TO ABIGAIL MAY ALCOTT
20 PINCKNEY STREET, BOSTON, DEC. 25, 1854.
Dear Mother,—Into your Christmas stocking I have put my “first-born” [Flower Fables], knowing that you will accept it with all its faults (for grandmothers are always kind), and look upon it merely as an earnest of what I may yet do, for, with so much to cheer me on, I hope to pass in time from fairies and fables to men and realities.
Whatever beauty or poetry is to be found in my little book is owing to your interest in and encouragement of all my efforts from the first to the last, and if ever I do anything to be proud of, my greatest happiness will be that I can thank you for that, as I may do for all the good there is in me, and I shall be content to write if it gives you pleasure.
Jo is fussing about;
My lamp is going out.
To dear mother, with many kind wishes for a happy New Year and merry Christmas.
I am your ever loving daughter
LOUY.
TO AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT2
BOSTON, NOV. 29, 1856.
Dearest Father,—Your little parcel was very welcome to me as I sat alone in my room, with snow falling fast outside, and a few tears in (for birthdays are dismal times to me), and the fine letter, the pretty gift, and, most of all, the loving thought so kindly taken for your old absent daughter, made the cold, dark day as warm and bright as summer to me.
And now, with the birthday pin upon my bosom, many thanks on my lips, and a whole heart full of love for its giver, I will tell you a little about my doings, stupid as they will seem after your own grand proceedings. How I wish I could be with you, enjoying what I have always longed for,—fine people, fine amusements, and fine books. But as I can’t, I am glad you are; for I love to see your name first among the lecturers, to hear it kindly spoken of in papers and inquired about by good people here,—to say nothing of the delight and pride I take in seeing you at last filling the place you are so fitted for, and which you have waited for so long and patiently. If the New Yorkers raise a statue to the modern Plato, it will be a wise and highly creditable action.
I am very well and very happy. Things go smoothly, and I think I shall come out right, and prove that though an Alcott I can support myself. I like the independent feeling; and though not an easy life, it is a free one, and I enjoy it. I can’t do much with my hands; so I will make a battering-ram of my head and make a way through this rough-and-tumble world. I have very pleasant lectures to amuse my evenings,—Professor Gajani on “Italian Reformers,” the Mercantile Library course, Whipple, Beecher, and others, and, best of all, a free pass at the Boston Theatre. I saw Mr. Barry, and he gave it to me with many kind speeches, and promises to bring out the play very soon. I hope he will.
My farce is in the hands of Mrs. W. H. Smith, who acts at Laura Keene’s theatre in New York. She took it, saying she would bring it out there. If you see or hear anything about it, let me know. I want something doing. My mornings are spent in writing. C. takes me one a month, and I am to see Mr. B., who may take some of my wares.
In the afternoons I walk and visit my hundred relations, who are all kind and friendly, and seem interested in our various successes.
Sunday evenings I go to Parker’s parlor, and there meet Phillips, Garrison, Scherb, Sanborn, and many other pleasant people. All talk, and I sit in a corner listening, and wishing a certain placid gray-haired gentleman was there talking too. Mrs. Parker calls on me, reads my stories, and is very good to me. Theodore asks Louisa “how her worthy parents do,” and is otherwise very friendly to the large, bashful girl who adorns his parlor steadily.
Abby is preparing for a busy and, I hope, a profitable winter. She has music lessons already, French and drawing in store, and, if her eyes hold out, will keep her word and become what none of us can be, “an accomplished Alcott.” Now, dear Father, I shall hope to hear from you occasionally, and will gladly answer all epistles from the Plato whose parlor parish is becoming quite famous. I got the “Tribune,” but not the letter, and shall look it up. I have been meaning to write, but did not know where you were.
Good-by, and a happy birthday from your ever loving child,
LOUISA.
TO ANNA ALCOTT PRATT
My Lass,—This must be a frivolous and dressy letter, because you always want to know about our clothes, and we have been at it lately. May’s bonnet is a sight for gods and men. Black and white outside, with a great cockade boiling over the front to meet a red ditto surging from the interior, where a red rainbow darts across the brow, and a surf of white lace foams up on each side. I expect to hear that you and John fell flat in the dust with horror on beholding it.
My bonnet has nearly been the death of me, for, thinking some angel might make it possible for me to go to the mountains, I felt a wish for a tidy hat, after wearing an old one till it fell in tatters from my brow. Mrs. P. promised a bit of gray silk, and I built on that, but when I went for it I found my hat was founded on sand; for she let me down with a crash, saying she wanted the silk herself, and kindly offering me a flannel petticoat instead. I was in woe for a spell, having one dollar in the world, and scorning debt even for that prop of life, a “bonnet.”Then I roused myself, flew to Dodge, demanded her cheapest bonnet, found one for a dollar, took it, and went home wondering if the sky would open and drop me a trimming. I am simple in my tastes, but a naked straw bonnet is a little too severely chaste even for me. Sky did not open; so I went to the “Widow Cruise’s oil bottle”—my ribbon box—which, by the way, is the eighth wonder of the world, for nothing is ever put in, yet I always find some old dud when all other hopes fail. From this salvation bin I extracted the remains of the old white ribbon (used up, as I thought, two years ago), and the bits of black lace that have adorned a long line of departed hats. Of the lace I made a dish, on which I thriftily served up bows of ribbon, like meat on toast. Inside put the lace bow, which adorns my form anywhere when needed. A white flower A. H. gave me sat airily on the brim,—fearfully unbecoming, but pretty in itself, and in keeping. Strings are yet to be evolved from chaos. I feel that they await me somewhere in the dim future. Green ones pro tem. hold this wonder of the age upon my gifted brow, and I survey my hat with respectful awe. I trust you will also, and see in it another great example of the power of mind over matter, and the convenience of a colossal brain in the primeval wrestle with the unruly atoms which have harassed the feminine soul ever since Eve clapped on a modest fig-leaf and did up her hair with a thorn for a hairpin.
I feel very moral to-day, having done a big wash alone, baked, swept the house, picked the hops, got dinner, and written a chapter in “Moods.” May gets exhausted with work, though she walks six miles without a murmur.
It is dreadfully dull, and I work so that I may not “brood.” Nothing stirring but the wind; nothing to see but dust; no one comes but rose-bugs; so I grub and scold at the “A” because it takes a poor fellow’s tales and keeps ’em years without paying for ’em. If I think of my woes I fall into a vortex of debts, dishpans, and despondency awful to see. So I say, “every path has its puddle,” and try to play gayly with the tadpoles in my puddle, while I wait for the Lord to give me a lift, or some gallant Raleigh to spread his velvet cloak and fetch me over dry shod.
L. W. adds to my woe by writing of the splendors of Gorham, and says,“When tired, run right up here and find rest among these everlasting hills.” All very aggravating to a young woman with one dollar, no bonnet, half a gown, and a discontented mind. It’s a mercy the mountains are everlasting, for it will be a century before I get there. Oh, me, such is life!
Now I’ve done my Jeremiad, and I will go on twanging my harp in the “willow tree.”
You ask what I am writing. Well, two books half done, nine stories simmering, and stacks of fairy stories moulding on the shelf. I can’t do much, as I have no time to get into a real good vortex. It unfits me for work, worries Ma to see me look pale, eat nothing, and ply by night. These extinguishers keep genius from burning as I could wish, and I give up ever hoping to do anything unless luck turns for your
LU.
TO ANNIE MARIA LAWRENCE4
My Dear Miss Lawrence.
I have a vague recollection of some little girl who was Lizzie’s friend in the old Still River days, but do not recal the name though very glad to welcome any one who knew & loved our Lizzie.
Those were jolly times, & I never think of them without a laugh.The Gardeners were our mates then, & I remember being married to Walter by Alfred Haskell with a white apron for a veil & the old wood shed for a church. We slapped one another soon after & parted, finding that our tempers didn’t agree. I rather think my prejudices in favor of spinsterhood are founded upon that brief but tragical experience.
I am glad if my scribbles amuse you & thank my friend “Mrs Podgers” for bringing me another expression of good will. “Moods” wont suit you so well I suspect, for in it I’ve freed my mind upon a subject that always makes trouble, namely, Love. But being founded upon fact, & the characters drawn from life it may be of use as all experiences are & serve as a warning at least.
I also have been a schoolmarm for ten years, but I dont like it & prefer pen & ink to birch & book, for my imaginary children are much easier to manage than living responsibilities.
My little nephew, Annie’s son, is calling “Aunty Wee-wee” to come & take him for his daily constitutional, & the young lord of the house must be obeyed. Please remember me to the Gardeners, & believe me
Very truly your friend
L. M. ALCOTT.
Concord Feb 3rd/65.
TO MONCURE DANIEL CONWAY5
My Dear Mr Conway.
Mr Sanborn offers me a place in his parcel & I want to do myself the pleasure of sending you a copy of my little book because you were so kindly interested in the other one.
“Moods” is not what I meant to have it, for I followed bad advice & took out many things which explained my idea & made the characters more natural & consistent. I see my mistake now for I find myself accused of Spiritualism, Free Love, Affinities & all sorts of horrors that I know very little about & dont believe in.
Perhaps I was over bold to try the experiment of treating an old theme in a new way. But out of my own observation & experience I ventured to say what I thought to the young people whom I see so often making blunders that mar their whole lives, & then blaming God or fate, & becoming dismal martyrs when they should be cheerful workers.
Self abnegation is a noble thing but I think there is a limit to it; & though in a few rare cases it may work well yet half the misery of the world seems to come from unmated pairs trying to live their lie decorously to the end, & bringing children into the world to inherit the unhappiness & discord out of which they were born. There is discipline enough in the most perfect marriage & I dont agree to the doctrine of “marry in haste & repent at leisure” which seems to prevail. I onor [sic] it too much not to want to see it all it should be & to try to help others to prepare for it that they may find it life’s best lesson not its heaviest burden.
The book has been sharply criticised & I am glad of it, though I wish I had done better justice to my own idea. I heartily believe it, am willing to be blamed for it, & am not sorry I wrote it, for it has not only cleared & fixed many things in my own mind, but brought me thanks & good wishes from many whom I find I have served better than I knew.
Pardon my egotistical note, but I did want to set myself right before you if I could, as it is too late to do it here before others, & with all its imperfections “Moods” is an honest, well meaning, little book.
Please remember me to Mrs Conway, & with affectionate regards from us all believe me
Very truly yours
L. M. ALCOTT.
Concord Feb 18/65.
TO MR . AYER
Mr Ayer.
I do not usually reply to the letters of strangers, having barely time to answer my friends, but you so entirely misunderstand Moods that I am anxious to set you right as far as I can in a hasty letter.
Your first question concerns the relations between Sylvia, Moor & Warwark [sic]. I know them to be possible as I have seen them more than once; they are natural though not common, for peculiar minds demonstrate their thoughts & feelings in peculiar ways; they are desirable only so far as they help men & women to understand themselves & each other.
You think that Moods teaches that marriage should be founded on some indefinable feeling or attraction not upon respect or esteem. Now if there is any thing that I heartily detest it is the theory of Affinities, also Spiritualism & Free Love, though I am grieved to find myself accused of all three. I honor marriage so highly that I long to see it what it should be life’s best lesson not its heaviest cross. It has so great an influence upon us all that it should be held in greater reverence, prepared for carefully entered upon solemnly, & kept holy by being kept true. Respect & esteem must be the foundation, but above & beyond must be an abiding love that makes all things possible & without which no marriage is a true one, no household a home.
Half the misery of our time arises from unmated pairs trying to live their legal lie decorously to the end at any cost. Better a few cases of open infidelity that warn & shock than many hidden tragedies that doom the innocent children as well as guilty parents.
If you read carefully the 17th & 18th Chapters you will see that Sylvia did try to be all she should to Moor, did give up love for duty, & resist temptation, trying to do right through all delusions & mistakes although it cost her life.Warwick has been pronounced an impossible character, but as he was drawn from life he must stand for what he is worth. Not a base nor treacherous man, but one possessing great faults as well as virtues & like better men most inconsistent, unwise & blind when in love. He too makes his mistakes, endeavors to amend them, & is true to his belief of what is right in defiance of the world’s opinion. He asked Sylvia to be true to herself & not decieve Moor, & in time she saw the worth of this advice, found Warwick upright even when most tempted to claim her after Moor knew all & was helped to see her way out of the dark by his plain dealing.
These latter chapters were more carefully written than any others, & as the book has been underway for six years there has been no occasion for haste any where. In justice to myself I want to say that by the advice of my publisher I took out ten chapters in order to shorten it; this I find was very unwise for these chapters explained much that now is obscure & made the whole story more natural & consistent. I shall know better another time, & do not blame my critics for failing to understand what I have not fully explained.
The design of Moods was to show the effect of a moody person’s moods upon their life, & Sylvia, being a mixed & peculiar character, makes peculiar blunders & tries to remedy them in an uncommon manner. I had no desire to settle or unsettle any question, to convince or convert any one to any theory whatever, but wrote straight out of my own observation, experience & instinct.
Others beside yourself have made the same mistakes regarding my purpose, & perhaps it is well for me that they have as it will teach me that even a little romance has some influence for good or evil & make me careful in what I write hereafter. I think Moods will do no harm to the pure hearted & for them alone was it written. That it has done some good I already have proofs in the letters I receive from good women who have tried to do their duty & become meek martyrs instead of happy workers in God’s world; young girls thank me for the warning I have unconsciously given them, & more than one minister has assured me that with all its faults the book has has taught a lesson that many needed to learn.
Pardon my seeming egotism, but when thoughtful men or women honor me with sincere praise or blame I desire to show that I am grateful for both by an equal sincerity on my part.
Respectfully Yours
L. M. ALCOTT.
Concord Mar. 19th/65.
TO THE LUKENS SISTERS6
CONCORD SEPT. 4TH [1873]
Dear Sisters,
You ask about little stories. Well, D. Ford of the Companion pays $50 apiece for them. Much more than they are worth of course, but he says he pays for the name, & seems satisfied with his bargain. I write for nothing else except a tale for the Independent now & then, which brings $100. This winter I shall write for Scribner at their request, as I have no book on the stacks.
For you I will, if I have time, write a tale or sketch now & then for love not money, & if the name is of any use you are very welcome to it.
I remember the dear little Pickwick Portfolio of twenty years ago & the spirit of an editor stirs within me promoting me to lend a hand to a sister editor.
I like to help women help themselves, as that is, in my opinion, the best way to settle the Woman question. Whatever we can do & do well we have a right to, & I dont think any one will deny us.
So best wishes for the success of Little Things & its brave young proprietors.
yrs truly L. M. ALCOTT.
P.S.
I did not like the suicide in “Work,” but as much of that chapter was true I let it stand as a warning to several people who need it to my knowledge, & to many whom I do not know. I have already had letters from strangers thanking me for it, so I am not sorry it went in. One must have both the dark & the light side to paint life truly.
I’ll write from imagination not cuts. I send you the last style of photo I have. Not very good but you can’t make a Venus out of a tired old lady. Let me see yours by all means.
TO LUCY STONE7
CONCORD, MASS., OCT. 1, 1873.
Dear Mrs. Stone:—I am so busy just now proving “Woman’s Right to Labor” that I have no time to help prove “Woman’s Right to Vote.” When I read your note aloud to the family, asking “What shall I say to Mrs. Stone?” my honored father instantly replied: “Tell her you are ready to follow your leader, sure that you could not have a better one.” My brave old mother, with the ardor of many unquenchable Mays shining in her face, cried out: “Tell her I am seventy-three, but I mean to go to the polls before I die, even if my three daughters have to carry me.” And two little men already mustered in added the cheering words: “Go ahead, Aunt Weedy, we will let you vote as much as you like.” Such being the temper of the small convention of which I am now President, I can not hesitate to say that though I may not be with you in the body I shall be in spirit, and I am, as ever, hopefully and heartily yours,
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT.
TO MARIA S. PORTER8
[1874]
I rejoice greatly therat, and hope that the first thing that you and Mrs. Sewall propose in your first meeting will be to reduce the salary of the head master of the High School, and increase the salary of the first woman assistant, whose work is quite as good as his, and even harder; to make the pay equal. I believe in the same pay for the same good work. Don’t you? In future let woman do whatever she can do; let men place no more impediments in the way; above all things let’s have fair play,—let simple justice be done, say I. Let us hear no more of “woman’s sphere” either from our wise (?) legislators beneath the State House dome, or from our clergymen in their pulpits. I am tired, year after year, of hearing such twaddle about sturdy oaks and clinging vines and man’s chivalric protection of woman. Let woman find out her own limitations, and if, as is so confidently asserted, nature has defined her sphere, she will be guided accordingly; but in heaven’s name give her a chance! Let the professions be open to her; let fifty years of college education be hers, and then we shall see what we shall see. Then, and not until then, shall we be able to say what woman can and what she cannot do, and coming generations will know and be able to define more clearly what is a “woman’s sphere” than these benighted men who now try to do it.
TO LUCY STONE9
Dear Mrs. Stone:—One should be especially inspired this Centennial year before venturing to speak or write. I am not so blest, and find myself so busy trying to get ready for the good time that is surely coming, I can only in a very humble way, help on the cause all women should have at heart.
As reports are in order, I should like to say a word for the girls, on whom in a great measure, depends the success of the next generation.
My lines fell in pleasant places last year, and I looked well about me as I went among the young people, who unconsciously gave me some very cheering facts in return for very poor fictions.
I was both surprised and delighted with the nerve and courage, the high aims and patient persistence which appeared, not only among the laborious young women whose teacher is necessity, but among tenderly nurtured girls who cherished the noblest ambitions and had learned to earn the happiness no wealth could buy them.
Having great faith in young America, it gave me infinite satisfaction to find such eager interest in all good things, and to see how irresistably the spirit of our new revolution, stirring in the hearts of sisters and daughters, was converting the fathers and brothers who loved them. One shrewd, business man said, when talking of Woman Suffrage, “How can I help believing in it, when I’ve got a wife and six girls who are bound to have it?”
And many a grateful brother declared he could not be mean enough to shut any door in the face of the sister who had made him what he was.
So I close this hasty note by proposing three cheers for the girls of 1876—and the hope that they will prove themselves worthy descendants of the mothers of this Revolution, remembering that
“Earth’s fanatics make
Too often Heaven’s saints.”
L. M. ALCOTT.
Concord, June 29 [1876].
TO JOHN PRESTON TRUE10
CONCORD, OCTOBER 24 [1878].
J. P. True
Dear Sir,—I never copy or “polish,” so I have no old manuscripts to send you; and if I had it would be of little use, for one person’s method is no rule for another. Each must work in his own way; and the only drill needed is to keep writing and profit by criticism. Mind grammar, spelling, and punctuation, use short words, and express as briefly as you can your meaning.Young people use too many adjectives to try to “write fine.” The strongest, simplest words are best, and no foreign ones if it can be helped.
Write, and print if you can, if not, still write, and improve as you go on. Read the best books, and they will improve your style. See and hear good speakers and wise people, and learn of them.Work for twenty years, and then you may some day find that you have a style and place of your own, and can command good pay for the same things no one would take when you were unknown.
I know little of poetry, as I never read modern attempts, but advise any young person to keep to prose, as only once in a century is there a true poet; and verses are so easy to do that it is not much help to write them. I have so many letters like your own that I can say no more, but wish you success, and give you for a motto Michael Angelo’s wise words: “Genius is infinite patience.”
Your friend, L. M. ALCOTT.
P.S.—The lines you send me are better than many I see; but boys of nineteen cannot know much about hearts, and had better write of things they understand. Sentiment is apt to become sentimentality; and sense is always safer, as well as better drill, for young fancies and feelings.
Read Ralph Waldo Emerson, and see what good prose is, and some of the best poetry we have. I much prefer him to Longfellow.
TO THOMAS NILES
FEBRUARY 12, 1881.
Dear Mr. Niles,—Wendell Phillips wrote me a letter begging me to write a preface for Mrs. Robinson’s “History of the Suffrage Movement;” but I refused him, as I did Mrs. R., because I don’t write prefaces well, and if I begin to do it there will be no end....
Cannot you do a small edition for her? All the believers will buy the book, and I think the sketches of L. M. Child, Abby May,
11 Alcott, and others will add much to the interest of the book.
Has she seen you about it? Will you look at the manuscripts by and by, or do you scorn the whole thing? Better not; for we are going to win in time, and the friend of literary ladies ought to be also the friend of women generally.
We are going to meet the Governor, council, and legislature at Mrs. Tudor’s next Wednesday eve and have a grand set-to. I hope he will come out of the struggle alive.
Do give Mrs. R. a lift if you can, and your petitioners will ever pray.
Yours truly, L. M. A.
TO THOMAS NILES
FEBRUARY 19, 1881.
Dear Mr. Niles,—Thank you very much for so kindly offering to look at Mrs. R.’s book. It is always pleasant to find a person who can conquer his prejudices to oblige a friend, if no more.
I think we shall be glad by and by of every little help we may have been able to give to this reform in its hard times, for those who take the tug now will deserve the praise when the work is done.
I can remember when Anti slavery was in just the same state that Suffrage is now, and take more pride in the very small help we Alcotts could give than in all the books I ever wrote or ever shall write.
“Earth’s fanatics often make heaven’s saints,” you know, and it is as well to try for that sort of promotion in time.
If Mrs. R. does send her manuscripts I will help all I can in reading or in any other way. If it only records the just and wise changes Suffrage has made in the laws for women, it will be worth printing; and it is time to keep account of these first steps, since they count most.
I, for one, don’t want to be ranked among idiots, felons, and minors any longer, for I am none of the three, but very gratefully yours,
L. M. A.
TO WILLIAM WARLAND CLAPP, JR.12
Editor Boston Daily Journal.
My attention having been called to the fact that a letter of mine sent to the annual Woman Suffrage meeting, has been entirely misunderstood by the opponents of the cause, I wish to set the matter right, being as anxious as Mrs Howe to have it clearly understood that, though “a well-descended woman” I am heart and soul on the unpopular side of the question.
Those to whom the letter was addressed made no mistake in its meaning, knowing well that while home duties kept me from a festival where I was not needed, nothing but the most pressing care or calamity would prevent me from discharging the duties I owe the cause. I had no time for pleasure, but when our Town Meeting comes I shall be there, glad of a chance to help secure good schools for my neighbours’ children. Surely this will be as feminine and worthy an act as standing behind a stall at a charity fair, or dancing in a ball-room.
The assertion that suffragists do not care for children and prefer notoriety to the joys of maternity is so fully contradicted by the lives of the women who are trying to make the world a safer and a better place for both sons and daughters, that no defense is needed. Having spent my own life from fifteen to fifty, loving and laboring for children, as teacher, nurse, story-teller and guardian, I know whereof I speak, and value their respect and confidence so highly that for their sakes, if for no other reason, I desire them to know that their old friend never deserts her flag.
So far from losing interest in this question, every year gives me greater faith in it, greater hope of its success, a larger charity for those who cannot see its wisdom, and a more earnest wish to use what influence I possess for its advancement. LOUISA MAY ALCOTT.
Concord,
Mar 6, 1883
TO MAGGIE LUKENS
BOSTON JAN. 14TH [1884]
Dear Maggie.
I have not forgotten my five sisters, & was glad to hear from them again, though sincerely grieved to learn that one of the dear group had gone.
I know how hard it is to spare these dear sisters, having lost two, & how empty the world seems for a long time. But faith, submission & work sustain, cheer & help so much that after the first sharpness of the loss is over, we often find a very sweet & precious tie still binds us even more tenderly together than when the visible presence was here.
Beth & May are always mine, though twenty five years have passed since we laid the poor shadow of one under the pines at Concord, & the dust of the other sleeps far away in Paris. Both are young, & bright, & live so always in my mind, for the pain & the parting, the years & sea are all as nothing, & I see them safe with Marmee waiting for the rest to come.
May’s blooming baby, which she gave me with all her lovely pictures, is a great comfort to me, & promises to be as full of courage, talent & nobility as her gifted mother. I am so busy helping little Louisa May Nieriker live her own sweet story that I find no time to write others, & am settling down to be a cosy old Granny with my specks & knitting.
My dear old father, now 84, is quite helpless & feeble in mind, but serene & happy as a child, suffering little but waiting cheerfully to slip away in God’s good time after a long & blameless life.
You speak of “breaking away;” if it can be dutifully & wisely done I think girls should see a little of the world, try their own powers, & keep well & cheerful, mind & body, because life has so much for us to learn, & young people need change. Many ways are open now, & woman can learn, be & do much if they have the will & opportunity.
I hope to see you if you take flight from the nest.With much love & sympathy to all I am, dear Maggie,
Your friend as always
L. M. ALCOTT.
TO MAGGIE LUKENS
FEB. 5TH [1884]
My Dear Maggie.
I hope I never shall be too busy or too old to answer letters like yours as far as I can, for to all of us comes this desire for something to hold by, look up to, & believe in. I will tell you my experience & as it has stood the test of youth & age, health & sickness, joy & sorrow, poverty & wealth I feel that it is genuine, & seem to get more light, warmth & help as I go on learning more of it year by year.
My parents never bound us to any church but taught us that the love of goodness was the love of God, the cheerful doing of duty made life happy, & that the love of one’s neighbor in its widest sense was the best help for oneself. Their lives showed us how lovely this simple faith was, how much honor, gratitude & affection it brought them, & what a sweet memory they left behind for, though father still lives his life is over as far as thought or usefulness are possible.
Theodore Parker & R.W. Emerson did much to help me to see that one can shape life best by trying to build up a strong & noble character through good books, wise people’s society, an interest in all reforms that help the world, & a cheerful acceptance of whatever is inevitable. Seeing a beautiful compensation in what often seems a great sacrifice, sorrow or loss, & believing always that a wise, loving & just Father cares for us, sees our weakness & is near to help if we call. Have you read Emerson? He is called a Pantheist or believer in Nature instead of God. He was truly Christian & saw God in Nature, finding strength & comfort in the sane, sweet influences of the great Mother as well as the Father of all. I too believe this, & when tired, sad, or tempted find my best comfort in the woods, the sky, the healing solitude that lets my poor, weary soul find the rest, the fresh hope, or the patience which only God can give us.
People used to tell me that when sorrow came I should find my faith faulty because it had no name, but they were wrong, for when the heavy loss of my dear, gifted sister found me too feeble to do anything but suffer passively, I still had the sustaining sense of a love that never failed even when I could not see why this lovely life should end when it was happiest.
As a poor, proud, struggling girl I held to the belief that if I deserved success it would surely come so long as my ambition was not for selfish ends but for my dear family, & it did come, far more fully than I ever hoped or dreamed tho youth, health & many hopes went to earn it. Now when I might enjoy rest, pleasure & travel I am still tied by new duties to my baby, & give up my dreams sure that something better will be given me in time.
Freedom was always my longing, but I have never had it, so I am still trying to feel that this is the discipline I need & when I am ready the liberty will come.
I think you need not worry about any name for your faith but simply try to be & do good, to love virture [sic] in others & study the lives of those who are truely worthy of imitation.Women need a religion of thier own, for they are called upon to lead a quiet self sacrificing life with peculiar trials, needs, & joys, & it seems to me that a very simple one is fitted to us whose hearts are usually more alive than heads, & whose hands are tied in many ways.
Health of body helps health of soul, cheerful views of all things keep up the courage & brace the nerves. Work for the mind must be had, or daily duty becomes drudgery & the power to enjoy higher things is lost. Change of scene is sometimes salvation for girls or women who out grow the place they are born in, & it is thier duty to go away even if it is to harder work, for hungrey minds prey on themselves & ladies suffer for escape from a too pale or narrow life.
I have felt this, & often gone away from Concord to teach, (which I never liked) because there was no food for my mind in that small conservative town, especially since Mr Emerson died.
Food, fire & shelter are not all that women need, & the noble discontent that asks for more should not be condemned but helped if possible.
At 21 I took my little earnings ($20) & a few clothes, & went to seek my fortune tho I might have sat still & been supported by rich friends. All those hard years were teaching me what I afterward put into the books, & so I made my fortune out of my seeming mis fortunes; I speak of myself because what one has lived one really knows & so can speak honestly. I wish I had my own house (as I still hope to have) so that I might ask the young women who often write to me as you do, to come & see me, & look about & find what they need, & see the world of wise, good people to whom I could introduce them as others did me thirty years ago. I hope to have it soon, & then you must come & have our talk, & see if any change can be made without neglecting duty.
When one cannot go away one can travel in spirit by means of books.Tell me what you read & like, & perhaps I can send you a key that will at least open a window through which your eyes can wander while the faithful hands & feet are tied by duty at home.
Write freely to me, dear girl, & if I can help in any way be sure I gladly will. A great sorrow often softens & prepares the heart for a new harvest of good seed, & the sowers God sends are often very humble ones, used only as instruments by him because being very human they come naturally & by every day ways to the help of those who are passing through trials like thier own.
I find one of the compensations for age in the fact that it seems to bring young people nearer to me, & that the experiences so hard to live through now help me to understand others. So I am always glad to do what I can, remembering how I wrote to my father for just such help as you ask, & how he answered as I have tried to answer you.
Let me know if it does comfort you any.
With love to my other girls
I am always your friend
L. M. A.
TO MAGGIE LUKENS
FEB. 14TH [1884]
Dear Maggie.
I am glad that my letter pleased you, & though always busy I at once answer your last because if by word or act one can help a fellow creature in the care or conduct of a soul that is one’s first duty.
About the great Hereafter I can only give you my own feeling & belief, for we can know nothing, & must wait hopefully & patiently to learn the secret.
Death never seemed terrible to me, the fact I mean, though the ways of going & the sad blow of a sudden end are of course hard to bear & understand.
I feel that in this life we are learning to enjoy a higher, & fitting ourselves to take our place there. If we use well our talents, opportunities, trials & joys here when we pass on it is to the society of nobler souls, as in this world we find our level inevitably.
I think immortality is the passing of a soul thro many lives or experiences, & such as are truly lived, used & learned help on to the next, each growing richer higher, happier, carr[y]ing with it only the real memories of what has gone before. If in my present life I love one person truly, no matter who it is, I believe that we meet somewhere again, though where or how I dont know or care, for genuine love is immortal. So is real wisdom, virtue, heroism &c. & these noble attributes lift humble lives into the next experience, & prepare them to go on with greater power & happiness.
I seem to remember former states before this, & feel that in them I have learned some of the lessons that have never been mine here, & in my next step I hope to leave behind many of the trials that I have struggled to bear here & begin to find lightened as I go on.
This accounts for the genius & the great virtue some show here. They have done well in many phases of this great school & bring into our class the virtue or the gifts that make them great & good.
We don’t remember the lesser things, they slip away as childish trifles, & we carry on only the real experiences. Some are born sad, some bad, some feeble, mentally & morally I mean, & all thier life here is an effort to get rid of this shadow of grief, sin, weakness in the life before. Others come as Shakespere, Milton Emerson &c. bringing thier lovely reward with them & pass on leaving us the better for thier lives.
This is my idea of immortality. An endless life of helpful change, with the instinct, the longing to rise, to learn, to love, to get nearer the source of all good, & go on from the lowest plane to the highest, rejoicing more & more as we climb into the clearer light, the purer air, the happier life which must exist, for, as Plato said “The soul cannot imagine what does not exist because it is the shadow of God who knows & creates all things.”
I dont believe in spiritualism as commonly presented. I dont want to see or feel or hear dead friends except in my own sense of nearness, & as my love & memory paint them. I do believe that they remember us, are with us in a spiritual sense when we need them, & we feel thier presence with joy & comfort, not with fear or curiosity.
My mother is near me sometimes I am sure, for help comes of the sort she alone gave me, & May is about her baby I feel, for out of the innocent blue eyes sometimes come looks so like her mother’s that I am startled, for I tended May as a child as I now tend Lulu. This slight tie is enough to hold us still tenderly together, though death drops a veil between us, & I look without doubt or fear toward the time when in some way we shall meet again.
About books.Yes, I’ve read “Mr Isaacs” & “Dr C.” & like them both. The other “To Leeward” is not so good. “Little Pilgrim” was pretty, but why try to paint Heaven? Let it alone, & prepare for it whatever it is, sure that God knows what we need & deserve.
I will send you Emerson’s Essays. Read those marked & see what you think of them. They did much for me, & if you like them you shall have more. Ever yr. friend L. M. A.
Love to the girls & respects to Papa.
TO THE WOMAN’S JOURNAL
CONCORD, MASS., MAY 8, 1884.
Editors Woman’s Journal:
There is very little to report about the woman’s vote at Concord Town Meeting, as only eight were there in time to do the one thing permitted them.
With the want of forethought and promptness which shows how much our sex have yet to learn in the way of business habits, some dozen delayed coming till the vote for school committee was over. It came third on the warrant, and a little care in discovering this fact would have spared us much disappointment. It probably made no difference in the choice of officers, as there is seldom any trouble about the matter, but it is to be regretted that the women do not give more attention to the duty which they really care for, yet fail, as yet, to realize the importance of, small as it is at present.
Their delay shows, however, that home affairs are not neglected, for the good ladies remained doubtless to give the men a comfortable dinner and set their houses in order before going to vote.
Next time I hope they will leave the dishes till they get home, as they do when in a hurry to go to the sewing-society, Bible-class, or picnic. A hasty meal once a year will not harm the digestion of the lords of creation, and the women need all the drill they can get in the new duties that are surely coming to widen their sphere, sharpen their wits, and strengthen their wills, teaching them the courage, intelligence and independence all should have, and many sorely need in a world of vicissitudes. A meeting should be called before the day for action comes, to talk over matters, to get posted as to time, qualifications of persons, and the good of the schools, then the women can act together, know what they are doing, and keep up the proper interest all should feel in so important a matter.
“I come, but I’m lukewarm,” said one lady, and that is the spirit of too many.
“We ought to have had a meeting, but you were not here to call it, so no one did,” said another, as if it were not a very simple thing to open any parlor and ask the twenty-eight women voters to come and talk an hour.
It was a good lesson, and we hope there will be energy and foresight enough in Concord to register more names, have a quiet little caucus, and send a goodly number of earnest, wide-awake ladies to town-meeting next year.
LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
Concord, May 8, 1884.
TO LUCY STONE13
AUG. 31 [1885]
My Dear Mrs Stone.
I should think it was hardly necessary for me to write or to say that it is impossible for me ever to “go back” on Womans Suffrage. I earnestly desire to go forward on that line as far & as fast as the prejudices, selfishness & blindness of the world will let us, & it is a great cross to me that ill health & home duties prevent my devoting heart, pen & time to this most vital question of the age.
After a fifty years acquaintance with the noble men & women of the Anti slavery cause, & the sight of the glorious end to their faithful work, I should be a traitor to all I most love, honor & desire to imitate, if I did not covet a place among those who are giving their lives to the emancipation of the white slaves of America.
If I can do no more let my name stand among those who are willing to bear ridicule & reproach for the truth’s sake, & so earn some right to rejoice when the victory is won.
Most heartily yours for Woman’s Suffrage & all other reforms,
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT.
Concord Mass.
TO THOMAS NILES
SUNDAY, [ JUNE?] 1886.
Dear Mr. Niles,—The goodly supply of books was most welcome, for when my two hours pen-work are over I need something to comfort me, and I long to go on and finish “Jo’s Boys” by July 1st.
My doctor frowns on that hope and is so sure it will do mischief to get up the steam that I am afraid to try, and keep Prudence sitting on the valve lest the old engine run away and have another smash-up.
I send you by Fred several chapters, I wish they were neater, as some were written long ago and have knocked about for years, but I can’t spare time to copy, so hope the printers won’t be in despair.
I planned twenty chapters and am on the fifteenth. Some are long, some short, and as we are pressed for time we had better not try to do too much.
. . . I have little doubt it will be done early in July, but things are so contrary with me I can never be sure of carrying out a plan, and I don’t want to fail again; so far I feel as if I could, without harm, finish off these dreadful boys.
Why have any illustrations? The book is not a child’s book, as the lads are nearly all over twenty, and pretty pictures are not needed. Have the bas-relief if you like, or one good thing for frontispiece.
I can have twenty-one chapters and make it the size of “Little Men.” Sixteen chapters make two hundred and sixteen pages, and I may add a page here and there later,—or if need be, a chapter somewhere to fill up.
I shall be at home in a week or two, much better for the rest and fine air; and during my quiet days in C. I can touch up proofs and confer about the book. Sha’n’t we be glad when it is done?
Yours truly,
L. M. A.