Chapter X: Family Changes (1)

TRANSFIGURATION.[12]

IN MEMORIAM.

Lines written by Louisa M. Alcott on the death of her mother.

Mysterious death! who in a single hour
Life's gold can so refine,
And by thy art divine
Change mortal weakness to immortal power!

Bending beneath the weight of eighty years,
Spent with the noble strife
Of a victorious life,
We watched her fading heavenward, through our tears.

But ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung,
A miracle was wrought;
And swift as happy thought
She lived again,--brave, beautiful, and young.

Age, pain, and sorrow dropped the veils they wore
And showed the tender eyes
Of angels in disguise,
Whose discipline so patiently she bore.

The past years brought their harvest rich and fair;
While memory and love,
Together, fondly wove
A golden garland for the silver hair.

How could we mourn like those who are bereft,
When every pang of grief
Found balm for its relief
In counting up the treasures she had left?--

Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time;
Hope that defied despair;
Patience that conquered care;
And loyalty, whose courage was sublime;

The great deep heart that was a home for all,--
Just, eloquent, and strong
In protest against wrong;
Wide charity, that knew no sin, no fall;

The spartan spirit that made life so grand,
Mating poor daily needs
With high, heroic deeds,
That wrested happiness from Fate's hard hand.

We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,
Full of the grateful peace
That follows her release;
For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.

Oh, noble woman! never more a queen
Than in the laying down
Of sceptre and of crown
To win a greater kingdom, yet unseen;

Teaching us how to seek the highest goal,
To earn the true success,--
To live, to love, to bless,--
And make death proud to take a royal soul.

The history of the next six years offers little variety of incident in Miss Alcott's busy life. She could not work at home in Concord as well as in some quiet lodging in Boston, where she was more free from interruption from visitors; but she spent her summers with her mother, often taking charge of the housekeeping. In 1872 she wrote "Work," one of her most successful books. She had begun it some time before, and originally called it "Success." It represents her own personal experience more than any other book. She says to a friend: "Christie's adventures are many of them my own; Mr. Power is Mr. Parker; Mrs. Wilkins is imaginary, and all the rest. This was begun at eighteen, and never finished till H. W. Beecher wrote to me for a serial for the 'Christian Union' in 1872, and paid $3,000 for it."

Miss Alcott again sent May to Europe in 1873 to finish her studies, and herself continued writing stories to pay the expenses of the family. The mother's serious illness weighed heavily on Louisa's heart, and through the summer of 1873 she was devoted to the invalid, rejoicing in her partial recovery, though sadly feeling that she would never be her bright energetic self again. Mrs. Alcott was able, however, to keep her birthday (October 8) pleasantly, and out of this experience came a story called "A Happy Birthday." This little tale paid for carriages for the invalid. It is included in "Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag."

Louisa and her mother decided to spend the winter in Boston, while Mr. Alcott was at the West. Her thoughts dwell much upon her father's life, and she is not content that he has not all the recognition and enjoyment that she would gladly give him. She helps her mother to perform the sacred duty of placing a tablet on Colonel May's grave, and the dear old lady recognizes that her life has gone down into the past, and says, "This isn't my Boston, and I never want to see it any more."

Louisa was at this time engaged in writing for "St. Nicholas" and "The Independent."

The return of the young artist, happy in her success, brings brightness to the home-circle. In the winter of 1875 Miss Alcott takes her old place at the Bellevue, where May can have her drawing-classes. She was herself ill, and the words, "No sleep without morphine!" tell the story of nervous suffering.

_Journal._

_July_, 1872.--May makes a lovely hostess, and I fly round behind
the scenes, or skip out of the back window when ordered out for
inspection by the inquisitive public. Hard work to keep things
running smoothly, for this sight-seeing fiend is a new torment to
us.

_August._--May goes to Clark's Island for rest, having kept hotel
long enough. I say "No," and shut the door. People _must_ learn
that authors have some rights; I can't entertain a dozen a day,
and write the tales they demand also. I'm but a human worm, and
when walked on must turn in self-defence.

Reporters sit on the wall and take notes; artists sketch me as I
pick pears in the garden; and strange women interview Johnny as
he plays in the orchard.

It looks like impertinent curiosity to me; but it is called
"fame," and considered a blessing to be grateful for, I find. Let
'em try it.

_September._--To Wolcott, with Father and Fred. A quaint, lovely
old place is the little house on Spindle Hill, where the boy Amos
dreamed the dreams that have come true at last.

Got hints for my novel, "The Cost of an Idea," if I ever find
time to write it.

Don't wonder the boy longed to climb those hills, and see what
lay beyond.

_October._--Went to a room in Allston Street, in a quiet,
old-fashioned house. I can't work at home, and need to be alone
to spin, like a spider.

Rested; walked; to the theatre now and then. Home once a week
with books, etc., for Marmee and Nan. Prepared "Shawl Straps" for
Roberts.

_November._--Forty on the 29th. Got Father off for the West, all
neat and comfortable. I enjoyed every penny spent, and had a
happy time packing his new trunk with warm flannels, neat shirts,
gloves, etc., and seeing the dear man go off in a new suit,
overcoat, hat, and all, like a gentleman. We both laughed over
the pathetic old times with tears in our eyes, and I reminded him
of the "poor as poverty, but serene as heaven" saying.

Something to do came just as I was trying to see what to take up,
for work is my salvation. H. W. Beecher sent one of the editors
of the "Christian Union" to ask for a serial story. They have
asked before, and offered $2,000, which I refused; now they
offered $3,000, and I accepted.

Got out the old manuscript of "Success," and called it "Work."
Fired up the engine, and plunged into a vortex, with many doubts
about getting out. Can't work slowly; the thing possesses me, and
I must obey till it's done. One thousand dollars was sent as a
seal on the bargain, so I was bound, and sat at the oar like a
galley-slave.

F. wanted eight little tales, and offered $35 apiece; used to pay
$10. Such is fame! At odd minutes I wrote the short ones, and so
paid my own expenses. "Shawl Straps," Scrap-Bag, No. 2, came out,
and went well.

Great Boston fire; up all night. Very splendid and terrible
sight.

_December._--Busy with "Work." Write three pages at once on
impression paper, as Beecher, Roberts, and Low of London all want
copy at once.

[This was the cause of the paralysis of my thumb, which disabled
me for the rest of my life.--L. M. A.]

Nan and the boys came to visit me, and break up the winter.
Rested a little, and played with them.

Father very busy and happy. On his birthday had a gold-headed
cane given him. He is appreciated out there.

During these western trips, Mr. Alcott found that his daughter's fame added much to the warmth of his reception. On his return he loved to tell how he was welcomed as the "grandfather of 'Little Women.'" When he visited schools, he delighted the young audiences by satisfying their curiosity as to the author of their favorite book, and the truth of the characters and circumstances described in it.

BOSTON, 1872.

DEAR MARMEE,--Had a very transcendental day yesterday, and at
night my head was "swelling wisibly" with the ideas cast into it.

The club was a funny mixture of rabbis and weedy old ladies, the
"oversoul" and oysters. Papa and B. flew clean out of sight like
a pair of Platonic balloons, and we tried to follow, but
couldn't.

In the P.M. went to R. W. E.'s reading. All the literary birds
were out in full feather. This "'umble" worm was treated with
distinguished condescension. Dr. B. gave me his noble hand to
press, and murmured compliments with the air of a bishop
bestowing a benediction. Dear B. beamed upon me from the depths
of his funny little cloak and said, "We are getting on well,
ain't we?" W. bowed his Jewish head, and rolled his fine eye at
me. Several dreadful women purred about me, and I fled.

M. said what I liked,--that he'd sent my works to his mother, and
the good old lady told him to tell me that she couldn't do a
stroke of work, but just sat and read 'em right through; she
wished she was young so as to have a long life in which to keep
on enjoying such books. The peacock liked that.

I have paid all my own expenses out of the money earned by my
little tales; so I have not touched the family income.

Didn't mean to write; but it has been an expensive winter, and my
five hundred has made me all right. The $500 I lent K. makes a
difference in the income; but I could not refuse her, she was so
kind in the old hard times.

At the reading a man in front of me sat listening and knitting
his brows for a time, but had to give it up and go to sleep.
After it was over some one said to him, "Well, what do you think
of it?" "It's all very fine I have no doubt; but I'm blessed if I
can understand a word of it," was the reply....

The believers glow when the oracle is stuck, rustle and beam when
he is audible, and nod and smile as if they understood perfectly
when he murmurs under the desk! We are a foolish set!

_Journal_.

_January_, 1873.--Getting on well with "Work;" have to go slowly
now for fear of a break-down. All well at home.

A week at Newport with Miss Jane Stewart. Dinners, balls, calls,
etc. Saw Higginson and "H. H." Soon tired of gayety, and glad to
get home to my quiet den and pen.

Roberts Brothers paid me $2,022 for books. S. E. S. invested most
of it, with the $1,000 F. sent. Gave C. M. $100,--a
thank-offering for my success. I like to help the class of
"silent poor" to which we belonged for so many years,--needy, but
respectable, and forgotten because too proud to beg. Work
difficult to find for such people, and life made very hard for
want of a little money to ease the necessary needs.

_February and March._--Anna very ill with pneumonia; home to
nurse her. Father telegraphed to come home, as we thought her
dying. She gave me her boys; but the dear saint got well, and
kept the lads for herself. Thank God!

Back to my work with what wits nursing left me.

Had Johnny for a week, to keep all quiet at home. Enjoyed the
sweet little soul very much, and sent him back much better.

Finished "Work,"--twenty chapters. Not what it should be,--too
many interruptions. Should like to do one book in peace, and see
if it wouldn't be good.

_April_--The job being done I went home to take May's place. Gave
her $1,000, and sent her to London for a year of study. She
sailed on the 26th, brave and happy and hopeful. I felt that she
needed it, and was glad to be able to help her.

I spent seven months in Boston; wrote a book and ten tales;
earned $3,250 by my pen, and am satisfied with my winter's work.

_May._--D. F. wanted a dozen little tales, and agreed to pay $50
apiece, if I give up other things for this. Said I would, as I
can do two a day, and keep house between times. Cleaned and
grubbed, and didn't mind the change. Let head rest, and heels and
feet do the work.

Cold and dull; but the thought of May free and happy was my
comfort as I messed about.

_June and July._--Settled the servant question by getting a neat
American woman to cook and help me with the housework.

Peace fell upon our troubled souls, and all went well. Good
meals, tidy house, cheerful service, and in the P.M. an
intelligent young person to read and sew with us.

It was curious how she came to us. She had taught and sewed, and
was tired, and wanted something else; decided to try for a
housekeeper's place, but happened to read "Work," and thought
she'd do as Christie did,--take anything that came.

I was the first who answered her advertisement, and when she
found I wrote the book, she said, "I'll go and see if Miss A.
practises as she preaches."

She found I did, and we had a good time together. My new helper
did so well I took pale Johnny to the seaside for a week; but was
sent for in haste, as poor Marmee was very ill. Mental
bewilderment came after one of her heart troubles (the dropsy
affected the brain), and for three weeks we had a sad time.
Father and I took care of her, and my good A. S. kept house
nicely and faithfully for me.

Marmee slowly came back to herself, but sadly feeble,--never to
be our brave, energetic leader any more. She felt it, and it was
hard to convince her that there was no need of her doing anything
but rest.

_August, September, October._--Mother improved steadily. Father
went to the Alcott festival in Walcott, A. and boys to Conway
for a month; and it did them all much good.

I had quiet days with Marmee; drove with her, and had the great
pleasure of supplying all her needs and fancies.

May busy and happy in London. A merry time on Mother's birthday,
October 8. All so glad to have her still here; for it seemed as
if we were to lose her.

Made a little story of it for F.,--"A Happy Birthday."--and spent
the $50 in carriages for her.

_November and December._--Decided that it was best not to try a
cold, lonely winter in C., but go to B. with Mother, Nan, and
boys, and leave Father free for the West.

Took sunny rooms at the South End, near the Park, so the lads
could play out and Marmee walk. She enjoyed the change, and sat
at her window watching people, horse-cars, and sparrows with
great interest. Old friends came to see her, and she was happy.
Found a nice school for the boys; and Nan enjoyed her quiet days.

_January_, 1874.--Mother quite ill this month. Dr. Wesselhoeft
does his best for the poor old body, now such a burden to her.
The slow decline has begun, and she knows it, having nursed her
mother to the same end.

Father disappointed and rather sad, to be left out of so much
that he would enjoy and should be asked to help and adorn. A
little more money, a pleasant house and time to attend to it, and
I'd bring all the best people to see and entertain _him_. When I
see so much twaddle going on I wonder those who can don't get up
something better, and have really good things.

When I had the youth I had no money; now I have the money I have
no time; and when I get the time, if I ever do, I shall have no
health to enjoy life. I suppose it's the discipline I need; but
it's rather hard to love the things I do and see them go by
because duty chains me to my galley. If I come into port at last
with all sail set that will be reward perhaps.

Life always was a puzzle to me, and gets more mysterious as I go
on. I shall find it out by and by and see that it's all right, if
I can only keep brave and patient to the end.

May still in London painting Turners, and doing pretty panels as
"pot-boilers." They sell well, and she is a thrifty child. Good
luck to our mid-summer girl.

_February._--Father has several conversations at the Clubs and
Societies and Divinity School. No one pays anything; but they
seem glad to listen. There ought to be a place for him.

Nan busy with her boys, and they doing well at school,--good,
gay, and intelligent; a happy mother and most loving little sons.

I wrote two tales, and got $200. Saw Charles Kingsley,--a
pleasant man. His wife has Alcott relations, and likes my books.
Asked us to come and see him in England; is to bring his
daughters to Concord by and by.

_March._--May came home with a portfolio full of fine work. Must
have worked like a busy bee to have done so much.

Very happy in her success; for she has proved her talent, having
copied Turner so well that Ruskin (meeting her in the National
Gallery at work) told her that she had "caught Turner's spirit
wonderfully." She has begun to copy Nature, and done well. Lovely
sketches of the cloisters in Westminster Abbey, and other
charming things.

I write a story for all my men, and make up the $1,000 I planned
to earn by my "pot-boilers" before we go back to C.

A tablet to Grandfather May is put in Stone Chapel, and one
Sunday A.M. we take Mother to see it. A pathetic sight to see
Father walk up the broad aisle with the feeble old wife on his
arm as they went to be married nearly fifty years ago. Mother sat
alone in the old pew a little while and sung softly the old
hymns; for it was early, and only the sexton there. He asked who
she was and said his father was sexton in Grandfather's time.

Several old ladies came in and knew Mother. She broke down
thinking of the time when she and her mother and sisters and
father and brothers all went to church together, and we took her
home saying, "This isn't my Boston; all my friends are gone; I
never want to see it any more."

[She never did.--L. M. A.]

_April and May._--Back to Concord, after May and I had put all in
fine order and made the old house lovely with her pictures. When
all were settled, with May to keep house, I went to B. for rest,
and took a room in Joy Street.

The Elgin Watch Company offered me a gold watch or $100 for a
tale. Chose the money, and wrote the story "My Rococo Watch"[13]
for them.

_October._--Took two nice rooms at the Hotel Bellevue for the
winter; May to use one for her classes. Tried to work on my book,
but was in such pain could not do much. Got no sleep without
morphine. Tried old Dr. Hewett, who was sure he could cure the
woe....

_November._--Funny time with the publishers about the tale; for
all wanted it at once, and each tried to outbid the other for an
unwritten story. I rather enjoyed it, and felt important with
Roberts, Low, and Scribner all clamoring for my "'umble" works.
No peddling poor little manuscripts now, and feeling rich with
$10. The golden goose can sell her eggs for a good price, if she
isn't killed by too much driving.

_December._--Better and busier than last month.

All well at home, and Father happy among his kind Westerners.
Finish "Eight Cousins," and get ready to do the temperance tale,
for F. offers $700 for six chapters,--"Silver Pitchers."

_January_, 1875.-- ... Father flourishing about the Western
cities, "riding in Louisa's chariot, and adored as the
grandfather of 'Little Women,'" he says.

_February._--Finish my tale and go to Vassar College on a visit.
See M. M., talk with four hundred girls, write in stacks of
albums and school-books, and kiss every one who asks me. Go to
New York; am rather lionized, and run away; but things look
rather jolly, and I may try a winter there some time, as I need a
change and new ideas.

_March._--Home again, getting ready for the centennial fuss.

_April._--On the 19th a grand celebration. General _break-down_,
owing to an unwise desire to outdo all the other towns; too many
people....

Miss Alcott was very much interested in the question of Woman Suffrage, and exerted herself to get up a meeting in Concord. The subject was then very unpopular, and there was an ill-bred effort to destroy the meeting by noise and riot. Although not fond of speaking in public, she always put herself bravely on the side of the unpopular cause, and lent to it all the argument of her heroic life. When Mrs. Livermore lectured at Concord, Miss Alcott sat up all night talking with her on the great question. She had an opportunity of trying which was most exhausting, abuse or admiration, when she went to a meeting of the Women's Congress at Syracuse, in October. She was introduced to the audience by Mrs. Livermore, and the young people crowded about her like bees about a honeycomb. She was waylaid in the streets, petitioned for autographs, kissed by gushing young maidens, and made emphatically the lion of the hour. It was all so genial and spontaneous, that she enjoyed the fun. No amount of adulation ever affected the natural simplicity of her manners. She neither despised nor overrated her fame; but was glad of it as a proof of success in what she was ever aiming to do. She spent a few weeks in New York enjoying the gay and literary society which was freely opened to her; but finding most satisfaction in visiting the Tombs, Newsboys' Home, and Randall's Island, for she liked these things better than parties and dinners.

_Journal._

_June, July, August_, 1875.--Kept house at home, with two Irish
incapables to trot after, and ninety-two guests in one month to
entertain. Fame is an expensive luxury. I can do without it. This
is my worst scrape, I think. I asked for bread, and got a
stone,--in the shape of a pedestal.

_September and October_, 1875.--I go to Woman's Congress in
Syracuse, and see Niagara. Funny time with the girls.

Write loads of autographs, dodge at the theatre, and am kissed to
death by gushing damsels. One energetic lady grasped my hand in
the crowd, exclaiming, "If you ever come to Oshkosh, your feet
will not be allowed to touch the ground: you will be borne in the
arms of the people! Will you come?" "Never," responded Miss A.,
trying to look affable, and dying to laugh as the good soul
worked my arm like a pump-handle, and from the gallery
generations of girls were looking on. "This, this, is fame!"

_November, December._--Take a room at Bath Hotel, New York, and
look about me. Miss Sally Holly is here, and we go about
together. She tells me much of her life among the freedmen, and
Mother is soon deep in barrels of clothes, food, books, etc., for
Miss A. to take back with her.

See many people, and am very gay for a country-mouse. Society
unlike either London or Boston.

Go to Sorosis, and to Mrs. Botta's, O. B. Frothingham's, Miss
Booth's, and Mrs. Croly's receptions.

Visit the Tombs, Newsboys' Home, and Randall's Island on
Christmas Day with Mrs. Gibbons. A memorable day. Make a story of
it. Enjoy these things more than the parties and dinners.

_To Mrs. Dodge._

NEW YORK, Oct. 5, 1875.

DEAR MRS. DODGE,--So far, New York seems inviting, though I have
not seen or done much but "gawk round" as the country folks do. I
have seen Niagara, and enjoyed my vacation very much, especially
the Woman's Congress in Syracuse. I was made a member, so have
the honor to sign myself,

Yours truly,
L. M. ALCOTT, M. C.

_To her Father._

NEW YORK, Nov. 26, 1875.

DEAR SEVENTY-SIX,--As I have nothing else to send you on our
joint birthday, I'll despatch a letter about some of the people I
have lately seen in whom you take an interest.

Tuesday we heard Gough on "Blunders," and it was very good,--both
witty and wise, earnest and sensible. Wednesday eve to Mr.
Frothingham's for his Fraternity Club meeting. Pleasant people.
Ellen F.; Abby Sage Richardson, a very lovely woman; young Putnam
and wife; Mrs. Stedman; Mattie G. and her spouse, Dr. B., who
read a lively story of Mormon life; Mrs. Dodge; O. Johnson and
wife, and many more whose names I forget.

After the story the given subject for discussion was brought
up,--"Conformity and Noncomformity." Mr. B., a promising young
lawyer, led one side, Miss B. the other, and Mr. F. was in the
chair. It was very lively; and being called upon, I piped up, and
went in for nonconformity when principle was concerned. Got
patted on the head for my remarks, and didn't disgrace myself
except by getting very red and talking fast.

Ellen F. was very pleasant, and asked much about May. Proudly I
told of our girl's achievements, and E. hoped she would come to
New York. Mrs. Richardson was presented, and we had some
agreeable chat. She is a great friend of O. B. F., and is
lecturing here on "Literature." Shall go and hear her, as she is
coming to see me.

O. B. F. was as polished and clear and cool and witty as usual;
most gracious to the "'umble" Concord worm; and Mrs. F. asked me
to come and see them.

Yesterday took a drive with Sally H. in Central Park as it was
fine, and she had no fun on her Thanksgiving. I dined at Mrs.
Botta's, for she kindly came and asked me. Had a delightful time,
and felt as if I'd been to Washington; for Professor Byng, a
German ex-consul, was there, full of Capitol gossip about Sumner
and all the great beings that there do congregate. Mr. Botta you
know,--a handsome, long-haired Italian, very cultivated and
affable.

Also about Lord H., whom B. thought "an amiable old woman," glad
to say pretty things, and fond of being lionized. Byng knew Rose
and Una, and asked about them; also told funny tales of Victor
Emmanuel and his Court, and queer adventures in Greece, where he,
B., was a consul, or something official. It was a glimpse into a
new sort of world; and as the man was very accomplished, elegant,
and witty, I enjoyed it much.

We had music later, and saw some fine pictures. Durant knew Miss
Thackeray, J. Ingelow, and other English people whom I did, so we
had a good dish of gossip with Mrs. Botta, while the others
talked three or four languages at once.

It is a delightful house, and I shall go as often as I may, for
it is the sort of thing I like much better than B. H. and
champagne.

To-night we go to hear Bradlaugh; to-morrow, a new play; Sunday,
Frothingham and Bellows; and Monday, Mrs. Richardson and
Shakespeare.

But it isn't all play, I assure you. I'm a thrifty butterfly,
and have written three stories. The "G." has paid for the little
Christmas tale; the "I." has "Letty's Tramp;" and my "girl paper"
for "St. Nick" is about ready. Several other papers are waiting
for tales, so I have a ballast of work to keep me steady in spite
of much fun.

Mr. Powell has been twice to see me, and we go to visit the
charities of New York next week. I like to see both sides, and
generally find the busy people most interesting.

So far I like New York very much, and feel so well I shall stay
on till I'm tired of it. People begin to tell me how much better
I look than when I came, and I have not an ache to fret over.
This, after such a long lesson in bodily ails, is a blessing for
which I am duly grateful.

Hope all goes well with you, and that I shall get a line now and
then. I'll keep them for you to _bind_ up by and by instead of
mine....

We can buy a carriage some other time, and a barn likewise, and a
few other necessities of life. Rosa has proved such a good
speculation we shall dare to let May venture another when the
ship comes in. I am glad the dear "rack-a-bones" is a comfort to
her mistress, only don't let her break my boy's bones by any
antics when she feels her oats.

I suppose you are thinking of Wilson just now, and his quiet
slipping away to the heavenly council chambers where the good
senators go. Rather like Sumner's end, wasn't it? No wife or
children, only men and servants. Wilson was such a genial,
friendly soul I should have thought he would have felt the
loneliness very much. Hope if he left any last wishes his mates
will carry them out faithfully....

Now, dear Plato, the Lord bless you, and keep you serene and
happy for as many years as He sees fit, and me likewise, to be a
comfort as well as a pride to you.

Ever your loving
FORTY-THREE

_To her Nephews._

NEW YORK, Dec. 4, 1875.

DEAR FRED AND DONNY,--We went to see the news-boys, and I wish
you'd been with us, it was so interesting. A nice big house has
been built for them, with dining-room and kitchen on the first
floor, bath-rooms and school-room next, two big
sleeping-places,--third and fourth stories,--and at the top a
laundry and gymnasium. We saw all the tables set for
breakfast,--a plate and bowl for each,--and in the kitchen great
kettles, four times as big as our copper boiler, for tea and
coffee, soup, and meat. They have bread and meat and coffee for
breakfast, and bread and cheese and tea for supper, and get their
own dinners out. School was just over when we got there, and one
hundred and eighty boys were in the immense room with desks down
the middle, and all around the walls were little cupboards
numbered. Each boy on coming in gives his name, pays six cents,
gets a key, and puts away his hat, books, and jacket (if he has
'em) in his own cubby for the night. They pay five cents for
supper, and schooling, baths, etc., are free. They were a
smart-looking set, larking round in shirts and trousers,
barefooted, but the faces were clean, and the heads smooth, and
clothes pretty decent; yet they support themselves, for not one
of them has any parents or home but this. One little chap, only
six, was trotting round as busy as a bee, locking up his small
shoes and ragged jacket as if they were great treasures. I asked
about little Pete, and the man told us his brother, only nine,
supported him and took care of him entirely; and wouldn't let
Pete be sent away to any home, because _he_ wished to have "his
family" with him.

Think of that, Fred! How would it seem to be all alone in a big
city, with no mamma to cuddle you; no two grandpa's houses to
take you in; not a penny but what you earned, and Donny to take
care of? Could you do it? Nine-year-old Patsey does it capitally;
buys Pete's clothes, pays for his bed and supper, and puts
pennies in the savings-bank. There's a brave little man for you!
I wanted to see him; but he is a newsboy, and sells late papers,
because, though harder work, it pays better, and the coast is
clear for those who do it.

The savings-bank was a great table all full of slits, each one
leading to a little place below and numbered outside, so each boy
knew his own. Once a month the bank is opened, and the lads take
out what they like, or have it invested in a big bank for them to
have when they find homes out West, as many do, and make good
farmers. One boy was putting in some pennies as we looked, and I
asked how much he had saved this month. "Fourteen dollars,
ma'am," says the thirteen-year-older, proudly slipping in the
last cent. A prize of $3 is offered to the lad who saves the most
in a month.

The beds upstairs were in two immense rooms, ever so much larger
than our town hall,--one hundred in one, and one hundred and
eighty in another,--all narrow beds with a blue quilt, neat
pillow, and clean sheet. They are built in long rows, one over
another, and the upper boy has to climb up as on board ship. I'd
have liked to see one hundred and eighty all in their "by-lows"
at once, and I asked the man if they didn't train when all were
in. "Lord, ma'am, they're up at five, poor little chaps, and are
so tired at night that they drop off right away. Now and then
some boy kicks up a little row, but we have a watchman, and he
soon settles 'em."

He also told me how that very day a neat, smart young man came
in, and said he was one of their boys who went West with a farmer
only a little while ago; and now he owned eighty acres of land,
had a good house, and was doing well, and had come to New York to
find his sister, and to take her away to live with him. Wasn't
that nice? Lots of boys do as well. Instead of loafing round the
streets and getting into mischief, they are taught to be tidy,
industrious, and honest, and then sent away into the wholesome
country to support themselves.

It was funny to see 'em scrub in the bath-room,--feet and
faces,--comb their hair, fold up their old clothes in the dear
cubbies, which make them so happy because they feel that they
_own_ something.

The man said every boy wanted one, even though he had neither
shoes nor jacket to put in it; but would lay away an old rag of a
cap or a dirty tippet with an air of satisfaction fine to see.
Some lads sat reading, and the man said they loved it so they'd
read all night, if allowed. At nine he gave the word, "Bed!" and
away went the lads, trooping up to sleep in shirts and trousers,
as nightgowns are not provided. How would a boy I know like
that,--a boy who likes to have "trommin" on his nighties? Of
course, I don't mean dandy Don! Oh, dear no!

After nine [if late in coming in] they are fined five cents;
after ten, ten cents; and after eleven they can't come in at all.
This makes them steady, keeps them out of harm, and gives them
time for study. Some go to the theatre, and sleep anywhere; some
sleep at the Home, but go out for a better breakfast than they
get there, as the swell ones are fond of goodies, and live well
in their funny way. Coffee and cakes at Fulton Market is "the
tip-top grub," and they often spend all their day's earnings in a
play and a supper, and sleep in boxes or cellars after it.

Lots of pussies were round the kitchen; and one black one I
called a bootblack, and a gray kit that yowled loud was a
newsboy. That made some chaps laugh, and they nodded at me as I
went out. Nice boys! but I know some nicer ones. Write and tell
me something about my poor Squabby.

By-by, your
WEEDY.

_To her Family._

SATURDAY EVENING, Dec. 25, 1875.

DEAR FAMILY,-- ... I had only time for a word this A.M., as the
fourth letter was from Mrs. P. to say they could not go; so I
trotted off in the fog at ten to the boat, and there found Mr.
and Mrs. G. and piles of goodies for the poor children. She is a
dear little old lady in a close, Quakerish bonnet and plain suit,
but wide-awake and full of energy. It was grand to see her tackle
the big mayor and a still bigger commissioner, and tell them what
_ought_ to be done for the poor things on the Island, as they are
to be routed; for the city wants the land for some dodge or
other. Both men fled soon, for the brave little woman was down on
'em in a way that would have made Marmee cry "Ankore!" and clap
her dress-gloves to rags.

When the rotundities had retired, she fell upon a demure priest,
and read him a sermon; and then won the heart of a boyish
reporter so entirely that he stuck to us all day, and helped
serve out dolls and candy like a man and a brother. Long life to
him!

Mr. G. and I discussed pauperism and crime like two old
wiseacres; and it was sweet to hear the gray-headed couple say
"thee" and "thou," "Abby" and "James," to one another, he
following with the bundles wherever the little poke-bonnet led
the way. I've had a pretty good variety of Christmases in my day,
but never one like this before. First we drove in an old
ramshackle hack to the chapel, whither a boy had raced before us,
crying joyfully to all he met, "She's come! Miss G.--she's come!"
And all faces beamed, as well they might, since for thirty years
she has gone to make set after set of little forlornities happy
on this day.

The chapel was full. On one side, in front, girls in blue gowns
and white pinafores; on the other, small chaps in pinafores
likewise; and behind them, bigger boys in gray suits with cropped
heads, and larger girls with ribbons in their hair and pink
calico gowns. They sang alternately; the girls gave "Juanita"
very well, the little chaps a pretty song about poor children
asking a "little white angel" to leave the gates of heaven ajar,
so they could peep in, if no more. Quite pathetic, coming from
poor babies who had no home but this.

The big boys spoke pieces, and I was amused when one bright lad
in gray, with a red band on his arm, spoke the lines I gave
G.,--"Merry Christmas." No one knew me, so I had the joke to
myself; and I found afterward that I was taken for the mayoress,
who was expected. Then we drove to the hospital, and there the
heart-ache began, for me at least, so sad it was to see these
poor babies, born of want and sin, suffering every sort of
deformity, disease, and pain. Cripples half blind, scarred with
scrofula, burns, and abuse,--it was simply awful and
indescribable!

As we went in, I with a great box of dolls and the young
reporter with a bigger box of candy, a general cry of delight
greeted us. Some children tried to run, half-blind ones stretched
out their groping hands, little ones crawled, and big ones
grinned, while several poor babies sat up in their bed, beckoning
us to "come quick."

One poor mite, so eaten up with sores that its whole face was
painted with some white salve,--its head covered with an oilskin
cap; one eye gone, and the other half filmed over; hands
bandaged, and ears bleeding,--could only moan and move its feet
till I put a gay red dolly in one hand and a pink candy in the
other; then the dim eye brightened, the hoarse voice said feebly,
"Tanky, lady!" and I left it contentedly sucking the sweetie, and
_trying_ to _see_ its dear new toy. It can't see another
Christmas, and I like to think I helped make this one happy, even
for a minute.

It was pleasant to watch the young reporter trot round with the
candy-box, and come up to me all interest to say, "One girl
hasn't got a doll, ma'am, and looks _so_ disappointed."

After the hospital, we went to the idiot house; and there I had a
chance to see faces and figures that will haunt me a long time. A
hundred or so of half-grown boys and girls ranged down a long
hall, a table of toys in the middle, and an empty one for Mrs.
G.'s gifts. A cheer broke out as the little lady hurried in
waving her handkerchief and a handful of gay bead necklaces, and
"Oh! Ohs!" followed the appearance of the doll-lady and the candy
man.

A pile of gay pictures was a new idea, and Mrs. G. told me to
hold up some bright ones and see if the poor innocents would
understand and enjoy them. I held up one of two kittens lapping
spilt milk, and the girls began to mew and say "Cat! ah,
pretty." Then a fine horse, and the boys bounced on their benches
with pleasure; while a ship in full sail produced a cheer of
rapture from them all.

Some were given out to the good ones, and the rest are to be
pinned round the room; so the pictures were a great success. All
wanted dolls, even boys of nineteen; for all were children in
mind. But the girls had them, and young women of eighteen cuddled
their babies and were happy. The boys chose from the toy-table,
and it was pathetic to see great fellows pick out a squeaking dog
without even the wit to pinch it when it was theirs. One dwarf of
thirty-five chose a little Noah's ark, and brooded over it in
silent bliss.

Some with beards sucked their candy, and stared at a toy cow or
box of blocks as if their cup was full. One French girl sang the
Marseillaise in a feeble voice, and was so overcome by her new
doll that she had an epileptic fit on the spot, which made two
others go off likewise; and a slight pause took place while they
were kindly removed to sleep it off.

A little tot of four, who hadn't sense to put candy in its mouth,
was so fond of music that when the girls sang the poor vacant
face woke up, and a pair of lovely soft hazel eyes stopped
staring dully at nothing, and went wandering to and fro with
light in them, as if to find the only sound that can reach its
poor mind.

I guess I gave away two hundred dolls, and a soap-box of candy
was empty when we left. But rows of sticky faces beamed at us,
and an array of gay toys wildly waved after us, as if we were
angels who had showered goodies on the poor souls.

Pauper women are nurses; and Mrs. G. says the babies die like
sheep, many being deserted so young nothing can be hoped or done
for them. One of the teachers in the idiot home was a Miss C.,
who remembered Nan at Dr. Wilbur's. Very lady-like, and all
devotion to me. But such a life! Oh, me! Who _can_ lead it, and
not go mad?

At four, we left and came home, Mrs. G. giving a box of toys and
sweeties on board the boat for the children of the men who run
it. So leaving a stream of blessings and pleasures behind her,
the dear old lady drove away, simply saying, "There now, I shall
feel better for the next year!" Well she may; bless her!

She made a speech to the chapel children after the Commissioner
had prosed in the usual way, and she told 'em that _she_ should
come as long as she could, and when she was gone her children
would still keep it up in memory of her; so for thirty years more
she hoped this, their one holiday, would be made happy for them.
I could have hugged her on the spot, the motherly old dear!

Next Wednesday we go to the Tombs, and some day I am to visit the
hospital with her, for I like this better than parties, etc.

I got home at five, and then remembered that I'd had no lunch; so
I took an apple till six, when I discovered that all had dined at
one so the helpers could go early this evening. Thus my Christmas
day was without dinner or presents, for the first time since I
can remember. Yet it has been a very memorable day, and I feel as
if I'd had a splendid feast seeing the poor babies wallow in
turkey soup, and that every gift I put into their hands had come
back to me in the dumb delight of their unchild-like faces trying
to smile.

After the pleasant visit in New York, Miss Alcott returned to Boston, where she went into society more than usual, often attending clubs, theatres, and receptions. She was more lionized than ever, and had a natural pleasure in the attention she received.

The summer of 1876 she spent at Concord, nursing her mother, who was very ill. She here wrote "Rose in Bloom," the sequel to "Eight Cousins," in three weeks. It was published in November.

Louisa was anxious that her sister should have a home for her young family. Mrs. Pratt invested what she could of her husband's money in the purchase, and Louisa contributed the rest. This was the so-called Thoreau House on the main street in Concord, which became Mrs. Pratt's home, and finally that of her father.

Louisa spent the summer of 1877 in Concord. Her mother's illness increased, and she was herself very ill in August. Yet she wrote this summer one of her brightest and sweetest stories, "Under the Lilacs." Her love of animals is specially apparent in this book, and she records going to the circus to make studies for the performing dog Sanch.

During the winter of 1877, Miss Alcott went to the Bellevue for some weeks, and having secured the necessary quiet, devoted herself to the writing of a novel for the famous No Name Series published by Roberts Brothers. This book had been in her mind for some time, as is seen by the journal. As it was to appear anonymously, and was not intended for children, she was able to depart from her usual manner, and indulge the weird and lurid fancies which took possession of her in her dramatic days, and when writing sensational stories. She was much interested, and must have written it very rapidly, as it was published in April. She enjoyed the excitement of her _incognito_, and was much amused at the guesses of critics and friends, who attributed the book to others, and were sure Louisa Alcott did not write it, because its style was so unlike hers.

It certainly is very unlike the books Miss Alcott had lately written. It has nothing of the home-like simplicity and charm of "Little Women," "Old-Fashioned Girl," and the other stories with which she was delighting the children, and, with "Moods," must always be named as exceptional when speaking of her works. Still, a closer study of her life and nature will reveal much of her own tastes and habits of thought in the book; and it is evident that she wrote _con amore_, and was fascinated by the familiars she evoked, however little charm they may seem to possess to others. She was fond of Hawthorne's books. The influence of his subtle and weird romances is undoubtedly perceptible in the book, and it is not strange that it was attributed to his son. She says it had been simmering in her brain ever since she read "Faust" the year before; and she clearly wished to work according to Goethe's thought,--that the Prince of Darkness was a gentleman, and must be represented as belonging to the best society.

The plot is powerful and original. A young poet, with more ambition than genius or self-knowledge, finds himself, at nineteen, friendless, penniless, and hopeless, and is on the point of committing suicide. He is saved by Helwyze, a middle-aged man, who has been severely crippled by a terrible fall, and his heart seared by the desertion of the woman he loved. A man of intellect, power, imagination, and wealth, but incapable of conscientious feeling or true love, he is a dangerous savior for the impulsive poet; but he takes him to his home, warms, feeds, and shelters him, and promises to bring out his book. The brilliant, passionate woman who gave up her lover when his health and beauty were gone, returned to him when youth had passed, and would gladly have devoted herself to soothing his pain and enriching his life. Her feeling is painted with delicacy and tenderness.

But Helwyze's heart knew nothing of the divine quality of forgiveness; for his love there was no resurrection; and he only valued the power he could exercise over a brilliant woman, and the intellectual entertainment she could bring him. A sweet young girl, Olivia's protegee, completes the very limited _dramatis personæ_.

The young poet, Felix Canaris, under the guidance of his new friend, wins fame, success, and the young girl's heart; but his wayward fancy turns rather to the magnificent Olivia. The demoniac Helwyze works upon this feeling, and claims of Olivia her fair young friend Gladys as a wife for Felix, who is forced to accept her at the hands of his master. She is entirely responsive to the love which she fancies she has won, and is grateful for her fortunate lot, and devotes herself to the comfort and happiness of the poor invalid who delights in her beauty and grace. For a time Felix enjoys a society success, to which his charming wife, as well as his book, contribute. But at last this excitement flags. He writes another book, which he threatens to burn because he is dissatisfied with it. Gladys entreats him to spare it, and Helwyze offers to read it to her. She is overcome and melted with emotion at the passion and pathos of the story; and when Helwyze asks, "Shall I burn it?" Felix answers, "No!" Again the book brings success and admiration, but the tender wife sees that it does not insure happiness, and that her husband is plunging into the excitement of gambling.

The demon Helwyze has complete control over the poet, which he exercises with such subtle tyranny that the young man is driven to the dreadful thought of murder to escape from him; but he is saved from the deed by the gentle influence of his wife, who has won his heart at last, unconscious that it had not always been hers.

Helwyze finds his own punishment. One being resists his power,--Gladys breathes his poisoned atmosphere unharmed. He sends for Olivia as his ally to separate the wife from her husband's love. A passion of curiosity possesses him to read her very heart; and at last he resorts to a strange means to accomplish his purpose. He gives her an exciting drug without her knowledge, and under its influence she speaks and acts with a rare genius which calls forth the admiration of all the group. Left alone with her, Helwyze exercises his magnetic power to draw forth the secrets of her heart; but he reads there only a pure and true love for her husband, and fear of the unhallowed passion which he is cherishing. The secret of his power over the husband is at last revealed. Canaris has published as his own the work of Helwyze, and all the fame and glory he has received has been won by deceit, and is a miserable mockery.

The tragic result is inevitable. Gladys dies under the pressure of a burden too heavy for her,--the knowledge of deceit in him she had loved and trusted; while the stricken Helwyze is paralyzed, and lives henceforth only a death in life.

With all the elements of power and beauty in this singular book, it fails to charm and win the heart of the reader. The circumstances are in a romantic setting, but still they are prosaic; and tragedy is only endurable when taken up into the region of the ideal, where the thought of the universal rounds out all traits of the individual. In Goethe's Faust, Margaret is the sweetest and simplest of maidens; but in her is the life of all wronged and suffering womanhood.

The realism which is delightful in the pictures of little women and merry boys is painful when connected with passions so morbid and lives so far removed from joy and sanity. As in her early dramas and sensational stories, we do not find Louisa Alcott's own broad, generous, healthy life, or that which lay around her, in this book, but the reminiscences of her reading, which she had striven to make her own by invention and fancy.

This note refers to "A Modern Mephistopheles":--

[1877.]