The Annotated Little Women

by Louisa May Alcott

  6. gentlemanly manner. Jo’s “gentlemanly” examination of her boots is the first firm indicator of Jo’s ambiguous gender identification, a frequently recurring point in the novel.

  7. in the complaining tone again. To help support her parents and siblings, Anna Alcott worked both as a governess and as a teacher. Louisa first mentions her sister’s work as a governess in her journal for 1850, when Anna was nineteen.

  8. “fussy old lady.” Alcott worked in 1851 as a live-in companion, though her employers were a man and woman much younger than Aunt March. Alcott recalled the very unpleasant episode in her 1874 story “How I Went Out to Service.”

  9. who could remember better times. The “riches to rags” scenario that Alcott devises for the March family has no real counterpart in her own family’s history. Bronson Alcott was only mildly prosperous at best when his eldest daughters were young. After 1839, he had no steady income for twenty years, though he earned a small amount of money performing manual labor and giving paid conversations.

  10. “Birds in their little nests agree.” Beth quotes from “Love between brothers and sisters” in Isaac Watts’s Divine Songs for Children (1715).

  11. Jo shook the blue army-sock till the needles rattled like castanets. Jo has been knitting socks for Union army soldiers. In October 1861, she was “sewing and knitting for ‘our boys’ all the time” and remarked, “It seems as if a few energetic women could carry on the war better than the men do it so far” (Louisa May Alcott, Journals, pp. 105–6).

  12. “making your name boyish.” Louisa also went by a boyish nickname within her family: the Alcotts called her both “Lu” and “Louy.”

  13. thin and brown. In correspondence with her blue-eyed father, who espoused the unfortunate belief that light-skinned persons were more spiritually advanced than darker ones, Alcott wrote that she had been born “a crass . . . brown baby” who had “fought through its small trials so the brown woman could fight thro her big ones” (Louisa May Alcott, Selected Letters, p. 14).

  14. rapidly shooting up into a woman, and didn’t like it. In another of her novels, Moods, Alcott gave this description of the heroine, also modeled on herself: “The face was full of contradictions; youthful, maidenly, and intelligent, yet touched with the melancholy of a temperament too mixed to make life happy.”

  15. mindful of her manners. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s son Edward described May Alcott like this: “She had beautiful blue eyes and brilliant yellow hair. She was overflowing with spirits and energy, danced well, and rode recklessly whenever she could, by chance, come by a saddle-horse for an hour” (Shealy, ed., Alcott in Her Own Time, p. 95).

  16. we will leave to be found out. Alcott freely altered the chronology of her family’s actual lives to move her story into the period of the Civil War. The Christmas when Anna and Louisa were sixteen and fifteen, respectively, occurred in 1847, not 1861. At that time, Lizzie was twelve, unlike the thirteen-year-old Beth. Alcott makes a more drastic alteration in the age of the youngest March sister. We learn later in this chapter that Amy is twelve. In December 1847, the real-life May was only seven.

  17. “Marmee.” “Marmee” was also the name by which the Alcott girls called their mother, the elder Abigail May Alcott (1800–77). Instead of being an actual nickname, “Marmee” very likely derives from the word “Mommy,” pronounced with a New England twang.

  18. “You are the best actress we’ve got.” Like Meg, Anna Alcott had dramatic talent. Louisa observed that her elder sister “acts often splendidly.” In her late teens, Anna dreamed of a career on the stage. She gave up her ambition, however, when premature hearing loss made it too hard for her to pick up cues.

  19. “ ‘The Witch’s Curse, an Operatic Tragedy.’ ” Between 1847 and 1849, Anna and Louisa coauthored a tragedy titled Norna; or, The Witch’s Curse, which remained unpublished in Louisa’s lifetime. It was published in Comic Tragedies (1893), a volume that featured an introduction by Anna titled “A Foreword by Meg.” According to Anna, the young Louisa called Norna the “lurid drama” and considered it the dramatic masterpiece of her youth.

  20. “ ‘Is that a dagger that I see before me?’ ” Jo quotes, slightly inaccurately, a line from Macbeth, act 2, scene 1, which reads, “Is this a dagger which I see before me?” She is evidently too inexperienced to know that actors consider it bad luck to speak the name of Shakespeare’s Scottish Play. Perhaps Jo’s indiscretion is the reason for the catastrophe that occurs in the girls’ performance in Chapter II. Alcott had seen the famous actor Edwin Forrest play Macbeth in 1855 and was not greatly impressed with his efforts (Louisa May Alcott, Selected Letters, p. 14).

  21. most splendid woman in the world. Alcott’s assessment of her mother was no different from her narrator’s view of Marmee. In her 1845 journal, she called Mrs. Alcott “the best woman in the world” (Louisa May Alcott, Journals, p. 55).

  22. “splendid in father to go as a chaplain.” Although many of his compatriots in the Transcendentalist philosophical movement were Unitarian ministers, including Ralph Waldo Emerson, Theodore Parker, and Frederic Henry Hedge, Bronson Alcott was never ordained as a clergyman. Emerson, however, called him a “god-made priest.” The Union chaplains nearest to the Transcendentalist circle were William Henry Channing (1810–84), a minister and reformer who served as chaplain of the House of Representatives during the latter half of the war; and Arthur Buckminster Fuller (1822–62), the younger brother of author and editor Margaret Fuller. Fuller, the chaplain of the Sixteenth Massachusetts Volunteers, was killed at the battle of Fredericksburg.

  23. “a vivan—what’s its name?” The word Jo is reaching for is vivandière, a woman attached to an army regiment who provided spirits and other items. Alcott’s feelings about the war were similar to Jo’s. In the same month that the war began, she told her journal, “I’ve often longed to see a war, and now I have my wish. I long to be a man, but as I can’t fight, I will content myself with working for those who can” (Louisa May Alcott, Journals, p. 105). The word “drummer” here means a traveling vendor, not a percussionist.

  (United States Army Military History Institute, Carlisle, Pennsylvania)

  24. “my little women.” This is the first mention of Alcott’s title in the text of the novel. While some have felt the use of the diminutive “little” to be denigrating, it seems clear that Mr. March—and Alcott—were making a point about their concept of girls as future women, containing the potentialities of maturity and fulfillment that it is their task to cultivate.

  25. “Celestial City.” In Bunyan’s allegory, Christian bears upon his back a burden, representing the weight of sin, which he fears “will sink [him] lower than the Grave.” Departing from the City of Destruction, Christian braves many perils and temptations to reach the Celestial City. Partway on his journey, Christian arrives at a place where there stands a cross, and his burden falls from his back, tumbles into the mouth of a sepulcher, and is never seen again. When the Alcott girls lived at the Hillside House in Concord in the late 1840s, they had a game in which they carried burdens up the ridge behind their home and then cast them down upon reaching the summit. The March sisters play an indoor version of the same game.

  26. “Apollyon.” A hideous monster in The Pilgrim’s Progress, Apollyon takes his name from an “angel of the bottomless pit” mentioned in Revelations 9. In Greek, the name means “destroyer.” Christian wrestles with the wrathful demon more than half a day before driving him away.

  27. “before father comes home.” With this speech, Marmee frames the pivotal question of Part First of Little Women: Will the girls overcome their various character flaws sufficiently to receive their father’s blessing when he returns?

  28. “Slough of Despond” Before beginning on his travels, Christian receives a parchment roll from his friend Evangelist, which commands him to “fly from the wrath to come.” This roll becomes “the assurance of his life and acceptance at the desired haven.” Soon discouraged, Christian falls into the “Sl
ow of Dispond” [sic] but is pulled from the mire by a man named Help.

  29. Aunt March. No one has been able to identify convincingly a real-life inspiration in the Alcott family for Aunt March. One friend of the family, Maude Appleton McDowell, stated firmly, “ ‘Aunt March’ was no one” (Shealy, ed., Alcott in Her Own Time, p. 221).

  30. stitched their way through them. Bronson Alcott was fond of playing geography games with his pupils at the Temple School and was among the first American teachers to have his students draw their own maps as a way of learning geography.

  31. “Crinkle, crinkle, ’ittle ’tar.” A juvenile corruption of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” The original poem by Jane Taylor, “The Star,” was first published in 1806 and was, by Alcott’s time, an established favorite.

  CHAPTER II.

  A Merry Christmas.

  JO was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was so crammed with goodies. Then she remembered her mother’s promise, and slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guide-book for any pilgrim going the long journey. She woke Meg with a “Merry Christmas,” and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke, to rummage and find their little books also—one dove-colored, the other blue;1 and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the East grew rosy with the coming day.

  In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given.

  Scholars have debated whether it is New Testaments or copies of The Pilgrim’s Progress that Marmee gives the girls as Christmas presents. Lizzie Alcott’s New Testament, recently discovered at Orchard House, helps settle the issue. (Louisa May Alcott Memorial Association)

  “Girls,” said Meg, seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, “mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We used to be faithful about it; but since father went away, and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as you please; but I shall keep my book on the table here, and read a little every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good, and help me through the day.”

  Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round her, and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.

  “How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let’s do as they do. I’ll help you with the hard words, and they’ll explain things if we don’t understand,” whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters’ example.

  “I’m glad mine is blue,” said Amy; and then the rooms were very still while the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.

  “Where is mother?” asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for their gifts, half an hour later.

  “Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter come a-beggin’, and your ma went straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a woman for givin’ away vittles and drink, clothes and firin’,” replied Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.2

  “She will be back soon, I guess; so do your cakes, and have everything ready,” said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time. “Why, where is Amy’s bottle of Cologne?” she added, as the little flask did not appear.

  “She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion,” replied Jo, dancing about the room to take the first stiffness off the new army-slippers.

  “How nice my handkerchiefs look, don’t they? Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself,” said Beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor.

  “Bless the child, she’s gone and put ‘Mother’ on them instead of ‘M. March;’ how funny!” cried Jo, taking up one.

  “Isn’t it right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg’s initials are ‘M. M.,’ and I don’t want any one to use these but Marmee,” said Beth, looking troubled.

  “It’s all right, dear, and a very pretty idea; quite sensible, too, for no one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know,” said Meg, with a frown for Jo, and a smile for Beth.

  “There’s mother; hide the basket, quick!” cried Jo, as a door slammed, and steps sounded in the hall.

  Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her.

  “Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?” asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so early.

  “Don’t laugh at me, Jo, I didn’t mean any one should know till the time came. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I gave all my money to get it, and I’m truly trying not to be selfish any more.”

  As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap one; and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget herself, that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her “a trump,” while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle.

  “You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about being good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it the minute I was up; and I’m so glad, for mine is the handsomest now.”

  Another bang of the street-door sent the basket under the sofa, and the girls to the table eager for breakfast.

  “Merry Christmas, Marmee! Lots of them! Thank you for our books; we read some, and mean to every day,” they cried, in chorus.

  “Merry Christmas, little daughters! I’m glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little new-born baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there; and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?”3

  They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke; only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously,—

  “I’m so glad you came before we began!”

  “May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?” asked Beth, eagerly.

  “I shall take the cream and the muffins,” added Amy, heroically giving up the articles she most liked.

  “So fair to be seen,” Beth, Meg, Jo, and Amy (Claire Danes, Trini Alvarado, Winona Ryder, and Kirsten Dunst) carry Christmas dinner to the impoverished Hummels in the 1994 film. (Photofest)

  Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one big plate.

  “I thought you’d do it,” said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. “You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinner-time.”

  They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the funny party.

  A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bed-clothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm. How the big eyes stared, and the blue lips smiled, as the girls we
nt in!

  “Ach, mein Gott! it is good angels come to us!” cried the poor woman, crying for joy.

  “Funny angels in hoods and mittens,” said Jo, and set them laughing.

  In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats, and her own shawl. Mrs. March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls, meantime, spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds; laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.

  “Das ist gute!” “Der angel-kinder!” cried the poor things, as they ate, and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered “a Sancho” 4 ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn’t get any of it; and when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts, and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning.

  “That’s loving our neighbor better than ourselves,5 and I like it,” said Meg, as they set out their presents, while their mother was up stairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels.

  Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles; and the tall vase of red roses, while chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table.