Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling1 suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of a black woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap 326 of the same material, adorned2 with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon3 to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally, to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" They did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive4 article of dress was drawn5 low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was going on; in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew6; and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew; and not until the red bow was seen gayly erect7 upon the gifted brow, did any one dare address Jo.
She did not think herself a genius by any means; but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook8 her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The divine afflatus9 usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her "vortex," hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent10.
She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return for her virtue11 was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course, the lecture on the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles12 than that of the Sphinx.
They were early; and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking, Jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads, and bonnets13 to match, discussing Woman's Rights 327 and making tatting. Beyond sat a pair of humble14 lovers, artlessly holding each other by the hand, a sombre spinster eating peppermints15 out of a paper bag, and an old gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna16. On her right, her only neighbor was a studious-looking lad absorbed in a newspaper.
It was a pictorial17 sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, idly wondering what unfortuitous concatenation of circumstances needed the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice18 with a wolf at his throat, while two infuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally19 small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each other close by, and a dishevelled female was flying away in the background with her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking, and, with boyish good-nature, offered half his paper, saying bluntly, "Want to read it? That's a first-rate story."
Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown21 her liking22 for lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth23 of love, mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literature in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's invention fails, a grand catastrophe24 clears the stage of one half the dramatis person?, leaving the other half to exult25 over their downfall.
"Prime, isn't it?" asked the boy, as her eye went down the last paragraph of her portion.
"I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," returned Jo, amused at his admiration26 of the trash.
"I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes a good living out of such stories, they say;" and he pointed27 to the name of Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. Northbury, under the title of the tale.
"Do you know her?" asked Jo, with sudden interest.
"No; but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in the office where this paper is printed."
"Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" and Jo looked more respectfully at the agitated28 group and thickly-sprinkled exclamation-points that adorned the page.
"Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for writing it."
328 Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while Prof. Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and hieroglyphics29, she was covertly30 taking down the address of the paper, and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its columns for a sensational31 story. By the time the lecture ended and the audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the first founded upon paper), and was already deep in the concoction32 of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel33 should come before the elopement or after the murder.
She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to the disquiet34 of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when "genius took to burning." Jo had never tried this style before, contenting herself with very mild romances for the "Spread Eagle." Her theatrical35 experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to make it, and, having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate dénouement. The manuscript was privately36 despatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth.
A check for one hundred dollars
Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret; but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which almost took her breath away; for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the amiable37 gentleman who wrote that kindly38 note could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellow-creature, I think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement; for Jo valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging; and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.
A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having 329 composed herself, she electrified39 the family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee40, and when the story came every one read and praised it; though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty41, and the tragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way,—
"You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the money."
"I think the money is the best part of it. What will you do with such a fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverential eye.
"Oh, how splendid! No, I can't do it, dear, it would be so selfish," cried Beth, who had clapped her thin hands, and taken a long breath, as if pining for fresh ocean-breezes; then stopped herself, and motioned away the check which her sister waved before her.
"Ah, but you shall go, I've set my heart on it; that's what I tried for, and that's why I succeeded. I never get on when I think of myself alone, so it will help me to work for you, don't you see? Besides, Marmee needs the change, and she won't leave you, so you must go. Won't it be fun to see you come home plump and rosy43 again? Hurrah44 for Dr. Jo, who always cures her patients!"
To the sea side they went, after much discussion; and though Beth didn't come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was 330 much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger; so Jo was satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent45 on earning more of those delightful46 checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house; for by the magic of a pen, her "rubbish" turned into comforts for them all. "The Duke's Daughter" paid the butcher's bill, "A Phantom47 Hand" put down a new carpet, and the "Curse of the Coventrys" proved the blessing48 of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns.
Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings49 of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny.
Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market; and, encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her confidential50 friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired.
"Now I must either bundle it back into my tin-kitchen to mould, pay for printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers, and get what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is more convenient; so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important subject," said Jo, calling a family council.
"Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen51," was her father's advice; and he practised as he preached, having waited patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it, even now, when it was sweet and mellow52.
"It seems to me that Jo will profit more by making the trial than by waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the best test of such work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next time. We are too partial; but the praise and 331 blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money."
"Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it; I've been fussing over the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial53 persons take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it."
"I wouldn't leave out a word of it; you'll spoil it if you do, for the interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the people, and it will be all a muddle54 if you don't explain as you go on," said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkable55 novel ever written.
"But Mr. Allen says, 'Leave out the explanations, make it brief and dramatic, and let the characters tell the story,'" interrupted Jo, turning to the publisher's note.
"Do as he tells you; he knows what will sell, and we don't. Make a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By and by, when, you've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical56 and metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who took a strictly57 practical view of the subject.
"Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people are 'philosophical and metaphysical,' it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things, except what I hear father say, sometimes. If I've got some of his wise ideas jumbled58 up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, what do you say?"
"I should so like to see it printed soon," was all Beth said, and smiled in saying it; but there was an unconscious emphasis on the last word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor59, which chilled Jo's heart, for a minute, with a foreboding fear, and decided60 her to make her little venture "soon."
So, with Spartan61 firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasing every one, she took every one's advice; and, like the old man and his donkey in the fable62, suited nobody.
Her father liked the metaphysical streak63 which had unconsciously got into it; so that was allowed to remain, though she had her doubts about it. Her mother thought that there was a trifle too much 332 description; out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary links in the story. Meg admired the tragedy; so Jo piled up the agony to suit her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo quenched64 the sprightly65 scenes which relieved the sombre character of the story. Then, to complete the ruin, she cut it down one third, and confidingly66 sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin67, out into the big, busy world, to try its fate.
Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it; likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment, from which it took her some time to recover.
"You said, mother, that criticism would help me; but how can it, when it's so contradictory68 that I don't know whether I've written a promising69 book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo, turning over a heap of notices, the perusal70 of which filled her with pride and joy one minute, wrath71 and dire72 dismay the next. "This man says 'An exquisite73 book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness; all is sweet, pure, and healthy,'" continued the perplexed74 authoress. "The next, 'The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid75 fancies, spiritualistic ideas, and unnatural20 characters.' Now, as I had no theory of any kind, don't believe in Spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, I don't see how this critic can be right. Another says, 'It's one of the best American novels which has appeared for years' (I know better than that); and the next asserts that 'though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous book.' 'Tisn't! Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound76, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged."
Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally; yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant so well, and had apparently77 done so ill. But it did her good, for those whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is an author's best education; and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting78 she had received.
333 "Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly79; "and I've got the joke on my side, after all; for the parts that were taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced 'charmingly natural, tender, and true.' So I'll comfort myself with that; and when I'm ready, I'll up again and take another."
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1
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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afflatus
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| n.灵感，神感 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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peppermints
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| n.薄荷( peppermint的名词复数 )；薄荷糖 | |
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bandanna
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| n.大手帕 | |
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pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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40
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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53
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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54
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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spartan
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| adj.简朴的，刻苦的；n.斯巴达；斯巴达式的人 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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64
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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confidingly
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| adv.信任地 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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68
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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69
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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70
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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71
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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72
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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73
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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74
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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75
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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76
expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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77
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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78
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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