"Playing Pilgrims" - Page 7

“Not quite,” replied Jo, modestly. “I do think ‘The Witch’s Curse, an Operatic Tragedy,’ is a rather nice thing ¹ ; but I’d like to try Macbeth, if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing part. ‘Is that a dagger that I see before me?’” muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do. ² 

“No, it’s the toasting fork, with ma’s shoe on it instead of the bread. Beth’s stage struck!” cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter. 

“Glad to find you so merry, my girls,” said a shaking voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a gaunt, mother-ish lady, with a “can-I-help-you” look about her which was equal parts frightening and delightful. She wasn’t a particularly handsome person, but mothers are always lovely to their children, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid woman in the world. ³

“Well dearies, how have you got on to-day? There was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go to-morrow, that I didn’t come home to dinner. Has any one called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired to death. Come and kiss me, baby.” ⁴ 

While making these maternal inquiries, the aching Mrs. March got her wet things off, her hot slippers on, and sitting down in the easy-chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day, as close as she came to happy anyway. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea-table; Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, overturning, and clattering everything she touched; Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy; while Amy gave directions to every one, as she sat with her hands folded. 

As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a pained smile, “I’ve got a treat for you after supper.” 

A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the hot biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, “A letter! A letter! Three cheers for father!”

“Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through the cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls,” said Mrs. March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there.

¹ _{Per the text footnotes: “In Alcott’s sixteenth year, while her family lived in Boston, she wrote tragedies, staged by herself and her sisters, which included Norma; or, The Witches’ Curse. According to Anna Alcott, Louisa considered this ‘lurid drama’ her ‘masterpiece.’”  So, just to summarize, Alcott has written in her book that Jo wrote a play that is actually HER play. Okay, self-insert queen!}

² _{Per the text: “Alcott is probably alluding to the American tragedian Edwin Forrest (1808-72), who is supposed to have developed an impassioned “gladiatorial” manner under the influence of the great Romantic English actor Edmund Kean. Alcott, who saw Forrest’s Macbeth and Hamlet in 1855-56, found his ‘gaspings and shoutings’ a disappointment.” TO FURTHER SUMMARIZE, Alcott has written in her book that Jo, at the most immature moment of her taste/career, emulates an actor that she (Alcott) hates.}

³ _{The ugly apple (Jo) falling straight from the ugly tree (Marmee).}

⁴ _{Wow, what a nice lady! Would be a shame if she haunted the narrative!}

Toast your slippers, kids! Buckle up, because pretty soon we’re going to be dealing with Father’s good good letter, and let me tell ya, he’s got shit to say.