AUTHORSHIP.
OUR ANGEL IN THE HOUSE.
Sitting patient in the shadow
Till the blessed light shall come,
A serene and saintly presence
Sanctifies our troubled home.
Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows
Break like ripples on the strand
Of the deep and solemn river,
Where her willing feet now stand.
O my sister, passing from me
Out of human care and strife,
Leave me as a gift those virtues
Which have beautified your life.
Dear, bequeath me that great patience
Which has power to sustain
A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit
In its prison-house of pain.
Give me--for I need it sorely--
Of that courage, wise and sweet,
Which has made the path of duty
Green beneath your willing feet.
Give me that unselfish nature
That with charity divine
Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake,--
Meek heart, forgive me mine!
Thus our parting daily loseth
Something of its bitter pain,
And while learning this hard lesson
My great loss becomes my gain;
For the touch of grief will render
My wild nature more serene,
Give to life new aspirations,
A new trust in the unseen.
Henceforth safe across the river
I shall see forevermore
A beloved household spirit
Waiting for me on the shore;
Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,
Guardian angels shall become;
And the sister gone before me
By their hands shall lead me home.
When 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.
The following letter to her mother shows how closely she associated
her with this early success:--
20 PINCKNEY STREET, BOSTON, Dec. 25, 1854. (With "Flower
Fables,")
DEAR MOTHER,--Into your Christmas stocking I have put my
"first-born," knowing that you will accept 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.
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.
Jo is fussing about;
My lamp is going out.
To dear mother, with many kind wishes for a happy New Year and
merry Christmas.
I am ever your loving daughter
LOUY.
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 _ink_ on poems
and fancies," but planned stories, that everything might help toward
her great object of earning support for her family.
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, 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.
_Journal._
_Twenty-two Years Old._
PINCKNEY STREET, BOSTON, _Jan._ 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.
I will put in some of the notices as "varieties." Mothers are
always foolish over their first-born.
Miss Wealthy Stevens paid for the book, and I received $32.
[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.--L. M. A., 1886.]
_April_, 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.
[Jo in the garret.--L. M. A.]
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 _live_, and have no time for sentimental
musing.
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.
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.
In February I wrote a story for which C. paid $5, and asked for
more.
In March I wrote a farce for W. Warren, and Dr. W. offered it to
him; but W. W. was too busy.
Also began another tale, but found little time to work on it,
with school, sewing, and house-work. My winter's earnings are,--
School, one quarter $50
Sewing $50
Stories $20
if I am ever paid.
A busy and a pleasant winter, because, though hard at times, I do
seem to be getting on a little; and that encourages me.
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.
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."
I have planned another Christmas book, and hope to be able to
write it.
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.
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.
_May._--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.
[I wonder if $40 fitted up the whole family. Perhaps so, as my
wardrobe was made up of old clothes from cousins and friends.--L.
M. A.]
WALPOLE, N. H., _June, 1855_.--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.
Helped cousin L. in her garden; and the smell of the fresh earth
and the touch of green leaves did me good.
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.
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 A.M., driving in P.M., and fun in eve. My visit
is doing me much good.
_July, 1855._--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.
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.
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.
_October._--A. to Syracuse. May illustrated my book, and tales
called "Christmas Elves." Better than "Flower Fables." Now I must
try to sell it.
[Innocent Louisa, to think that a Christmas book could be sold in
October.--L. M. A.]
_November._--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.
[My birth-month; always to be a memorable one.--L. M. A.]
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.
_December._--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.
_January, 1856._--C. paid $6 for "A Sister's Trial," gave me more
books to notice, and wants more tales.
[Should think he would at that price.--L. M. A.]
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.
Heard Curtis lecture. Began a book for summer,--"Beach Bubbles."
Mr. F. of the "Courier" printed a poem of mine on "Little Nell."
Got $10 for "Bertha," and saw great yellow placards stuck up
announcing it. Acted at the W.'s.
_March._--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.
Sewing won't make my fortune; but I can plan my stories while I
work, and then scribble 'em down on Sundays.
Poem on "Little Paul;" Curtis's lecture on "Dickens" made it go
well. Hear Emerson on "England."
_May._--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.
_June, 1856._--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.
[L. never recovered, but died of it two years later.--L. M. A.]
An anxious time. I nursed, did house-work, and wrote a story a
month through the summer.
Dr. Bellows and Father had Sunday eve conversations.
_October._--Pleasant letters from Father, who went on a tour to
N. Y., Philadelphia, and Boston.
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 _may_ come out, and Mrs.
R. will give me a sky-parlor for $3 a week, with fire and board.
I sew for her also.
If I can get A. L. to governess I shall be all right.
I was born with a boy's spirit under my bib and tucker. I _can't
wait_ when I _can work_; so I took my little talent in my hand
and forced the world again, braver than before and wiser for my
failures.
[Jo in N. Y.--L. M. A.]
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.
_Journal._
BOSTON, _November, 1856_. _Mrs. David Reed's._--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.
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.
_November 3d._--Wrote all the morning. In the P.M. 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.
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.
_November 5th._--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.
_November 6th._--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.
Walked to Roxbury to see cousin Dr. W. about the play and tell
the fine news. Rode home in the new cars, and found them very
nice.
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.
_Sunday._--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!
Had a talk at tea about him, and fought for him when W. R. said
he was not a Christian. He is my _sort_; 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.
_Monday, 14th._--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.
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.
_November 29th._--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 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.
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.
_December._--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.
Wrote a story, "The Cross on the Church Tower," suggested by the
tower before my window.
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.
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.
_December 18th._--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.
_To her Father, written from Mrs. Reed's._
BOSTON, Nov. 29, 1856.
DEAREST FATHER,--Your little parcel was very welcome to me as I
sat alone in my room, with snow falling 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.
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.
* * * * *
I am very well and very happy. Things go smoothly, and I think I
shall come out right, and prove that though an _Alcott_ I _can_
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.
My farce is in the hands of Mrs. W. H. Smith, who 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.
In the afternoons I walk and visit my hundred relations, who are
all kind and friendly, and seem interested in our various
successes.
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.
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.
Good-by, and a happy birthday from your ever loving child,
LOUISA.
_Journal._
_Twenty-four Years Old._
_January, 1857._--Had my first new silk dress from good little L.
W.,--very fine; and I felt as if all the Hancocks and Quincys
beheld me as I went to two parties in it on New Year's eve.
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.
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.
Sent by him a good bundle to the poor Forlornites among the
ten-foot drifts in W.
_February._--Ran home as a valentine on the 14th.
_March._--Have several irons in the fire now, and try to keep 'em
all hot.
_April._--May did a crayon head of Mother with Mrs. Murdock; very
good likeness. All of us as proud as peacocks of our "little
Raphael."
Heard Mrs. Butler read; very fine.
_May._--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.
Father had three talks at W. F. Channing's. Good
company,--Emerson, Mrs. Howe, and the rest.
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.
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.
_June._--All happy together. My dear Nan was with me, and we had
good times. Betty was feeble, but 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.
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.
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.
[Illustration: ORCHARD HOUSE, CONCORD, MASS. Home of the Alcott
Family, 1858.]
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, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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."
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.
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. "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.
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.
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."
_Journal._
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.
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.
_July._--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.
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.
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.
_August._--A sad, anxious month. Betty worse; Mother 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.
_September._--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.
_October._--Move to Concord. Take half a house in town till
spring, when the old one is to be made ready.
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.
People kind and friendly, and the old place looks pleasant,
though I never want to live in it.
_November._--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.
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.
_December._--Some fine plays for charity.
_January, 1858._--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
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."
[Jo and Beth.--L. M. A.]
_February._--A mild month; Betty very comfortable, and we hope a
little.
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.
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.
_March 14th._--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.
A curious thing happened, and I will tell it here, for 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.
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.
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.
_April._--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.
Death never seemed terrible to me, and now is beautiful; so I
cannot fear it, but find it friendly and wonderful.
_May._--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.
On the 7th of April, Anna came walking in to tell us she was
engaged to John Pratt; so another sister is gone. 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.
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.
[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.
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.--L. M. A., 1873.]
_June._--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.
_July._--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.
Worked off my stage fever in writing a story, and felt better;
also a moral tale, and got twenty-five dollars, which pieced up
our summer gowns and bonnets all round. The inside of my head can
at least cover the outside.
_August._--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.
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.
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.
_October._--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.
* * * * *
My fit of despair was soon over, for it seemed so cowardly to run
away before the battle was over I couldn't do it. So I said
firmly, "There _is_ 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.
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."
"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.
"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.'"
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.
So away to my little girl with a bright heart! for with tales,
and sewing for Mary, which pays my board, there I am fixed for
the winter and my cares over. Thank the Lord!
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.
_Journal._
Earned thirty dollars; sent twenty home. Heard Curtis, Parker,
Higginson, and Mrs. Dall lecture. See Booth's Hamlet, and my
ideal done at last.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I feel as if I could write better now,--more truly of things I
have felt and therefore _know_. 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.
_December._--Father started on his tour West full of hope. Dear
man! How happy he will be if people will only listen to and _pay_
for his wisdom.
May came to B. and stayed with me while she took drawing lessons.
Christmas at home. Write an Indian story.
_January_, 1859.--Send a parcel home to Marmee and Nan.
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.
* * * * *
Some day I'll do my best, and get well paid for it.
[$3,000 for a short serial in 1876. True prophet.--L. M. A.]
Wrote a sequel to "Mark Field." Had a queer time over it, getting
up at night to write it, being too full to sleep.
_March._--"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!
_April._--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.
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.
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.
_May._--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!
_June._--Took two children to board and teach. A busy month, as
Anna was in B.
_September._--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.
[Prophetic again.--L. M. A.]
_October_, 1859.--May did a fine copy of Emerson's Endymion[7]
for me.
Mother sixty. God bless the dear, brave woman!
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!
_November._--Hurrah! My story was accepted; and Lowell asked if
it was not a translation from the German, 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.
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.
_December_, 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.
I made some verses on it, and sent them to the "Liberator."
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.
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
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.
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 energies of youth safely if activities were
wisely provided for them?
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.
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.
_Boston Bulletin,--Ninth Issue._
SUNDAY EVE, November, 1858.
MY BLESSED NAN,--Having finished my story, I can refresh my soul
by a scribble to you, though I have nothing to tell of much
interest.
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 P.M. 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, 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.
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.
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 A.M. 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!
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 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.
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] A fine bas-relief owned by Mr. Emerson.