Hello friends and welcome! Tonight we shall continue with the calm reading
of "Little Women". I will read for you chapter 33, "Jo's Journal". Let's find a comfortable place where you can
safely relax, let's settle into that place, take a deep breath, perhaps even close your
eyes. Feel yourself unwind, and let us begin this
chapter. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JO’S JOURNAL New York, November Dear Marmee and Beth, I’m going to write you a regular volume,
for I’ve got heaps to tell, though I’m not a fine
young lady traveling on the continent. When I lost sight of Father’s dear old face,
I felt a trifle blue, and might have shed a briny drop or two, if an Irish lady with
four small children, all crying more or less, hadn’t diverted my mind, for I amused myself
by dropping gingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their mouths to roar. Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a
good omen, I cleared up likewise and enjoyed my journey with all my heart. Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I
felt at
home at once, even in that big house full of strangers. She gave me a funny little sky parlor—all
she had, but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in a sunny window, so I can sit
here and write whenever I like. A fine view and a church tower opposite atone
for the many stairs, and I took a fancy to my den on the spot. The nursery, where I am to teach and sew,
is a pleasant room next Mrs. Kirke’s private parlor, and the two little girls are pretty
children, rather spoiled, I fancy, b
ut they took to me after telling them The Seven Bad
Pigs, and I’ve no doubt I shall make a model governess. I am to have my meals with the children, if
I prefer it to the great table, and for the present I do, for I am bashful, though no
one will believe it. “Now, my dear, make yourself at home,”
said Mrs. K. in her motherly way, “I’m on the drive from morning to night, as you
may suppose with such a family, but a great anxiety will be off my mind if I know the
children are safe with you. My roo
ms are always open to you, and your
own shall be as comfortable as I can make it. There are some pleasant people in the house
if you feel sociable, and your evenings are always free. Come to me if anything goes wrong, and be
as happy as you can. There’s the tea bell, I must run and change
my cap.” And off she bustled, leaving me to settle
myself in my new nest. As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something
I liked. The flights are very long in this tall house,
and as I stood waiting at the he
ad of the third one for a little servant girl to lumber
up, I saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the heavy hod of coal out of her hand,
carry it all the way up, put it down at a door near by, and walk away, saying, with
a kind nod and a foreign accent, “It goes better so. The little back is too young to haf such heaviness.” Wasn’t it good of him? I like such things, for as Father says, trifles
show character. When I mentioned it to Mrs. K., that evening,
she laughed, and said, “That mus
t have been Professor Bhaer, he’s always doing things
of that sort.” Mrs. K. told me he was from Berlin, very learned
and good, but poor as a church mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and two little
orphan nephews whom he is educating here, according to the wishes of his sister, who
married an American. Not a very romantic story, but it interested
me, and I was glad to hear that Mrs. K. lends him her parlor for some of his scholars. There is a glass door between it and the nursery,
and
I mean to peep at him, and then I’ll tell you how he looks. He’s almost forty, so it’s no harm, Marmee. After tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little
girls, I attacked the big workbasket, and had a quiet evening chatting with my new friend. I shall keep a journal-letter, and send it
once a week, so goodnight, and more tomorrow. Tuesday Eve Had a lively time in my seminary this morning,
for the children acted like Sancho, and at one time I really thought I should shake them
all round. Some good
angel inspired me to try gymnastics,
and I kept it up till they were glad to sit down and keep still. After luncheon, the girl took them out for
a walk, and I went to my needlework like little Mabel ‘with a willing mind’. I was thanking my stars that I’d learned
to make nice buttonholes, when the parlor door opened and shut, and someone began to
hum, Kennst Du Das Land, like a big bumblebee. It was dreadfully improper, I know, but I
couldn’t resist the temptation, and lifting one end of the curt
ain before the glass door,
I peeped in. Professor Bhaer was there, and while he arranged
his books, I took a good look at him. A regular German—rather stout, with brown
hair tumbled all over his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes I ever saw, and
a splendid big voice that does one’s ears good, after our sharp or slipshod American
gabble. His clothes were rusty, his hands were large,
and he hadn’t a really handsome feature in his face, except his beautiful teeth, yet
I liked him, for
he had a fine head, his linen was very nice, and he looked like a gentleman,
though two buttons were off his coat and there was a patch on one shoe. He looked sober in spite of his humming, till
he went to the window to turn the hyacinth bulbs toward the sun, and stroke the cat,
who received him like an old friend. Then he smiled, and when a tap came at the
door, called out in a loud, brisk tone, “Herein!” I was just going to run, when I caught sight
of a morsel of a child carrying a big book,
and stopped, to see what was going on. “Me wants me Bhaer,” said the mite, slamming
down her book and running to meet him. “Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer. Come, then, and take a goot hug from him,
my Tina,” said the Professor, catching her up with a laugh, and holding her so high over
his head that she had to stoop her little face to kiss him. “Now me mus tuddy my lessin,” went on
the funny little thing. So he put her up at the table, opened the
great dictionary she had brought, and gave her a paper
and pencil, and she scribbled
away, turning a leaf now and then, and passing her little fat finger down the page, as if
finding a word, so soberly that I nearly betrayed myself by a laugh, while Mr. Bhaer stood stroking
her pretty hair with a fatherly look that made me think she must be his own, though
she looked more French than German. Another knock and the appearance of two young
ladies sent me back to my work, and there I virtuously remained through all the noise
and gabbling that went on ne
xt door. One of the girls kept laughing affectedly,
and saying, “Now Professor,” in a coquettish tone, and the other pronounced her German
with an accent that must have made it hard for him to keep sober. Both seemed to try his patience sorely, for
more than once I heard him say emphatically, “No, no, it is not so, you haf not attend
to what I say,” and once there was a loud rap, as if he struck the table with his book,
followed by the despairing exclamation, “Prut! It all goes bad this day.” Po
or man, I pitied him, and when the girls
were gone, took just one more peep to see if he survived it. He seemed to have thrown himself back in his
chair, tired out, and sat there with his eyes shut till the clock struck two, when he jumped
up, put his books in his pocket, as if ready for another lesson, and taking little Tina
who had fallen asleep on the sofa in his arms, he carried her quietly away. I fancy he has a hard life of it. Mrs. Kirke asked me if I wouldn’t go down
to the five o’clock
dinner, and feeling a little bit homesick, I thought I would,
just to see what sort of people are under the same roof with me. So I made myself respectable and tried to
slip in behind Mrs. Kirke, but as she is short and I’m tall, my efforts at concealment
were rather a failure. She gave me a seat by her, and after my face
cooled off, I plucked up courage and looked about me. The long table was full, and every one intent
on getting their dinner, the gentlemen especially, who seemed to be eating o
n time, for they
bolted in every sense of the word, vanishing as soon as they were done. There was the usual assortment of young men
absorbed in themselves, young couples absorbed in each other, married ladies in their babies,
and old gentlemen in politics. I don’t think I shall care to have much
to do with any of them, except one sweetfaced maiden lady, who looks as if she had something
in her. Cast away at the very bottom of the table
was the Professor, shouting answers to the questions of a v
ery inquisitive, deaf old
gentleman on one side, and talking philosophy with a Frenchman on the other. If Amy had been here, she’d have turned
her back on him forever because, sad to relate, he had a great appetite, and shoveled in his
dinner in a manner which would have horrified ‘her ladyship’. I didn’t mind, for I like ‘to see folks
eat with a relish’, as Hannah says, and the poor man must have needed a deal of food
after teaching idiots all day. As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the
yo
ung men were settling their hats before the hall mirror, and I heard one say low to
the other, “Who’s the new party?” “Governess, or something of that sort.” “What the deuce is she at our table for?” “Friend of the old lady’s.” “Handsome head, but no style.” “Not a bit of it. Give us a light and come on.” I felt angry at first, and then I didn’t
care, for a governess is as good as a clerk, and I’ve got sense, if I haven’t style,
which is more than some people have, judging from the remarks of th
e elegant beings who
clattered away, smoking like bad chimneys. I hate ordinary people! Thursday Yesterday was a quiet day spent in teaching,
sewing, and writing in my little room, which is very cozy, with a light and fire. I picked up a few bits of news and was introduced
to the Professor. It seems that Tina is the child of the Frenchwoman
who does the fine ironing in the laundry here. The little thing has lost her heart to Mr.
Bhaer, and follows him about the house like a dog whenever he is at
home, which delights
him, as he is very fond of children, though a ‘bacheldore’. Kitty and Minnie Kirke likewise regard him
with affection, and tell all sorts of stories about the plays he invents, the presents he
brings, and the splendid tales he tells. The younger men quiz him, it seems, call him
Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all manner of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. Kirke says,
and takes it so good-naturedly that they all like him in spite of his foreig
n ways. The maiden lady is a Miss Norton, rich, cultivated,
and kind. She spoke to me at dinner today (for I went
to table again, it’s such fun to watch people), and asked me to come and see her at her room. She has fine books and pictures, knows interesting
persons, and seems friendly, so I shall make myself agreeable, for I do want to get into
good society, only it isn’t the same sort that Amy likes. I was in our parlor last evening when Mr.
Bhaer came in with some newspapers for Mrs. Kirke. S
he wasn’t there, but Minnie, who is a little
old woman, introduced me very prettily. “This is Mamma’s friend, Miss March.” “Yes, and she’s jolly and we like her
lots,” added Kitty, who is an ‘enfant terrible’. We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the
prim introduction and the blunt addition were rather a comical contrast. “Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to
vex you, Mees Marsch. If so again, call at me and I come,” he
said, with a threatening frown that delighted the little wretches. I
promised I would, and he departed, but it
seems as if I was doomed to see a good deal of him, for today as I passed his door on
my way out, by accident I knocked against it with my umbrella. It flew open, and there he stood in his dressing
gown, with a big blue sock on one hand and a darning needle in the other. He didn’t seem at all ashamed of it, for
when I explained and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all, saying in his loud,
cheerful way... “You haf a fine day to make your walk. Bon
voyage, Mademoiselle.” I laughed all the way downstairs, but it was
a little pathetic, also to think of the poor man having to mend his own clothes. The German gentlemen embroider, I know, but
darning hose is another thing and not so pretty. Saturday Nothing has happened to write about, except
a call on Miss Norton, who has a room full of pretty things, and who was very charming,
for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if I would sometimes go with her to lectures
and concerts, as her e
scort, if I enjoyed them. She put it as a favor, but I’m sure Mrs.
Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of kindness to me. I’m as proud as Lucifer, but such favors
from such people don’t burden me, and I accepted gratefully. When I got back to the nursery there was such
an uproar in the parlor that I looked in, and there was Mr. Bhaer down on his hands
and knees, with Tina on his back, Kitty leading him with a jump rope, and Minnie feeding two
small boys with seedcakes, as they roare
d and ramped in cages built of chairs. “We are playing nargerie,” explained Kitty. “Dis is mine effalunt!” added Tina, holding on by the Professor’s
hair. “Mamma always allows us to do what we like
Saturday afternoon, when Franz and Emil come, doesn’t she, Mr. Bhaer?” said Minnie. The ‘effalunt’ sat up, looking as much
in earnest as any of them, and said soberly to me, “I gif you my wort it is so, if we
make too large a noise you shall say Hush! to us, and we go more softly.” I promised to do so
, but left the door open
and enjoyed the fun as much as they did, for a more glorious frolic I never witnessed. They played tag and soldiers, danced and sang,
and when it began to grow dark they all piled onto the sofa about the Professor, while he
told charming fairy stories of the storks on the chimney tops, and the little ‘koblods’,
who ride the snowflakes as they fall. I wish Americans were as simple and natural
as Germans, don’t you? I’m so fond of writing, I should go spinning
on forever i
f motives of economy didn’t stop me, for though I’ve used thin paper
and written fine, I tremble to think of the stamps this long letter will need. Pray forward Amy’s as soon as you can spare
them. My small news will sound very flat after her
splendors, but you will like them, I know. Is Teddy studying so hard that he can’t
find time to write to his friends? Take good care of him for me, Beth, and tell
me all about the babies, and give heaps of love to everyone. From your faithful Jo. P.S. On re
ading over my letter, it strikes me as
rather Bhaery, but I am always interested in odd people, and I really had nothing else
to write about. Bless you! DECEMBER My Precious Betsey, As this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter,
I direct it to you, for it may amuse you, and give you some idea of my goings on, for
though quiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh, be joyful! After what Amy would call Herculaneum efforts,
in the way of mental and moral agriculture, my young ideas begin to shoot a
nd my little
twigs to bend as I could wish. They are not so interesting to me as Tina
and the boys, but I do my duty by them, and they are fond of me. Franz and Emil are jolly little lads, quite
after my own heart, for the mixture of German and American spirit in them produces a constant
state of effervescence. Saturday afternoons are riotous times, whether
spent in the house or out, for on pleasant days they all go to walk, like a seminary,
with the Professor and myself to keep order, and then
such fun! We are very good friends now, and I’ve begun
to take lessons. I really couldn’t help it, and it all came
about in such a droll way that I must tell you. To begin at the beginning, Mrs. Kirke called
to me one day as I passed Mr. Bhaer’s room where she was rummaging. “Did you ever see such a den, my dear? Just come and help me put these books to rights,
for I’ve turned everything upside down, trying to discover what he has done with the
six new handkerchiefs I gave him not long ago.” I w
ent in, and while we worked I looked about
me, for it was ‘a den’ to be sure. Books and papers everywhere, a broken meerschaum,
and an old flute over the mantlepiece as if done with, a ragged bird without any tail
chirped on one window seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other. Half-finished boats and bits of string lay
among the manuscripts. Dirty little boots stood drying before the
fire, and traces of the dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave of himself, were
to be seen all ove
r the room. After a grand rummage three of the missing
articles were found, one over the bird cage, one covered with ink, and a third burned brown,
having been used as a holder. “Such a man!” laughed good-natured Mrs. K., as she put the
relics in the rag bag. “I suppose the others are torn up to rig
ships, bandage cut fingers, or make kite tails. It’s dreadful, but I can’t scold him. He’s so absent-minded and goodnatured, he
lets those boys ride over him roughshod. I agreed to do his washing and
mending, but
he forgets to give out his things and I forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass
sometimes.” “Let me mend them,” said I. “I don’t
mind it, and he needn’t know. I’d like to, he’s so kind to me about
bringing my letters and lending books.” So I have got his things in order, and knit
heels into two pairs of the socks, for they were boggled out of shape with his queer darns. Nothing was said, and I hoped he wouldn’t
find it out, but one day last week he caught me at it. Hear
ing the lessons he gives to others has
interested and amused me so much that I took a fancy to learn, for Tina runs in and out,
leaving the door open, and I can hear. I had been sitting near this door, finishing
off the last sock, and trying to understand what he said to a new scholar, who is as stupid
as I am. The girl had gone, and I thought he had also,
it was so still, and I was busily gabbling over a verb, and rocking to and fro in a most
absurd way, when a little crow made me look up, and
there was Mr. Bhaer looking and laughing
quietly, while he made signs to Tina not to betray him. “So!” he said, as I stopped and stared
like a goose, “you peep at me, I peep at you, and this is not bad, but see, I am not
pleasanting when I say, haf you a wish for German?” “Yes, but you are too busy. I am too stupid to learn,” I blundered out,
as red as a peony. “Prut! We will make the time, and we fail not to
find the sense. At efening I shall gif a little lesson with
much gladness, for look you
, Mees Marsch, I haf this debt to pay.” And he pointed to my work ‘Yes,’ they
say to one another, these so kind ladies, ‘he is a stupid old fellow, he will see
not what we do, he will never observe that his sock heels go not in holes any more, he
will think his buttons grow out new when they fall, and believe that strings make theirselves.’ “Ah! But I haf an eye, and I see much. I haf a heart, and I feel thanks for this. Come, a little lesson then and now, or—no
more good fairy works for me and
mine.” Of course I couldn’t say anything after
that, and as it really is a splendid opportunity, I made the bargain, and we began. I took four lessons, and then I stuck fast
in a grammatical bog. The Professor was very patient with me, but
it must have been torment to him, and now and then he’d look at me with such an expression
of mild despair that it was a toss-up with me whether to laugh or cry. I tried both ways, and when it came to a sniff
or utter mortification and woe, he just threw the g
rammar on to the floor and marched out
of the room. I felt myself disgraced and deserted forever,
but didn’t blame him a particle, and was scrambling my papers together, meaning to
rush upstairs and shake myself hard, when in he came, as brisk and beaming as if I’d
covered myself in glory. “Now we shall try a new way. You and I will read these pleasant little
marchen together, and dig no more in that dry book, that goes in the corner for making
us trouble.” He spoke so kindly, and opened Hans An
derson’s
fairy tales so invitingly before me, that I was more ashamed than ever, and went at
my lesson in a neck-or-nothing style that seemed to amuse him immensely. I forgot my bashfulness, and pegged away (no
other word will express it) with all my might, tumbling over long words, pronouncing according
to inspiration of the minute, and doing my very best. When I finished reading my first page, and
stopped for breath, he clapped his hands and cried out in his hearty way, “Das ist gut! Now we go
well! My turn. I do him in German, gif me your ear.” And away he went, rumbling out the words with
his strong voice and a relish which was good to see as well as hear. Fortunately the story was The Constant Tin
Soldier, which is droll, you know, so I could laugh, and I did, though I didn’t understand
half he read, for I couldn’t help it, he was so earnest, I so excited, and the whole
thing so comical. After that we got on better, and now I read
my lessons pretty well, for this way of studying s
uits me, and I can see that the grammar gets
tucked into the tales and poetry as one gives pills in jelly. I like it very much, and he doesn’t seem
tired of it yet, which is very good of him, isn’t it? I mean to give him something on Christmas,
for I dare not offer money. Tell me something nice, Marmee. I’m glad Laurie seems so happy and busy,
that he has given up smoking and lets his hair grow. You see Beth manages him better than I did. I’m not jealous, dear, do your best, only
don’t make a sa
int of him. I’m afraid I couldn’t like him without
a spice of human naughtiness. Read him bits of my letters. I haven’t time to write much, and that will
do just as well. Thank Heaven Beth continues so comfortable. JANUARY A Happy New Year to you all, my dearest family,
which of course includes Mr. L. and a young man by the name of Teddy. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your
Christmas bundle, for I didn’t get it till night and had given up hoping. Your letter came in the morning, but you sai
d
nothing about a parcel, meaning it for a surprise, so I was disappointed, for I’d had a ‘kind
of feeling’ that you wouldn’t forget me. I felt a little low in my mind as I sat up
in my room after tea, and when the big, muddy, battered-looking bundle was brought to me,
I just hugged it and pranced. It was so homey and refreshing that I sat
down on the floor and read and looked and ate and laughed and cried, in my usual absurd
way. The things were just what I wanted, and all
the better for being
made instead of bought. Beth’s new ‘ink bib’ was capital, and
Hannah’s box of hard gingerbread will be a treasure. I’ll be sure and wear the nice flannels
you sent, Marmee, and read carefully the books Father has marked. Thank you all, heaps and heaps! Speaking of books reminds me that I’m getting
rich in that line, for on New Year’s Day Mr. Bhaer gave me a fine Shakespeare. It is one he values much, and I’ve often
admired it, set up in the place of honor with his German Bible, Plato, Homer, and
Milton,
so you may imagine how I felt when he brought it down, without its cover, and showed me
my own name in it, “from my friend Friedrich Bhaer”. “You say often you wish a library. Here I gif you one, for between these lids
(he meant covers) is many books in one. Read him well, and he will help you much,
for the study of character in this book will help you to read it in the world and paint
it with your pen.” I thanked him as well as I could, and talk
now about ‘my library’, as if I had a hu
ndred books. I never knew how much there was in Shakespeare
before, but then I never had a Bhaer to explain it to me. Now don’t laugh at his horrid name. It isn’t pronounced either Bear or Beer,
as people will say it, but something between the two, as only Germans can give it. I’m glad you both like what I tell you about
him, and hope you will know him some day. Mother would admire his warm heart, Father
his wise head. I admire both, and feel rich in my new ‘friend
Friedrich Bhaer’. Not having m
uch money, or knowing what he’d
like, I got several little things, and put them about the room, where he would find them
unexpectedly. They were useful, pretty, or funny, a new
standish on his table, a little vase for his flower, he always has one, or a bit of green
in a glass, to keep him fresh, he says, and a holder for his blower, so that he needn’t
burn up what Amy calls ‘mouchoirs’. I made it like those Beth invented, a big
butterfly with a fat body, and black and yellow wings, worsted feel
ers, and bead eyes. It took his fancy immensely, and he put it
on his mantlepiece as an article of virtue, so it was rather a failure after all. Poor as he is, he didn’t forget a servant
or a child in the house, and not a soul here, from the French laundrywoman to Miss Norton
forgot him. I was so glad of that. They got up a masquerade, and had a gay time
New Year’s Eve. I didn’t mean to go down, having no dress. But at the last minute, Mrs. Kirke remembered
some old brocades, and Miss Norton len
t me lace and feathers. So I dressed up as Mrs. Malaprop, and sailed
in with a mask on. No one knew me, for I disguised my voice,
and no one dreamed of the silent, haughty Miss March (for they think I am very stiff
and cool, most of them, and so I am to whippersnappers) could dance and dress, and burst out into
a ‘nice derangement of epitaphs, like an allegory on the banks of the Nile’. I enjoyed it very much, and when we unmasked
it was fun to see them stare at me. I heard one of the young men
tell another
that he knew I’d been an actress, in fact, he thought he remembered seeing me at one
of the minor theaters. Meg will relish that joke. Mr. Bhaer was Nick Bottom, and Tina was Titania,
a perfect little fairy in his arms. To see them dance was ‘quite a landscape’,
to use a Teddyism. I had a very happy New Year, after all, and
when I thought it over in my room, I felt as if I was getting on a little in spite of
my many failures, for I’m cheerful all the time now, work with a will, and
take more
interest in other people than I used to, which is satisfactory. Bless you all! Ever your loving... Jo
Comments
All the very best Marcus. I sincerely hope more people find you! I told my neice last week. And always mention you when speaking of sleep and stories and beautiful calm voices 😊
Did your subscribers jump?? Or am I seeing things??