The Annotated Little Women Page 55

  “Thursday.

  “Yesterday was a quiet day, spent in teaching, sewing, and writing in my little room,—which is very cosy, with a light and fire. I picked up a few bits of news, and was introduced to the Professor. It seems that Tina is the child of the Frenchwoman who does the fine ironing in the laundry here. The little thing has lost her heart to Mr. Bhaer, and follows him about the house like a dog whenever he is at home, which delights him,—as he is very fond of children, though a ‘bacheldore.’ Kitty and Minnie Kirke likewise regard him with affection, and tell all sorts of stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and the splendid tales he tells. The young men quiz him, it seems, call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major,10 and make all manner of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. K. says, and takes it so good-naturedly that they all like him, in spite of his odd ways.

  “The maiden lady is a Miss Norton,—rich, cultivated, and kind. She spoke to me at dinner to-day (for I went to table again, it’s such fun to watch people), and asked me to come and see her at her room. She has fine books and pictures, knows interesting persons, and seems friendly; so I shall make myself agreeable, for I do want to get into good society, only it isn’t the same sort that Amy likes.

  “I was in our parlor last evening, when Mr. Bhaer came in with some newspapers for Mrs. Kirke. She wasn’t there, but Minnie, who is a little old woman, introduced me very prettily: ‘This is mamma’s friend, Miss March.’

  “ ‘Yes; and she’s jolly, and we like her lots,’ added Kitty, who is an ‘enfant terrible.’

  “We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction and the blunt addition were rather a comical contrast.

  “ ‘Ah, yes; I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees Marsch. If so again, call at me and I come,’ he said, with a threatening frown that delighted the little wretches.

  “I promised I would, and he departed; but it seems as if I was doomed to see a good deal of him, for to-day, as I passed his door on my way out, by accident I knocked against it with my umbrella. It flew open, and there he stood in his dressing-gown, with a big blue sock on one hand and a darning needle in the other; he didn’t seem at all ashamed of it, for when I explained and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all, saying, in his loud, cheerful way,—

  “ ‘You haf a fine day to make your walk. Bon voyage, mademoiselle.’

  “I laughed all the way down stairs; but it was a little pathetic, also, to think of the poor man having to mend his own clothes. The German gentlemen embroider, I know,—but darning hose is another thing, and not so pretty.”

  “Saturday.

  “Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss Norton, who has a room full of lovely things, and who was very charming, for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if I would sometimes go with her to lectures and concerts, as her escort,—if I enjoyed them. She put it as a favor; but I’m sure Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of kindness to me. I’m as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from such people don’t burden me, and I accepted gratefully.

  “When I got back to the nursery there was such an uproar in the parlor that I looked in, and there was Mr. Bhaer down on his hands and knees, with Tina on his back, Kitty leading him with a jump-rope, and Minnie feeding two small boys with seed-cakes, as they roared and ramped in cages built of chairs.

  “ ‘We are playing nargerie,’11 explained Kitty.

  “ ‘Dis is mine effalunt!’12 added Tina, holding on by the Professor’s hair.

  “ ‘Mamma always allows us to do what we like Saturday afternoon, when Franz and Emil come, don’t she, Mr. Bhaer?’ said Minnie.

  “The ‘effalunt’ sat up, looking as much in earnest as any of them, and said, soberly, to me,—

  “ ‘I gif you my wort it is so. If we make too large a noise you shall say “hush!” to us, and we go more softly.’

  “I promised to do so, but left the door open, and enjoyed the fun as much as they did,—for a more glorious frolic I never witnessed. They played tag, and soldiers, danced and sung, and when it began to grow dark they all piled on to the sofa about the Professor, while he told charming fairy stories of the storks on the chimney-tops, and the little ‘Kobolds,’13 who ride the snow-flakes as they fall. I wish Americans were as simple and natural as Germans, don’t you?

  “I’m so fond of writing, I should go spinning on forever if motives of economy didn’t stop me; for though I’ve used thin paper, and written fine, I tremble to think of the stamps this long letter will need. Pray forward Amy’s as soon as you can spare them. My small news will sound very flat after her splendors, but you will like them, I know. Is Teddy studying so hard that he can’t find time to write to his friends? Take good care of him for me, Beth, and tell me all about the babies, and give heaps of love to every one.

  “From your faithful JO.

  “P. S. On reading over my letter, it strikes me as rather Bhaery; but I’m always interested in odd people, and I really had nothing else to write about. Bless you.”

  “DEC.

  “MY PRECIOUS BETSEY:

  “As this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter, I direct it to you, for it may amuse you, and give you some idea of my goings on; for, though quiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh, be joyful! After what Amy would call Herculaneum14 efforts, in the way of mental and moral agriculture, my young ideas begin to shoot, and my little twigs to bend, as I could wish. They are not so interesting to me as Tina and the boys, but I do my duty by them, and they are fond of me. Franz and Emil are jolly little lads, quite after my own heart, for the mixture of German and American spirit in them produces a constant state of effervescence. Saturday afternoons are riotous times, whether spent in the house or out; for on pleasant days they all go to walk, like a seminary, with the Professor and myself to keep order; and then such fun!

  “We are very good friends now, and I’ve begun to take lessons. I really couldn’t help it, and it all came about in such a funny way, that I must tell you. To begin at the beginning. Mrs. Kirke called to me, one day, as I passed Mr. Bhaer’s room, where she was rummaging.

  “ ‘Did you ever see such a den, my dear? Just come and help me put these books to rights, for I’ve turned everything upside down, trying to discover what he has done with the six new handkerchiefs I gave him, not long ago.’

  “I went in, and while we worked I looked about me, for it was ‘a den,’ to be sure. Books and papers, everywhere; a broken meerschaum, and an old flute over the mantle-piece, as if done with; a ragged bird, without any tail, chirped on one window-seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other; half-finished boats, and bits of string, lay among the manuscripts; dirty little boots stood drying before the fire, and traces of the dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave of himself, were to be seen all over the room. After a grand rummage three of the missing articles were found,—one over the bird-cage, one covered with ink, and a third burnt brown, having been used as a holder.

  “ ‘Such a man!’ laughed good-natured Mrs. K., as she put the relics in the rag-bag. ‘I suppose the others are torn up to rig ships, bandage cut fingers, or make kite tails. It’s dreadful, but I can’t scold him; he’s so absent-minded and good-natured, he lets those boys ride over him rough-shod. I agreed to do his washing and mending, but he forgets to give out his things, and I forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass sometimes.’

  “ ‘Let me mend them,’ said I; ‘I don’t mind it, and he needn’t know. I’d like to,—he’s so kind to me about bringing my letters, and lending books.’

  “So I have got his things in order, and knit heels into two pairs of the socks,—for they were boggled out of shape with his queer darns. Nothing was said, and I hoped he wouldn’t find it out,—but one day last week he caught me at it. Hearing the lessons he gives to others has interested and amused me so much, that I took a fancy to learn; for Tina runs in and out, leaving the door open, and I can hear. I had been sitting nea
r this door, finishing off the last sock, and trying to understand what he said to a new scholar, who is as stupid as I am; the girl had gone, and I thought he had also, it was so still, and I was busily gabbling over a verb, and rocking to and fro in a most absurd way, when a little crow made me look up, and there was Mr. Bhaer looking and laughing quietly, when he made signs to Tina not to betray him.

  “ ‘So,’ he said, as I stopped and stared like a goose, ‘you peep at me, I peep at you, and that is not bad; but see, I am not pleasanting when I say, haf you a wish for German?’

  “ ‘Yes; but you are too busy; I am too stupid to learn,’ I blundered out, as red as a beet.

  “ ‘Prut! we will make the time, and we fail not to find the sense. At efening I shall gif a little lesson with much gladness; for, look you, Mees Marsch, I haf this debt to pay,’ and he pointed to my work. ‘Yes! they say to one another, these so kind ladies, “he is a stupid old fellow; he will see not what we do; he will never opserve that his sock-heels go not in holes any more; he will think his buttons grow out new when they fall, and believe that strings make theirselves.” Ah! but I haf an eye, and I see much. I haf a heart and I feel the thanks for this. Come,—a little lesson then and now, or—no more good fairy works for me and mine.’

  “Of course I couldn’t say anything after that, and as it really is a splendid opportunity, I made the bargain, and we began. I took four lessons, and then I stuck fast in a grammatical bog. The Professor was very patient with me, but it must have been torment to him, and now and then he’d look at me with such an expression of mild despair, that it was a toss up with me whether to laugh or cry. I tried both ways; and when it came to a sniff of utter mortification and woe, he just threw the grammar on to the floor, and marched out of the room. I felt myself disgraced and deserted forever, but didn’t blame him a particle, and was scrambling my papers together, meaning to rush upstairs and shake myself hard, when in he came, as brisk and beaming as if I’d covered my name with glory:—

  “ ‘Now we shall try a new way. You and I will read these pleasant little Märchen together, and dig no more in that dry book, that goes in the corner for making us trouble.’

  “He spoke so kindly, and opened Hans Andersen’s fairy tales so invitingly before me, that I was more ashamed than ever, and went at my lesson in a neck-or-nothing style that seemed to amuse him immensely. I forgot my bashfulness, and pegged away (no other word will express it) with all my might, tumbling over long words, pronouncing according to the inspiration of the minute, and doing my very best. When I finished reading my first page, and stopped for breath, he clapped his hands and cried out, in his hearty way, ‘Das ist gute! Now we go well! My turn. I do him in German; gif me your ear.’ And away he went, rumbling out the words with his strong voice, and a relish which was good to see as well as hear. Fortunately, the story was the ‘Constant Tin Soldier,’15 which is droll, you know, so I could laugh,—and I did,—though I didn’t understand half he read,—for I couldn’t help it, he was so earnest, I so excited, and the whole thing so comical.

  “After that we got on better, and now I read my lessons pretty well; for this way of studying suits me, and I can see that the grammar gets tucked into the tales and poetry, as one gives pills in jelly. I like it very much, and he don’t seem tired of it yet,—which is very good of him, isn’t it? I mean to give him something on Christmas, for I don’t dare offer money. Tell me something nice, Marmee.

  “I’m glad Laurie seems so happy and busy,—that he has given up smoking, and lets his hair grow. You see Beth manages him better than I did. I’m not jealous, dear; do your best, only don’t make a saint of him. I’m afraid I couldn’t like him without a spice of human naughtiness. Read him bits of my letters. I haven’t time to write much, and that will do just as well. Thank heaven Beth continues so comfortable.”

  “Jan.

  “A happy New-Year to you all, my dearest family, which of course includes Mr. L. and a young man by the name of Teddy. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your Christmas bundle, for I didn’t get it till night, and had given up hoping. Your letter came in the morning, but you said nothing about a parcel, meaning it for a surprise; so I was disappointed, for I’d had a ‘kind of a feeling’ that you wouldn’t forget me. I felt a little low in my mind, as I sat up in my room, after tea; and when the big, muddy, battered-looking bundle was brought to me, I just hugged it, and pranced. It was so homey and refreshing, that I sat down on the floor, and read, and looked, and ate, and laughed and cried, in my usual absurd way. The things were just what I wanted, and all the better for being made instead of bought. Beth’s new ‘ink-bib’ was capital; and Hannah’s box of hard gingerbread will be a treasure.16 I’ll be sure and wear the nice flannels you sent, Marmee, and read carefully the books father has marked. Thank you all, heaps and heaps!

  “Speaking of books, reminds me that I’m getting rich in that line; for, on New-Year’s day, Mr. Bhaer gave me a fine Shakespeare. It is one he values much, and I’ve often admired it, set up in the place of honor, with his German Bible, Plato, Homer, and Milton; so you may imagine how I felt when he brought it down, without its cover, and showed me my name in it, ‘from my friend Friedrich Bhaer.’

  “ ‘You say often you wish a library; here I gif you one; for between these two lids (he meant covers) is many books in one. Read him well, and he will help you much; for the study of character in this book will help you to read it in the world, and paint it with your pen.’

  “I thanked him as well as I could, and talk now about ‘my library,’ as if I had a hundred books. I never knew how much there was in Shakespeare before; but then I never had a Bhaer to explain it to me. Now, don’t laugh at his horrid name; it isn’t pronounced either Bear or Beer, as people will say it, but something between the two, as only Germans can do it. I’m glad you both like what I tell you about him, and hope you will know him some day. Mother would admire his warm heart, father his wise head. I admire both, and feel rich in my new ‘friend Friedrich Bhaer.’

  “Not having much money, or knowing what he’d like, I got several little things, and put them about the room, where he would find them unexpectedly. They were useful, pretty, or funny—a new stand-dish17 on his table, a little vase for his flower—he always has one—or a bit of green in a glass, to keep him fresh, he says; and a holder for his blower, so that he needn’t burn up what Amy calls ‘mouchoirs.’18 I made it like those Beth invented—a big butterfly with a fat body, and black and yellow wings, worsted feelers, and bead eyes. It took his fancy immensely, and he put it on his mantle-piece as an article of virtu;19 so it was rather a failure after all. Poor as he is, he didn’t forget a servant or a child in the house; and not a soul here, from the French laundry-woman to Miss Norton, forgot him. I was so glad of that.

  “They got up a masquerade, and had a gay time, New-Year’s eve. I didn’t mean to go down, having no dress; but, at the last minute, Mrs. Kirke remembered some old brocades, and Miss Norton lent me lace and feathers; so I rigged up as Mrs. Malaprop, and sailed in with a mask on. No one knew me, for I disguised my voice, and no one dreamed of the silent, haughty Miss March (for they think I am very stiff and cool, most of them; and so I am to whipper-snappers) could dance, and dress, and burst out into a ‘nice derangement of epitaphs, like an allegory on the banks of the Nile.’20 I enjoyed it very much; and when we unmasked, it was fun to see them stare at me. I heard one of the young men tell another that he knew I’d been an actress; in fact, he thought he remembered seeing me at one of the minor theatres. Meg will relish that joke. Mr. Bhaer was Nick Bottom, and Tina was Titania21—a perfect little fairy in his arms. To see them dance was ‘quite a landscape,’ to use a Teddyism.

  “I had a very happy New-Year, after all; and when I thought it over in my room, I felt as if I was getting on a little in spite of my many failures; for I’m cheerful all the time now, work with a will, and take more interest in other people than I used to, which is satisfactory. Bless you all. Ever your loving JO.�
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  1. “DEAR MARMEE AND BETH.” Alcott never visited New York during her formative years as a writer. Still, the emotions that Jo feels as she strikes out on her own resemble those of Alcott in her early to mid-twenties. In 1856, she wrote in her journal, “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.” Much later, Alcott added to this entry, “Jo in N.Y.” (Louisa May Alcott, Journals, p. 79).

  2. “ ‘The Seven Bad Pigs.’ ” The story of “The Seven Bad Pigs” has not been identified and is perhaps an invention of Alcott’s.

  3. “ ‘Professor Bhaer.’ ” Professor Bhaer owes his literary existence to Alcott’s determination not to “marry Jo to Laurie to please anyone” (Louisa May Alcott, Journals, p. 167). She wrote to an admirer, “ ‘Jo’ should have remained a literary spinster but so many enthusiastic young ladies wrote to me clamorously demanding that she should marry Laurie, or somebody, that I didn’t dare refuse & out of perversity went and made a funny match for her. I expect vials of wrath to be poured out upon my head, but rather enjoy the prospect” (Louisa May Alcott, Selected Letters, p. 125). Alcott confessed to Alf Whitman an active desire “to disappoint the little gossips who vowed that Laurie & Jo should marry” (Schlesinger, “The Alcotts through Thirty Years,” p. 377). Madeleine B. Stern has suggested that, to create the professor, Alcott drew upon two German academicians whom she knew: Dr. Reinhold Solger, who taught at Franklin Sanborn’s academy in Concord; and Dr. William Rimmer, one of May Alcott’s drawing instructors.

  4. “acted like Sancho” See Part First, Chapter II, Note 4.