Jo’s Boys
CHAPTER XIV
Plays at Plumfield
As it is as impossible for the humble historian of the March family to write a story without theatricals in it as for our dear Miss Yonge to get on with less than twelve or fourteen children in her interesting tales, we will accept the fact, and at once cheer ourselves after the last afflicting events, by proceeding to the Christmas plays at Plumfield; for they influence the fate of several of our characters and cannot well be skipped.
When the college was built Mr. Laurie added a charming little theater, which not only served for plays, but declamations, lectures, and concerts. The drop curtain displayed Apollo with the Muses grouped about him; and as a compliment to the donor of the hall the artist had given the god a decided resemblance to our friend, which was considered a superb joke by everyone else. Home talent furnished stars, stock company, orchestra, and scene painter; and astonishing performances were given on this pretty little stage.
Mrs. Jo had been trying for some time to produce a play which should be an improvement upon the adaptations from the French then in vogue, curious mixtures of fine toilettes, false sentiment, and feeble wit, with no touch of nature to redeem them. It was easy to plan plays full of noble speeches and thrilling situations, but very hard to write them; so she contented herself with a few scenes of humble life in which the comic and pathetic were mingled; and as she fitted her characters to her actors, she hoped the little venture would prove that truth and simplicity had not entirely lost their power to charm. Mr. Laurie helped her, and they called themselves Beaumont and Fletcher, enjoying their joint labor very much; for Beaumont’s knowledge of dramatic art was of great use in curbing Fletcher’s too-aspiring pen, and they flattered themselves that they had produced a neat and effective bit of work as an experiment.
All was ready now; and Christmas Day was much enlivened by last rehearsals, the panics of timid actors, the scramble for forgotten properties, and the decoration of the theater. Evergreen and holly from the woods, blooming plants from the hothouse on Parnassus, and the flags of all nations made it very gay that night in honor of the guests who were coming, chief among them Miss Cameron, who kept her promise faithfully. The orchestra tuned their instruments with unusual care, the scene shifters set their stage with lavish elegance, the prompter heroically took his seat in the stifling nook provided for him, and the actors dressed with trembling hands that dropped the pins, and perspiring brows whereon the powder wouldn’t stick. Beaumont and Fletcher were everywhere, feeling that their literary reputation was at stake; for sundry friendly critics were invited, and reporters, like mosquitoes, cannot be excluded from any earthly scene, be it a great man’s deathbed or a dime museum.
“Has she come?” was the question asked by every tongue behind the curtain; and when Tom, who played an old man, endangered his respectable legs among the footlights to peep, announced that he saw Miss Cameron’s handsome head in the place of honor, a thrill pervaded the entire company, and Josie declared with an excited gasp that she was going to have stage fright for the first time in her life.
“I’ll shake you if you do,” said Mrs. Jo, who was in such a wild state of dishevelment with her varied labors that she might have gone on as Madge Wildfire, without an additional rag or crazy elflock.
“You’ll have time to get your wits together while we do our piece. We are old stagers and calm as clocks,” answered Demi, with a nod toward Alice, ready in her pretty dress and all her properties at hand.
But both clocks were going rather faster than usual as heightened color, brilliant eyes, and a certain flutter under the laces and velvet coat betrayed. They were to open the entertainment with a gay little piece which they had played before and did remarkably well. Alice was a tall girl, with dark hair and eyes, and a face which intelligence, health, and a happy heart made beautiful. She was looking her best now, for the brocades, plumes, and powder of the Marquise became her stately figure; and Demi in his court suit, with sword, three-cornered hat, and white wig, made as gallant a Baron as one would wish to see. Josie was the maid, and looked her part to the life, being as pretty, pert, and inquisitive as any French soubrette. These three were all the characters; and the success of the piece depended on the spirit and skill with which the quickly changing moods of the quarrelsome lovers were given, their witty speeches made to tell, and the byplay suited to the courtly period in which the scene was laid.
Few would have recognized sober John and studious Alice in the dashing gentleman and coquettish lady who kept the audience laughing at their caprices; while they enjoyed the brilliant costumes, and admired the ease and grace of the young actors. Josie was a prominent figure in the plot, as she listened at keyholes, peeped into notes, and popped in and out at all the most inopportune moments, with her nose in the air, her hands in her apron pockets, and curiosity pervading her little figure from the topmost bow of her jaunty cap to the red heels of her slippers. All went smoothly; and the capricious Marquise, after tormenting the devoted Baron to her heart’s content, owned herself conquered in the war of wits, and was just offering the hand he had fairly won when a crash startled them and a heavily decorated side scene swayed forward, ready to fall upon Alice. Demi saw it, and sprang before her to catch and hold it up, standing like a modern Samson with the wall of a house on his back. The danger was over in a moment, and he was about to utter his last speech when the excited young scene shifter, who had flown up a ladder to repair the damage, leaned over to whisper, “All right,” and release Demi from his spread-eagle attitude; as he did so, a hammer slipped out of his pocket, to fall upon the upturned face below, inflicting a smart blow and literally knocking the Baron’s part out of his head.
“A quick curtain” robbed the audience of a pretty little scene not down on the bill; for the Marquise flew to stanch the blood with a cry of alarm: “Oh! John, you are hurt! Lean on me”—which John gladly did for a moment, being a trifle dazed, yet quite able to enjoy the tender touch of the hands busied about him and the anxiety of the face so near his own; for both told him something which he would have considered cheaply won by a rain of hammers and the fall of the whole college on his head.
Nan was on the spot in a moment with the case that never left her pocket; and the wound was neatly plastered up by the time Mrs. Jo arrived, demanding tragically:
“Is he too much hurt to go on again? If he is, my play is lost!”
“I’m all the fitter for it, aunty; for here’s a real instead of a painted wound. I’ll be ready; don’t worry about me.” And catching up his wig, Demi was off, with only a very eloquent look of thanks to the Marquise, who had spoilt her gloves for his sake, but did not seem to mind it at all, though they reached above her elbows, and were most expensive.
“How are your nerves, Fletcher?” asked Mr. Laurie as they stood together during the breathless minute before the last bell rings.
“About as calm as yours, Beaumont,” answered Mrs. Jo, gesticulating wildly to Mrs. Meg to set her cap straight.
“Bear up, partner! I’ll stand by you whatever comes!”
“I feel that it ought to go; for, though it’s a mere trifle, a good deal of honest work and truth have gone into it. Doesn’t Meg look the picture of a dear old country woman?”
She certainly did, as she sat in the farmhouse kitchen by a cheery fire, rocking a cradle and darning stockings as if she had done nothing else all her life. Gray hair, skillfully drawn lines on the forehead, and a plain gown, with cap, little shawl, and check apron, changed her into a comfortable, motherly creature who found favor the moment the curtain went up and discovered her rocking, darning, and crooning an old song. In a short soliloquy about Sam, her boy, who wanted to enlist; Dolly, her discontented little daughter, who longed for city ease and pleasures; and poor “Elizy,” who had married badly and came home to die, bequeathing her baby to her mother, lest its bad father should claim it, the little story was very simply opened, and made effective by the real boiling of the kettle on the crane, the ticking of a tall clock, and the appearance of a pair of blue worsted shoes which waved fitfully in the air to the soft babble of a baby’s voice. Those shapeless little shoes won the first applause; and Mr. Laurie, forgetting elegance in satisfaction, whispered to his coadjutor:
“I thought the baby would fetch them!”
“If the dear thing won’t squall in the wrong place, we are saved. But it is risky. Be ready to catch it if all Meg’s cuddlings prove in vain,” answered Mrs. Jo, adding, with a clutch at Mr. Laurie’s arm as a haggard face appeared at the window:
“Here’s Demi! I hope no one will recognize him when he comes on as the son. I’ll never forgive you for not doing the villain yourself.”
“Can’t run the thing and act too. He’s capitally made up, and likes a bit of melodrama.”
“This scene ought to have come later; but I wanted to show that the mother was the heroine as soon as possible. I’m tired of lovesick girls and runaway wives.We’ll prove that there’s romance in old women also. Now he’s coming!”
And in slouched a degraded-looking man, shabby, unshaven, and evil-eyed, trying to assume a masterful air as he dismayed the tranquil old woman by demanding his child. A powerful scene followed; and Mrs. Meg surprised even those who knew her best by the homely dignity with which she at first met the man she dreaded; then, as he brutally pressed his claim, she pleaded with trembling voice and hands to keep the little creature she had promised the dying mother to protect; and when he turned to take it by force, quite a thrill went through the house as the old woman sprang to snatch it from the cradle, and holding it close, defied him in God’s name to tear it from that sacred refuge. It was really well done; and the round of applause that greeted the fine tableau of the indignant old woman, the rosy, blinking baby clinging to her neck, and the daunted man who dared not execute his evil purpose with such a defender for helpless innocence, told the excited authors that their first scene was a hit.
The second was quieter, and introduced Josie as a bonny country lass setting the supper table in a bad humor. The pettish way in which she slapped down the plates, hustled the cups, and cut the big brown loaf, as she related her girlish trials and ambitions, was capital. Mrs. Jo kept her eye on Miss Cameron, and saw her nod approval several times at some natural tone or gesture, some good bit of by-play, or a quick change of expression in the young face, which was as variable as an April day. Her struggle with the toasting fork made much merriment; so did her contempt for the brown sugar, and the relish with which she sweetened her irksome duties by eating it; and when she sat, like Cinderella, on the hearth, tearfully watching the flames dance on the homely room, a girlish voice was heard to exclaim impulsively:
“Poor little thing! She ought to have some fun!”
The old woman enters; and mother and daughter have a pretty scene, in which the latter coaxes and threatens, kisses and cries, till she wins the reluctant consent of the former to visit a rich relation in the city; and from being a little thundercloud Dolly becomes bewitchingly gay and good, as soon as her willful wish is granted.The poor old soul has hardly recovered from this trial when the son enters, in army blue, tells he has enlisted, and must go. That is a hard blow; but the patriotic mother bears it well, and not till the thoughtless young folks have hastened away to tell their good news elsewhere does she break down.Then the country kitchen becomes pathetic, as the old mother sits alone mourning over her children, till the gray head is hidden in the hands as she kneels down by the cradle to weep and pray, with only Baby to comfort her fond and faithful heart.
Sniffs were audible all through the latter part of this scene; and when the curtain fell, people were so busy wiping their eyes that for a moment they forgot to applaud. That silent moment was more flattering than noise; and as Mrs. Jo wiped the real tears off her sister’s face, she said as solemnly as an unconscious dab of rouge on her own nose permitted:
“Meg, you have saved my play! Oh, why aren’t you a real actress, and I a real playwright?”
“Don’t gush now, dear, but help me dress Josie; she’s in such a quiver of excitement I can’t manage her, and this is her best scene, you know.”
So it was; for her aunt had written it especially for her, and little Jo was happy in a gorgeous dress, with a train long enough to satisfy her wildest dreams. The rich relation’s parlor was in festival array, and the country cousin sails in, looking back at her sweeping flounces with such artless rapture that no one had the heart to laugh at the pretty jay in borrowed plumes. She has confidences with herself in the mirror, from which it is made evident that she has discovered all is not gold that glitters, and has found greater temptations than those a girlish love of pleasure, luxury, and flattery bring her. She is sought by a rich lover; but her honest heart resists the allurements he offers and in its innocent perplexity wishes “mother” was there to comfort and counsel.
A gay little dance, in which Dora, Nan, Bess, and several of the boys took part, made a good background for the humble figure of the old woman in her widow’s bonnet, rusty shawl, big umbrella, and basket. Her naïve astonishment, as she surveys the spectacle, feels the curtains, and smoothes her old gloves during the moment she remains unseen, was very good; but Josie’s unaffected start when she sees her, and the cry, “Why, there’s mother!” was such a hearty little bit of nature, it hardly needed the impatient tripping over her train as she ran into the arms that seemed now to be her nearest refuge.
The lover plays his part; and ripples of merriment greeted the old woman’s searching questions and blunt answers during the interview which shows the girl how shallow his love is, and how near she has been to ruining her life as bitterly as poor Elizy did. She gives her answer frankly, and when they are alone, looks from her own bedizened self to the shabby dress, work-worn hands, and tender face, crying with a repentant sob and kiss, “Take me home, mother, and keep me safe. I’ve had enough of this!”
“That will do you good, Maria; don’t forget it,” said one lady to her daughter as the curtain went down; and the girl answered,“Well, I’m sure I don’t see why it’s touching; but it is,” as she spread her lace handkerchief to dry.
Tom and Nan came out strong in the next scene; for it was a ward in an army hospital, and surgeon and nurse went from bed to bed, feeling pulses, administering doses, and hearing complaints with an energy and gravity which convulsed the audience.The tragic element, never far from the comic at such times and places, came in when, while they bandaged an arm, the doctor told the nurse about an old woman who was searching through the hospital for her son, after days and nights on battlefields, through ambulances, and among scenes which would have killed most women.
“She will be here directly, and I dread her coming; for I’m afraid the poor lad who has just gone is her boy. I’d rather face a cannon than these brave women, with their hope and courage and great sorrow,” says the surgeon.
“Ah, these poor mothers break my heart!” adds the nurse, wiping her eyes on her big apron; and with the words Mrs. Meg came in.
There was the same dress, the basket and umbrella, the rustic speech, the simple manners; but all were made pathetic by the terrible experience which had changed the tranquil old woman to that haggard figure with wild eyes, dusty feet, trembling hands, and an expression of mingled anguish, resolution, and despair which gave the homely figure a tragic dignity and power that touched all hearts. A few broken words told the story of her vain search, and then the sad quest began again. People held their breath as, led by the nurse, she went from bed to bed, showing in her face the alternations of hope, dread, and bitter disappointment as each was passed. On a narrow cot was a long figure covered with a sheet, and here she paused to lay one hand on her heart and one on her eyes, as if to gather courage to look at the nameless dead. Then she drew down the sheet, gave a long shivering sigh of relief, saying softly:
“Not my son, thank God, but some mother’s boy.” And stooping down, she kissed the cold forehead tenderly.
Somebody sobbed there, and Miss Cameron shook two tears out of her eyes, anxious to lose no look or gesture as the poor soul, nearly spent with the long strain, struggled on down the long line. But her search was happily ended; for, as if her voice had roused him from his feverish sleep, a gaunt, wild-eyed man sat up in his bed, and stretching his arms to her, cried in a voice that echoed through the room:
“Mother, mother! I knew you’d come to me!”
She did go to him, with a cry of love and joy that thrilled every listener, as she gathered him in her arms with the tears and prayers and blessing such as only a fond and faithful old mother could give.
The last scene was a cheerful contrast to this; for the country kitchen was bright with Christmas cheer, the wounded hero, with black patch and crutches well displayed, sat by the fire in the old chair whose familiar creak was soothing to his ear; pretty Dolly was stirring about, gaily trimming dresser, settle, high chimneypiece, and old-fashioned cradle with mistletoe and holly; while the mother rested beside her son, with that blessed baby on her knee. Refreshed by a nap and nourishment, this young actor now covered himself with glory by his ecstatic prancings, incoherent remarks to the audience, and vain attempts to get the footlights, as he blinked approvingly at these brilliant toys. It was good to see Mrs. Meg pat him on the back, cuddle the fat legs out of sight, and appease his vain longings with a lump of sugar, till Baby embraced her with a grateful ardor that brought him a round of applause all for his little self.
A sound of singing outside disturbs the happy family, and, after a carol in the snowy moonlight, a flock of neighbors troop in with Christmas gifts and greetings. Much byplay made this a lively picture; for Sam’s sweetheart hovered round him with a tenderness the Marquise did not show the Baron; and Dolly had a pretty bit under the mistletoe with her rustic adorer, who looked so like Ham Peggotty in his cowhide boots, rough jacket, and dark beard and wig, that no one would have recognized Ted but for the long legs, which no extent of leather could disguise. It ended with a homely feast, brought by the guests; and as they sat round the table covered with doughnuts and cheese, pumpkin pie, and other country delicacies, Sam rises on his crutches to propose the first toast, and holding up his mug of cider, says, with a salute, and a choke in his voice, “Mother, God bless her!” All drink it standing, Dolly with her arm round the old woman’s neck, as she hides her happy tears on her daughter’s breast; while the irrepressible baby beat rapturously on the table with a spoon, and crowed audibly as the curtain went down.
They had it up again in a jiffy to get a last look at the group about that central figure, which was showered with bouquets, to the great delight of the infant Roscius; till a fat rosebud hit him on the nose, and produced the much-dreaded squall, which, fortunately, only added to the fun at that moment.
“Well, that will do for a beginning,” said Beaumont, with a sigh of relief, as the curtain descended for the last time, and the actors scattered to dress for the closing piece.
“As an experiment, it is a success. Now we can venture to begin our great American drama,” answered Mrs. Jo, full of satisfaction and grand ideas for the famous play—which, we may add, she did not write that year, owing to various dramatic events in her own family.
The Owlsdark Marbles closed the entertainment, and, being something new, proved amusing to this very indulgent audience.The gods and goddesses on Parnassus were displayed in full conclave; and, thanks to Mrs. Amy’s skill in draping and posing, the white wigs and cotton-flannel robes were classically correct and graceful, though sundry modern additions somewhat marred the effect, while adding point to the showman’s learned remarks. Mr. Laurie was Professor Owlsdark, in cap and gown; and, after a high-flown introduction, he proceeded to exhibit and explain his marbles. The first figure was a stately Minerva; but a second glance produced a laugh, for the words “Woman’s Rights” adorned her shield, a scroll bearing the motto “Vote early and often” hung from the beak of the owl perched on her lance, and a tiny pestle and mortar ornamented her helmet. Attention was drawn to the firm mouth, the piercing eye, the awe-inspiring brow, of the strong-minded woman of antiquity, and some scathing remarks made upon the degeneracy of her modern sisters who failed to do their duty. Mercury came next, and was very fine in his airy attitude, though the winged legs quivered as it was difficult to keep the lively god in his place. His restless nature was dilated upon, his mischievous freaks alluded to, and a very bad character given to the immortal messenger boy; which delighted his friends, and caused the marble nose of the victim to curl visibly with scorn when derisive applause greeted a particularly hard hit. A charming little Hebe stood next, pouring nectar from a silver teapot into a blue china teacup. She also pointed a moral; for the Professor explained that the nectar of old was the beverage which cheers but does not inebriate, and regretted that the excessive devotion of American women to this classic brew proved so harmful, owing to the great development of brain their culture produced. A touch at modern servants, in contrast to this accomplished table-girl, made the statue’s cheeks glow under the chalk, and brought her a hearty round as the audience recognized Dolly and the smart soubrette.
Jove in all his majesty followed, as he and his wife occupied the central pedestals in the half-circle of immortals. A splendid Jupiter, with hair well set up off the fine brow, ambrosial beard, silver thunderbolts in one hand and a well-worn ferule in the other. A large stuffed eagle from the museum stood at his feet; and the benign expression of his august countenance showed that he was in a good humor—as well he might be, for he was paid some handsome compliments upon his wise rule, the peaceful state of his kingdom, and the brood of all-accomplished Pallases that yearly issued from his mighty brain. Cheers greeted this and other pleasant words, and caused the thunderer to bow his thanks; for “Jove nods,” as everyone knows, and flattery wins the heart of gods and men.
Mrs. Juno, with her peacocks, darning needle, pen, and cooking spoon, did not get off so easily; for the Professor was down on her with all manner of mirth-provoking accusations, criticisms, and insults even. He alluded to her domestic infelicity, her meddlesome disposition, sharp tongue, bad temper, and jealousy, closing, however, with a tribute to her skill in caring for the wounds and settling the quarrels of belligerent heroes, as well as her love for youths in Olympus and on earth. Gales of laughter greeted these hits, varied by hisses from some indignant boys, who would not bear, even in joke, any disrespect to dear Mother Bhaer, who, however, enjoyed it all immensely, as the twinkle in her eye and the irrepressible pucker of her lips betrayed.
A jolly Bacchus astride of his cask took Vulcan’s place, and appeared to be very comfortable with a beer mug in one hand, a champagne bottle in the other, and a garland of grapes on his curly head. He was the text of a short temperance lecture, aimed directly at a row of smart young gentlemen who lined the walls of the auditorium. George Cole was seen to dodge behind a pillar at one point, Dolly nudged his neighbor at another, and there was laughter all along the line as the Professor glared at them through his big glasses, and dragged their bacchanalian orgies to the light and held them up to scorn.
Seeing the execution he had done, the learned man turned to the lovely Diana, who stood as white and still as the plaster stag beside her, with sandals, bow, and crescent; quite perfect, and altogether the best piece of statuary in the show. She was very tenderly treated by the paternal critic, who, merely alluding to her confirmed spinsterhood, fondness for athletic sports, and oracular powers, gave a graceful little exposition of true art and passed on to his last figure.
This was Apollo in full fig, his curls skillfully arranged to hide a well-whitened patch over the eye, his handsome legs correctly poised, and his gifted fingers about to draw divine music from the silvered gridiron which was his lyre. His divine attributes were described, as well as his little follies and failings, among which were his weakness for photography and flute playing, his attempts to run a newspaper, and his fondness for the society of the Muses; which latter slap produced giggles and blushes among the girl graduates, and much mirth among the stricken youths; for misery loves company, and after this they began to rally.
Then, with a ridiculous conclusion, the Professor bowed his thanks; and after several recalls the curtain fell, but not quickly enough to conceal Mercury, wildly waving his liberated legs, Hebe dropping her teapot, Bacchus taking a lively roll on his barrel, and Mrs. Juno rapping the impertinent Owlsdark on the head with Jove’s ruler.
While the audience filed out to supper in the hall, the stage was a scene of dire confusion as gods and goddesses, farmers and barons, maids and carpenters, congratulated one another on the success of their labors. Assuming various costumes, actors and actresses soon joined their guests, to sip bounteous draughts of praise with their coffee, and cool their modest blushes with ice cream. Mrs. Meg was a proud and happy woman when Miss Cameron came to her as she sat by Josie, with Demi serving both, and said, so cordially that it was impossible to doubt the sincerity of her welcome words:
“Mrs. Brooke, I no longer wonder where your children get their talent. I make my compliments to the Baron, and next summer you must let me have little ‘Dolly’ as a pupil when we are at the beach.”
One can easily imagine how this offer was received, as well as the friendly commendation bestowed by the same kind critic on the work of Beaumont and Fletcher, who hastened to explain that this trifle was only an attempt to make nature and art go hand in hand, with little help from fine writing or imposing scenery. Everybody was in the happiest mood, especially “little Dolly,” who danced like a will-o’-the-wisp with light-footed Mercury, and Apollo as he promenaded with the Marquise on his arm, who seemed to have left her coquetry in the greenroom with her rouge.
When all was over, Mrs. Juno said to Jove, to whose arm she clung as they trudged home along the snowy paths, “Fritz dear, Christmas is a good time for new resolutions, and I’ve made one never to be impatient or fretful with my beloved husband again. I know I am, though you won’t own it; but Laurie’s fun had some truth in it, and I felt hit in a tender spot. Henceforth I am a model wife, else I don’t deserve the dearest, best man ever born.” And being in a dramatic mood, Mrs. Juno tenderly embraced her excellent Jove in the moonlight, to the great amusement of sundry lingerers behind them.
So all three plays might be considered successes, and that merry Christmas night a memorable one in the March family; for Demi got an unspoken question answered, Josie’s fondest wish was granted, and, thanks to Professor Owlsdark’s jest, Mrs. Jo made Professor Bhaer’s busy life quite a bed of roses by the keeping of her resolution. A few days later she had her reward for this burst of virtue in Dan’s letter, which set her fears at rest and made her very happy, though she was unable to tell him so, because he sent her no address.
CHAPTER XVII
Among the Maids
Although this story is about Jo’s boys, her girls cannot be neglected, because they held a high place in this little republic, and especial care was taken to fit them to play their parts worthily in the great republic which offered them wider opportunities and more serious duties. To many the social influence was the better part of the training they received; for education is not confined to books, and the finest characters often graduate from no college, but make experience their master and life their book. Others cared only for the mental culture, and were in danger of over-studying, under the delusion which pervades New England that learning must be had at all costs, forgetting that health and real wisdom are better. A third class of ambitious girls hardly knew what they wanted, but were hungry for whatever could fit them to face the world and earn a living, being driven by necessity, the urgency of some half-unconscious talent, or the restlessness of strong young natures to break away from the narrow life which no longer satisfied.
At Plumfield all found something to help them; for the growing institution had not yet made its rules as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians, and believed so heartily in the right of all sexes, colors, creeds, and ranks to education that there was room for everyone who knocked, and a welcome to the shabby youths from upcountry, the eager girls from the West, the awkward freedman or woman from the South, or the wellborn student whose poverty made this college a possibility when other doors were barred. There still was prejudice, ridicule, neglect in high places, and prophecies of failure to contend against; but the faculty was composed of cheerful, hopeful men and women who had seen greater reforms spring from smaller roots, and after stormy seasons blossom beautifully, to add prosperity and honor to the nation. So they worked on steadily and bided their time, full of increasing faith in their attempt as year after year their numbers grew, their plans succeeded, and the sense of usefulness in this most vital of all professions blessed them with its sweet rewards.
Among the various customs which had very naturally sprung up was one especially useful and interesting to “the girls,” as the young women liked to be called. It all grew out of the old sewing hour still kept up by the three sisters long after the little workboxes had expanded into big baskets full of household mending.They were busy women, yet on Saturdays they tried to meet in one of the three sewing rooms; for even classic Parnassus had its nook where Mrs. Amy often sat among her servants, teaching them to make and mend, thereby giving them a respect for economy, since the rich lady did not scorn to darn her hose and sew on buttons. In these household retreats, with books and work, and their daughters by them, they read and sewed and talked in the sweet privacy that domestic women love and can make so helpful by a wise mixture of cooks and chemistry, table linen and theology, prosaic duties and good poetry.
Mrs. Meg was the first to propose enlarging this little circle; for as she went her motherly rounds among the young women she found a sad lack of order, skill, and industry in this branch of education. Latin, Greek, the higher mathematics, and science of all sorts prospered finely; but dust gathered on the workbaskets, frayed elbows went unheeded, and some of the blue stockings sadly needed mending. Anxious lest the usual sneer at learned women should apply to “our girls,” she gently lured two or three of the most untidy to her house, and made the hour so pleasant, the lesson so kindly, that they took the hint, were grateful for the favor, and asked to come again. Others soon begged to make the detested weekly duty lighter by joining the party, and soon it was a privilege so much desired that the old museum was refitted with sewing machines, tables, rocking chairs, and a cheerful fireplace, so that, rain or shine, the needles might go on undisturbed.
Here Mrs. Meg was in her glory, and stood wielding her big shears like a queen as she cut out white work, fitted dresses, and directed Daisy, her special aide, about the trimming of hats, and completing the lace and ribbon trifles which add grace to the simplest costume and save poor or busy girls so much money and time. Mrs. Amy contributed taste, and decided the great question of colors and complexions; for few women, even the most learned, are without that desire to look well which makes many a plain face comely, as well as many a pretty one ugly for want of skill and knowledge of the fitness of things. She also took her turn to provide books for the readings, and as art was her forte she gave them selections from Ruskin, Hamerton, and Mrs. Jameson, who is never old. Bess read these aloud as her contribution, and Josie took her turn at the romances, poetry, and plays her uncles recommended. Mrs. Jo gave little lectures on health, religion, politics, and the various questions in which all should be interested, with copious extracts from Miss Cobbe’s Duties of Women, Miss Brackett’s Education of American Girls, Mrs. Duffy’s No Sex in Education, Mrs. Woolson’s Dress Reform, and many of the other excellent books wise women write for their sisters, now that they are waking up and asking, “What shall we do?”
It was curious to see the prejudices melt away as ignorance was enlightened, indifference change to interest, and intelligent minds set thinking, while quick wits and lively tongues added spice to the discussions which inevitably followed. So the feet that wore the neatly mended hose carried wiser heads than before, the pretty gowns covered hearts warmed with higher purposes, and the hands that dropped the thimbles for pens, lexicons, and celestial globes were better fitted for life’s work, whether to rock cradles, tend the sick, or help on the great work of the world.
One day a brisk discussion arose concerning careers for women. Mrs. Jo had read something on the subject and asked each of the dozen girls sitting about the room, what she intended to do on leaving college. The answers were as usual: “I shall teach, help mother, study medicine, art,” etc.; but nearly all ended with, “Till I marry.”
“But if you don’t marry, what then?” asked Mrs. Jo, feeling like a girl again as she listened to the answers, and watched the thoughtful, gay, or eager faces.
“Be old maids, I suppose. Horrid, but inevitable, since there are so many superfluous women,” answered a lively lass, too pretty to fear single blessedness unless she chose it.
“It is well to consider that fact, and fit yourselves to be useful, not superfluous women.That class, by the way, is largely made up of widows, I find; so don’t consider it a slur on maidenhood.”
“That’s a comfort! Old maids aren’t sneered at half as much as they used to be, since some of them have grown famous and proved that woman isn’t a half but a whole human being, and can stand alone.”
“Don’t like it all the same. We can’t all be like Miss Cobbe, Miss Nightingale, Miss Phelps, and the rest. So what can we do but sit in a corner and look on?” asked a plain girl with a dissatisfied expression.
“Cultivate cheerfulness and content, if nothing else. But there are so many little odd jobs waiting to be done that nobody need ‘sit idle and look on,’ unless she chooses,” said Mrs. Meg, with a smile, laying on the girl’s head the new hat she had just trimmed.
“Thank you very much.Yes, Mrs. Brooke, I see; it’s a little job, but it makes me neat and happy—and grateful,” she added, looking up with brighter eyes as she accepted the labor of love and the lesson as sweetly as they were given.
“One of the best and most beloved women I know has been doing odd jobs for the Lord for years, and will keep at it till her dear hands are folded in her coffin. All sorts of things she does—picks up neglected children and puts them in safe homes, saves lost girls, nurses poor women in trouble, sews, knits, trots, begs, works for the poor day after day with no reward but the thanks of the needy, the love and honor of the rich who make St. Matilda their almoner.That’s a life worth living; and I think that quiet little woman will get a higher seat in Heaven than many of those of whom the world has heard.”
“I know it’s lovely, Mrs. Bhaer; but it’s dull for young folks. We do want a little fun before we buckle to,” said a western girl with a wide-awake face.
“Have your fun, my dear; but if you must earn your bread, try to make it sweet with cheerfulness, not bitter with the daily regret that it isn’t cake. I used to think mine was a very hard fate because I had to amuse a somewhat fretful old lady; but the books I read in that lonely library have been of immense use to me since, and the dear old soul bequeathed me Plumfield for my ‘cheerful service and affectionate care.’ I didn’t deserve it, but I did use to try to be jolly and kind, and get as much honey out of duty as I could, thanks to my dear mother’s help and advice.”
“Gracious! If I could earn a place like this I’d sing all day and be an angel; but you have to take your chance, and get nothing for your pains, perhaps. I never do,” said the Westerner, who had a hard time with small means and large aspirations.
“Don’t do it for the reward; but be sure it will come, though not in the shape you expect. I worked hard for fame and money one winter; but I got neither, and was much disappointed. A year afterward I found I had earned two prizes: skill with my pen, and—Professor Bhaer.”
Mrs. Jo’s laugh was echoed blithely by the girls, who liked to have these conversations enlivened by illustrations from life.
“You are a very lucky woman,” began the discontented damsel, whose soul soared above new hats, welcome as they were, but did not quite know where to steer.
“Yet her name used to be ‘Luckless Jo,’ and she never had what she wanted till she had given up hoping for it,” said Mrs. Meg.
“I’ll give up hoping, then, right away, and see if my wishes will come. I only want to help my folks, and get a good school.”
“Take this proverb for your guide:‘Get the distaff ready, and the Lord will send the flax,’ ” answered Mrs. Jo.
“We’d better all do that, if we are to be spinsters,” said the pretty one, adding gaily,“I think I should like it, on the whole—they are so independent. My aunt Jenny can do just what she likes and ask no one’s leave; but ma has to consult pa about everything.Yes, I’ll give you my chance, Sally, and be a ‘superfluum,’ as Mr. Plock says.”
“You’ll be one of the first to go into bondage, see if you aren’t. Much obliged, all the same.”
“Well, I’ll get my distaff ready, and take whatever flax the Fates send—single, or double-twisted, as the powers please.”
“That is the right spirit, Nelly. Keep it up, and see how happy life will be with a brave heart, a willing hand, and plenty to do.”
“No one objects to plenty of domestic work or fashionable pleasure, I find, but the minute we begin to study, people tell us we can’t bear it, and warn us to be very careful. I’ve tried the other things, and got so tired I came to college; though my people predict nervous exhaustion and an early death. Do you think there is any danger?” asked a stately girl, with an anxious glance at the blooming face reflected in the mirror opposite.
“Are you stronger or weaker than when you came two years ago, Miss Winthrop?”
“Stronger in body, and much happier in mind. I think I was dying of ennui; but the doctors called it inherited delicacy of constitution. That is why mamma is so anxious, and I wish not to go too fast.”
“Don’t worry, my dear; that active brain of yours was starving for good food; it has a plenty now, and plain living suits you better than luxury and dissipation. It is all nonsense about girls not being able to study as well as boys. Neither can bear cramming; but with proper care both are better for it; so enjoy the life your instinct led you to, and we will prove that wise headwork is a better cure for that sort of delicacy than tonics, and novels on the sofa, where far too many of our girls go to wreck nowadays.They burn the candle at both ends; and when they break down they blame the books, not the balls.”
“Dr. Nan was telling me about a patient of hers who thought she had heart complaint till Nan made her take off her corsets, stopped her coffee and dancing all night, and made her eat, sleep, walk, and live regularly for a time; and now she’s a brilliant cure. Common sense versus custom, Nan said.”
“I’ve had no headaches since I came here, and can do twice as much studying as I did at home. It’s the air, I think, and the fun of going ahead of the boys,” said another girl, tapping her big forehead with her thimble, as if the lively brain inside was in good working order and enjoyed the daily gymnastics she gave it.
“Quality, not quantity, wins the day, you know. Our brains may be smaller, but I don’t see that they fall short of what is required of them; and if I’m not mistaken, the largest-headed man in our class is the dullest,” said Nelly, with a solemn air which produced a gale of merriment; for all knew that the young Goliath she mentioned had been metaphorically slain by this quick-witted David on many a battlefield, to the great disgust of himself and mates.
“Mrs. Brooke, do I gauge on the right or the wrong side?” asked the best Greek scholar of her class, eyeing a black silk apron with a lost expression.
“The right, Miss Pierson; and leave a space between the tucks; it looks prettier so.”
“I’ll never make another; but it will save my dresses from inkstains, so I’m glad I’ve got it.” The erudite Miss Pierson labored on, finding it a harder task than any Greek root she ever dug up.
“We paper stainers must learn how to make shields, or we are lost. I’ll give you a pattern of the pinafore I used to wear in my ‘blood-and-thunder days,’ as we call them,” said Mrs. Jo, trying to remember what became of the old tin kitchen which used to hold her works.
“Speaking of writers reminds me that my ambition is to be a George Eliot, and thrill the world! It must be so splendid to know that one has such power, and to hear people own that one possesses a ‘masculine intellect’! I don’t care for most women’s novels, but hers are immense; don’t you think so, Mrs. Bhaer?” asked the girl with the big forehead, and torn braid on her skirt.
“Yes; but they don’t thrill me as little Charlotte Brontë’s books do. The brain is there, but the heart seems left out. I admire, but I don’t love George Eliot; and her life is far sadder to me than Miss Brontë’s, because, in spite of the genius, love, and fame, she missed the light without which no soul is truly great, good, or happy.”
“Yes’m, I know; but still it’s so romantic and sort of new and mysterious, and she was great in one sense. Her nerves and dyspepsia do rather destroy the illusion; but I adore famous people and mean to go and see all I can scare up in London someday.”
“You will find some of the best of them busy about just the work I recommend to you; and if you want to see a great lady, I’ll tell you that Mrs. Laurence means to bring one here today. Lady Ambercrombie is lunching with her, and after seeing the college is to call on us. She especially wanted to see our sewing school, as she is interested in things of this sort, and gets them up at home.”
“Bless me! I always imagined lords and ladies did nothing but ride round in a coach and six, go to balls, and be presented to the Queen in cocked hats and trains and feathers,” exclaimed an artless young person from the wilds of Maine, whither an illustrated paper occasionally wandered.
“Not at all; Lord Ambercrombie is over here studying up our American prison system, and my lady is busy with the schools—both very highborn, but the simplest and most sensible people I’ve met this long time. They are neither of them young nor handsome, and dress very plainly; so don’t expect anything splendid. Mr. Laurence was telling me last night about a friend of his who met my lord in the hall, and owing to a rough greatcoat and a red face, mistook him for a coachman, and said, ‘Now, my man, what do you want here?’ Lord Ambercrombie mildly mentioned who he was, and that he had come to dinner. And the poor host was much afflicted, saying afterward, ‘Why didn’t he wear his stars and garters? Then a fellow would know he was a lord.’ ”
The girls laughed again, and a general rustle betrayed that each was prinking a bit before the titled guest arrived. Even Mrs. Jo settled her collar, and Mrs. Meg felt if her cap was right, while Bess shook out her curls, and Josie boldly consulted the glass; for they were women, in spite of philosophy and philanthropy.
“Shall we all rise?” asked one girl, deeply impressed by the impending honor.
“It would be courteous.”
“Shall we shake hands?”
“No, I’ll present you en masse, and your pleasant faces will be introduction enough.”
“I wish I’d worn my best dress. Ought to have told us,” whispered Sally.
“Won’t my folks be surprised when I tell them we have had a real lady to call on us?” said another.
“Don’t look as if you’d never seen a gentlewoman before, Milly. We are not all fresh from the wilderness,” added the stately damsel who, having Mayflower ancestors, felt that she was the equal of all the crowned heads of Europe.
“Hush, she’s coming! Oh, my heart, what a bonnet!” cried the gay girl in a stage whisper; and every eye was demurely fixed upon the busy hands as the door opened to admit Mrs. Laurence and her guest.
It was rather a shock to find, after the general introduction was over, that this daughter of a hundred earls was a stout lady in a plain gown, and a rather weather-beaten bonnet, with a bag of papers in one hand and a notebook in the other. But the face was full of benevolence, the sonorous voice very kind, the genial manners very winning, and about the whole person an indescribable air of high breeding which made beauty of no consequence, costume soon forgotten, and the moment memorable to the keen-eyed girls whom nothing escaped.
A little chat about the rise, growth, and success of this particular class, and then Mrs. Jo led the conversation to the English lady’s work, anxious to show her pupils how rank dignifies labor and charity blesses wealth.
It was good for these girls to hear of the evening schools supported and taught by women whom they knew and honored; of Miss Cobbe’s eloquent protest winning the protection of the law for abused wives; Mrs. Butler saving the lost; Mrs.Taylor, who devoted one room in her historic house to a library for her servants; Lord Shaftesbury, busy with his new tenement houses in the slums of London; of prison reforms; and all the brave work being done in God’s name by the rich and great for the humble and the poor. It impressed them more than many quiet home lectures would have done and roused an ambition to help when their time should come, well knowing that even in glorious America there is still plenty to be done before she is what she should be—truly just, and free, and great. They were also quick to see that Lady Ambercrombie treated all there as her equals, from stately Mrs. Laurence to little Josie, taking notes of everything and privately resolving to have some thick-soled English boots as soon as possible. No one would have guessed that she had a big house in London, a castle in Wales, and a grand country seat in Scotland, as she spoke of Parnassus with admiration, Plumfield as a “dear old home,” and the college as an honor to all concerned in it. At that, of course, every head went up a little, and when my lady left every hand was ready for the hearty shake the noble Englishwoman gave them, with words they long remembered:
“I am very pleased to see this much-neglected branch of a woman’s education so well conducted here and I have to thank me friend Mrs. Laurence for one of the most charming pictures I’ve seen in America—Penelope among her maids.”
A group of smiling faces watched the stout boots trudge away, respectful glances followed the shabby bonnet till it was out of sight, and the girls felt a truer respect for their titled guest than if she had come in the coach and six, with all her diamonds on.
“I feel better about the ‘odd jobs’ now. I only wish I could do them as well as Lady Ambercrombie does,” said one.
“I thanked my stars my buttonholes were nice, for she looked at them and said, ‘Quite workmanlike, upon my word,’ ” added another, feeling that her gingham gown had come to honor.
“Her manners were as sweet and kind as Mrs. Brooke’s. Not a bit stiff or condescending, as I expected. I see now what you meant, Mrs. Bhaer, when you said once that well-bred people were the same all the world over.”
Mrs. Meg bowed her thanks for the compliment, and Mrs. Bhaer said:
“I know them when I see them, but never shall be a model of deportment myself. I’m glad you enjoyed the little visit. Now, if you young people don’t want England to get ahead of us in many ways, you must bestir yourselves and keep abreast; for our sisters are in earnest, you see, and don’t waste time worrying about their sphere, but make it wherever duty calls them.”
“We will do our best, ma’am,” answered the girls heartily, and trooped away with their workbaskets, feeling that though they might never be Harriet Martineaus, Elizabeth Brownings, or George Eliots, they might become noble, useful, and independent women, and earn for themselves some sweet title from the grateful lips of the poor, better than any a queen could bestow.