Work: A Story of Experience
CHAPTER XX
At Forty
“Nearly twenty years since I set out to seek my fortune. It has been a long search, but I think I have found it at last. I only asked to be a useful, happy woman, and my wish is granted: for, I believe I am useful; I know I am happy.”
Christie looked so as she sat alone in the flowery parlor one September afternoon, thinking over her life with a grateful, cheerful spirit. Forty to-day, and pausing at that half-way house between youth and age, she looked back into the past without bitter regret or unsubmissive grief, and forward into the future with courageous patience; for three good angels attended her, and with faith, hope, and charity to brighten life, no woman need lament lost youth or fear approaching age. Christie did not, and though her eyes filled with quiet tears as they were raised to the faded cap and sheathed sword hanging on the wall, none fell; and in a moment tender sorrow changed to still tenderer joy as her glance wandered to rosy little Ruth playing hospital with her dollies in the porch. Then they shone with genuine satisfaction as they went from the letters and papers on her table to the garden, where several young women were at work with a healthful color in the cheeks that had been very pale and thin in the spring.
“I think David is satisfied with me; for I have given all my heart and strength to his work, and it prospers well,” she said to herself, and then her face grew thoughtful, as she recalled a late event which seemed to have opened a new field of labor for her if she chose to enter it.
A few evenings before she had gone to one of the many meetings of working-women, which had made some stir of late. Not a first visit, for she was much interested in the subject and full of sympathy for this class of workers.
There were speeches of course, and of the most unparliamentary sort, for the meeting was composed almost entirely of women, each eager to tell her special grievance or theory. Any one who chose got up and spoke; and whether wisely or foolishly each proved how great was the ferment now going on, and how difficult it was for the two classes to meet and help one another in spite of the utmost need on one side and the sincerest good-will on the other. The workers poured out their wrongs and hardships passionately or plaintively, demanding or imploring justice, sympathy, and help; displaying the ignorance, incapacity, and prejudice, which make their need all the more pitiful, their relief all the more imperative.
The ladies did their part with kindliness, patience, and often unconscious condescension, showing in their turn how little they knew of the real trials of the women whom they longed to serve, how very narrow a sphere of usefulness they were fitted for in spite of culture and intelligence, and how rich they were in generous theories, how poor in practical methods of relief.
One accomplished creature with learning radiating from every pore, delivered a charming little essay on the strong-minded women of antiquity; then, taking labor into the region of art, painted delightful pictures of the time when all would work harmoniously together in an Ideal Republic, where each did the task she liked, and was paid for it in liberty, equality, and fraternity.
Unfortunately she talked over the heads of her audience, and it was like telling fairy tales to hungry children to describe Aspasia discussing Greek politics with Pericles and Plato reposing upon ivory couches, or Hypatia modestly delivering philosophical lectures to young men behind a Tyrian purple curtain; and the Ideal Republic met with little favor from anxious seamstresses, type-setters, and shop-girls, who said ungratefully among themselves,“That’s all very pretty, but I don’t see how it’s going to better wages among us now.”
Another eloquent sister gave them a political oration which fired the revolutionary blood in their veins, and made them eager to rush to the State-house en masse, and demand the ballot before one-half of them were quite clear what it meant, and the other half were as unfit for it as any ignorant Patrick bribed with a dollar and a sup of whiskey.
A third well-wisher quenched their ardor like a wet blanket, by reading reports of sundry labor reforms in foreign parts; most interesting, but made entirely futile by differences of climate, needs, and customs. She closed with a cheerful budget of statistics, giving the exact number of needle-women who had starved, gone mad, or committed suicide during the past year; the enormous profits wrung by capitalists from the blood and muscles of their employés; and the alarming increase in the cost of living, which was about to plunge the nation into debt and famine, if not destruction generally.
When she sat down despair was visible on many countenances, and immediate starvation seemed to be waiting at the door to clutch them as they went out; for the impressible creatures believed every word and saw no salvation anywhere.
Christie had listened intently to all this; had admired, regretted, or condemned as each spoke; and felt a steadily increasing sympathy for all, and a strong desire to bring the helpers and the helped into truer relations with each other.
The dear ladies were so earnest, so hopeful, and so unpractically benevolent, that it grieved her to see so much breath wasted, so much good-will astray; while the expectant, despondent, or excited faces of the work-women touched her heart; for well she knew how much they needed help, how eager they were for light, how ready to be led if some one would only show a possible way.
As the statistical extinguisher retired, beaming with satisfaction at having added her mite to the good cause, a sudden and uncontrollable impulse moved Christie to rise in her place and ask leave to speak. It was readily granted, and a little stir of interest greeted her; for she was known to many as Mr. Power’s friend, David Sterling’s wife, or an army nurse who had done well. Whispers circulated quickly, and faces brightened as they turned toward her; for she had a helpful look, and her first words pleased them.When the president invited her to the platform she paused on the lowest step, saying with an expressive look and gesture:
“I am better here, thank you; for I have been and mean to be a working-woman all my life.”
“Hear! hear!” cried a stout matron in a gay bonnet, and the rest indorsed the sentiment with a hearty round. Then they were very still, and then in a clear, steady voice, with the sympathetic undertone to it that is so magical in its effect, Christie made her first speech in public since she left the stage.
That early training stood her in good stead now, giving her self-possession, power of voice, and ease of gesture; while the purpose at her heart lent her the sort of simple eloquence that touches, persuades, and convinces better than logic, flattery, or oratory.
What she said she hardly knew: words came faster than she could utter them, thoughts pressed upon her, and all the lessons of her life rose vividly before her to give weight to her arguments, value to her counsel, and the force of truth to every sentence she uttered. She had known so many of the same trials, troubles, and temptations that she could speak understandingly of them; and, better still, she had conquered or outlived so many of them, that she could not only pity but help others to do as she had done. Having found in labor her best teacher, comforter, and friend, she could tell those who listened that, no matter how hard or humble the task at the beginning, if faithfully and bravely performed, it would surely prove a stepping-stone to something better, and with each honest effort they were fitting themselves for the nobler labor, and larger liberty God meant them to enjoy.
The women felt that this speaker was one of them; for the same lines were on her face that they saw on their own, her hands were no fine lady’s hands, her dress plainer than some of theirs, her speech simple enough for all to understand; cheerful, comforting, and full of practical suggestion, illustrations out of their own experience, and a spirit of companionship that uplifted their despondent hearts.
Yet more impressive than any thing she said was the subtle magnetism of character, for that has a universal language which all can understand. They saw and felt that a genuine woman stood down there among them like a sister, ready with head, heart, and hand to help them help themselves; not offering pity as an alms, but justice as a right. Hardship and sorrow, long effort and late-won reward had been hers they knew; wifehood, motherhood, and widowhood brought her very near to them; and behind her was the background of an earnest life, against which this figure with health on the cheeks, hope in the eyes, courage on the lips, and the ardor of a wide benevolence warming the whole countenance stood out full of unconscious dignity and beauty; an example to comfort, touch, and inspire them.
It was not a long speech, and in it there was no learning, no statistics, and no politics; yet it was the speech of the evening, and when it was over no one else seemed to have any thing to say. As the meeting broke up Christie’s hand was shaken by many roughened by the needle, stained with printer’s ink, or hard with humbler toil; many faces smiled gratefully at her, and many voices thanked her heartily. But sweeter than any applause were the words of one woman who grasped her hand, and whispered with wet eyes:
“I knew your blessed husband; he was very good to me, and I’ve been thanking the Lord he had such a wife for his reward!”
Christie was thinking of all this as she sat alone that day, and asking herself if she should go on; for the ladies had been as grateful as the women; had begged her to come and speak again, saying they needed just such a mediator to bridge across the space that now divided them from those they wished to serve. She certainly seemed fitted to act as interpreter between the two classes; for, from the gentleman her father she had inherited the fine instincts, gracious manners, and unblemished name of an old and honorable race; from the farmer’s daughter, her mother, came the equally valuable dower of practical virtues, a sturdy love of independence, and great respect for the skill and courage that can win it.
Such women were much needed and are not always easy to find; for even in democratic America the hand that earns its daily bread must wear some talent, name, or honor as an ornament, before it is very cordially shaken by those that wear white gloves.
“Perhaps this is the task my life has been fitting me for,” she said. “A great and noble one which I should be proud to accept and help accomplish if I can. Others have finished the emancipation work and done it splendidly, even at the cost of all this blood and sorrow. I came too late to do any thing but give my husband and behold the glorious end.This new task seems to offer me the chance of being among the pioneers, to do the hard work, share the persecution, and help lay the foundation of a new emancipation whose happy success I may never see.Yet I had rather be remembered as those brave beginners are, though many of them missed the triumph, than as the late comers will be, who only beat the drums and wave the banners when the victory is won.”
When Letty and her mother came in, they found a much happier looking guest than the one Christie had welcomed an hour before. Scarcely had she introduced them when voices in the lane made all look up to see old Hepsey and Mrs.Wilkins approaching.
“Two more of my dear friends, Bella: a fugitive slave and a laundress. One has saved scores of her own people, and is my pet heroine.The other has the bravest, cheeriest soul I know, and is my private oracle.”
The words were hardly out of Christie’s mouth when in they came; Hepsey’s black face shining with affection, and Mrs.Wilkins as usual running over with kind words.
“My dear creeter, the best of wishes and no end of happy birthdays. There’s a triflin’ keepsake; tuck it away, and look at it byme by. Mis’ Sterlin’, I’m proper glad to see you lookin’ so well. Aunt Letty, how’s that darlin’ child? I ain’t the pleasure of your acquaintance, Miss, but I’m pleased to see you.The children all sent love, likewise Lisha, whose bones is better sense I tried the camfire and red flannel.”
Then they settled down like a flock of birds of various plumage and power of song, but all amicably disposed, and ready to peck socially at any topic which might turn up.
Mrs.Wilkins started one by exclaiming as she “laid off” her bonnet:
“Sakes alive, there’s a new picter! Ain’t it beautiful?”
“Colonel Fletcher brought it this morning. A great artist painted it for him, and he gave it to me in a way that added much to its value,” answered Christie, with both gratitude and affection in her face; for she was a woman who could change a lover to a friend, and keep him all her life.
It was a quaint and lovely picture of Mr. Greatheart, leading the fugitives from the City of Destruction. A dark wood lay behind; a wide river rolled before; Mercy and Christiana pressed close to their faithful guide, who went down the rough and narrow path bearing a cross-hilted sword in his right hand, and holding a sleeping baby with the left. The sun was just rising, and a long ray made a bright path athwart the river, turned Greatheart’s dinted armor to gold, and shone into the brave and tender face that seemed to look beyond the sunrise.
“There’s just a hint of Davy in it that is very comforting to me,” said Mrs. Sterling, as she laid her old hands softly together, and looked up with her devout eyes full of love.
“Dem women oughter bin black,” murmured Hepsey, tearfully; for she considered David worthy of a place with old John Brown and Colonel Shaw.
“The child looks like Pansy, we all think,” added Letty, as the little girl brought her nosegay for Aunty to tie up prettily.
Christie said nothing, because she felt too much; and Bella was also silent because she knew too little. But Mrs. Wilkins with her kindly tact changed the subject before it grew painful, and asked with sudden interest:
“When be you a goin’ to hold forth agin, Christie? Jest let me know beforehand, and I’ll wear my old gloves: I tore my best ones all to rags clappin’ of you; it was so extra good.”
“I don’t deserve any credit for the speech, because it spoke itself, and I couldn’t help it. I had no thought of such a thing till it came over me all at once, and I was up before I knew it. I’m truly glad you liked it, but I shall never make another, unless you think I’d better. You know I always ask your advice, and what is more remarkable usually take it,” said Christie, glad to consult her oracle.
“Hadn’t you better rest a little before you begin any new task, my daughter? You have done so much these last years you must be tired,” interrupted Mrs. Sterling, with a look of tender anxiety.
“You know I work for two, mother,” answered Christie, with the clear, sweet expression her face always wore when she spoke of David. “I am not tired yet: I hope I never shall be, for without my work I should fall into despair or ennui. There is so much to be done, and it is so delightful to help do it, that I never mean to fold my hands till they are useless. I owe all I can do, for in labor, and the efforts and experiences that grew out of it, I have found independence, education, happiness, and religion.”
“Then, my dear, you are ready to help other folks into the same blessed state, and it’s your duty to do it!” cried Mrs.Wilkins, her keen eyes full of sympathy and commendation as they rested on Christie’s cheerful, earnest face. “Ef the sperrit moves you to speak, up and do it without no misgivin’s. I think it was a special leadin’ that night, and I hope you’ll foller, for it ain’t every one that can make folks laugh and cry with a few plain words that go right to a body’s heart and stop there real comfortable and fillin’. I guess this is your next job, my dear, and you’d better ketch hold and give it the right turn; for it’s goin’ to take time, and women ain’t stood alone for so long they’ll need a sight of boostin’.”
There was a general laugh at the close of Mrs.Wilkins’s remarks; but Christie answered seriously:“I accept the task, and will do my share faithfully with words or work, as shall seem best. We all need much preparation for the good time that is coming to us, and can get it best by trying to know and help, love and educate one another,—as we do here.”
With an impulsive gesture Christie stretched her hands to the friends about her, and with one accord they laid theirs on hers, a loving league of sisters, old and young, black and white, rich and poor, each ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the happy end.
“Me too!” cried little Ruth, and spread her chubby hand above the rest: a hopeful omen, seeming to promise that the coming generation of women will not only receive but deserve their liberty, by learning that the greatest of God’s gifts to us is the privilege of sharing His great work.
A Modern Mephistopheles (1877) is Alcott’s only work of sensation fiction known to have been written after the publication of Little Women, and it is one of her best. A full-length novel, it appeared in Roberts Brothers No Name Series, which featured works by well-known authors published anonymously. The letters of Alcott’s editor at Roberts,Thomas Niles, suggest that both he and Alcott enjoyed the idea of mystifying the reading public. And, according to Alcott’s journal, she reveled in the return to her earlier style. Apparently, Alcott had first thought that she could revise a manuscript entitled “A Modern Mephistopheles,” written and rejected during the 1860s; instead, she recycled elements from an earlier published story, “The Freak of a Genius,” which had appeared serially in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper in October and November of 1866.The 1860s “Modern Mephistopheles” was finally published in 1995 by Random House under its subtitle A Long Fatal Love Chase.
Critics have debated and will continue to debate the comparative merits of these three thematically related works. In both the novella “The Freak of a Genius” and A Modern Mephistopheles, a beautiful youth with poetic aspirations but limited talent is befriended by an older, less attractive but much more gifted man. In both works, the young man becomes famous as the author of poems actually written by the older man, but in “The Freak of a Genius,” Kent permits St. George to publish his poems out of mistaken kindness, whereas in A Modern Mephistopheles, Jasper Helwyze encourages Felix Canaris to appropriate his poems out of a fiendish curiosity and love of power. In both works, a character dies, but “The Freak of a Genius” otherwise ends happily; in A Modern Mephistopheles, on the other hand, four lives are devastated by the machinations of Helwyze. “The Freak of a Genius” resembles A Modern Mephistopheles in its concentration on four principal characters and the tangled relationships among them, but it is a much tamer piece. A Long Fatal Love Chase resembles A Modern Mephistopheles in that it, too, has a diabolic hero, but Philip Tempest’s evil seems less subtle and sinister than that of Helwyze, who compares himself, obliquely, with Hawthorne’s Chillingworth. Love Chase is, as its title suggests, a picaresque novel, loose and episodic, whereas A Modern Mephistopheles is one of Alcott’s most tightly constructed works and almost claustrophobic in its confinement to a single setting. In addition to two modern reprints, several excellent analyses of A Modern Mephistopheles have been published, suggesting its literary merit and centrality in the Alcott canon.
In the three chapters from A Modern Mephistopheles reprinted here, we see Helwyze attempt what has been called an intellectual (and construed by one critic as an actual) rape of Gladys, the wife of his protégé Felix Canaris. Not content to bind Felix to him with their Faustian bargain, Helwyze blackmails him into marrying the innocent young woman to whom Helwyze is himself attracted.Virtually imprisoned in Helwyze’s household, Gladys begins to succeed, despite Helwyze, in winning her husband’s love and loyalty. In order to frustrate Gladys, Helwyze recalls his former mistress Olivia, with whom Felix earlier thought himself in love, and at the beginning of chapter 12 persuades her to attempt to seduce Felix. Then, in a succession of scenes that brings together a number of Alcott’s favorite motifs—flower symbolism, drug-induced eroticism, literary allusion, and dramatic performance—Helwyze, like Chillingworth before him, attempts to “violate the sanctity of a human heart.” In chapter 15, Gladys, pregnant with what she, at least, believes to be Felix’s child and emboldened by three months’ absence from Helwyze, discusses their triangular relationship in terms of Hawthorne’s novel. In the chapters that follow this confrontation with Helwyze, Gladys does finally learn the secret of her husband’s literary success, a secret that has been equated with Alcott’s own double life as an author. Thus, in a series meant to prompt public speculation about authorship, Alcott dared to suggest that some of her own best work had yet to be acknowledged and that the author of her acclaimed work differed from the woman whom her readers thought they knew.