<p class="h2"><SPAN name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></SPAN>XXVI.</p>
<p class="h2a">ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent
and genius, especially ambitious young men and women. Amy was
learning this distinction through much tribulation; for, mistaking enthusiasm
for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful
audacity. For a long time there was a lull in the "mud-pie"
business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing,
in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork
proved both pleasant and profitable. But overstrained eyes soon
caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching.
While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear
of a conflagration; for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 314]</span>
all hours; smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency,
red-hot pokers lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went
to bed without a pail of water and the dinner-bell at her door, in case
of fire. Raphael's face was found boldly executed on the under side
of the moulding-board, and Bacchus on the head of a beer-barrel;
a chanting cherub adorned the cover of the sugar-bucket, and attempts
to portray Romeo and Juliet supplied kindlings for some
time.</p>
<p class="indent">From fire to oil was a natural transition for burnt fingers, and Amy
fell to painting with undiminished ardor. An artist friend fitted her
out with his cast-off palettes, brushes, and colors; and she daubed
away, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen
on land or sea. Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have
taken prizes at an agricultural fair; and the perilous pitching of her
vessels would have produced sea-sickness in the most nautical observer,
if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging
had not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance. Swarthy
boys and dark-eyed Madonnas, staring at you from one corner of
the studio, suggested Murillo; oily-brown shadows of faces, with a
lurid streak in the wrong place, meant Rembrandt; buxom ladies
and dropsical infants, Rubens; and Turner appeared in tempests of
blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with
a tomato-colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or a
buoy, a sailor's shirt or a king's robe, as the spectator pleased.</p>
<div class="figright"> <SPAN name="b124.png" id="b124.png"></SPAN>
<ANTIMG src="images/b124.png" width-obs="400" height-obs="651" alt="Her foot held fast in a panful of plaster" title="Her foot held fast in a panful of plaster" /></div>
<p class="indent">Charcoal portraits came next; and the entire family hung in a row,
looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coal-bin. Softened
into crayon sketches, they did better; for the likenesses were
good, and Amy's hair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes
were pronounced "wonderfully fine." A return to clay and plaster
followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of
the house, or tumbled off closet-shelves on to people's heads. Children
were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her
mysterious doings caused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a
young ogress. Her efforts in this line, however, were brought to an
abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenched her ardor.
Other models failing her for a time, she undertook to cast her own
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 315]</span>
pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthly
bumping and screaming, and running to the rescue, found the young
enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed, with her foot held fast in a
pan-full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity.
With much difficulty and
some danger she was dug
out; for Jo was so overcome
with laughter while she
excavated, that her knife
went too far, cut the poor
foot, and left a lasting memorial
of one artistic attempt,
at least.</p>
<p class="indent">After this Amy subsided,
till a mania for sketching
from nature set her to haunting
river, field, and wood,
for picturesque studies, and
sighing for ruins to copy.
She caught endless colds sitting
on damp grass to book
"a delicious bit," composed
of a stone, a stump, one
mushroom, and a broken
mullein-stalk, or "a heavenly
mass of clouds," that
looked like a choice display
of feather-beds when
done. She sacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the
midsummer sun, to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her
nose, trying after "points of sight," or whatever the squint-and-string
performance is called.</p>
<p class="indent">If "genius is eternal patience," as Michael Angelo affirms, Amy
certainly had some claim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in
spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing
that in time she should do something worthy to be called "high art."</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 316]</span>
She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for
she had resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even
if she never became a great artist. Here she succeeded better; for
she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort,
make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that
less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a
lucky star. Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact.
She had an instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always
said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time
and place, and was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, "If
Amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know
exactly what to do."</p>
<p class="indent">One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in "our best society,"
without being quite sure what the <i>best</i> really was. Money, position,
fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirable
things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed
them, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was
not admirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman,
she cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the
opportunity came she might be ready to take the place from which
poverty now excluded her.</p>
<p class="indent">"My lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine
lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot
buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility,
and that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks.</p>
<p class="indent">"I want to ask a favor of you, mamma," Amy said, coming in, with
an important air, one day.</p>
<p class="indent">"Well, little girl, what is it?" replied her mother, in whose eyes
the stately young lady still remained "the baby."</p>
<p class="indent">"Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate
for the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day. They
are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of
the things they admire in my book. They have been very kind to
me in many ways, and I am grateful, for they are all rich, and know I
am poor, yet they never made any difference."</p>
<p class="indent">"Why should they?" and Mrs. March put the question with what
the girls called her "Maria Theresa air."</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 317]</span>
"You know as well as I that it <i>does</i> make a difference with nearly
every one, so don't ruffle up, like a dear, motherly hen, when your
chickens get pecked by smarter birds; the ugly duckling turned out
a swan, you know;" and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed
a happy temper and hopeful spirit.</p>
<p class="indent">Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as
she asked,—</p>
<p class="indent">"Well, my swan, what is your plan?"</p>
<p class="indent">"I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them
a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps,
and make a little artistic <i>f�te</i> for them."</p>
<p class="indent">"That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches,
fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Oh dear, no! we must have cold tongue and chicken, French
chocolate and ice-cream, besides. The girls are used to such things,
and I want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though I <i>do</i> work for
my living."</p>
<p class="indent">"How many young ladies are there?" asked her mother, beginning
to look sober.</p>
<p class="indent">"Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won't all
come."</p>
<p class="indent">"Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry
them about."</p>
<p class="indent">"Why, mother, how <i>can</i> you think of such a thing? Not more than
six or eight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach-wagon, and
borrow Mr. Laurence's cherry-bounce." (Hannah's pronunciation of
<i>char-�-banc</i>.)</p>
<p class="indent">"All this will be expensive, Amy."</p>
<p class="indent">"Not very; I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself."</p>
<p class="indent">"Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things,
and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan
would be pleasanter to them, as a change, if nothing more, and much
better for us than buying or borrowing what we don't need, and attempting
a style not in keeping with our circumstances?"</p>
<p class="indent">"If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all. I know
that I can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help a
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 318]</span>
little; and I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it," said
Amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change into
obstinacy.</p>
<p class="indent">Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and
when it was possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons
which she would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to
taking advice as much as they did salts and senna.</p>
<p class="indent">"Very well, Amy; if your heart is set upon it, and you see your
way through without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper,
I'll say no more. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way
you decide, I'll do my best to help you."</p>
<p class="indent">"Thanks, mother; you are always <i>so</i> kind;" and away went Amy
to lay her plan before her sisters.</p>
<p class="indent">Meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything
she possessed, from her little house itself to her very best salt-spoons.
But Jo frowned upon the whole project, and would have nothing to
do with it at first.</p>
<p class="indent">"Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your
family, and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't
care a sixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and
sense to truckle to any mortal woman just because she wears French
boots and rides in a <i>coup�</i>," said Jo, who, being called from the
tragical climax of her novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises.</p>
<p class="indent">"I <i>don't</i> truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do!"
returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions
arose. "The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's
a great deal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite
of what you call fashionable nonsense. You don't care to make people
like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and
tastes. I do, and I mean to make the most of every chance that
comes. <i>You</i> can go through the world with your elbows out and
your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That's
not my way."</p>
<p class="indent">When Amy whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got
the best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 319]</span>
side, while Jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities
to such an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted
in an argument. Amy's definition of Jo's idea of independence was
such a good hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took
a more amiable turn. Much against her will, Jo at length consented
to sacrifice a day to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what
she regarded as "a nonsensical business."</p>
<p class="indent">The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following
Monday was set apart for the grand event. Hannah was out of humor
because her week's work was deranged, and prophesied that "ef
the washin' and ironin' warn't done reg'lar nothin' would go well anywheres."
This hitch in the mainspring of the domestic machinery
had a bad effect upon the whole concern; but Amy's motto was "Nil
desperandum," and having made up her mind what to do, she proceeded
to do it in spite of all obstacles. To begin with, Hannah's
cooking didn't turn out well: the chicken was tough, the tongue too
salt, and the chocolate wouldn't froth properly. Then the cake and
ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon; and various
other expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather
alarmingly afterward. Beth got cold and took to her bed, Meg had
an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such
a divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes
were uncommonly numerous, serious, and trying.</p>
<p class="indent">"If it hadn't been for mother I never should have got through,"
as Amy declared afterward, and gratefully remembered when "the
best joke of the season" was entirely forgotten by everybody else.</p>
<p class="indent">If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on
Tuesday,—an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the
last degree. On Monday morning the weather was in that undecided
state which is more exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a
little, shone a little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it
was too late for any one else to make up theirs. Amy was up at
dawn, hustling people out of their beds and through their breakfasts,
that the house might be got in order. The parlor struck her as looking
uncommonly shabby; but without stopping to sigh for what she had not,
she skilfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 320]</span>
worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with pictures
framed in ivy, and filling up empty corners with home-made statuary,
which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of
flowers Jo scattered about.</p>
<p class="indent">The lunch looked charmingly; and as she surveyed it, she sincerely
hoped it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and
silver would get safely home again. The carriages were promised,
Meg and mother were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to
help Hannah behind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and
amiable as an absent mind, an aching head, and a very decided disapproval
of everybody and everything would allow, and, as she wearily
dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment,
when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends
for an afternoon of artistic delights; for the "cherry-bounce" and
the broken bridge were her strong points.</p>
<p class="indent">Then came two hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from
parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock.
A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of
the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came; and
at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume
the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost.</p>
<p class="indent">"No doubt about the weather to-day; they will certainly come, so
we must fly round and be ready for them," said Amy, as the sun
woke her next morning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul
she wished she had said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest, like
her cake, was getting a little stale.</p>
<p class="indent">"I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad to-day,"
said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression
of placid despair.</p>
<p class="indent">"Use the chicken, then; the toughness won't matter in a salad,"
advised his wife.</p>
<p class="indent">"Hannah left it on the kitchen-table a minute, and the kittens
got at it. I'm very sorry, Amy," added Beth, who was still a patroness
of cats.</p>
<p class="indent">"Then I <i>must</i> have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do," said
Amy decidedly.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 321]</span>
"Shall I rush into town and demand one?" asked Jo, with the
magnanimity of a martyr.</p>
<p class="indent">"You'd come bringing it home under your arm, without any paper,
just to try me. I'll go myself," answered Amy, whose temper was
beginning to fail.</p>
<p class="indent">Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel travelling-basket,
she departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit,
and fit her for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of
her desire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing, to prevent further
loss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with
her own forethought.</p>
<p class="indent">As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old
lady, Amy pocketed her veil, and beguiled the tedium of the way by
trying to find out where all her money had gone to. So busy was
she with her card full of refractory figures that she did not observe a
new-comer, who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine
voice said, "Good-morning, Miss March," and, looking up, she beheld
one of Laurie's most elegant college friends. Fervently hoping that
he would get out before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at
her feet, and, congratulating herself that she had on her new travelling
dress, returned the young man's greeting with her usual suavity and
spirit.</p>
<p class="indent">They got on excellently; for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest
by learning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting
away in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In
stumbling to the door, she upset the basket, and—oh, horror!—the
lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to the highborn
eyes of a Tudor.</p>
<p class="indent">"By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!" cried the unconscious
youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and
preparing to hand out the basket after the old lady.</p>
<p class="indent">"Please don't—it's—it's mine," murmured Amy, with a face
nearly as red as her fish.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b125.png" id="b125.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b125.png" width-obs="525" height-obs="400" alt="Please don't, it's mine" title="Please don't, it's mine" /></div>
<p class="indent">"Oh, really, I beg pardon; it's an uncommonly fine one, isn't
it?" said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest
that did credit to his breeding.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 322]</span>
Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the
seat, and said, laughing,—</p>
<p class="indent">"Don't you wish you were to have some of the salad he's to make,
and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?"</p>
<p class="indent">Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine
mind were touched: the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo
of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about "the charming young
ladies" diverted his mind from the comical mishap.</p>
<p class="indent">"I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I sha'n't
see them; that's a comfort," thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and
departed.</p>
<p class="indent">She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered
that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the
rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through
with the preparations which now seemed more irksome than before;
and at twelve o'clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors
were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 323]</span>
of yesterday's failure by a grand success to-day; so she ordered the
"cherry-bounce," and drove away in state to meet and escort her
guests to the banquet.</p>
<p class="indent">"There's the rumble, they're coming! I'll go into the porch to
meet them; it looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a
good time after all her trouble," said Mrs. March, suiting the action to
the word. But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable
expression, for, looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one
young lady.</p>
<p class="indent">"Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table;
it will be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl,"
cried Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even
for a laugh.</p>
<p class="indent">In came Amy, quite calm, and delightfully cordial to the one guest
who had kept her promise; the rest of the family, being of a dramatic
turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a
most hilarious set; for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment
which possessed them. The remodelled lunch being gayly
partaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with
enthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce!)
and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till
sunset, when "the party went out."</p>
<p class="indent">As she came walking in, looking very tired, but as composed as
ever, she observed that every vestige of the unfortunate <i>f�te</i> had disappeared,
except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth.</p>
<p class="indent">"You've had a lovely afternoon for your drive, dear," said her
mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come.</p>
<p class="indent">"Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I
thought," observed Beth, with unusual warmth.</p>
<p class="indent">"Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I
have so much company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as
yours," asked Meg soberly.</p>
<p class="indent">"Take it all; I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it
will mould before I can dispose of it," answered Amy, thinking with
a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as
this.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 324]</span>
"It's a pity Laurie isn't here to help us," began Jo, as they sat
down to ice-cream and salad for the second time in two days.</p>
<p class="indent">A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and
the whole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed,
"Salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn"—here
a general explosion of laughter cut short the "history of sallets,"
to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.</p>
<p class="indent">"Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels:
Germans like messes. I'm sick of the sight of this; and there's no
reason you should all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried
Amy, wiping her eyes.</p>
<p class="indent">"I thought I <i>should</i> have died when I saw you two girls rattling
about in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell,
and mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed Jo,
quite spent with laughter.</p>
<p class="indent">"I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our
best to satisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret.</p>
<p class="indent">"I <i>am</i> satisfied; I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault
that it failed; I comfort myself with that," said Amy, with a little quiver
in her voice. "I thank you all very much for helping me, and I'll
thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month, at least."</p>
<p class="indent">No one did for several months; but the word "<i>f�te</i>" always produced
a general smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny
coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch-guard.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b126.png" id="b126.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b126.png" width-obs="407" height-obs="200" alt="Tail-piece" title="Tail-piece" /></div>
<hr class="hr2" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 325]</span></p>
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