That broods above its nest
And feels beneath its folded wings
Life’s dearest and its best.”
I am sure I feel as if I could fold my arms around you all, and say from
my heart, “Here is my world within my embrace.” Let us try, dear Anna,
to make it a good and beautiful world,—that when we are called to leave
it we may be fit to join the good and beautiful of another sphere.
All things proclaim
In the valley and plain
That God is near.
Hills, vales and brooks,
Sweet words and looks,
Cast out all fear.
Be the dove of our ark,
Dear Anna remark
You’re my eldest and best,
Now you know all the rest,
So farewell dear,
God is near,
No evil fear,
Be happy here.
MOTHER.
I love to receive letters from mother. She always writes me such dear
kind notes.
* * * * *
Monday, 12.
This morning mother baked. I read. Mrs. Lovejoy and Mrs. Willard came
here to see mother. In the afternoon I read and wrote, and took a walk
with the girls into the woods. In the evening I played and had a shower
bath, and then went to bed.
* * * * *
Tuesday, 13.
Mrs. Willard came here and helped mother wash to-day. I helped her some.
In the morning I took care of Abba and wrote some. In the afternoon I
played, studied, and worked. When Mrs. Willard went home Louisa and I
walked with her to learn the way to the house where she lives, for as
she took some sewing to do for mother, we wanted to know the way there.
We saw some young women braiding straw hats. One of them did it very
fast indeed. I think I should like to know how to make hats. Their
mother asked us to come and see them (her name is Willard) and mother
said we might go. We rode home with Mr. Wyman. When we got here we found
two young ladies and a girl who came to see us. They soon went home. I
ate my supper and soon after it went to my bed.
* * * * *
Wednesday, 14.
I ironed to-day with mother, and read some. I have not very much to say
and so I will write a French fable. [Here a fable is written out in very
good French.]
* * * * *
Thursday, 15.
This morning I felt quite unwell, so I laid down and saw Louisa keep
school for Lizzie and Abba. I read in “Tales of a Traveller” most all
the morning. In the afternoon I had a composition lesson, and then saw
father and Abraham winnow some corn and some barley. I then rode to the
mill with him and took Abba with us. I never saw a mill working before
that I recollect. I sewed when I came home and in the evening talked.
* * * * *
Friday, 16.
Uncle Christy went to Boston this morning. As I was running to bid him
good-bye my foot slipped and I fell down on my back. It hurt me a good
deal and I had a pain in my side. In the afternoon I went to bed and
read. When I got up I fainted. I went to my bed early.
* * * * *
Saturday, 24.
This was Lizzie’s birthday. I arose before five o’clock and went with
mother, William, and Louisa to the woods where we fixed a little pine
tree in the ground and hung up all the presents on it. I then made a
wreath for all of us of oak leaves. After breakfast we all, except
Abraham, marched to the wood. Mr. Lane took his fiddle with him and we
sang first. Then father read a parable, and then this ode which he wrote
himself. I will write it on the next page. Father then asked me what
flower I should give Lizzie on her birthday. I said a rose, the emblem
of Love and Purity. Father also chose a rose. Louisa said a
Lily-of-the-Valley, or innocence,—Mother said she should give her a
Forget-me-not, or remembrance. Christy said the trailing Arbutus, the
emblem of perseverance. Mr. Lane gave her a piece of moss, or humility.
Abba gave her a Wakerobin. I do not know what that means. We then sang.
Lizzie looked at her presents and seemed much pleased. Mother gave her a
silk thread balloon, I a fan, Louisa a pin-cushion, William a book, Abba
a little pitcher. Mr. Lane wrote some lines of poetry which I will write
in here:—
TO ELIZABETH
Of all the year the sunniest day
Appointed for thy birth
Is emblem of the longest stay
With us upon the earth.
Now dressed in flowers
The merry hours
Fill up the day and night.
May your whole life
Exempt from strife
Shine forth as calm and bright.
FRUITLANDS.
Here is father’s:—
BIRTHDAY ODE
I
Here in the grove
With those we love,
In the cool shade
Near mede and glade
With clover tints ore’laid—
A haunt which God ourselves have made—
The trees among
With leaves are hung.
On sylvan plat,
On forest mat,
Near meadow sweet
We take our seat,
While all around
Swells forth the sound
Our happy hearts repeat.
The wood and dell
Our joy to tell
The morning, and
Our peace to share,
Flows by his cool
A balmy school,
The Sun his fires
His kindled iris
Not yet inspires
In mid-noon blaze
His scorching rays,
But all is calm and fresh and clear
And all breathes peace around us here.
II
Wake, wake harmonious swell
Along this deep sequestered dell,
Along the grass and brake,
And where the cattle slake
Their thirst, when glides
Adown the sloping sides
In ceaseless frit
The wizard rivulet,
And let the spring maze
Join with violin note
In hymning forth our praise
From forth melodious throat
Our holy joy to tell.
III
Father’s here
And Mother dear
And sisters all,
The short and tall,
And Father’s friends
Whom Briton lends
To noblest human ends,
With younger arm
From Brooklet farm,
But absent now
At yonder plough
With shining, cleaving share
Upturning to the upper air
The obstinate soil,
The sober son of hardy toil.
IV
Here, here we all repair
Our hope and love to share,
To celebrate
In rustic state
Midst this refulgent whole
The joyful advent of an angel soul
That twice four years ago
Our mundane world to know
Descended from the upper skies
A presence to our veriest eyes
And now before us stands
And asketh at our bounteous hands
Some token of our zeal,
In her most holy weal
Before us stands arrayed
In garments of a maid.
Untainted and pure her soul
As when she left the whole
That doeth this marvelling scene
And day by day doth preach
The gospel meant for each
That on this solid sphere
For mortal’s ear.
V
Then take our tokens all
From great and small
And close that noblest treasure beat
That in your heart doth sleep.
Mind what the spirit saith
And plight therein thy faith,
My very dear Elizabeth,
Nor let the enemy wrest
The heavenly harvest from that field,
Nor tares permit to sow,
Nor hate, nor woe
In the pure soil God’s grace itself would sow;—
But bloom and open all the day
And be a flower that none shall pluck away,
A rose of Fruitland’s quiet dell,
A child intent on doing well
Devout secluded from all sin
Fragrance without and fair within
A plant matured in God’s device
An Amaranth in Paradise.
* * * * *
Monday, 17 July, 1843.
This morning, not feeling well, I did not join the singing class, but
kept my bed till after breakfast. We had no lessons to-day and I sewed.
I believe I will write a story called The May Morning.
A FABLE
_The May Morning_
Early one morning in May a father conducted his son Theodore into the
garden of a rich man which the boy had never yet seen. The garden was
situated at a distance from the city, and it was adorned with all sorts
of shrubs and plants, beds of flowers and fruit trees, shady alleys and
pleasant groves. Through the middle of the garden wandered a pellucid
stream which fell from a rock and formed a large pool at its foot. In
the cool dell the water turned a mill. In the most beautiful spot in the
garden were seats entwined with roses and verdant bowers.
Theodore could not satiate his eyes with the charms of the place. He
walked beside his father mostly in silent amaze, but sometimes he would
exclaim: “O Father, how lovely and beautiful is this garden!”
When they had seen many things and were weary with their walk the father
conducted the boy through the plantations to the fall of a stream and
they sat down on the brow of a hill. Here they listened to the roaring
of the water which tumbled foaming from the ledge of the rocks, and in
the surrounding thickets were perched nightingales which mingled their
strains with the hoarse murmur of the fall. And Theodore thought he
never yet had heard nightingales sing so delightfully. While they thus
sat and listened they heard the voice of a man and the voices of
children. They were the children of the miller, a boy and a girl, and
they were leading their old blind grandfather between them, and telling
him about the beautiful shrubs and flowers by the wayside, and amusing
the old man by their lively and simple prattle.
They conducted him to a seat in an arbor and kissed him, and ran about
the garden to gather flowers and fruit for him. But the old man smiled,
and when he was alone he uncovered his head and prayed with a cheerful
countenance. Then the hearts of Theodore and his father overflowed, and
they offered up prayer and praise with the old man, and Theodore was
overcome by his feelings so that he could not repress his tears.
The children soon afterwards appeared, and they shouted from afar, and
they brought sweet-smelling flowers and ripe fruit to their blind
grandfather. But Theodore said to his father as they were returning
home, “O what a delightful, what a happy morning!”
THE FOUNTAIN
“The little fountain flows
So noiseless through the wood
The wanderer tastes repose
And from its silent flood
Learns meekly to do good.”
It’s short, but I thought it was very pretty.
* * * * *
Tuesday, 18.
This morning after doing my work I had lessons. I wrote some in my
journal and did some sums. In the afternoon I went blue-berrying with
Lizzie and picked nearly, if not quite, a quart. I read in the evening.
* * * * *
Wednesday, 19.
We had a descriptive lesson this morning and each of us wrote a
description of Fruitlands.
I wrote the following one:—
“FRUITLANDS”
It is a beautiful place surrounded by hills, green fields and woods, and
Still River is at some distance flowing quietly along. Wachusett and
Monadoc Mountains are in sight, and also some houses and fields of
grain. The house itself is now very pleasantly situated. It has a
vegetable garden behind it and some fruit trees. On the left a hill on
the top of which are pastures and a road. In front is a small garden,
and fields and a house at some distance. On the right is a large barn,
grain and potato field, woods and mountains. There are many pleasant
walks about Fruitlands, and berry fields, though the berries are not yet
quite ripe.
It is a pleasant place to live in, I think.
[Illustration:
THE COMMUNITY SETTLE
]
* * * * *
Thursday, 20.
I had my lesson this morning with Mr. Lane and I did some sums with
fractions. I never did any till Mr. Lane began to teach me, and I think
I have learned more lately than I ever did before. I think I understand
what I learn too. In the afternoon I had my shower bath and sewed. Mrs.
Lovejoy came here to see Mother and brought her little baby with her. I
took care of it a good deal. Charlotte and Ellen Dudley came to see me
and went to Mrs. Barnard’s of an errand with me. I there became
acquainted with Adelaide Barnard. We all went into the schoolhouse and
played together. In the evening I sewed a little bit and then went to
bed.
* * * * *
Sunday, 23.
I did not feel well this morning, so I did not attend the readings, but
read in Miss Edgeworth’s “Belinda.” In the afternoon I sewed some and
mother finished “Sowing and Reaping” aloud. I then went to look for
blueberries, but did not find but a very few. When I returned I had
supper and after that I read.
* * * * *
Monday, 24.
I had no lessons to-day, Mr. Lane being unwell and father busy. Mother
washed and Louisa and I helped her. I then shelled some peas for dinner.
Yesterday Christy went away. He will return sometime I guess. In the
afternoon I read part of “Mademoiselle Panache.” I then wrote my journal
and took care of Abba. William and I then ironed till we went to supper.
In the evening I looked for berries and went pretty early to bed.
* * * * *
Tuesday, 25.
This morning I had lessons by myself. I did a French lesson and wrote in
my journal. I then sewed some. In the afternoon I made some little
presents to give Abba as to-morrow is her birthday. I then raked hay. In
the evening I read in “Motherless Ellen.”
* * * * *
Wednesday, 26.
Abba’s birthday. We did not do anything to celebrate except that I put
some presents into her stocking last night and she found them there this
morning. After breakfast father and Mr. Lane started for Boston with Mr.
Hecker. We had no lessons. I washed, and the three other children went
to a mill for a walk. I arranged a room for myself. It is to be my room
and I to stay by myself in it. I then set the dinner table. The children
did not return till after dinner. I had a bath and then arranged some
pictures for my scrap-book. As Mother was going into the fields to help
with the hay, I joined her, and after working there some time went with
Louisa to look for berries. We found about a pint. In the evening I read
in “Motherless Ellen” some more.
I rose pretty early this morning and having bathed and dressed sat down
to write my journal. Having done so I went downstairs and eat breakfast.
After I had done I went with Louisa and William to pick blackberries. We
got about two quarts. When we returned I read and then worked with
William. In the afternoon I wrote and went to Mrs. Lovejoy’s. I then had
a bath and wrote, after which I read in the newspapers. In the evening I
played.
POETRY
I never cast a flower away
The gift of one who cared for me
A little flower—a faded flower
But it was done reluctantly.
I never looked a last adieu
To things familiar but my heart
Shrank with a feeling almost pain
Even from their lifelessness.
I never spoke the word farewell
But with an utterance faint and broken
A heart with yearning for the time
When it should never more be spoken.
* * * * *
September, 6.
I think the world would be a very dismal world without books. I could
not live without them. I take so much pleasure in reading beautiful
stories and poetry. I like to hear beautiful words and thoughts.
Beautiful is my favorite word. If I like anything I always say it is
beautiful. It is a beautiful word. I can’t tell the color of it. Louisa
and I took a walk. It was pleasant if it had only been a little warmer.
When we returned we sat in our chamber. I wrote down all the beautiful
names we could think of, and in the evening wrote the colors of them.
* * * * *
[Here Anna’s journal written at Fruitlands comes to a sudden ending.
Numberless pages have been torn out carefully, and Mr. Alcott’s
handwriting appears in footnotes here and there, showing that it was he
who destroyed the story of the later days of Fruitlands written from his
youthful daughter’s pen. It is one more proof of the intensity of his
feelings regarding Fruitlands, and the bitter disappointment that Time
never softened. His own journal written there has also been destroyed.
It seems as if that experience of failure was too heartrending to him to
allow the world to share it. We only get glimpses here and there with
which to construct a picture of the New Eden where these
Transcendentalists worked out a beloved theory and found it wanting. We
have the account of the start, so full of enthusiasm and ecstatic
hopefulness. The curtain has been drawn over the rest as carefully as
was possible. Her journal starts again in 1846, but it does not state
the month. In it she mentions a point which reveals something of Mr.
Alcott’s philosophy. She says: “Father said that if a person wanted a
thing very much and thought of it a great deal, that they would probably
have it.”]
VIII
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT’S DIARY AT FRUITLANDS[10]
_September 1st._—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.
Footnote 10:
When she was ten years old.
Father asked us what was God’s noblest work. Anna said _men_, but I said
_babies_. Men are often bad; babies never are. We had a long talk, and I
felt better after it, and _cleared up_.
[Illustration:
WHERE ABBA MAY’S STOCKING WAS HUNG THE NIGHT BEFORE HER BIRTHDAY
Anna’s bedroom is on the right, next to Mrs. Alcott’s. The portraits
of the “Little Women” hang on the wall
]
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.
* * * * *
_Thursday, 14th._—Mr. Parker Pillsbury came, and we talked about the
poor slaves. I had a music lesson with Miss P. 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:—
“When I left thy shores, O Naxos,
Not a tear in sorrow fell;
Not a sigh or faltered accent
Told my bosom’s struggling swell.”
It rained when I went to bed and made a pretty noise on the roof.
* * * * *
_Sunday, 24th._—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 _kept_ all I
make, I should be the best girl in the world. But I don’t, and so am
very bad.
(Poor little sinner! She says the same at fifty.—L. M. A.)
* * * * *
_October 8th._—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.
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.
We sang the following song:
SONG OF MAY
Hail, all hail, thou merry month of May,
We will hasten to the woods away
Among the flowers so sweet and gay,
Then away to hail the merry merry May—
The merry merry May—
Then away to hail the merry merry month of May.
Hark, hark, hark, to hail the month of May,
How the songsters warble on the spray,
And we will be as blith as they,
Then away to hail the merry merry May—
Then away to hail the merry merry month of May.
I think this is a very pretty song and we sing it a good deal.
* * * * *
_Thursday, 12th._—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:—
“Softly doth the sun descend
To his couch behind the hill,
Then, oh, then, I love to sit
On mossy banks beside the rill.”
Anna thought it was very fine; but I didn’t like it very well.
* * * * *
_Friday, Nov. 2nd._—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.
* * * * *
(No wonder, after doing the work and worrying their little wits with
such lessons.—L. M. A.)
* * * * *
A sample of the vegetarian wafers used at Fruitlands:—
Vegetable diet
and sweet repose.
Animal food and
nightmare.
Pluck your body
from the orchard;
do not snatch it
from the shamble.
Without flesh diet
there could be no
blood-shedding war.
Apollo eats no
flesh and has no
beard; his voice is
melody itself.
Snuff is no less snuff
though accepted from
a gold box.
* * * * *
_Tuesday, 20th._—I rose at five, and after breakfast washed the dishes,
and then helped mother work. Miss P. is gone, and Anna in Boston with
Cousin Louisa. I took care of Abba (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 _we_ 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.
* * * * *
_Eleven years old. Thursday, 29th._—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.
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:—
“DEAR LOUEY,—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.”
* * * * *
_December 10th._—I did my lessons, and walked in the afternoon. Father
read to us in dear “Pilgrim’s Progress.” 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.
IX
AUTUMN DISAPPOINTMENT
As any one knows who has any experience in farming, the true farmer
spirit shows itself in the man who accepts the disappointment of a
meagre crop in spite of his dreams of a plentiful harvest, and working
diligently, gets what he can from it.
The crops at Fruitlands underwent many vicissitudes. No sooner did a
crop show some sort of promise than they turned it back into the earth
again, in order to enrich the soil, they said. This method did not tend
to fill the winter storehouse with the needed vegetables, and a faint
suggestion of disillusionment began to creep into the perfect harmony of
the consociate family as autumn approached. Early in September Mr.
Alcott and Charles Lane went on a trip in search of recruits. They went
to Providence and had an evening’s conversation with Mrs. Newcomb and
some of her friends, during which Mr. Alcott said that, as competition
had made facilities so great, they might take that opportunity to go on
to New York. Charles Lane then spoke up and said there was no other
objection than lack of means, whereupon the company contributed the
necessary amount. In writing to Oldham about it, Charles Lane passes
comment on what he saw: “We went to the Graham House to breakfast where
we found some people half if not quite alive” and again: “The number of
living persons in the 300,000 inhabitants of New York is very small.”
During this visit they went to see Mrs. L. M. Child, who gave the
following account of it:
“A day or two after [Theodore] Parker left, Alcott and Lane called to
see me. I asked, ‘What brings you to New York?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Mr.
Alcott; ‘it seems a miracle that we are here.’ Mr. Child and John Hopper
went to hear a discussion between them and W. H. Channing. I asked Mr.
Child what they talked about. ‘Lane divided man into three states,—the
disconscious, the conscious, and the unconscious. The disconscious is
the state of the pig; the conscious is the baptism by water; and the
unconscious is the baptism by fire.’ I laughed, and said, ‘Well, how did
the whole discussion affect your mind?’ ‘Why, after I heard them talk a
few minutes, I ‘ll be cursed if I knew whether I had any mind at all.’
J. H. stayed rather longer, though he left in the midst. He said they
talked about mind and body. ‘What did they say?’ ‘Why, Channing seemed
to think there was some connection between mind and body; but those
Boston folks, so far as I could understand ‘em, seemed to think the body
was all sham!’”