<p class="h2"><SPAN name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></SPAN>XXVII.</p>
<p class="h2a">LITERARY LESSONS.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Fortune</span> suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny
in her path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million
would have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came
to her in this wise.</p>
<p class="indent">Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her
scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing
away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished
she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of a black
woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 326]</span>
of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she
bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap
was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these
periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally,
to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" They did
not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation
of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress
was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was
going on; in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew; and
when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast
upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew; and
not until the red bow was seen gayly erect upon the gifted brow, did
any one dare address Jo.</p>
<p class="indent">She did not think herself a genius by any means; but when the
writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and
led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she
sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real
and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals
stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness
which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth
living, even if they bore no other fruit. The divine afflatus usually
lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her "vortex,"
hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.</p>
<p class="indent">She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was
prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return for
her virtue was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course,
the lecture on the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of
such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some
great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by
unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts
were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were
spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx.</p>
<p class="indent">They were early; and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking,
Jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who
occupied the seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with
massive foreheads, and bonnets to match, discussing Woman's Rights
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 327]</span>
and making tatting. Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly
holding each other by the hand, a sombre spinster eating peppermints
out of a paper bag, and an old gentleman taking his preparatory nap
behind a yellow bandanna. On her right, her only neighbor was a
studious-looking lad absorbed in a newspaper.</p>
<p class="indent">It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest
her, idly wondering what unfortuitous concatenation of circumstances
needed the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume,
tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while two
infuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes,
were stabbing each other close by, and a dishevelled female was flying
away in the background with her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn
a page, the lad saw her looking, and, with boyish good-nature, offered
half his paper, saying bluntly, "Want to read it? That's a first-rate
story."</p>
<p class="indent">Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking
for lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love,
mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literature
in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's
invention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the
<i>dramatis person�</i>, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall.</p>
<p class="indent">"Prime, isn't it?" asked the boy, as her eye went down the last
paragraph of her portion.</p>
<p class="indent">"I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," returned
Jo, amused at his admiration of the trash.</p>
<p class="indent">"I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes
a good living out of such stories, they say;" and he pointed to the
name of Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. Northbury, under the title of the tale.</p>
<p class="indent">"Do you know her?" asked Jo, with sudden interest.</p>
<p class="indent">"No; but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in
the office where this paper is printed."</p>
<p class="indent">"Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" and
Jo looked more respectfully at the agitated group and thickly-sprinkled
exclamation-points that adorned the page.</p>
<p class="indent">"Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid
well for writing it."</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 328]</span>
Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while
Prof. Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and
hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper,
and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in
its columns for a sensational story. By the time the lecture ended and
the audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself
(not the first founded upon paper), and was already deep in the concoction
of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should
come before the elopement or after the murder.</p>
<p class="indent">She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day,
much to the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious
when "genius took to burning." Jo had never tried this style before,
contenting herself with very mild romances for the "Spread Eagle."
Her theatrical experience and miscellaneous reading were of service
now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot,
language, and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and
despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions
enabled her to make it, and, having located it in Lisbon, she wound
up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate <i>d�nouement</i>. The
manuscript was privately despatched, accompanied by a note, modestly
saying that if the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer
hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it
might be considered worth.</p>
<div class="figright"> <SPAN name="b128.png" id="b128.png"></SPAN>
<ANTIMG src="images/b128.png" width-obs="400" height-obs="480" alt="A check for one hundred dollars" title="A check for one hundred dollars" /></div>
<p class="indent">Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to
keep a secret; but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all
hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which
almost took her breath away; for on opening it, a check for a hundred
dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had
been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the
amiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what
intense happiness he was giving a fellow-creature, I think he would
devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement; for Jo
valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging;
and after years of effort it was <i>so</i> pleasant to find that she had learned
to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.</p>
<p class="indent">A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 329]</span>
composed herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them
with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that
she had won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and
when the story came every one read and praised it; though after her
father had told her that
the language was good,
the romance fresh and
hearty, and the tragedy
quite thrilling, he shook
his head, and said in
his unworldly way,—</p>
<p class="indent">"You can do better
than this, Jo. Aim at
the highest, and never
mind the money."</p>
<p class="indent">"<i>I</i> think the money
is the best part of it.
What <i>will</i> you do with
such a fortune?" asked
Amy, regarding the
magic slip of paper with
a reverential eye.</p>
<p class="indent">"Send Beth and
mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered Jo promptly.</p>
<p class="indent">"Oh, how splendid! No, I can't do it, dear, it would be so selfish,"
cried Beth, who had clapped her thin hands, and taken a long
breath, as if pining for fresh ocean-breezes; then stopped herself, and
motioned away the check which her sister waved before her.</p>
<p class="indent">"Ah, but you shall go, I've set my heart on it; that's what I tried
for, and that's why I succeeded. I never get on when I think of
myself alone, so it will help me to work for you, don't you see?
Besides, Marmee needs the change, and she won't leave you, so you
<i>must</i> go. Won't it be fun to see you come home plump and rosy
again? Hurrah for Dr. Jo, who always cures her patients!"</p>
<p class="indent">To the sea side they went, after much discussion; and though Beth
didn't come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 330]</span>
much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger;
so Jo was satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to
work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful
checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a
power in the house; for by the magic of a pen, her "rubbish" turned
into comforts for them all. "The Duke's Daughter" paid the butcher's
bill, "A Phantom Hand" put down a new carpet, and the "Curse
of the Coventrys" proved the blessing of the Marches in the way of
groceries and gowns.</p>
<p class="indent">Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny
side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction
which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration
of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings
of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased
to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she
could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny.</p>
<p class="indent">Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market; and,
encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and
fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her
confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three
publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut
it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired.</p>
<p class="indent">"Now I must either bundle it back into my tin-kitchen to mould,
pay for printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers, and get
what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but
cash is more convenient; so I wish to take the sense of the meeting
on this important subject," said Jo, calling a family council.</p>
<p class="indent">"Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you
know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen," was
her father's advice; and he practised as he preached, having waited
patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no
haste to gather it, even now, when it was sweet and mellow.</p>
<p class="indent">"It seems to me that Jo will profit more by making the trial than
by waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the best test of such
work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help
her to do better next time. We are too partial; but the praise and
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 331]</span>
blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little
money."</p>
<p class="indent">"Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it; I've been
fussing over the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good,
bad, or indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial
persons take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it."</p>
<p class="indent">"I wouldn't leave out a word of it; you'll spoil it if you do, for
the interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the
people, and it will be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on,"
said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkable
novel ever written.</p>
<p class="indent">"But Mr. Allen says, 'Leave out the explanations, make it brief and
dramatic, and let the characters tell the story,'" interrupted Jo, turning
to the publisher's note.</p>
<p class="indent">"Do as he tells you; he knows what will sell, and we don't. Make
a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By and
by, when, you've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have
philosophical and metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who
took a strictly practical view of the subject.</p>
<p class="indent">"Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people <i>are</i> 'philosophical and
metaphysical,' it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things,
except what I hear father say, sometimes. If I've got some of his
wise ideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me.
Now, Beth, what do you say?"</p>
<p class="indent">"I should so like to see it printed <i>soon</i>," was all Beth said, and
smiled in saying it; but there was an unconscious emphasis on the last
word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike
candor, which chilled Jo's heart, for a minute, with a foreboding fear,
and decided her to make her little venture "soon."</p>
<p class="indent">So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on
her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope
of pleasing every one, she took every one's advice; and, like the old
man and his donkey in the fable, suited nobody.</p>
<p class="indent">Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously
got into it; so that was allowed to remain, though she had her doubts
about it. Her mother thought that there <i>was</i> a trifle too much
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 332]</span>
description; out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary
links in the story. Meg admired the tragedy; so Jo piled up
the agony to suit her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the
best intentions in life, Jo quenched the sprightly scenes which relieved
the sombre character of the story. Then, to complete the ruin, she
cut it down one third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance,
like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world, to try its fate.</p>
<p class="indent">Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it; likewise
plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she
expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment, from
which it took her some time to recover.</p>
<p class="indent">"You said, mother, that criticism would help me; but how can it,
when it's so contradictory that I don't know whether I've written a
promising book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo,
turning over a heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with
pride and joy one minute, wrath and dire dismay the next. "This
man says 'An exquisite book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness;
all is sweet, pure, and healthy,'" continued the perplexed authoress.
"The next, 'The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies,
spiritualistic ideas, and unnatural characters.' Now, as I had no
theory of any kind, don't believe in Spiritualism, and copied my
characters from life, I don't see how this critic <i>can</i> be right. Another
says, 'It's one of the best American novels which has appeared for
years' (I know better than that); and the next asserts that 'though
it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous
book.' 'Tisn't! Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly
all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I only wrote it
for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd printed it whole or not
at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged."</p>
<p class="indent">Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation
liberally; yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who
meant so well, and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good,
for those whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is
an author's best education; and when the first soreness was over, she
could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself
the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 333]</span>
"Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly;
"and I've got the joke on my side, after all; for the parts that were
taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and
absurd, and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are
pronounced 'charmingly natural, tender, and true.' So I'll comfort
myself with that; and when I'm ready, I'll up again and take
another."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b129.png" id="b129.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b129.png" width-obs="286" height-obs="200" alt="Tail-piece" title="Tail-piece" /></div>
<hr class="hr2" />
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 334]</span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b130.png" id="b130.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b130.png" width-obs="700" height-obs="381" alt="Domestic Experiences" title="Domestic Experiences" /></div>
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