双语译林·小妇人 第四十二章 孤家寡人 ALL ALONE
- 第四十二章 孤家寡人
- CHAPTER 42 ALL ALONE
第四十二章 孤家寡人
一个人的自我由另一个自我所包裹，心灵由动人的榜样所净化时，发誓要自我克制是十分容易的。可是，以往萦绕耳边的谆谆教诲已经沉默，每日的戒律已经结束，而且心中热爱的人已经离别，所剩下的只有孤独和悲哀时，乔觉得就很难再去履行自己的诺言了。每当自己的心无休止地疼痛，想念逝去的妹妹时，怎么能够去安慰父母啊。贝丝离开了居住多年的老家，换了新家，家中原有的光明、温馨和美好的气氛似乎都荡然无存，这时，怎么能够让她“给这个家带来欢快的情调”？天底下哪里能够让她“找到一份既有用又开心的活儿”，来替代她往日本身就是回报的爱的服侍呢？所以，她只能十分迷茫而无望地干自己的分内活儿，同时在内心悄然抵制着它。对于乔来说，本来就不多的快乐减少了，肩上的担子加重了。她越操劳，生活就越艰苦，这好像很不公平合理。生活对于有些人总是阳光明媚，而对于有些人则总是阴云弥漫，这太不公正了。乔学好，付出的努力比艾美多，但是，除了感到失意，碰到麻烦和累得要命之外，从未得到任何回报。
可怜的乔啊，她的生活真是暗无天日。每当她想到下半辈子将会在那座寂静的屋里度过，整天为一些单调无味的事情操劳，得到些许微小欢乐，而且，自己的分内事似乎永远都不会减轻时，就会感到近乎绝望。“不能这样下去了。我来到世上可不是要这样生活的，我知道的，如果没有人来帮我，我会冲出去，我会铤而走险的。”每当乔初战失败，强烈的意志不得不屈服于不可避免的事态，觉得心情痛苦郁闷时，总是这样自言自语。
但是，后来确实有人来帮她了，尽管乔没有一眼辨认出这些善意的天使，因为外形都很眼熟，用的也都是最适合可怜人的简单魔法。乔经常在夜里惊起，以为贝丝在召唤她，看见那张空床，就会情不自禁地伤心落泪。“哦，贝丝，回来吧！回来吧！”果然，她并没有白白地伸出双臂，就像她过去迅即听见妹妹微弱呼叫一样，母亲马上听见了她的抽泣，就过来安慰她，不仅以言相劝，而且亲切地爱抚她。母亲的眼泪默默提醒，她的悲恸比乔更深，母亲哽咽的低语比平时的祈祷还要雄辩。虽然她也无可奈何，但她在忧心忡忡的同时，心里总是抱有希望的认命。夜深人静，庄严时刻，心心相印，驱灾祈福，这样，悲哀可以解除，爱心可以增强。乔有了这种感觉，在母亲怀抱的安全庇护下，觉得重担似乎容易负了，分内事儿干起来也有味了，生活看上去要容易忍受了。
痛苦的心得到一点安慰时，烦恼的心灵也会得到救助。一天，乔去了书房。见那善良的灰白头发脑袋抬起来，以宁静的微笑迎接她，她低头谦卑地说道：“老爸，跟我谈一会儿吧，就像跟贝丝一样。我比她更需要，因为，我完全弄错了。”
“乖乖，你这么信任我，我感到莫大的安慰。”父亲一边颤声地说道，一边搂住乔，似乎他自己也需要别人的帮助，而且不怕恳求。
然后，乔坐在贝丝的小椅子上，紧紧地靠着父亲，诉说自己内心的苦闷——失去妹妹的愤懑悲哀，碌碌无为的挫折感，缺乏信念使生活看上去那么黯淡，以及我们称之为绝望的悲观迷茫。她对父亲无所不谈，父亲也给予她急需的帮助，父女俩都从中得到了宽慰。事到如今，他们交谈已经不仅仅局限于父女关系，而且也是男女之间的交谈，相互之间都能够给予同情，都乐于给予关爱。旧书房里的时光是令人愉快而又让人思绪万千的，乔称为“单人教堂”，她离开这里时总是勇气倍增，心情从新爽朗，精神更加谦恭。父母亲曾经教育一个孩子视死如归，现在又开导另一个不要沮丧地迎接生活，要相信生活，要满怀谢意，朝气蓬勃地抓住生活中的各种美好机会。
乔还得到过其他帮助——谦卑、健康的职责和乐事，无法拒绝它们服侍她的反哺作用，她对此也逐渐地觉察到了，也知道该如何去珍视了。现在，扫帚和洗碗布再也不会令人讨厌了，因为贝丝过去把持着这两样东西，所以，时至今日，小拖把、旧刷子这些东西似乎仍然让人想起贝丝勤俭持家的家庭主妇风范，都没有扔掉。乔使用这些东西时，嘴上总是哼着贝丝喜爱的歌曲，模仿她的有条有理，不时地收拾一下东西，把家里安排得井井有条，温馨舒适。这是营造一个幸福家庭的第一步，但乔一直不知道，直到汉娜赞许地握着她的手说：
“你想得真走（周）到，你决心尽自己的可能，不让我们过多地想念那可爱的羔羊。我们虽然不多说，但看在眼里，上帝会保佑你的，看着吧。”
乔和美格坐在一块儿缝纫时，发现姐姐真是今非昔比了，谈吐竟然那么广博，对于什么是高尚，妇女的内心冲动、思想情操都了解得那么透彻，而说到丈夫孩子，她往往喜不自胜，他们彼此互相互爱，相濡以沫。
“毕竟，婚姻是一件好事嘛。假如自己争取，我不知道结果能否及得上你的一半？”乔说话时，已经在零乱的育儿室为戴米做了一只风筝。
“你只要付出本性中女性温柔的一半就行了，乔。你像一只毛栗子，有人得到你的话，就会发现，其实你仅仅外表带刺，但内心柔软甜蜜。总有一天，你的真心会随着爱情而表白，然后，粗糙的外壳也就脱落了。”
“太太，霜冻可以打开栗子的壳，但得使劲抖动才能掉下来。男孩子爱去拾栗子，但我不喜欢他们把我装进口袋。”乔一边答道，一边拼命甩风筝，但普通的风不可能托起风筝，因为，戴茜已经把自己粘在了上面当尾巴。
美格笑了，欣慰地看着乔流露出一星半点往日的神态，但她觉得有义务通过已经掌握的每一个论据加强自己的观点。姐妹间的闲聊也不浪费，尤其是谈孩子的事，这是美格两个最有效论据，乔非常喜欢他们。悲伤是打开某些人内心世界大门最有效的钥匙。乔基本上准备好装进口袋了。这时候，栗子的成熟就差一点儿阳光了，但不需要男孩急不可耐地去抖动，只要一个男人伸出手，轻轻地拨开栗壳，就能发现结实而香甜的栗心了。如果她猜测到这一点，就会紧紧地自我封闭，比以前更加带刺了，幸亏她没有在想自己，所以，后来就水到渠成，瓜熟蒂落了。
假如乔是道德说教故事中的女主角，那么，她在这个年龄就应该过着相当圣洁的生活了，她会与世隔绝，戴着帽子，一副苦行的模样，口袋里放着教会的册子，四处行善积德。但是，你知道，乔可不是这种主角。她不过就是成千上万像她一样在生活中不甘于命运的一个姑娘而已。她仅仅在按照自己的本性行动，就如同情绪所反映的那样，有时候伤感烦恼，有时候无精打采，当然，有时候也会浑身是劲。从道德规范来说，我们要学好，但是，这不可能一蹴而就，而是需要漫长的磨练，奋力的修炼，大家一起做，然后一部分人才能踏上正轨。乔已经达到了这一步，试图干好自己的分内事，一旦没有做到，就会闷闷不乐；而要开开心心地去做——啊，那当然是另外一回事了！她经常说，要干一些了不起事情，无论多么艰难困苦。现在，她实现了这个愿望，把自己的一生都献给父母亲，一心一意地让家庭充满欢乐，就跟他们曾经给自己带来欢快的日子一样。有什么事，能够比这种行为更加壮美感人呢？如果说，为了增加努力的辉煌程度，所碰到的各种困难都是必需的，那么，对于一个一刻都闲不住，具有自我抱负的姑娘来说，毅然放弃了自己的憧憬，人生的蓝图和七情六欲，开开心心地为了别人而活着，有什么能比这更加艰巨？
上帝成全了她的诺言。现在，任务就在眼前摆着，不是她所期盼的事情了，但这样反而更好，因为，里面没有自我的份额。她能够做到吗？她决定去尝试一下。最初，她就遇到了我所提到过的那种帮助。后来，又得到了一个帮助。然而，她接受帮助时，没有认为那是对她的一种回报，而是将其理解为对她的宽慰，就跟那攀登名叫“困难”的这座山的基督徒一样，有时候，也会躺在小树里休息一阵，得到身心的恢复。
“你为什么不写作了呢？过去，你写作时，总是很高兴。”有一次，失望的情绪笼罩了乔的时候，她母亲问道。
“我没有心思写作，就是写好了，也没有人爱看。”
“我们爱看的。给我们写一些吧，别去管人家。乖乖，可以尝试一下嘛。我敢肯定，对你会有好处的，我们也会觉得很愉快的。”
“别以为我还能写作了。”不过乔拉开书桌，开始整理写了一半的手稿了。
一个小时之后，母亲往这边张望了一眼，见她还在里面，围着一条黑色的围裙，全神贯注，伏案疾书，不禁笑着赶紧走开了，对自己的成功建议颇感得意。乔一直都莫名其妙，只知道小说里面溜进了什么东西，它直接打动了读者的心。家里人跟着故事内容，时而大笑，时而流泪。接着，父亲不顾她的反对，把小说寄给了一家通俗杂志。令乔感到震惊的是，她不但收到了稿酬，还收到了求稿信。小小说登出来以后，几位读者来信，都赞不绝口，给了乔很大的荣誉。不久，报纸也纷纷转载，无论是朋友，还是陌生的读者，都非常欣赏这篇。当然，仅就这件小东西，她的成功是很大的。乔比当初她的长篇小说同时遭到褒贬时，还要大吃一惊。
“我真不理解。一篇小小说有什么值得这样赞扬的？”乔十分困惑地问道。
“里面说的是实话，乔，这就是奥秘。幽默加上煽情，使故事活灵活现，你最终也找到了自己的风格。还有，你写作时丝毫没有考虑名利，而是全身心地投入创作。女儿啊，你可是苦尽甘来呀。想想办法吧，跟我们一样，为你的成功而欢欣鼓舞吧。”
“如果我写的东西含有善和真的成分，那其实不是我的创作，完全都归功于你和母亲，还有贝丝。”乔说，使她深受感动的不是外界的任何赞扬，而是父亲的谆谆话语。
乔受到了爱和悲的熏陶，所以，写出了自己的一篇篇小说。她将这些小说投寄出去，使自己结交了一大批朋友她发现这是给那些卑微的漂泊者找到了一片慈善的天地。它们在那里受到善意的欢迎，也给家中的母亲带来了令人舒坦的纪念品，就跟孝子贤孙突然交上了好运一样。
艾美和劳里来信提及两人订婚时，马奇太太担心乔难以为此欢天喜地，但不久她就放宽心了。尽管乔起初看上去很沉闷，但仍然平静地接受了。乔对那两个孩子寄予了很大的希望，她接着又读了一通信。信是以二重奏形式写的，双方都充满爱意地夸奖对方，读起来很舒服，琢磨一下也让人觉得满意，没有人表示反对。
“妈妈，你喜欢这样？”乔问道。她们将写满字的信纸放下，相互对视着。
“是啊，自从艾美信里说拒绝了弗雷德求婚之后，我就希望事情会如愿以偿。我当初确信，她灵机一动，之后肯定会比你所谓的‘唯利是图精神’更加高尚的。而且，她信中经常闪烁其词，更加让我怀疑爱情和劳里会占上风的。”
“妈咪，你真厉害，而且真缄默！你对我一直只字未提。”
“当母亲的就需要眼明嘴紧，她们需要管好女儿。我当时有点不敢把这想法告诉你，生怕你事情没定下来就给写信祝贺。”
“我可不会跟从前那么沉不住气。可以相信我。现在我非常冷静懂事，谁都可以推心置腹的。”
“可不是吗，乖乖，我早就应该跟你推心置腹了。只不过我心想，知道你的特迪爱上了别人，你会痛苦的。”
“哎，妈妈，当初爱情尽管不成熟，却非常新鲜，我还是拒绝了他，事到如今，你真的以为我那么愚蠢，那么自私吗？”
“我知道当时你是真心真意，乔，不过，最近我认为，如果特迪回家再次求婚，你或许会喜欢换个答复的。乖乖，请原谅，我不由自主地看到你孤苦一人，有时候，你那种饥渴眼神直刺我的心啊。所以，我想你的小伙子如果现在恳求的话，就有可能乘虚而入，填补你的感情空白嘛。”
“不，妈妈，现在这样还是最好。艾美已经开始爱上他，我很高兴。但有一件事，你是对的。我确实孤独，也许，假如特迪再次求婚，我有可能说‘行啊’。这倒不是因为我还是喜欢他，而是因为跟他离开时相比，我更加在乎有人爱了。”
“这样我真高兴，这说明你在进步。爱你的人多着呢，所以，现在你就安心守着爸爸妈妈、兄弟姐妹、朋友孩子们吧，就等着最佳爱人的回报吧。”
“母亲是世界上最好的爱人，但我不会介意悄悄跟妈咪讲，我什么都想试试。奇怪的是，越尝试各种各样的人间真情，让自己满足，就越感到匮乏。真不明白，人心竟然能够装进这么多东西。我的心就很有弹性，永远不显得满足，而在过去，跟一家人在一起，就心满意足了。真不明白。”
“我明白的。”马奇太太睿智地笑了。乔则翻过几页信，开始回顾艾美对劳里的看法。
“得到爱，像劳里那样爱我，是一件很美满的事。这人看上去并不多情。对于这种事，他谈得不多，但从他的一言一行中，还是觉察到了，这让我感到很幸福，也感到很卑贱，觉得自己似乎不是原先的我了。直到现在，我才了解到他是多么好心，多么大度，多么温柔，他把心都亮给我了，让我看到他的高尚情操、美好理想和各种打算。得知这些都属于自己时，我觉得自豪极了。他告诉我，他好像觉得‘现在就能开始进行一次前途似锦的远航了，有我在轮船上当大副[1]，还有无限爱心充当压舱物’。我在祈祷，他会心想事成的，并且不辜负他对我的一切期望，而我一心一意、尽心尽责地爱慕这位勇猛的船长，绝不会离开他，愿上帝保佑我们天长地久。噢，妈妈，我从来没有想过，人彼此相爱，为对方活着时，这个世界便可以成为一个无比美丽的天堂！”
“瞧瞧，这位就是我们冷静、矜持、世俗的艾美哟！爱情是可以创造奇迹的，千真万确的。他俩该多么恩爱幸福啊！”说罢，乔小心翼翼地理好那几张哗哗作响的信纸，仿佛合上一本催人泪下的爱情故事书似的，因为故事紧紧地吸引读者，直到结局出现，才让读者孤零零地回到俗务缠人的世界上。
乔慢悠悠地走上楼，天下着雨，不能出去散步。她一时觉得坐立不安，往日的感觉又回来了，没有以前那么愤懑，但她仍然伤心而无怨地纳闷着，为什么一个姐妹要什么有什么，而另一个却一无所有。她知道，这种看法并不对，尽量不去考虑。然而，渴望亲情是人之常情，非常旺盛，再说，艾美的幸福也唤醒了她内心如饥似渴的欲望，希望“可以一心一意地爱某人，依附他，愿上帝保佑两人天长地久。”
心神不宁的漂泊结束了，乔站在阁楼里，身边有四只小木板箱并排放着，箱子上都刻着主人的名字，里面放满了统统一去不复返的童年时代和少女时期用过的物品。乔往箱内看了一眼，看见自己用过的那只箱子时，不禁将下巴靠在箱子边上，神色木然地凝视着杂乱的收藏。忽然，她看见一捆旧练习本。于是，就拿了出来，翻开几本，重温自己在好心的柯克太太家中度过的愉快冬天。起初，乔在笑，后来，神情专注，若有所思，接着，就满脸哀伤了。她看见了一张教授当年的亲笔字条，嘴唇开始颤抖了，膝上的本子纷纷落地。她坐了下来，开始端详那亲切的字字句句，仿佛现在都具有一层新的含义，触动了她的心弦。
“朋友，请等着我。也许有点迟到，但我一定会来的。”
“噢，但愿他会来！亲爱的老哥弗里茨，总是对我那么和蔼可亲，那么心诚意切，那么心平气和。在他身边时，我对他的珍惜根本不够，可是现在，我多么想见他呀，因为似乎大家都在疏远我，我真是孤家寡人了。”
乔紧紧攥着那张纸条，好像那是一纸待履行的承诺书。接着，她把头靠在一只舒适的碎布袋子上，失声痛哭，似乎在跟敲打着屋顶的雨点唱对台戏。
这一切是自怜，孤独，抑或情绪低落？也许是某份感情的苏醒，它始终像激起涟漪的对方一样在耐心等待。可是，谁能说得清呢？
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[1]英语双关语，也可以作“佳偶”理解。
CHAPTER 42 ALL ALONE
It was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up in another, and heart and soul were purified by a sweet example; but when the helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the beloved presence gone, and nothing remained but loneliness and grief, then Jo found her promise very hard to keep. How could she “comfort Father and Mother” when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister, how could she “make the house cheerful” when all its light and warmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left the old home for the new, and where in all the world could she “find some useful, happy work to do, ” that would take the place of the loving service which had been its own reward? She tried in a blind, hopeless way to do her duty, secretly rebelling against it all the while, for it seemed unjust that her few joys should be lessened, her burdens made heavier, and life get harder and harder as she toiled along. Some people seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow. It was not fair, for she tried more than Amy to be good, but never got any reward, only disappointment, trouble, and hard work.
Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair came over her when she thought of spending all her life in that quiet house, devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures, and the duty that never seemed to grow any easier. “I can't do it. I wasn't meant for a life like this, and I know I shall break away and do something desperate if somebody doesn't come and help me, ” she said to herself, when her first efforts failed and she fell into the moody, miserable state of mind which often comes when strong wills have to yield to the inevitable.
But someone did come and help her, though Jo did not recognize her good angels at once because they wore familiar shapes and used the simple spells best fitted to poor humanity. Often she started up at night, thinking Beth called her, and when the sight of the little empty bed made her cry with the bitter cry of unsubmissive sorrow, “Oh, Beth, come back! Come back! ” she did not stretch out her yearning arms in vain. For, as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not with words only, but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of a greater grief than Jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went hand-in-hand with natural sorrow. Sacred moments, when heart talked to heart in the silence of the night, turning affliction to a blessing, which chastened grief and strengthned love. Feeling this, Jo's burden seemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and life looked more endurable, seen from the safe shelter of her mother's arms.
When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise found help, for one day she went to the study, and leaning over the good gray head lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile, she said very humbly,“Father, talk to me as you did to Beth. I need it more than she did, for I'm all wrong.”
“My dear, nothing can comfort me like this, ” he answered, with a falter in his voice, and both arms round her, as if he too, needed help, and did not fear to ask for it.
Then, sitting in Beth's little chair close beside him, Jo told her troubles—the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitless efforts that discouraged her, the want of faith that made life look so dark, and all the sad bewilderment which we call despair. She gave him entire confidence, he gave her the help she needed, and both found consolation in the act;for the time had come when they could talk together not only as father and daughter, but as man and woman, able and glad to serve each other with mutual sympathy as well as mutual love. Happy, thoughtful times there in the old study which Jo called “the church of one member”, and from which she came with fresh courage, recovered cheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit; for the parents who had taught one child to meet death without fear, were trying now to teach another to accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power.
Other helps had Jo—humble, wholesome duties and delights that would not be denied their part in serving her, and which she slowly learned to see and value. Brooms and dishcloths never could be as distasteful as they once had been, for Beth had presided over both; and something of her housewifely spirit seemed to linger around the little mop and the old brush, never thrown away. As she used them, Jo found herself humming the songs Beth used to hum, imitating Beth's orderly ways, and giving the little touches here and there that kept everything fresh and cozy, which was the first step toward making home happy, though she didn't know it till Hannah said with an approving squeeze of the hand—
“You thoughtful creeter, you're determined we shan't miss that dear lamb ef you can help it. We don't say much, but we see it, and the Lord will bless you for't, see ef He don't.”
As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improved her sister Meg was, how well she could talk, how much she knew about good, womanly impulses, thoughts, and feelings, how happy she was in husband and children, and how much they were all doing for each other.
“Marriage is an excellent thing, after all. I wonder if I should blossom out half as well as you have, if I tried it? ” said Jo, as she constructed a kite for Demi in the topsy-turvy nursery.
“It's just what you need to bring out the tender womanly half of your nature, Jo. You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, but silky-soft within, and a sweet kernal, if one can only get at it. Love will make you show your heart one day, and then the rough burr will fall off.”
“Frost opens chestnut burrs, ma'am, and it takes a good shake to bring them down. Boys go nutting, and I don't care to be bagged by them, ”returned Jo, pasting away at the kite which no wind that blows would ever carry up, for Daisy had tied herself on as a bob.
Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo's old spirit, but she felt it her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument in her power, and the sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as two of Meg's most effective arguments were the babies, whom Jo loved tenderly. Grief is the best opener of some hearts, and Jo's was nearly ready for the bag: a little more sunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy's impatient shake, but a man's hand reached up to pick it gently from the burr, and find the kernal sound and sweet. If she suspected this, she would have shut up tight, and been more prickly than ever, fortunately she wasn't thinking about herself, so when the time came, down she dropped.
Now, if she had been the heroine of a moral storybook, she ought at this period of her life to have become quite saintly, renounced the world, and gone about doing good in a mortified bonnet, with tracts in her pocket. But, you see, Jo wasn't a heroine, she was only a struggling human girl like hundreds of others, and she just acted out her nature, being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the mood suggested. It's highly virtuous to say we'll be good, but we can't do it all at once, and it takes a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together before some of us even get our feet set in the right way. Jo had got so far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy if she did not; but to do it cheerfully—ah, that was another thing! She had often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter how hard; and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than to devote her life to Father and Mother, trying to make home as happy to them as they had to her? And if difficulties were necessary to increase the splendor of the effort, what could be harder for a restless, ambitious girl than to give up her own hopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live for others?
Providence had taken her at her word; here was the task, not what she had expected, but better because self had no part in it; now, could she do it? She decided that she would try, and in her first attempt she found the helps I have suggested. Still another was given her, and she took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort, as Christian took the refreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested, as he climbed the hill called Difficulty.
“Why don't you write? That always used to make you happy, ” said her mother once, when the desponding fit over shadowed Jo.
“I've no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for my things.”
“We do. Write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world. Try it, dear. I'm sure it would do you good, and please us very much.”
“Don't believe I can.” But Jo got out her desk and began to overhaul her half-finished manuscripts.
An hour afterward her mother peeped in and there she was, scratching away, with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression, which caused Mrs. March to smile and slip away, well pleased with the success of her suggestion. Jo never knew how it happened, but something got into that story that went straight to the hearts of those who read it, for when her family had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it, much against her will, to one of the popular magazines, and to her utter surprise, it was not only paid for, but others requested. Letters from several persons, whose praise was honor, followed the appearance of the little story, newspapers copied it, and strangers as well as friends admired it. For a small thing it was a great success, and Jo was more astonished than when her novel was commended and condemned all at once.
“I don't understand it.What can there be in a simple little story like that to make people praise it so? ” she said, quite bewildered.
“There is truth in it,Jo,that's the secret.Humor and pathos make it alive, and you have found your style at last. You wrote with no thoughts of fame and money, and put your heart into it, my daughter. You have had the bitter, now comes the sweet. Do your best, and grow as happy as we are in your success.”
“If there is anything good or true in what I write,it isn't mine.I owe it all to you and Mother and Beth, ” said Jo, more touched by her father's words than by any amount of praise from the world.
So taught by love and sorrow, Jo wrote her little stories, and sent them away to make friends for themselves and her, finding it a very charitable world to such humble wanderers; for they were kindly welcomed, and sent home comfortable tokens to their mother, like dutiful children whom good fortune overtakes.
When Amy and Laurie wrote of their engagement, Mrs. March feared that Jo would find it difficult to rejoice over it, but her fears were soon set at rest, for though Jo looked grave at first, she took it very quietly, and was full of hopes and plans for “the children” before she read the letter twice. It was a sort of written duet, wherein each glorified the other in loverlike fashion, very pleasant to read and satisfactory to think of, for no one had any objection to make.
“You like it, Mother? ” said Jo, as they laid down the closely written sheets and looked at one another.
“Yes, I hoped it would be so, ever since Amy wrote that she had refused Fred. I felt sure then that something better than what you call the‘mercenary spirit' had come over her, and a hint here and there in her letters made me suspect that love and Laurie would win the day.”
“How sharp you are, Marmee, and how silent! You never said a word to me.”
“Mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues when they have girls to manage. I was half afraid to put the idea into your head, lest you should write and congratulate them before the thing was settled.”
“I'm not the scatterbrain I was. You may trust me. I'm sober and sensible enough for anyone's confidante now.”
“So you are, my dear, and I should have made you mine, only I fancied it might pain you to learn that your Teddy loved someone else.”
“Now, Mother, did you really think I could be so silly and selfish, after I'd refused his love, when it was freshest, if not best? ”
“I knew you were sincere then, Jo, but lately I have thought that if he came back, and asked again, you might, perhaps, feel like giving another answer. Forgive me, dear, I can't help seeing that you are very lonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart. So I fancied that your boy might fill the empty place if he tried now.”
“No, Mother, it is better as it is, and I'm glad Amy has learned to love him.But you are right in one thing:I am lonely,and perhaps if Teddy had tried again, I might have said ‘Yes, ' not because I love him any more, but because I care more to be loved than when he went away.”
“I'm glad of that, Jo, for it shows that you are getting on. There are plenty to love you, so try to be satisfied with Father and Mother, sisters and brothers, friends and babies, till the best lover of all comes to give you your reward.”
“Mothers are the best lovers in the world,but I don't mind whispering to Marmee that I'd like to try all kinds. It's very curious, but the more I try to satisfy myself with all sorts of natural affections, the more I seem to want. I'd no idea hearts could take in so many. Mine is so elastic, it never seems full now, and I used to be quite contented with my family. I don't understand it.”
“I do.” And Mrs. March smiled her wise smile, as Jo turned back the leaves to read what Amy said of Laurie.
“It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me. He isn't sentimental, doesn't say much about it, but I see and feel it in all he says and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble that I don't seem to be the same girl I was. I never knew how good and generous and tender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and I find it full of noble impulses and hopes and purposes, and am so proud to know it's mine. He says he feels as if he ‘could make a prosperous voyage now with me aboard as mate, and lots of love for ballast.' I pray he may, and try to be all he believes me, for I love my gallant captain with all my heart and soul and might, and never will desert him, while God lets us be together. Oh, Mother, I never knew how much like heaven this world could be, when two people love and live for one another! ”
“And that's our cool, reserved, and worldly Amy! Truly, love does work miracles. How very, very happy they must be! ” And Jo laid the rustling sheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of a lovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he finds himself alone in the workaday world again.
By-and-by Jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy, and she could not walk. A restless spirit possessed her, and the old feeling came again, not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowfully patient wonder why one sister should have all she asked, the other nothing. It was not true, she knew that and tried to put it away, but the natural craving for affection was strong, and Amy's happiness woke the hungry longing for someone to “love with heart and soul, and cling to while God let them be together.”
Up in the garret, where Jo's unquiet wanderings ended stood four little wooden chests in a row, each marked with its owner's name, and each filled with relics of the childhood and girlhood ended now for all. Jo glanced into them, and when she came to her own, leaned her chin on the edge, and stared absently at the chaotic collection, till a bundle of old exercise books caught her eye. She drew them out, turned them over, and relived that pleasant winter at kind Mrs. Kirke's. She had smiled at first, then she looked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a little message written in the Professor's hand, her lips began to tremble, the books slid out of her lap, and she sat looking at the friendly words, as they took a new meaning, and touched a tender spot in her heart.
“Wait for me, my friend. I may be a little late, but I shall surely come.”
“Oh, if he only would! So kind, so good, so patient with me always;my dear old Fritz. I didn't value him half enough when I had him, but now how I should love to see him, for everyone seems going away from me, and I'm all alone.”
And holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promise yet to be fulfilled, Jo laid her head down on a comfortable rag bag, and cried, as if in opposition to the rain pattering on the roof.
Was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits? Or was it the waking up of a sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as its inspirer? Who shall say?
