Little Women, chapter 39 | Classic Literature | Calm Reading

Hello friends and welcome to the continuation  of this calm reading of "Little Women". Tonight I shall be reading for  you chapter 39, "Lazy Laurenze". It is time to unwind. Let's settle into a place where we can relax. Close our eyes, and take a deep  breath, and let's begin this chapter. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE LAZY LAURENCE Laurie went to Nice intending to  stay a week, and remained a month. He was tired of wandering about alone, and Amy’s  familiar presence seemed to give a homelike charm to the

foreign scenes in which she bore a part.  He rather missed the ‘petting’ he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of it again, for no  attentions, however flattering, from strangers, were half so pleasant as the sisterly adoration  of the girls at home. Amy never would pet him like the others, but she was very glad to see him  now, and quite clung to him, feeling that he was the representative of the dear family for  whom she longed more than she would confess. They naturally took comfort in eac

h other’s  society and were much together, riding, walking, dancing, or dawdling, for at Nice no one can  be very industrious during the gay season. But, while apparently amusing themselves in the  most careless fashion, they were half-consciously making discoveries and forming opinions about  each other. Amy rose daily in the estimation of her friend, but he sank in hers, and each felt  the truth before a word was spoken. Amy tried to please, and succeeded, for she was grateful  for the many pl

easures he gave her, and repaid him with the little services to which womanly  women know how to lend an indescribable charm. Laurie made no effort of any kind, but just let  himself drift along as comfortably as possible, trying to forget, and feeling that all women owed  him a kind word because one had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to be generous, and he  would have given Amy all the trinkets in Nice if she would have taken them, but at  the same time he felt that he could not change

the opinion she was forming of  him, and he rather dreaded the keen blue eyes that seemed to watch him with such  half-sorrowful, half-scornful surprise. “All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day.  I preferred to stay at home and write letters. They are done now, and I am going to  Valrosa to sketch, will you come?” said Amy, as she joined Laurie one lovely day  when he lounged in as usual, about noon. “Well, yes, but isn’t it rather  warm for such a long walk?” he answered slowly, for the

shaded salon  looked inviting after the glare without. “I’m going to have the little carriage,  and Baptiste can drive, so you’ll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella,  and keep your gloves nice,” returned Amy, with a sarcastic glance at the immaculate  kids, which were a weak point with Laurie. “Then I’ll go with pleasure.” and he  put out his hand for her sketchbook. But she tucked it under her arm with a sharp... “Don’t trouble yourself. It’s no exertion  to me, but you don’t look equal

to it.” Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed  at a leisurely pace as she ran downstairs, but when they got into the carriage  he took the reins himself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold  his arms and fall asleep on his perch. The two never quarreled. Amy was too  well-bred, and just now Laurie was too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under  her hatbrim with an inquiring air. She answered him with a smile, and they went  on together in the most amicable manner. It was a lovely dri

ve, along winding roads rich in  the picturesque scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes. Here an ancient monastery, whence the  solemn chanting of the monks came down to them. There a bare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes,  pointed hat, and rough jacket over one shoulder, sat piping on a stone while his goats  skipped among the rocks or lay at his feet. Meek, mouse-colored donkeys, laden with panniers  of freshly cut grass passed by, with a pretty girl in a capaline sitting between the green pil

es, or  an old woman spinning with a distaff as she went. Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from  the quaint stone hovels to offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still on the bough. Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their  dusky foliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones fringed the roadside,  while beyond green slopes and craggy heights, the Maritime Alps rose sharp and  white against the blue Italian sky. Valrosa well deserved its name, for in that  climate

of perpetual summer roses blossomed everywhere. They overhung the archway, thrust  themselves between the bars of the great gate with a sweet welcome to passers-by, and lined the  avenue, winding through lemon trees and feathery palms up to the villa on the hill. Every shadowy  nook, where seats invited one to stop and rest, was a mass of bloom, every cool grotto had its  marble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers and every fountain reflected crimson,  white, or pale pink roses, leaning down t

o smile at their own beauty. Roses covered  the walls of the house, draped the cornices, climbed the pillars, and ran riot over  the balustrade of the wide terrace, whence one looked down on the sunny Mediterranean,  and the white-walled city on its shore. “This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn’t  it? Did you ever see such roses?” asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view, and a  luxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by. “No, nor felt such thorns,” returned  Laurie, with h

is thumb in his mouth, after a vain attempt to capture a solitary  scarlet flower that grew just beyond his reach. “Try lower down, and pick those that have no  thorns,” said Amy, gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred the wall behind  her. She put them in his buttonhole as a peace offering, and he stood a minute looking  down at them with a curious expression, for in the Italian part of his nature  there was a touch of superstition, and he was just then in that state of  ha

lf-sweet, half-bitter melancholy, when imaginative young men find significance  in trifles and food for romance everywhere. He had thought of Jo in reaching  after the thorny red rose, for vivid flowers became her, and she had often  worn ones like that from the greenhouse at home. The pale roses Amy gave him were the  sort that the Italians lay in dead hands, never in bridal wreaths, and for a moment  he wondered if the omen was for Jo or for himself, but the next instant his American  common s

ense got the better of sentimentality, and he laughed a heartier laugh  than Amy had heard since he came. “It’s good advice, you’d better  take it and save your fingers,” she said, thinking her speech amused him. “Thank you, I will,” he answered in jest,  and a few months later he did it in earnest. “Laurie, when are you going to  your grandfather?” she asked presently, as she settled  herself on a rustic seat. “Very soon.” “You have said that a dozen times  within the last three weeks.” “I dare

say, short answers save trouble.” “He expects you, and you really ought to go.” “Hospitable creature! I know it.” “Then why don’t you do it?” “Natural depravity, I suppose.” “Natural indolence, you mean. It’s  really dreadful!” and Amy looked severe. “Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague  him if I went, so I might as well stay and plague you a little longer, you can bear it better, in  fact I think it agrees with you excellently,” and Laurie composed himself for a lounge  on the bro

ad ledge of the balustrade. Amy shook her head and opened her  sketchbook with an air of resignation, but she had made up her mind to lecture  ‘that boy’ and in a minute she began again. “What are you doing just now?” “Watching lizards.” “No, no. I mean what do  you intend and wish to do?” “Smoke a cigarette, if you’ll allow me.” “How provoking you are! I don’t approve  of cigars and I will only allow it on condition that you let me put you  into my sketch. I need a figure.” “With all the pleasu

re in life. How will  you have me, full length or three-quarters, on my head or my heels? I should  respectfully suggest a recumbent posture, then put yourself in also and  call it ‘Dolce far niente’.” “Stay as you are, and go to sleep  if you like. I intend to work hard,” said Amy in her most energetic tone. “What delightful enthusiasm!”  and he leaned against a tall urn with an air of entire satisfaction. “What would Jo say if she saw  you now?” asked Amy impatiently, hoping to stir him up by

the mention of  her still more energetic sister’s name. “As usual, ‘Go away, Teddy. I’m  busy!’” He laughed as he spoke, but the laugh was not natural,  and a shade passed over his face, for the utterance of the familiar name  touched the wound that was not healed yet. Both tone and shadow struck Amy, for she had seen  and heard them before, and now she looked up in time to catch a new expression on Laurie’s face—a  hard bitter look, full of pain, dissatisfaction, and regret. It was gone before

she could study  it and the listless expression back again. She watched him for a moment with artistic  pleasure, thinking how like an Italian he looked, as he lay basking in the sun with uncovered  head and eyes full of southern dreaminess, for he seemed to have forgotten  her and fallen into a reverie. “You look like the effigy of a  young knight asleep on his tomb,” she said, carefully tracing the well-cut  profile defined against the dark stone. “Wish I was!” “That’s a foolish wish, unless y

ou have spoiled  your life. You are so changed, I sometimes think—” there Amy stopped, with a half-timid, half-wistful  look, more significant than her unfinished speech. Laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety  which she hesitated to express, and looking straight into her eyes, said, just as he used to  say it to her mother, “It’s all right, ma’am.” That satisfied her and set at rest the  doubts that had begun to worry her lately. It also touched her, and she showed that it  did, by

the cordial tone in which she said... “I’m glad of that! I didn’t think you’d been  a very bad boy, but I fancied you might have wasted money at that wicked Baden-Baden, lost your  heart to some charming Frenchwoman with a husband, or got into some of the scrapes that young men  seem to consider a necessary part of a foreign tour. Don’t stay out there in the sun, come and  lie on the grass here and ‘let us be friendly’, as Jo used to say when we got in  the sofa corner and told secrets.” Laurie

obediently threw himself down on the turf, and began to amuse himself by sticking daisies  into the ribbons of Amy’s hat, that lay there. “I’m all ready for the secrets.” and he glanced up  with a decided expression of interest in his eyes. “I’ve none to tell. You may begin.” “Haven’t one to bless myself with. I thought  perhaps you’d had some news from home..” “You have heard all that has come lately. Don’t you hear often? I fancied  Jo would send you volumes.” “She’s very busy. I’m roving abou

t so, it’s  impossible to be regular, you know. When do you begin your great work of art, Raphaella?”  he asked, changing the subject abruptly after another pause, in which he had been wondering if  Amy knew his secret and wanted to talk about it. “Never,” she answered, with  a despondent but decided air. “Rome took all the vanity out of me,  for after seeing the wonders there, I felt too insignificant to live and  gave up all my foolish hopes in despair.” “Why should you, with so much energy an

d talent?” “That’s just why, because talent isn’t genius, and  no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing. I won’t be a common-place  dauber, so I don’t intend to try any more.” “And what are you going to do  with yourself now, if I may ask?” “Polish up my other talents, and be an  ornament to society, if I get the chance.” It was a characteristic speech, and sounded  daring, but audacity becomes young people, and Amy’s ambition had a good foundation. Laurie  smiled, but

he liked the spirit with which she took up a new purpose when a long-cherished  one died, and spent no time lamenting. “Good! And here is where Fred  Vaughn comes in, I fancy.” Amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was  a conscious look in her downcast face that made Laurie sit up and say gravely, “Now I’m going  to play brother, and ask questions. May I?” “I don’t promise to answer.” “Your face will, if your tongue won’t. You  aren’t woman of the world enough yet to hide your feelings, my

dear. I heard  rumors about Fred and you last year, and it’s my private opinion that if he had not  been called home so suddenly and detained so long, something would have come of it, hey?” “That’s not for me to say,” was Amy’s grim  reply, but her lips would smile, and there was a traitorous sparkle of the eye which betrayed  that she knew her power and enjoyed the knowledge. “You are not engaged, I hope?” and Laurie looked  very elder-brotherly and grave all of a sudden. “No.” “But you will b

e, if he comes back and goes  properly down on his knees, won’t you?” “Very likely.” “Then you are fond of old Fred?” “I could be, if I tried.” “But you don’t intend to try till  the proper moment? Bless my soul, what unearthly prudence! He’s a good fellow,  Amy, but not the man I fancied you’d like.” “He is rich, a gentleman, and has  delightful manners,” began Amy, trying to be quite cool and dignified, but feeling a little ashamed of herself, in  spite of the sincerity of her intentions. “I u

nderstand. Queens of society  can’t get on without money, so you mean to make a good match, and  start in that way? Quite right and proper, as the world goes, but it sounds odd from  the lips of one of your mother’s girls.” “True, nevertheless.” A short speech, but the quiet decision with which  it was uttered contrasted curiously with the young speaker. Laurie felt this instinctively and laid  himself down again, with a sense of disappointment which he could not explain. His look and silence, 

as well as a certain inward self-disapproval, ruffled Amy, and made her resolve to  deliver her lecture without delay. “I wish you’d do me the favor to rouse  yourself a little,” she said sharply. “Do it for me, there’s a dear girl.” “I could, if I tried.” and she looked as if she  would like doing it in the most summary style. “Try, then. I give you leave,” returned Laurie, who enjoyed having someone to tease, after  his long abstinence from his favorite pastime. “You’d be angry in five minutes

.” “I’m never angry with you. It takes two flints to  make a fire. You are as cool and soft as snow.” “You don’t know what I can do. Snow produces  a glow and a tingle, if applied rightly. Your indifference is half affectation, and  a good stirring up would prove it.” “Stir away, it won’t hurt me and it may amuse you,  as the big man said when his little wife beat him. Regard me in the light of a husband or a carpet, and beat till you are tired, if that  sort of exercise agrees with you.” Being

decidedly nettled herself, and longing to  see him shake off the apathy that so altered him, Amy sharpened both tongue and pencil, and began. “Flo and I have got a new name for you.  It’s Lazy Laurence. How do you like it?” She thought it would annoy him, but he  only folded his arms under his head, with an imperturbable, “That’s  not bad. Thank you, ladies.” “Do you want to know what  I honestly think of you?” “Pining to be told.” “Well, I despise you.” If she had even said ‘I hate you’ in a pe

tulant or  coquettish tone, he would have laughed and rather liked it, but the grave, almost sad, accent in her  voice made him open his eyes, and ask quickly... “Why, if you please?” “Because, with every chance for  being good, useful, and happy, you are faulty, lazy, and miserable.” “Strong language, mademoiselle.” “If you like it, I’ll go on.” “Pray do, it’s quite interesting.” “I thought you’d find it so. Selfish people  always like to talk about themselves.” “Am I selfish?” the question  sl

ipped out involuntarily and in a tone of surprise, for the one virtue  on which he prided himself was generosity. “Yes, very selfish,” continued Amy, in  a calm, cool voice, twice as effective just then as an angry one. “I’ll show you how,  for I’ve studied you while we were frolicking, and I’m not at all satisfied with you. Here  you have been abroad nearly six months, and done nothing but waste time and  money and disappoint your friends.” “Isn’t a fellow to have any  pleasure after a four-yea

r grind?” “You don’t look as if you’d had much. At  any rate, you are none the better for it, as far as I can see. I said when we first met  that you had improved. Now I take it all back, for I don’t think you half so  nice as when I left you at home. You have grown abominably lazy, you like  gossip, and waste time on frivolous things, you are contented to be petted and admired by  silly people, instead of being loved and respected by wise ones. With money, talent, position,  health, and beauty,

ah you like that old Vanity! But it’s the truth, so I can’t help saying it,  with all these splendid things to use and enjoy, you can find nothing to do but dawdle, and instead  of being the man you ought to be, you are only...” there she stopped, with a look  that had both pain and pity in it. “Saint Laurence on a gridiron,” added  Laurie, blandly finishing the sentence. But the lecture began to take effect, for  there was a wide-awake sparkle in his eyes now and a half-angry, half-injured exp

ression  replaced the former indifference. “I supposed you’d take it so. You men tell us we  are angels, and say we can make you what we will, but the instant we honestly try to do you  good, you laugh at us and won’t listen, which proves how much your flattery is worth.” Amy spoke bitterly, and turned her back  on the exasperating martyr at her feet. In a minute a hand came down over the page, so  that she could not draw, and Laurie’s voice said, with a droll imitation of a penitent child,  “I

will be good, oh, I will be good!” But Amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest,  and tapping on the outspread hand with her pencil, said soberly, “Aren’t you ashamed of a hand  like that? It’s as soft and white as a woman’s, and looks as if it never did anything but wear  Jouvin’s best gloves and pick flowers for ladies. You are not a dandy, thank Heaven, so I’m glad to  see there are no diamonds or big seal rings on it, only the little old one Jo gave you so long  ago. Dear soul, I wish she w

as here to help me!” “So do I!” The hand vanished as suddenly as it came,  and there was energy enough in the echo of her wish to suit even Amy. She glanced  down at him with a new thought in her mind, but he was lying with his hat half over his face,  as if for shade, and his mustache hid his mouth. She only saw his chest rise and fall, with  a long breath that might have been a sigh, and the hand that wore the ring nestled down  into the grass, as if to hide something too precious or too tende

r to be spoken of. All  in a minute various hints and trifles assumed shape and significance in Amy’s mind, and told  her what her sister never had confided to her. She remembered that Laurie never spoke voluntarily  of Jo, she recalled the shadow on his face just now, the change in his character, and the  wearing of the little old ring which was no ornament to a handsome hand. Girls are quick  to read such signs and feel their eloquence. Amy had fancied that perhaps a love trouble  was at the b

ottom of the alteration, and now she was sure of it. Her keen  eyes filled, and when she spoke again, it was in a voice that could be beautifully  soft and kind when she chose to make it so. “I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie,  and if you weren’t the sweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you’d be very angry with me.  But we are all so fond and proud of you, I couldn’t bear to think they should be  disappointed in you at home as I have been, though, perhaps they would understand 

the change better than I do.” “I think they would,” came from under the hat, in  a grim tone, quite as touching as a broken one. “They ought to have told me, and not let me  go blundering and scolding, when I should have been more kind and patient than ever. I never  did like that Miss Randal and now I hate her!” said artful Amy, wishing to be  sure of her facts this time. “Hang Miss Randal!” and Laurie knocked the hat off his face with a look that left no doubt  of his sentiments toward that yo

ung lady. “I beg pardon, I thought...” and  there she paused diplomatically. “No, you didn’t, you knew perfectly  well I never cared for anyone but Jo,” Laurie said that in his old, impetuous  tone, and turned his face away as he spoke. “I did think so, but as they never said  anything about it, and you came away, I supposed I was mistaken. And Jo wouldn’t be kind  to you? Why, I was sure she loved you dearly.” “She was kind, but not in the right way,  and it’s lucky for her she didn’t love me,

if I’m the good-for-nothing fellow you think me.  It’s her fault though, and you may tell her so.” The hard, bitter look came back again  as he said that, and it troubled Amy, for she did not know what balm to apply. “I was wrong, I didn’t know.  I’m very sorry I was so cross, but I can’t help wishing you’d  bear it better, Teddy, dear.” “Don’t, that’s her name for me!” and Laurie put  up his hand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in Jo’s half-kind, half-reproachful  tone. “Wait till

you’ve tried it yourself,” he added in a low voice, as he  pulled up the grass by the handful. “I’d take it manfully, and be respected  if I couldn’t be loved,” said Amy, with the decision of one  who knew nothing about it. Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had  borne it remarkably well, making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his  trouble away to live it down alone. Amy’s lecture put the matter in a new light,  and for the first time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the

first failure, and  shut himself up in moody indifference. He felt as if suddenly shaken out of a pensive dream  and found it impossible to go to sleep again. Presently he sat up and asked slowly, “Do  you think Jo would despise me as you do?” “Yes, if she saw you now. She  hates lazy people. Why don’t you do something splendid, and make her love you?” “I did my best, but it was no use.” “Graduating well, you mean? That was no  more than you ought to have done, for your grandfather’s sake. It w

ould have been shameful  to fail after spending so much time and money, when everyone knew that you could do well.” “I did fail, say what you will, for Jo wouldn’t love me,” began Laurie, leaning  his head on his hand in a despondent attitude. “No, you didn’t, and you’ll say so  in the end, for it did you good, and proved that you could do something if  you tried. If you’d only set about another task of some sort, you’d soon be your hearty,  happy self again, and forget your trouble.” “That’s im

possible.” “Try it and see. You needn’t shrug your shoulders,  and think, ‘Much she knows about such things’. I don’t pretend to be wise, but I am observing,  and I see a great deal more than you’d imagine. I’m interested in other people’s  experiences and inconsistencies, and though I can’t explain, I remember  and use them for my own benefit. Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don’t  let it spoil you, for it’s wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can’t have the  one you w

ant. There, I won’t lecture any more, for I know you’ll wake up and be a man  in spite of that hardhearted girl.” Neither spoke for several minutes. Laurie  sat turning the little ring on his finger, and Amy put the last touches to the hasty  sketch she had been working at while she talked. Presently she put it on his knee,  merely saying, “How do you like that?” He looked and then he smiled, as he could not well  help doing, for it was capitally done, the long, lazy figure on the grass, with li

stless face,  half-shut eyes, and one hand holding a cigar, from which came the little wreath of  smoke that encircled the dreamer’s head. “How well you draw!” he said, with a  genuine surprise and pleasure at her skill, adding, with a half-laugh, “Yes, that’s me.” “As you are. This is as you were.” and Amy  laid another sketch beside the one he held. It was not nearly so well done, but there was  a life and spirit in it which atoned for many faults, and it recalled the past so vividly that  a s

udden change swept over the young man’s face as he looked. Only a rough sketch of Laurie taming  a horse. Hat and coat were off, and every line of the active figure, resolute face, and commanding  attitude was full of energy and meaning. The handsome brute, just subdued, stood  arching his neck under the tightly drawn rein, with one foot impatiently pawing the ground,  and ears pricked up as if listening for the voice that had mastered him. In the ruffled mane,  the rider’s breezy hair and erect

attitude, there was a suggestion of suddenly arrested motion,  of strength, courage, and youthful buoyancy that contrasted sharply with the supine  grace of the ‘Dolce far Niente’ sketch. Laurie said nothing but as his eye went  from one to the other, Amy saw him flush up and fold his lips together as if he read and  accepted the little lesson she had given him. That satisfied her, and without waiting for  him to speak, she said, in her sprightly way... “Don’t you remember the day you played  R

arey with Puck, and we all looked on? Meg and Beth were frightened, but Jo clapped and  pranced, and I sat on the fence and drew you. I found that sketch in my portfolio the other  day, touched it up, and kept it to show you.” “Much obliged. You’ve improved immensely since  then, and I congratulate you. May I venture to suggest in ‘a honeymoon paradise’ that five  o’clock is the dinner hour at your hotel?” Laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures  with a smile and a bow and looked at his w

atch, as if to remind her that even moral lectures  should have an end. He tried to resume his former easy, indifferent air, but it was an affectation  now, for the rousing had been more effacious than he would confess. Amy felt the shade of  coldness in his manner, and said to herself... “Now, I’ve offended him. Well,  if it does him good, I’m glad, if it makes him hate me, I’m sorry, but it’s  true, and I can’t take back a word of it.” They laughed and chatted all the way  home, and little Bap

tiste, up behind, thought that monsieur and madamoiselle were in  charming spirits. But both felt ill at ease. The friendly frankness was disturbed,  the sunshine had a shadow over it, and despite their apparent gaiety, there was  a secret discontent in the heart of each. “Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?”  asked Amy, as they parted at her aunt’s door. “Unfortunately I have an engagement.  Au revoir, madamoiselle,” and Laurie bent as if to kiss  her hand, in the foreign fashion, which b

ecame him better than many men. Something  in his face made Amy say quickly and warmly... “No, be yourself with me, Laurie,  and part in the good old way. I’d rather have a hearty English handshake than  all the sentimental salutations in France.” “Goodbye, dear,” and with these words, uttered  in the tone she liked, Laurie left her, after a handshake almost  painful in its heartiness. Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a note which made her smile  at the beginning and sigh at

the end. My Dear Mentor, Please make  my adieux to your aunt, and exult within yourself, for ‘Lazy Laurence’  has gone to his grandpa, like the best of boys. A pleasant winter to you, and may the gods  grant you a blissful honeymoon at Valrosa! I think Fred would be benefited by a rouser.  Tell him so, with my congratulations. Yours gratefully, Telemachus “Good boy! I’m glad he’s gone,”  said Amy, with an approving smile. The next minute her face fell as she glanced about  the empty room, addin

g, with an involuntary sigh, “Yes, I am glad, but how I shall miss him.”