The Annotated Little Women Page 22

  2. “tarlatan.” A thin, starched, open-weave muslin fabric, noted for its crisp stiffness, or, as here, a dress made from the material.

  3. “poplin.” A strong, plain-weave fabric, traditionally consisting of a silk warp with a weft of worsted yarn.

  4. French phrases. Throughout Little Women, Alcott subtly defines an ideal notion of Americanness by contrasting it with the cultural norms of other countries. Frenchness is often, though not always, invoked as an example of superficiality and languid decadence, in contrast to homespun American simplicity and virtue.

  5. “Daisy, dear.” Meg’s full first name, Margaret, derives from the French word for daisy, “marguerite,” hence the nickname given Meg by Belle. Belle is also commenting, with a hint of condescension, on Meg’s innocence and purity. Alcott knew that Marguerite, or, in its more vernacular form, Gretchen, is the name of the innocent girl whose morals are destroyed by Mephistopheles in Goethe’s Faust. The German poet, dramatist, and novelist Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) was greatly admired by the American Transcendentalists.

  6. “seventeen in August.” Anna Alcott was born in March 1831; Louisa has moved the birthday of the oldest March sister.

  7. coralline salve . . . soupcon. An ointment the color of red coral, serving the same purpose here as lipstick. A “soupçon” is a light touch, or, literally, a suspicion.

  8. tea rose-buds at the bosom, and a ruche. From the French word for beehive, a ruche is “a frill or quilling of some light material, as ribbon, lace or gauze, used to ornament some part of a garment or head-dress” (Oxford English Dictionary). Meg’s rose-buds again accentuate her youth and innocence.

  9. “Mademoiselle is charmante, tres jolie.” “My young lady is charming, very pretty.”

  10. like the jackdaw . . . magpies. In Aesop’s fable of the Jackdaw and the Peacocks, the plain but ambitious jackdaw gathers cast-off feathers from a flock of peacocks and arranges them in his own tail. Outraged at his effrontery, the peacocks strip him of his borrowed plumes and give him a pecking to punish his presumption. An 1866 edition of Aesop states the moral: “Let none presume to wear an undeserved dignity” (The Fables of Æsop, trans. Samuel Croxall). The 1797 edition of Aesop that Bronson Alcott inscribed to his grandson has been preserved at the Houghton Library of Harvard University. Magpies, as in Gioachino Rossini’s 1817 opera La Gazza Ladra, or, The Thieving Magpie, were known to be attracted to—and to steal—bright, shiny objects.

  11. “barbe.” Literally, a “beard.” A pleated strip of fabric on a headdress or bonnet.

  12. “Silence à la mort.” “Silence unto death.”

  13. into a world where she could not follow. A novel about growing up, Little Women is also about the dread of growing up and the loss of family unity and security that goes with it. In this passage, we begin to see Jo, the leader in so many other ways, struggling to hang on to childhood.

  14. “beautiful experience.” Marmee’s rather conservative statement on the prospects of womanhood is more a statement of the character’s beliefs than of Alcott’s own. Earlier in the year when she wrote Little Women, Part First, Alcott published an essay called “Happy Women,” calling attention to a class of “superior women” who had found their highest purpose in life in callings other than marriage and asserting, “Liberty is a better husband than love to many of us.”

  CHAPTER X.

  The P. C. and P. O.

  AS spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, and the lengthening days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts. The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, “I’d know which each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see ’em in Chiny;” and so she might, for the girls’ tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg’s had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange-tree in it. Jo’s bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying experiments; this year it was to be a plantation of sun-flowers, the seeds of which cheerful and aspiring plant were to feed “Aunt Cockle-top” and her family of chicks. Beth had old-fashioned, fragrant flowers in her garden; sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the bird and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers,—rather small and earwiggy, but very pretty to look at,—with honeysuckles and morning-glories hanging their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it; tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blossom there.1

  Charles Dickens posed for this photograph in 1858, the year when he embarked on his first professional reading tour and the Alcotts moved into Orchard House. (Time & Life Pictures, Getty Images)

  Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower-hunts employed the fine days; and for rainy ones, they had house diversions,—some old, some new,—all more or less original. One of these was the “P. C.”; for, as secret societies were the fashion, it was thought proper to have one; and, as all of the girls admired Dickens, they called themselves the Pickwick Club.2 With a few interruptions, they had kept this up for a year, and met every Saturday evening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were as follows: Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table, on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big “P. C.” in different colors on each, and the weekly newspaper, called “The Pickwick Portfolio,” to which all contributed something; while Jo, who revelled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven o’clock, the four members ascended to the club-room, tied their badges round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Meg, as the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick; Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgrass; Beth, because she was round and rosy, Tracy Tupman; and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn’t, was Nathaniel Winkle. Pickwick, the President, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which they good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and short-comings. On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles without any glasses, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and, having stared hard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself properly, began to read,—

  The Alcott sisters wore these badges for their own Pickwick Club. (Louisa May Alcott Memorial Association; photograph by James E. Coutré)

  “THE PICKWICK PORTFOLIO.”

  MAY 20, 18–.

  POET’S CORNER.

  ANNIVERSARY ODE.

  ________

  Again we me et to celebrate

  With badge and solemn rite,

  Our fifty-second anniversary,

  In Pickwick Hall, to-night.

  We all are here in perfect health,

  None gone from our small band;

  Again we see each well-known face,

  And press each friendly hand.

  Our Pickwick, always at his post,

  With reverence we greet,

  As, spectacles on nose, he reads

  Our well-filled weekly sheet.

  Although he suffers from a cold,

  We joy to hear him speak,

  For words of wisdom from him fall,

  In spite of croak or squeak.

  Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high,

  With elephantine grace,

  And beams upon the company,

  With brown and jovial face.

  Poetic fire lights up his eye,

  He struggles ’gainst his lot;

  Behold ambition on his brow,

  And on his nose a blot!

  Next our peaceful Tupman comes,

  So rosy, plump and sweet,

  Who chokes with laughter at the puns,

  And tumbles off his seat.

  Prim little Winkle too is here,

  With every hair in place,

  A model of propriety,

  Though he hates to wash his face.

  The year is gone, we still unite

  To joke and laugh and r
ead,

  And tread the path of literature

  That doth to glory lead.

  Long may our paper prosper well,

  Our club unbroken be,

  And coming years their blessings pour

  On the useful, gay “P. C.”

  A. SNODGRASS.

  THE MASKED MARRIAGE.

  A TALE OF VENICE.3

  _________

  Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count de Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks and flower-girls, all mingled gaily in the dance. Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air; and so with mirth and music the masquerade went on.

  “Has your Highness seen the Lady Viola to-night?” asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who floated down the hall upon his arm.

  “Yes; is she not lovely, though so sad! Her dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates.”

  “By my faith I envy him. Yonder he comes, arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask. When that is off we shall see how he regards the fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her stern father bestows her hand,” returned the troubadour.

  “ ’Tis whispered that she loves the young English artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the old count,” said the lady, as they joined the dance.

  The revel was at its height when a priest appeared, and, withdrawing the young pair to an alcove hung with purple velvet, he motioned them to kneel. Instant silence fell upon the gay throng; and not a sound, but the dash of fountains or the rustle of orange groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus:—

  “My lords and ladies; pardon the ruse by which I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of my daughter. Father, we wait your services.”

  All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a low murmur of amazement went through the throng, for neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding an explanation.

  “Gladly would I give it if I could; but I only know that it was the whim of my timid Viola, and I yielded to it. Now, my children, let the play end. Unmask, and receive my blessing.”

  But neither bent the knee; for the young bridegroom replied, in a tone that startled all listeners, as the mask fell, disclosing the noble face of Ferdinand Devereux, the artist lover, and, leaning on the breast where now flashed the star of an English earl, was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty.

  “My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your daughter when I could boast as high a name and vast a fortune as the Count Antonio. I can do more; for even your ambitious soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux and De Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady, now my wife.”

  The count stood like one changed to stone; and, turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with a gay smile of triumph, “To you, my gallant friends, I can only wish that your wooing may prosper as mine has done; and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have, by this masked marriage.”

  S. PICKWICK.

  _________

  Why is the P. C. like the Tower of Babel? It is full of unruly members.

  _________

  THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH.

  _________

  Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became a vine, and bore many squashes. One day in October, when they were ripe, he picked one and took it to market. A grocer man bought and put it in his shop. That same morning, a little girl, in a brown hat and blue dress, with a round face and snubby nose, went and bought it for her mother. She lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in the big pot; mashed some of it, with salt and butter, for dinner; and to the rest she added a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, and some crackers; put it in a deep dish, and baked it till it was brown and nice; and next day it was eaten by a family named March.

  T. TUPMAN.

  _________

  MR. PICKWICK, Sir:—

  I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner I mean is a man named Winkle who makes trouble in his club by laughing and sometimes won’t write his piece in this fine paper I hope you will pardon his badness and let him send a French fable because he can’t write out of his head as he has so many lessons to do and no brains in future I will try to take time by the fetlock and prepare some work which will be all commy la fo4 that means all right I am in haste as it is nearly school time

  Yours respectably N. WINKLE.

  [The above is a manly and handsome acknowledgment of past misdemeanors. If our young friend studied punctuation, it would be well.]

  A SAD ACCIDENT.

  _______________

  On Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock in our basement, followed by cries of distress. On rushing, in a body, to the cellar, we discovered our beloved President prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect scene of ruin met our eyes; for in his fall Mr. Pickwick had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water, upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form, and torn his garments badly. On being removed from this perilous situation, it was discovered that he had suffered no injury but several bruises; and, we are happy to add, is now doing well.

  ED.

  _______________

  THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT.

  _______________

  It is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs. Snowball Pat Paw. This lovely and beloved cat was the pet of a large circle of warm and admiring friends; for her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues endeared her to all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole community.

  When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the butcher’s cart; and it is feared that some villain, tempted by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed, but no trace of her has been discovered; and we relinquish all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, and weep for her as one lost to us forever.

  _______________

  A sympathizing friend sends the following gem:—

  A LAMENT

  FOR S. B. PAT PAW.

  ______

  We mourn the loss of our little pet,

  And sigh o’er her hapless fate,

  For never more by the fire she’ll sit,

  Nor play by the old green gate.

  The little grave where her infant sleeps,

  Is ’neath the chestnut tree;

  But o’er her grave we may not weep,

  We know not where it may be.

  Her empty bed, her idle ball,

  Will never see her more;

  No gentle tap, no loving purr

  Is heard at the parlor door.

  Another cat comes after her mice,

  A cat with a dirty face;

  But she does not hunt as our darling did,

  Nor play with her airy grace.

  Her stealthy paws tread the very hall

  Where Snowball used to play,

  But she only spits at the dogs our pet

  So gallantly drove away.

  She is useful and mild, and does her best,

  But she is not fair to see;

  And we cannot give her your place, dear,

  Nor worship her as we worship thee.

  A. S.

  ADVERTISEMENTS.

  MISS ORANTHY BLUGGAGE, the accomplished Strong-Minded Lecturer, will deliver her famous Lecture on “WOMAN AND HER POSITION,”5 at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening, after the usual performances.

  A WEEKLY MEETING will be held at Kitchen Place, to teach young ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown will preside; and all are invited to attend.

  THE DUSTPAN SOCIETY will
meet on Wednesday next, and parade in the upper story of the Club House. All members to appear in uniform and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely.

  MRS. BETH BOUNCER will open her new assortment of Doll’s Millinery next week. The latest Paris Fashions have arrived, and orders are respectfully solicited.

  A NEW PLAY will appear at the Barnville Theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage. “THE GREEK SLAVE, or Constantine the Avenger,”6 is the name of this thrilling drama!!!

  HINTS.

  If S. P. didn’t use so much soap on his hands, he wouldn’t always be late at breakfast. A. S. is requested not to whistle in the street. T. T., please don’t forget Amy’s napkin. N. W. must not fret because his dress has not nine tucks.

  ________

  WEEKLY REPORT.

  Meg—Good.

  Jo—Bad.

  Beth—Very good.

  Amy—Middling.

  As the President finished reading the paper (which I beg leave to assure my readers is a bona fide copy of one written by bona fide girls once upon a time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass rose to make a proposition.

  “Mr. President and gentlemen,” he began, assuming a parliamentary attitude and tone, “I wish to propose the admission of a new member; one who highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful for it, and would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary value of the paper, and be no end jolly and nice. I propose Mr. Theodore Laurence as an honorary member of the P. C. Come now, do have him.”

  Jo’s sudden change of tone made the girls laugh; but all looked rather anxious, and no one said a word, as Snodgrass took his seat.

  “We’ll put it to vote,” said the President. “All in favor of this motion please to manifest it by saying ‘Aye.’ ”

  A loud response from Snodgrass, followed, to everybody’s surprise, by a timid one from Beth.