Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He was neither rich nor great,young nor handsome, in no respect what is called fascinating, imposing, or brilliant,and yet he was as attractive as a genial fire,and people seemed to gather about him as naturally as about a warm hearth. He was poor,yet always appeared to be giving something away; a stranger, yet everyone was his friend;no longer young, but as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar,yet his face looked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven for his sake.Jo often watched him, trying to discover the charm,and at last decided that it was benevolence which worked the miracle. If he had any sorrow,‘it sat with its head under its wing’, and he turned only his sunny side to the world.There were lines upon his forehead, but Time seemed to have touched him gently,remembering how kind he was to others. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of many friendly words and cheery laughs,his eyes were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm,strong grasp that was more expressive than words.
His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature of the wearer.They looked as if they were at ease, and liked to make him comfortable.His capacious waistcoat was suggestive of a large heart underneath.His rusty coat had a social air, and the baggy pockets plainly proved that little hands often went in empty and came out full.His very boots were benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspy like other people’s.
“That’s it!” said Jo to herself, when she at length discovered that genuine good will toward one’s fellow men could beautify and dignify even a stout German teacher,who shoveled in his dinner, darned his own socks, and was burdened with the name of Bhaer.
Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most feminine respect for intellect,and a little discovery which she made about the Professor added much to her regard for him.He never spoke of himself, and no one ever knew that in his native city he had been a man much honored and esteemed for learning and integrity,till a countryman came to see him. He never spoke of himself,and in a conversation with Miss Norton divulged the pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it,and liked it all the better because Mr. Bhaer had never told it.She felt proud to know that he was an honored Professor in Berlin,though only a poor language-master in America, and his homely,hard-working life was much beautified by the spice of romance which this discovery gave it.Another and a better gift than intellect was shown her in a most unexpected manner.Miss Norton had the entree into most society,which Jo would have had no chance of seeing but for her.The solitary woman felt an interest in the ambitious girl,and kindly conferred many favors of this sort both on Jo and the Professor.She took them with her one night to a select symposium, held in honor of several celebrities.
Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom she had worshiped with youthful enthusiasm afar off.But her reverence for genius received a severe shock that night,and it took her some time to recover from the discovery that the great creatures were only men and women after all.Imagine her dismay, on stealing a glance of timid admiration at the poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on ‘spirit,fire, and dew’, to behold him devouring his supper with an ardor which flushed his intellectual countenance.Turning as from a fallen idol, she made other discoveries which rapidly dispelled her romantic illusions.The great novelist vibrated between two decanters with the regularity of a pendulum;the famous divine flirted openly with one of the Madame de Staels of the age,who looked daggers at another Corinne, who was amiably satirizing her,after outmaneuvering her in efforts to absorb the profound philosopher,who imbibed tea Johnsonianly and appeared to slumber,the loquacity of the lady rendering speech impossible. The scientific celebrities,forgetting their mollusks and glacial periods, gossiped about art,while devoting themselves to oysters and ices with characteristic energy; the young musician,who was charming the city like a second Orpheus, talked horses;and the specimen of the British nobility present happened to be the most ordinary man of the party.
Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so completely disillusioned,that she sat down in a corner to recover herself. Mr. Bhaer soon joined her,looking rather out of his element, and presently several of the philosophers,each mounted on his hobby, came ambling up to hold an intellectual tournament in the recess.The conversations were miles beyond Jo’s comprehension, but she enjoyed it,though Kant and Hegel were unknown gods, the Subjective and Objective unintelligible terms,and the only thing ‘evolved from her inner consciousness’ was a bad headache after it was all over.It dawned upon her gradually that the world was being picked to pieces,and put together on new and, according to the talkers, on infinitely better principles than before,that religion was in a fair way to be reasoned into nothingness,and intellect was to be the only God. Jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any sort,but a curious excitement, half pleasurable, half painful,came over her as she listened with a sense of being turned adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on a holiday.
She looked round to see how the Professor liked it,and found him looking at her with the grimmest expression she had ever seen him wear.He shook his head and beckoned her to come away,but she was fascinated just then by the freedom of Speculative Philosophy, and kept her seat,trying to find out what the wise gentlemen intended to rely upon after they had annihilated all the old beliefs.
Now, Mr. Bhaer was a diffident man and slow to offer his own opinions,not because they were unsettled, but too sincere and earnest to be lightly spoken.As he glanced from Jo to several other young people,attracted by the brilliancy of the philosophic pyrotechnics, he knit his brows and longed to speak,fearing that some inflammable young soul would be led astray by the rockets,to find when the display was over that they had only an empty stick or a scorched hand.
He bore it as long as he could, but when he was appealed to for an opinion,he blazed up with honest indignation and defended religion with all the eloquence of truth—an eloquence which made his broken English musical and his plain face beautiful. He had a hard fight, for the wise men argued well, but he didn’t know when he was beaten and stood to his colors like a man. Somehow, as he talked, the world got right again to Jo. The old beliefs, that had lasted so long, seemed better than the new. God was not a blind force, and immortality was not a pretty fable, but a blessed fact. She felt as if she had solid ground under her feet again, and when Mr. Bhaer paused, outtalked but not one whit convinced, Jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him.
She did neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave the Professor her heartiest respect,for she knew it cost him an effort to speak out then and there,because his conscience would not let him be silent.She began to see that character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty,and to feel that if greatness is what a wise man has defined it to be, ‘truth, reverence,and good will’, then her friend Friedrich Bhaer was not only good, but great.
This belief strengthened daily. She valued his esteem, she coveted his respect,she wanted to be worthy of his friendship, and just when the wish was sincerest,she came near to losing everything. It all grew out of a cocked hat,for one evening the Professor came in to give Jo her lesson with a paper soldier cap on his head,which Tina had put there and he had forgotten to take off.
“It’s evident he doesn’t look in his glass before coming down,” thought Jo, with a smile,as he said “Goot efening,” and sat soberly down,quite unconscious of the ludicrous contrast between his subject and his headgear,for he was going to read her the Death of Wallenstein.
She said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh out his big,hearty laugh when anything funny happened, so she left him to discover it for himself,and presently forgot all about it, for to hear a German read Schiller is rather an absorbing occupation.After the reading came the lesson, which was a lively one, for Jo was in a gay mood that night,and the cocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment.The Professor didn’t know what to make of her,and stopped at last to ask with an air of mild surprise that was irresistible. . .
“Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master’s face?Haf you no respect for me, that you go on so bad?”
“How can I be respectful, Sir, when you forget to take your hat off?” said Jo.
Lifting his hand to his head, the absent-minded Professor gravely felt and removed the little cocked hat,looked at it a minute, and then threw back his head and laughed like a merry bass viol.
“Ah!I see him now, it is that imp Tina who makes me a fool with my cap. Well, it is nothing,but see you, if this lesson goes not well, you too shall wear him.”
But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes because Mr.Bhaer caught sight of a picture on the hat, and unfolding it, said with great disgust,“I wish these papers did not come in the house. They are not for children to see,nor young people to read. It is not well, and I haf no patience with those who make this harm.”
Jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a villain,and a viper. She did not like it, but the impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure but fear,because for a minute she fancied the paper was the Volcano. It was not, however,and her panic subsided as she remembered that even if it had been and one of her own tales in it,there would have been no name to betray her. She had betrayed herself, however,by a look and a blush, for though an absent man,the Professor saw a good deal more than people fancied. He knew that Jo wrote,and had met her down among the newspaper offices more than once, but as she never spoke of it,he asked no questions in spite of a strong desire to see her work.Now it occurred to him that she was doing what she was ashamed to own, and it troubled him.He did not say to himself, “It is none of my business. I’ve no right to say anything,” as many people would have done. He only remembered that she was young and poor,a girl far away from mother’s love and father’s care,and he was moved to help her with an impulse as quick and natural as that which would prompt him to put out his hand to save a baby from a puddle.All this flashed through his mind in a minute, but not a trace of it appeared in his face,and by the time the paper was turned, and Jo’s needle threaded,he was ready to say quite naturally, but very gravely...
“Yes, you are right to put it from you. I do not think that good young girls should see such things.They are made pleasant to some, but I would more rather give my boys gunpowder to play with than this bad trash. ”
“All may not be bad, only silly, you know, and if there is a demand for it,I don’t see any harm in supplying it. Many very respectable people make an honest living out of what are called sensation stories,” said Jo, scratching gathers so energetically that a row of little slits followed her pin.
“There is a demand for whisky, but I think you and I do not care to sell it.If the respectable people knew what harm they did, they would not feel that the living was honest.They haf no right to put poison in the sugarplum, and let the small ones eat it. No,they should think a little, and sweep mud in the street before they do this thing.”
Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling the paper in his hands. Jo sat still,looking as if the fire had come to her,for her cheeks burned long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke and gone harmlessly up the chimney.
“I should like much to send all the rest after him,” muttered the Professor, coming back with a relieved air.
Jo thought what a blaze her pile of papers upstairs would make,and her hard-earned money lay rather heavily on her conscience at that minute.Then she thought consolingly to herself, “Mine are not like that, they are only silly, never bad,so I won’t be worried,” and taking up her book, she said, with a studious face, “Shall we go on, Sir?I’ll be very good and proper now.”
“I shall hope so,” was all he said, but he meant more than she imagined, and the grave,kind look he gave her made her feel as if the words Weekly Volcano were printed in large type on her forehead.
As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers,and carefully reread every one of her stories. Being a little shortsighted, Mr.Bhaer sometimes used eye glasses, and Jo had tried them once,smiling to see how they magnified the fine print of her book.Now she seemed to have on the Professor’s mental or moral spectacles also,for the faults of these poor stories glared at her dreadfully and filled her with dismay.
“They are trash, and will soon be worse trash if I go on,for each is more sensational than the last. I’ve gone blindly on, hurting myself and other people,for the sake of money. I know it’s so, for I can’t read this stuff in sober earnest without being horribly ashamed of it,and what should I do if they were seen at home or Mr. Bhaer got hold of them?”
Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into her stove,nearly setting the chimney afire with the blaze.
“Yes, that’s the best place for such inflammable nonsense. I’d better burn the house down,I suppose, than let other people blow themselves up with my gunpowder,” she thought as she watched the Demon of the Jura whisk away, a little black cinder with fiery eyes.
But when nothing remained of all her three month’s work except a heap of ashes and the money in her lap,Jo looked sober, as she sat on the floor, wondering what she ought to do about her wages.
“I think I haven’t done much harm yet, and may keep this to pay for my time,” she said,after a long meditation, adding impatiently, “I almost wish I hadn’t any conscience,it’s so inconvenient. If I didn’t care about doing right,and didn’t feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I should get on capitally.I can’t help wishing sometimes, that Mother and Father hadn’t been so particular about such things. ”
Ah, Jo, instead of wishing that, thank God that ‘Father and Mother were particular’,and pity from your heart those who have no such guardians to hedge them round with principles which may seem like prison walls to impatient youth,but which will prove sure foundations to build character upon in womanhood.
Jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the money did not pay for her share of the sensation,but going to the other extreme, as is the way with people of her stamp, she took a course of Mrs.Sherwood, Miss Edgeworth, and Hannah More,and then produced a tale which might have been more properly called an essay or a sermon,so intensely moral was it. She had her doubts about it from the beginning,for her lively fancy and girlish romance felt as ill at ease in the new style as she would have done masquerading in the stiff and cumbrous costume of the last century. She sent this didactic gem to several markets, but it found no purchaser, and she was inclined to agree with Mr. Dashwood that morals didn’t sell.
Then she tried a child’s story, which she could easily have disposed of if she had not been mercenary enough to demand filthy lucre for it.The only person who offered enough to make it worth her while to try juvenile literature was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission to convert all the world to his particular belief. But much as she liked to write for children, Jo could not consent to depict all her naughty boys as being eaten by bears or tossed by mad bulls because they did not go to a particular Sabbath school, nor all the good infants who did go as rewarded by every kind of bliss, from gilded gingerbread to escorts of angels when they departed this life with psalms or sermons on their lisping tongues. So nothing came of these trials, and Jo corked up her inkstand, and said in a fit of very wholesome humility...
“I don’t know anything. I’ll wait until I do before I try again, and meantime,‘sweep mud in the street’ if I can’t do better, that’s honest, at least.” Which decision proved that her second tumble down the beanstalk had done her some good.
While these internal revolutions were going on,her external life had been as busy and uneventful as usual,and if she sometimes looked serious or a little sad no one observed it but Professor Bhaer.He did it so quietly that Jo never knew he was watching to see if she would accept and profit by his reproof,but she stood the test, and he was satisfied, for though no words passed between them,he knew that she had given up writing. Not only did he guess it by the fact that the second finger of her right hand was no longer inky,but she spent her evenings downstairs now, was met no more among newspaper offices,and studied with a dogged patience, which assured him that she was bent on occupying her mind with something useful, if not pleasant.
He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and Jo was happy,for while her pen lay idle, she was learning other lessons besides German,and laying a foundation for the sensation story of her own life.
It was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not leave Mrs. Kirke till June.Everyone seemed sorry when the time came. The children were inconsolable, and Mr.Bhaer’s hair stuck straight up all over his head,for he always rumpled it wildly when disturbed in mind.
“Going home?Ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go in,” he said, when she told him,and sat silently pulling his beard in the corner,while she held a little levee on that last evening.
She was going early, so she bade them all goodbye overnight, and when his turn came,she said warmly, “Now, Sir, you won’t forget to come and see us, if you ever travel our way, will you?I’ll never forgive you if you do, for I want them all to know my friend.”
“Do you?Shall I come?” he asked, looking down at her with an eager expression which she did not see.
“Yes, come next month. Laurie graduates then, and you’d enjoy commencement as something new.”
“That is your best friend, of whom you speak?” he said in an altered tone.
“Yes, my boy Teddy. I’m very proud of him and should like you to see him.”
Jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her own pleasure in the prospect of showing them to one another.Something in Mr. Bhaer’s face suddenly recalled the fact that she might find Laurie more than a ‘best friend’,and simply because she particularly wished not to look as if anything was the matter,she involuntarily began to blush, and the more she tried not to, the redder she grew.If it had not been for Tina on her knee. She didn’t know what would have become of her.Fortunately the child was moved to hug her, so she managed to hide her face an instant,hoping the Professor did not see it. But he did,and his own changed again from that momentary anxiety to its usual expression, as he said cordially...
“I fear I shall not make the time for that, but I wish the friend much success, and you all happiness. Gott bless you!” And with that, he shook hands warmly, shouldered Tina, and went away.
But after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire with the tired look on his face and the ‘heimweh’,or homesickness, lying heavy at his heart. Once,when he remembered Jo as she sat with the little child in her lap and that new softness in her face,he leaned his head on his hands a minute, and then roamed about the room,as if in search of something that he could not find.
“It is not for me, I must not hope it now,” he said to himself, with a sigh that was almost a groan.Then, as if reproaching himself for the longing that he could not repress,he went and kissed the two tousled heads upon the pillow, took down his seldom-used meerschaum, and opened his Plato.
He did his best and did it manfully, but I don’t think he found that a pair of rampant boys, a pipe,or even the divine Plato, were very satisfactory substitutes for wife and child at home.
Early as it was, he was at the station next morning to see Jo off, and thanks to him,she began her solitary journey with the pleasant memory of a familiar face smiling its farewell,a bunch of violets to keep her company, and best of all, the happy thought, “Well,the winter’s gone, and I’ve written no books, earned no fortune,but I’ve made a friend worth having and I’ll try to keep him all my life.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE HEARTACHE
Whatever his motive might have been, Laurie studied to some purpose that year,for he graduated with honor, and gave the Latin oration with the grace of a Phillips and the eloquence of a Demosthenes,so his friends said. They were all there, his grandfather—oh, so proud—Mr. and Mrs. March,John and Meg, Jo and Beth, and all exulted over him with the sincere admiration which boys make light of at the time,but fail to win from the world by any after-triumphs.
“I’ve got to stay for this confounded supper, but I shall be home early tomorrow.You’ll come and meet me as usual, girls?” Laurie said, as he put the sisters into the carriage after the joys of the day were over.He said ‘girls’, but he meant Jo, for she was the only one who kept up the old custom.She had not the heart to refuse her splendid, successful boy anything, and answered warmly...
“I’ll come, Teddy, rain or shine, and march before you,playing ‘Hail the conquering hero comes’ on a jew’s-harp.”
Laurie thanked her with a look that made her think in a sudden panic, “Oh, deary me!I know he’ll say something, and then what shall I do?”
Evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her fears,and having decided that she wouldn’t be vain enough to think people were going to propose when she had given them every reason to know what her answer would be, she set forth at the appointed time, hoping Teddy wouldn’t do anything to make her hurt his poor feelings. A call at Meg’s, and a refreshing sniff and sip at the Daisy and Demijohn, still further fortified her for the tete-a-tete, but when she saw a stalwart figure looming in the distance, she had a strong desire to turn about and run away.
“Where’s the jew’s-harp, Jo?” cried Laurie, as soon as he was within speaking distance.
“I forgot it.” And Jo took heart again, for that salutation could not be called lover-like.
She always used to take his arm on these occasions, now she did not, and he made no complaint,which was a bad sign, but talked on rapidly about all sorts of faraway subjects,till they turned from the road into the little path that led homeward through the grove.Then he walked more slowly, suddenly lost his fine flow of language,and now and then a dreadful pause occurred.To rescue the conversation from one of the wells of silence into which it kept falling,Jo said hastily, “Now you must have a good long holiday!”
“I intend to.”
Something in his resolute tone made Jo look up quickly to find him looking down at her with an expression that assured her the dreaded moment had come,and made her put out her hand with an imploring, “No, Teddy. Please don’t!”
“I will, and you must hear me. It’s no use, Jo, we’ve got to have it out,and the sooner the better for both of us,” he answered, getting flushed and excited all at once.
“Say what you like then. I’ll listen,” said Jo, with a desperate sort of patience.
Laurie was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant to ‘have it out’,if he died in the attempt, so he plunged into the subject with characteristic impetuousity,saying in a voice that would get choky now and then,in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady...
“I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, Jo, couldn’t help it, you’ve been so good to me.I’ve tried to show it, but you wouldn’t let me. Now I’m going to make you hear,and give me an answer, for I can’t go on so any longer.”
“I wanted to save you this. I thought you’d understand...” began Jo,finding it a great deal harder than she expected.
“I know you did, but the girls are so queer you never know what they mean.They say no when they mean yes, and drive a man out of his wits just for the fun of it,” returned Laurie, entrenching himself behind an undeniable fact.
“I don’t. I never wanted to make you care for me so, and I went away to keep you from it if I could. ”
“I thought so. It was like you, but it was no use. I only loved you all the more,and I worked hard to please you, and I gave up billiards and everything you didn’t like,and waited and never complained, for I hoped you’d love me, though I’m not half good enough...” Here there was a choke that couldn’t be controlled,so he decapitated buttercups while he cleared his ‘confounded throat’.
“You, you are, you’re a great deal too good for me, and I’m so grateful to you,and so proud and fond of you, I don’t know why I can’t love you as you want me to. I’ve tried,but I can’t change the feeling, and it would be a lie to say I do when I don’t.”
“Really, truly, Jo?”
He stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put his question with a look that she did not soon forget.
“Really, truly, dear.”
They were in the grove now, close by the stile,and when the last words fell reluctantly from Jo’s lips,Laurie dropped her hands and turned as if to go on,but for once in his life the fence was too much for him.So he just laid his head down on the mossy post, and stood so still that Jo was frightened.
“Oh, Teddy, I’m sorry, so desperately sorry, I could kill myself if it would do any good!I wish you wouldn’t take it so hard, I can’t help it.You know it’s impossible for people to make themselves love other people if they don’t,” cried Jo inelegantly but remorsefully, as she softly patted his shoulder,remembering the time when he had comforted her so long ago.
“They do sometimes,” said a muffled voice from the post.“I don’t believe it’s the right sort of love, and I’d rather not try it,” was the decided answer.
There was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on the willow by the river,and the tall grass rustled in the wind. Presently Jo said very soberly,as she sat down on the step of the stile, “Laurie, I want to tell you something.”
He started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and cried out in a fierce tone,“Don’t tell me that, Jo, I can’t bear it now!”
“Tell what?” she asked, wondering at his violence.
“That you love that old man.”
“What old man?” demanded Jo, thinking he must mean his grandfather.
“That devilish Professor you were always writing about. If you say you love him,I know I shall do something desperate;” and he looked as if he would keep his word,as he clenched his hands with a wrathful spark in his eyes.
Jo wanted to laugh, but restrained herself and said warmly, for she too,was getting excited with all this, “Don’t swear, Teddy!He isn’t old, nor anything bad, but good and kind, and the best friend I’ve got, next to you. Pray,don’t fly into a passion. I want to be kind,but I know I shall get angry if you abuse my Professor.I haven’t the least idea of loving him or anybody else.”
“But you will after a while, and then what will become of me?”
“You’ll love someone else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all this trouble.”
“I can’t love anyone else, and I’ll never forget you, Jo, Never!Never!” with a stamp to emphasize his passionate words.
“What shall I do with him?” sighed Jo, finding that emotions were more unmanagable than she expected.“You haven’t heard what I wanted to tell you. Sit down and listen,for indeed I want to do right and make you happy,” she said,hoping to soothe him with a little reason, which proved that she knew nothing about love.
Seeing a ray of hope in that last speech, Laurie threw himself down on the grass at her feet,leaned his arm on the lower step of the stile, and looked up at her with an expectant face.Now that arrangement was not conducive to calm speech or clear thought on Jo’s part,for how could she say hard things to her boy while he watched her with eyes full of love and longing,and lashes still wet with the bitter drop or two her hardness of heart had wrung from him?She gently turned his head away, saying,as she stroked the wavy hair which had been allowed to grow for her sake—how touching that was, to be sure!“I agree with Mother that you and I are not suited to each other,because our quick tempers and strong wills would probably make us very miserable,if we were so foolish as to...” Jo paused a little over the last word,but Laurie uttered it with a rapturous expression.
“Marry—no we shouldn’t!If you loved me, Jo, I should be a perfect saint, for you could make me anything you like.”
“No, I can’t. I’ve tried and failed, and I won’t risk our happiness by such a serious experiment.We don’t agree and we never shall, so we’ll be good friends all our lives, but we won’t go and do anything rash.”
“Yes, we will if we get the chance,” muttered Laurie rebelliously.
“Now do be reasonable, and take a sensible view of the case,” implored Jo, almost at her wit’s end.
“I won’t be reasonable. I don’t want to take what you call ‘a sensible view’. It won’t help me,and it only makes it harder. I don’t believe you’ve got any heart.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”