a true love of literature, and an overflowing +sympathy with all suffering humanity, but +was also capable of righteous indignation and withering +contempt. To this mother, royal in her +motherhood, Louisa was bound by the closest ties +of filial love and mutual understanding. She early +believed herself to be her mother's favorite child, +knew she was close to her heart, her every struggle +watched, her every fault rebuked, every aspiration +encouraged, every effort after good recognized. I +think Louisa felt no pride in this preference. She +knew that she was dear to her mother, because +her stormy, wayward heart was best understood by +her; and hence the mother, wiser for her child than +for herself, watched her unfolding life with anxious +care. Throughout the childish journal this relation +is evident: the child's heart lies open to the mother, +and the mother can help her because she understands +her, and holds sacred every cry of her +heart.</p> + +<p>Such a loving relation to a mother–so rich, so +full, so enduring–was the greatest possible blessing +to her life. And richly did Louisa repay the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">391</a></span> +care. From her earliest years she was her mother's +confidante, friend, and comforter. Her dream of +success was not of fame and glory, but of the time +when she could bring this weary pilgrim into "that +chamber whose name is Peace," and there bid her +sit with folded hands, listening to the loving voices +of her children, and drinking in the fulness of life +without care or anxiety.</p> + +<p>And it all came true, like the conclusion of a +fairy story; for good fairies had been busy at +work for many years preparing the way. Who +that saw that mother resting from her labors, +proud in her children's success, happy in her +husband's contentment, and in the love that had +never faltered in the darkest days, can ever forget +the peace of her countenance, the loving joy of +her heart?</p> + +<p>The relation of Miss Alcott to her older sister +was of entire trust and confidence. Anna inherited +the serene, unexacting temper of her father, +with much of the loving warmth of her mother. +She loved to hide behind her gifted sister, and +to keep the ingle-side warm for her to retreat to +when she was cold and weary. Anna's fine intellectual +powers were shown more in the appreciation +of others than in the expression of herself; +her dramatic skill and her lively fancy, combined +with her affection for Louisa, made her always +ready to second all the plans for entertainment or +benevolence. She appears in her true light in the +sweet, lovable Meg of "Little Women;" and if +she never had the fame and pecuniary success of +her sister, she had the less rare, but equally satisfying, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">392</a></span> +happiness of wifehood and motherhood. +And thus she repaid to Louisa what she had so +generously done for the family, by giving her new +objects of affection, and connecting her with a +younger generation.</p> + +<p>Louisa was always very fond of boys, and the +difference of nature gave her an insight into their +trials and difficulties without giving her a painful +sense of her own hard struggles. In her nephews +she found objects for all her wise and tender care, +which they repaid with devoted affection. When +boys became men, "they were less interesting to +her; she could not understand them."</p> + +<p>Elizabeth was unlike the other sisters. Retiring +in disposition, she would gladly have ever lived in +the privacy of home, her only desire being for +the music that she loved. The father's ideality +was in her a tender religious feeling; the mother's +passionate impulse, a self-abnegating affection. +She was in the family circle what she is in the +book,–a strain of sweet, sad music we long and +love to hear, and yet which almost breaks the +heart with its forecasting of separation. She was +very dear to both the father and mother, and the +picture of the father watching all night by the +marble remains of his child is very touching. He +might well say,–</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"Ah, me! life is not life deprived of thee."</p> + +<p>Of the youngest of all,–bright, sparkling, capricious +May,–quick in temper, quick in repentance, +affectionate and generous, but full of her own plans, +and quite inclined to have the world go on according +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">393</a></span> +to her fancies,–I have spoken elsewhere. +Less profound in her intellectual and religious +nature than either of her sisters, she was like a +nymph of Nature, full of friendly sportiveness, and +disposed to live out her own life, since it might +be only a brief summer day. She was Anna's +special child, and Louisa was not always so patient +with her as the older sister; yet how well Louisa +understood her generous nature is shown by the +beautiful sketch she has made of her in "Little +Women." She was called the lucky one of the +family, and she reaped the benefit of her generous +sister's labors in her opportunities of education.</p> + +<p>Miss Alcott's literary work is so closely interwoven +with her personal life that it needs little +separate mention. Literature was undoubtedly her +true pursuit, and she loved and honored it. That +she had her ambitious longings for higher forms +of art than the pleasant stories for children is evident +from her journals, and she twice attempted +to paint the life of mature men and women struggling +with great difficulties. In "Moods" and +"A Modern Mephistopheles" we have proof of +her interest in difficult subjects. I have spoken +of them in connection with her life; but while +they evince great power, and if standing alone +would have stamped her as an author of original +observation and keen thought, they can hardly be +considered as thoroughly successful, and certainly +have not won the sanction of the public like "Hospital +Sketches" and "Little Women." Could she +ever have commanded quiet leisure, with a tolerable +degree of health, she might have wrought her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">394</a></span> +fancies into a finer fabric, and achieved the success +she aimed at.</p> + +<p>Much as Miss Alcott loved literature, it was not +an end in itself to her, but a means. Her heart was +so bound up in her family,–she felt it so fully to +be her sacred mission to provide for their wants,–that +she sacrificed to it all ambitious dreams, +health, leisure,–everything but her integrity of +soul. But as "he that loseth his life shall find it," +she has undoubtedly achieved a really greater work +than if she had not had this constant stimulus to +exertion. In her own line of work she is unsurpassed. +While she paints in broad, free strokes +the life of her own day, represented mostly by +children and young people, she has always a +high moral purpose, which gives strength and +sweetness to the delineation; yet one never hears +children complain of her moralizing,–it is events +that reveal the lesson she would enforce. Her +own deep nature shines through all the experiences +of her characters, and impresses upon +the children's hearts a sense of reality and truth. +She charms them, wisely, to love the common +virtues of truth, unselfishness, kindness, industry, +and honesty. Dr. Johnson said children did not +want to hear about themselves, but about giants +and fairies; but while Miss Alcott could weave +fairy fancies for them, they are quite as pleased +with her real boys and girls in the plainest of +costumes.</p> + +<p>An especial merit of these books for young boys +and girls is their purity of feeling. The family +affection which was so predominant in the author's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">395</a></span> +own life, always appears as the holiest and sweetest +phase of human nature. She does not refuse to +paint the innocent love and the happy marriage +which it is natural for every young heart to be interested +in, but it is in tender, modest colors. She +does not make it the master and tyrant of the soul, +nor does she ever connect it with sensual imagery; +but it appears as one of "God's holy ordinances,"–natural +and beautiful,–and is not separated +from the thought of work and duty and self-sacrifice +for others. No mother fears that her +books will brush the bloom of modesty from the +faces of her young men or maidens.</p> + +<p>Even in the stories of her early period of work +for money, which she wisely renounced as trash, +while there is much that is thoroughly worthless as +art, and little that has any value, Miss Alcott never +falls into grossness of thought or baseness of feeling. +She is sentimental, melodramatic, exaggerated, and +unreal in her descriptions, but the stories leave no +taint of evil behind them. Two of these stories, +"The Baron's Gloves" and "A Whisper in the +Dark," have been included in her published works, +with her permission. Her friends are disposed to +regret this, as they do not add to her reputation; +but at least they serve to show the quality of work +which she condemned so severely, and to satisfy +the curiosity of readers in regard to it. It would +be easy to point out defects in her style, and in +some of her books there is evidence of the enforced +drudgery of production, instead of the spontaneous +flow of thought. The most serious defect is in +her style of expression, which certainly passes the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">396</a></span> +fine line between colloquial ease and slang; it +is her own natural, peculiar style, which appears +in her journals and letters. That it is attractive to +children is certain, but it offends the taste of those +who love purity and elegance of speech. It does +not appear in Louisa's more ambitious novels; here +she sometimes falls into the opposite extreme of +labored and stilted expression. But much of these +books is written in a pure and beautiful style, showing +that she could have united ease with elegance +if she had not so constantly worked at high speed +and with little revision. She was a great admirer +of Dickens's writings; and although she has never +imitated him, she was perhaps strengthened in +her habit of using dashing, expressive language by +so fascinating a model.</p> + +<p>I have placed at the head of each chapter one +of Miss Alcott's own poems, usually written at the +period of which the chapter treats, and characteristic +of her life at that time. Her first literary essay was +the "Little Robin." But although her fond mother +saw the future of a great poet in these simple verses, +Louisa never claimed the title for herself. Her +thoughts ran often into rhyme, and she sent many +birthday and Christmas verses to her friends and +especially to her father. They are usually playful. +She always wrote to express some feeling of the +hour, and I find no objective or descriptive poetry. +But a few of her sacred poems, for we may certainly +call them so, are very tender and beautiful, +and deserve a permanent place among the poems +of feeling,–those few poems which a true heart +writes for itself. "Thoreau's Flute" was originally +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">397</a></span> +published in the "Atlantic Monthly." It is the +least personal of her poems. The lines to her +father on his eighty-sixth birthday, the verses +dedicated to her mother, and "My Prayer," the +last poem that she wrote, breathe her deepest +religious feeling in sweet and fitting strains. They +will speak to the hearts of many in the hours +of trial which are common to humanity. The +long playful poem called "The Lay of the Golden +Goose" was sent home from Europe as an answer +to many questions from her admirers and +demands for new stories. It has never been published, +and is an interesting specimen of her playful +rhyming.</p> + +<p>While to Miss Alcott cannot be accorded a high +rank as a poet,–which, indeed, she never claimed +for herself,–it would be hard to deny a place in +our most select anthology to "Thoreau's Flute" or +"Transfiguration," the "Lines to my Father on his +Eighty-sixth Birthday" and "My Prayer." I have +therefore thought it well to preserve her best poems +in connection with her life, where they properly +belong; for they are all truly autobiographical, revealing +the inner meaning of her life.</p> + +<p>The pecuniary success of Miss Alcott's books +enabled her to carry out her great purpose of providing +for the comfort and happiness of her family. +After the publication of "Little Women," she not +only received a handsome sum for every new story, +but there was a steady income from the old ones. +Her American publishers estimate that they "have +sold of her various works a million volumes, and +that she realized from them more than two hundred +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">398</a></span> +thousand dollars." While her own tastes +were very simple, her expenses were large, for she +longed to gratify every wish of those she loved, and +she gave generously to every one in need. She +had a true sense of the value of money. Her early +poverty did not make her close in expending it, +nor her later success lavish. She never was enslaved +by debt or corrupted by wealth. She always +held herself superior to her fortune, and +made her means serve her highest purposes.</p> + +<p>Of Miss Alcott's own reading she says:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"Never a student, but a great reader. R. W. E. +gave me Goethe's works at fifteen, and they have been +my delight ever since. My library consists of Goethe, +Emerson, Shakespeare, Carlyle, Margaret Fuller, and +George Sand. George Eliot I don't care for, nor any of +the modern poets but Whittier; the old ones–Herbert, +Crashaw, Keats, Coleridge, Dante, and a few others–I +like." +</p> +</div> + +<p>She gives this account of the beginning of her +literary career:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"This gem ['The Robin'] my proud mother preserved +with care, assuring me that if I kept on in this way I +might be a second Shakespeare in time. Fired with this +modest ambition, I continued to write poems upon dead +butterflies, lost kittens, the baby's eyes, and other simple +subjects till the story-telling mania set in; and after +frightening my sisters out of their wits by awful tales +whispered in bed, I began to write down these histories +of giants, ogres, dauntless girls, and magic transformations +till we had a library of small paper-covered volumes illustrated +by the author. Later the poems grew gloomy and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">399</a></span> +sentimental, and the tales more fanciful and less tragic, +lovely elves and spirits taking the places of the former +monsters." +</p> +</div> + +<p>Of her method of work she says:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"I never had a study. Any pen and paper do, and an +old atlas on my knee is all I want. Carry a dozen plots +in my head, and think them over when in the mood. +Sometimes keep one for years, and suddenly find it all +ready to write. Often lie awake and plan whole chapters +word for word, then merely scribble them down as if +copying.</p> + +<p>"Used to sit fourteen hours a day at one time, eating +little, and unable to stir till a certain amount was +done.</p> + +<p>"Very few stories written in Concord; no inspiration +in that dull place. Go to Boston, hire a quiet room and +shut myself up in it." +</p> +</div> + +<p>The following letter gives her advice to young +writers:–</p> + +<p class="section"><i>To Mr. J. P. True.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Concord</span>, October 24.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir,</span>–I never copy or "polish," so I have no +old manuscripts to send you; and if I had it would be of +little use, for one person's method is no rule for another. +Each must work in his own way; and the only drill needed +is to keep writing and profit by criticism. Mind grammar, +spelling, and punctuation, use short words, and express +as briefly as you can your meaning. Young people +use too many adjectives and try to "write fine." The +strongest, simplest words are best, and no <i>foreign</i> ones +if it can be helped. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">400</a></span></p> + +<p>Write, and print if you can; if not, still write, and improve +as you go on. Read the best books, and they +will improve your style. See and hear good speakers +and wise people, and learn of them. Work for twenty +years, and then you may some day find that you have a +style and place of your own, and can command good pay +for the same things no one would take when you were +unknown.</p> + +<p>I know little of poetry, as I never read modern attempts, +but advise any young person to keep to prose, as only +once in a century is there a true poet; and verses are so +easy to do that it is not much help to write them. I +have so many letters like your own that I can say no +more, but wish you success, and give you for a motto +Michael Angelo's wise words: "Genius is infinite +patience."</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Your friend,</p> +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">L. M. Alcott</span>.</p> + +<p>P. S.–The lines you send are better than many I +see; but boys of nineteen cannot know much about +hearts, and had better write of things they understand. +Sentiment is apt to become sentimentality; and sense is +always safer, as well as better drill, for young fancies and +feelings.</p> + +<p>Read Ralph Waldo Emerson, and see what good prose +is, and some of the best poetry we have. I much prefer +him to Longfellow. +</p> +</div> + +<p>"Years afterward," says Mr. True, "when I had +achieved some slight success, I once more wrote, +thanking her for her advice; and the following +letter shows the kindliness of heart with which she +extended ready recognition and encouragement +to lesser workers in her chosen field:"– +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">401</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="letter"> +<span class="smcap">Concord</span>, Sept. 7, 1883.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Mr. True</span>,–Thanks for the pretty book, +which I read at once and with pleasure; for I still enjoy +boys' pranks as much as ever.</p> + +<p>I don't remember the advice I gave you, and should +judge from this your first story that you did not need +much. Your boys are real boys; and the girls can run,–which +is a rare accomplishment nowadays I find. +They are not sentimental either; and that is a good example +to set both your brother writers and the lasses who +read the book.</p> + +<p>I heartily wish you success in your chosen work, and +shall always be glad to know how fast and how far you +climb on the steep road that leads to fame and fortune.</p> + +<p class="left65"> +Yours truly,</p> +<p class="sig">L. M. Alcott.</p> +</div> + +<p>Roberts Brothers, Miss Alcott's publishers for +nearly twenty years, have collected all her stories +in a uniform edition of twenty-five volumes. They +are grouped into different series according to size +and character, from her novels to "Lulu's Library" +for very small children, and may be enumerated as +follows:–</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Novels</i> (four volumes).–Work, Moods, A Modern +Mephistopheles, Hospital Sketches.</p> + +<p><i>Little Women Series</i> (eight volumes).–Little Women, +An Old-Fashioned Girl, Little Men, Eight Cousins, Rose +in Bloom, Under the Lilacs, Jack and Jill, Jo's Boys.</p> + +<p><i>Spinning-Wheel Stories Series</i> (four volumes).–Silver +Pitchers, Proverb Stories, Spinning-Wheel Stories, A Garland +for Girls.</p> + +<p><i>Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag</i> (six volumes).–My Boys, Shawl-Straps, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">402</a></span> +Cupid and Chow-Chow, My Girls, Jimmy's Cruise +in the Pinafore, An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving.</p> + +<p><i>Lulu's Library</i> (three volumes). +</p> + +<p class="p2">Many of these stories were originally published +in various magazines,–the popular "St Nicholas," +for which Miss Alcott wrote some of her best +things in her later years, the "Youth's Companion," +and others. Her works have been republished +in England; and through her English +publishers, Messrs. Sampson Low and Company, +of London, she has reaped the benefit of copyright +there, and they have been translated into many +languages. Her name is familiar and dear to the +children of Europe, and they still read her books +with the same eagerness as the children of her +own land.</p> + +<p>This extract from a letter written by the translator +of Miss Alcott's books into Dutch will show +how she is esteemed in Holland:–</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"Miss Alcott was and is so much beloved here by her +books, that you could scarce find a girl that had not read +one or more of them. Last autumn I gave a translation of +'Lulu's Library' that appeared in November, 1887; +the year before, a collection of tales and Christmas stories +that appeared under the name of 'Gandsbloempje' +('Dandelion'). Yesterday a young niece of mine was +here, and said, 'Oh, Aunt, how I enjoyed those stories! +but the former of "Meh Meh" I still preferred.' A +friend wrote: 'My children are confined to the sickroom, +but find comfort in Alcott's "Under the Lilacs."' +Her fame here was chiefly caused by her 'Little Women' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">403</a></span> +and 'Little Women Wedded,' which in Dutch were called +'Under Moedervleugels' ('Under Mother's Wings') +and 'Op Eigen Wieken' ('With Their Own Wings'). +Her 'Work' was translated as 'De Hand van den +Ploey' ('The Hand on the Plough')." +</p> +</div> + +<p>How enduring the fame of Louisa M. Alcott will +be, time only can show; but if to endear oneself +to two generations of children, and to mould their +minds by wise counsel in attractive form entitle +an author to the lasting gratitude of her country, +that praise and reward belong to <span class="smcap">Louisa May +Alcott</span>.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p class="i3">TERMINUS.</p> + +<p> +It is time to be old,<br /> +To take in sail:<br /> +The god of bounds,<br /> +Who sets to seas a shore,<br /> +Came to me in his fatal rounds,<br /> +And said, "No more!<br /> +No farther shoot<br /> +Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root;<br /> +Fancy departs: no more invent,<br /> +Contract thy firmament<br /> +To compass of a tent.<br /> +There's not enough for this and that,<br /> +Make thy option which of two;<br /> +Economize the failing river,<br /> +Not the less revere the Giver;<br /> +Leave the many, and hold the few.<br /> +Timely wise, accept the terms;<br /> +Soften the fall with wary foot;<br /> +A little while<br /> +Still plan and smile. +And, fault of novel germs,<br /> +Mature the unfallen fruit."</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">404</a></span><br /></p> + +<hr class="l15" /> +<div class="poem"> +<p>As the bird trims her to the gale,<br /> +I trim myself to the storm of time;<br /> +I man the rudder, reef the sail,<br /> +Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime:<br /> +Lowly faithful, banish fear,<br /> +Right onward drive unharmed;<br /> +The port, well worth the cruise, is near,<br /> +And every wave is charmed.</p> + +<p class="i10"> +<span class="smcap">Emerson</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p6 center b2">LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S WRITINGS.</p> +<hr class="l15" /> +<p><i>Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of households.</i>–H. H.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and feelings of children +that is conspicuously wanting in most writers who address them; and to this +cause, to the consciousness among her readers that they are hearing about +people like themselves, instead of abstract qualities labelled with names, the +popularity of her books is due.</i>–<span class="smcap">Mrs. Sarah J. Hale.</span></p> + +<p><i>Dear Aunt Jo! You are embalmed in the thoughts and loves of thousands +of little men and women.</i>–<span class="smcap">Exchange.</span></p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="2" summary="writings"> +<col width="300" /> +<col width="20" /> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Little Women; or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.</b></span> +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr">$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Hospital Sketches, and Camp and Fireside Stories.</b></span> +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr">1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>An Old-Fashioned Girl.</b></span> +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr">1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Little Men:</b></span> Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys. +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr">1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Jo's Boys and How they Turned Out.</b></span> A sequel to "Little Men." +With portrait of "Aunt Jo." 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Eight Cousins</b></span>; or, The Aunt-Hill. +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Rose in Bloom.</b></span> A sequel to "Eight Cousins." +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Under the Lilacs.</b></span> +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Jack and Jill.</b></span> A Village Story. +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Work:</b></span> A Story of Experience. +With character illustrations by Sol Eytinge. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Moods.</b></span> A Novel. +New edition, revised and enlarged. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark.</b></span> +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Silver Pitchers, and Independence.</b></span> A Centennial Love Story. +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Proverb Stories.</b></span> +New edition, revised and enlarged. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Spinning-Wheel Stories.</b></span> +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>A Garland for Girls, and Other Stories.</b></span> +With illustrations. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>My Boys, &c.</b></span> First volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Shawl-Straps.</b></span> Second volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Cupid and Chow-Chow, &c.</b></span> Third volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>My Girls, &c.</b></span> Fourth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &c.</b></span> +Fifth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, &c.</b></span> +Sixth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr"> 1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Little Women.</b></span> Illustrated. Embellished +with nearly 200 characteristic +illustrations from original +designs drawn expressly for this +edition of this noted American +Classic. One small quarto, bound +in cloth, with emblematic designs</td> +<td class="tdr">2.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Little Women Series.</b></span> Comprising +Little Women; Little Men; +Eight Cousins; Under the Lilacs; +An Old-Fashioned Girl; Jo's +Boys; Rose in Bloom; Jack and +Jill. 8 large 16mo +volumes in a +handsome box</td> +<td class="tdr">12.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1">Miss</span> Alcott's novels in uniform binding +in sets. Moods; Work; Hospital +Sketches; A Modern Mephistopheles, +and A Whisper in the +Dark. 4 volumes. 16mo</td> +<td class="tdr">6.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="o1"><b>Lulu's Library.</b></span> Vols. I., II., III. +A collection of New Stories. +16mo</td> +<td class="tdr">3.00</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><i>These books are for sale at all bookstores, or will be mailed, post-paid, on +receipt of price, to any address.</i></p> + +<p class="p2 center">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="smcap left25">Boston.</span></p> + +<p class="center b2 p6">LOUISA M. ALCOTT,</p> + +<p class="center b1">HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND JOURNALS</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Edited by EDNAH D. CHENEY.</span></p> + +<p class="center">With <span class="smcap">Portraits</span> and View of the <span class="smcap">Alcott Home</span> in Concord.<br /> +One vol. 16mo. Uniform with "Little Women."<br /> +Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cheney has allowed this popular author to tell the story of her early +struggles, her successes, and prosperity and life work, in her own inimitable style, +gracefully weaving the daily record of this sweet and useful life into a garland of +<i>immortelles</i>, in a manner at once pleasing and within the comprehension of the +thousands of readers and admirers of Miss Alcott's books. It might truly be +called the biography of "Little Women."</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +A most fascinating as well as a deeply pathetic book. The story,–the long, hard +struggle for money to keep the household in comfort, and the well-earned success coming, +alas, too late to save her health,–is delightfully told in her own words, from letters and +journals, so that we have the bright, the witty, and the always charming personality of the +children's author before us from the first page to the last. We have to thank Mrs. Cheney +that she hid not from us the hard, grinding toil, nor spared us the record of one discouragement +in the life so interesting to us; for in this narrative we have a valuable lesson +for the young writer of our day.–<i>The Epoch.</i></p> + +<p>One who knew Miss Alcott well says: "Nobody can read of the struggles of the +Alcott family, and of the tender yet resolute heroism with which Miss Alcott met and +relieved them, without being touched to tears by the pathos and reality of the picture. +Louisa Alcott was not a member of any church; but her belief in God, her loyalty to conscience, +her fidelity to duty, her rescue of the Alcott family from its peculiar perils, place +her among the women saints of the century, and it will be hard to find any one of her sex +who has more faithfully responded to the duties of the position in which God had placed +her."–<i>Cincinnati Commercial Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>Louisa May Alcott is without a rival as a writer for the young. The millions who have +read her stories–and been made better by the reading–will want this book that they may +get near the inner life, the fruitful source of their entertainment and profit. They will see +that purity, simplicity, love, earnestness, and patience were so interwoven with her genius +that her stories were the natural outgrowth of her beautiful character. The book needs +no commendation from us. Every reader of her stories will be glad to know that they +may now become intimately acquainted with that beautiful life which is here brought out +of its long cherished seclusion.–<i>Saturday Evening Herald.</i> +</p> +</div> +<hr class="l15" /> +<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="left25 smcap">BOSTON.</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter p6"> +<img src="images/illus415.jpg" width="488" height="650" alt=""Sing, Tessa, Sing!" cried Tommo." /> +<p class="caption">"Sing, Tessa, Sing!" cried Tommo, twanging away with all his might.–Page 47.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="o1">AUNT</span> JO'S SCRAP-BAG: Containing "My Boys," +"Shawl-Straps," "Cupid and Chow-Chow," "My Girls," "Jimmy's +Cruise in the Pinafore," "An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving." 6 vols. +Price of each, $1.00.</p> + +<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="smcap left25">BOSTON.</span></p> + +<p class="center b1 p6">LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S STORY-BOOKS.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus416.jpg" width="591" height="650" alt="A CHRISTMAS DREAM." /> +<p class="caption">A CHRISTMAS DREAM.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p class="center b1">LULU'S LIBRARY.</p> + +<p class="center">A COLLECTION OF STORIES BY "AUNT JO"</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">JESSIE MCDERMOTT</span>.</p> + +<p class="center s1">3 vols. 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00 per volume.</p> +<hr class="l15" /> +<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="smcap left25">BOSTON.</span></p> + +<p class="center b1 p6">NOVELS AND STORIES</p> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center b1">LOUISA M. ALCOTT.</p> + +<p><span class="o1">WORK.</span> A Story of Experience. With Illustrations by +<span class="smcap">Sol Eytinge</span>.</p> + +<p class="i2"> +This story relates, in many of its most important features and +incidents, to actual experiences of its author; and in "Christie" +we find the views and ideas of Miss Alcott herself expressed in +such a way as to make them most interesting and valuable. +</p> + +<p><span class="o1">MOODS.</span> A Novel.</p> + +<p class="i2"> +Although this story was originally written at a time when its +author's powers and years were far from fully matured, it was in +its first form indicative of great power. It was revised and partly +rewritten after she had attained a full maturity, and after actual +experience with life had broadened and rounded out her mental +vision, so that it now stands as the first-born and dearest to her +heart of her novels. +</p> + +<p><span class="o1">A</span> MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES. A Story.</p> + +<p class="i2"> +This story was written for the "No Name Series," in which it +originally appeared, and consequently was intended to be disguised</p> + +<p class="i2"> +It is a surprise that Miss Alcott could have written this volume; not that it is +inferior, but that it varies from her usual tone and theme so much. Yet her plot +is ingenious, and there is dramatic design well worked out. As we read, knowing +now who the author is (the story was first published anonymously), we recognize +the grace of her style and the art of her workmanship. Its tone and, above all, +its lofty moral purpose are hers. Plots differ, appearances are changed; but some +of the deep traits of the true nature of Miss Alcott are in the book. Being dead +she yet liveth.–<i>Public Opinion</i>. +</p> + +<p><span class="o1">HOSPITAL</span> SKETCHES, and Camp and Fireside Stories. +With Illustrations.</p> + +<p class="i2"> +These stories and sketches were written at the time of the Civil +War, in which the author took part as a nurse in one of the hospitals, +and show some of the many minor side scenes that help to +make up that great conflict. +</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> +<p class="center">Four volumes. 16mo. Cloth. $1.50 per volume.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Sold everywhere. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price by the publishers,</i></p> + +<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="smcap left25">Boston.</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter p6"> +<img src="images/illus418.jpg" width="650" height="438" alt=""'I'm not hurt, all right in a minute" /> +<p class="caption">"'I'm not hurt, all right in a minute,' he said, sitting up, a little pale and dizzy, as the boys gathered round him, +full of admiration and alarm."–Page 2</p> +</div> + +<p class="center">LITTLE MEN; <span class="smcap">Or, Life at Plumfield with Jo's +Boys</span>.</p> +<p class="center">Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p class="center">LITTLE BROWN, AND COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="smcap left25">Boston.</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter p6"> +<img src="images/illus419.jpg" width="489" height="650" alt="WALTON RICKETSON, SCULP." /> +<p class="caption">WALTON RICKETSON, SCULP.</p> +</div> + +<p>JO'S BOYS, AND HOW THEY TURNED OUT. A +sequel to "Little Men." With a new portrait of "Aunt +Jo." Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p class="center">Little, Brown, and Company,<br /> +<span class="smcap left25">Boston.</span></p> + +<p class="center p6 b1">POPULAR STORY BOOKS.</p> +<hr class="l15" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Susan Coolidge</span> has always possessed the affection of her young readers, +for it seems as if she had the happy instinct of planning stories that each girl +would like to act out in reality.–<i>The Critic.</i></p> + +<p>Not even Miss Alcott apprehends child nature with finer sympathy, or pictures +its nobler traits with more skill.–<i>Boston Daily Advertiser.</i> +</p> +</div> +<hr class="l15" /> +<p><b><span class="o1">THE</span> NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN.</b> A Christmas Story for +Children. With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Addie Ledyard</span>. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">WHAT</span> KATY DID.</b> A Story. With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Addie +Ledyard</span>. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">WHAT</span> KATY DID AT SCHOOL.</b> Being more about +"What Katy Did." With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">MISCHIEF'S</span> THANKSGIVING,</b> and other Stories. With +Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Addie Ledyard</span>. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">NINE</span> LITTLE GOSLINGS.</b> With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">J. A. +Mitchell</span>. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">EYEBRIGHT</span>.</b> A Story. With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">CROSS</span> PATCH.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">A</span> ROUND DOZEN.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">A</span> LITTLE COUNTRY GIRL.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">WHAT</span> KATY DID NEXT.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">CLOVER</span>.</b> A Sequel to the Katy Books. With Illustrations by +<span class="smcap">Jessie Mcdermott</span>. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">JUST</span> SIXTEEN.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">IN</span> THE HIGH VALLEY.</b> With Illustrations, 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">A</span> GUERNSEY LILY</b>; or, How the Feud was Healed. A +Story of the Channel Islands. Profusely Illustrated. 16mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">THE</span> BARBERRY BUSH,</b> and Seven Other Stories about +Girls for Girls. With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Jessie Mcdermott</span>. +16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b><span class="o1">NOT</span> QUITE EIGHTEEN.</b> A volume of Stories. With +Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Jessie Mcdermott</span>. 16mo. $1.25.</p> +<hr class="l15" /> +<p><i>Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, by +the publishers.</i></p> + +<div class="footnotes p6"> +<p class="center b1">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> For further particulars of the Alcott genealogy, see "New +Connecticut," a poem by A. B. Alcott, published in 1887. I am +also indebted to Mr. F. B. Sanborn's valuable paper read at the +memorial service at Concord in 1888.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> For particulars of the genealogy of the May families, see +"A Genealogy of the Descendants of John May," who came from +England to Roxbury in America, 1640.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> For the Sewall family, see "Drake's History of Boston," or +fuller accounts in the Sewall Papers published by the Massachusetts +Historical Society.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Written at eight years of age.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Emerson in Concord. By Edward Waldo Emerson.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> "Philothea" was the delight of girls. The young Alcotts +made a dramatic version of it, which they acted under the trees. +Louisa made a magnificent Aspasia, which was a part much to her +fancy. Mrs. Child was a very dear friend of Mrs. Alcott, and her +daughters knew her well.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> A fine bas-relief owned by Mr. Emerson.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Betsey Prig was a pet name for her sister, as she herself was +Sairey Gamp.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> This was a family joke as Mrs. Alcott always ended her instructions +to her children "in case of fire."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> This is the poem prefixed to the chapter.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> See Shawl Straps, p. 179.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> This poem was first published anonymously in "The Masque +of Poets," in 1878.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> In Spinning-Wheel Stories.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Under the Lilacs.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Under the Lilacs, page 78.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Gardener's Daughter.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> This interesting picture is in the possession of her sister.</p></div> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISA MAY ALCOTT ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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