Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (5 page)

 
          
Only
when her publishers, Roberts Brothers of Boston, projected a “No Name Series”
would the author of Little Women revert to the literary subterfuge of the
author of "Behind a Mask. In A Modern Mephistopheles, published anonymously
in that series in 1877, Louisa Alcott fused the influences of Hawthorne and
Goethe and added to her cast of “lurid” characters the pagan figure of Felix
Canaris, who sold liberty- and love for fame; the sybarite Jasper Helwyze.
her
modern Mephistopheles,” who sought out the evil in
mankind: and Olivia the mellow beauty. “It has been simmering,” the author
wrote in her journal, “ever since I read Faust last year.
Enjoyed
doing it, being tired of providing moral pap for the young.”
Surely The
Children's Friend must have found nostalgic pleasure in returning to the
ingredients of earlier caldrons: hashish enclosed in a tortoiseshell bon-
bonniere; mesmerism; “skins mooned and barred with black upon the tawny
velvet”; a heroine who walked, as Pauline Valary had done, with the “restless
grace of a leopardess pacing its cage.”

 
          
Yet
No. 6 in the “No Name Series” could not restore the past to the author of No.
50 in the Ten Cent Novelettes series. The past was buried between the fading
blue wrappers of those Ten Cent Novelettes or in the dusty pages of the once
gaudy weeklies The Flag of Our Union, Frank Leslie s Illustrated Newspaper. It
is time to brush the dust away, for the stories are better than their author
realized and their reprinting is long overdue.

 
          
Although
they are rare and all but impossible to find today, rarity- alone would not
entitle them to the wide readership which should be accorded this collection.
Like all the authors of sensational literature. Louisa Alcott was equipped with
a riotous imagination, a dramatic instinct, and an indefatigable right hand. If
she borrowed from other Gothic romancers the trappings of a rich aristocracy in
which she could forget her own penury, if her language upon occasion was high-style
pompous and her themes ghostly-gruesome, she nonetheless added much of her own
to the genre she had adopted. Her plotting was tight and well paced and she
used the serial form to heighten the mounting suspense of her narratives. Her
characterizations were natural and subtle and her gallery of
femmes
fatales forms a suite of flesh- and-blood portraits. Her own anger at an unjust
world she transformed into the anger of her heroines, who made of it a powerful
weapon with which to challenge fate. The psychological insights of A. M.
Barnard disclose the darker side of the character of Louisa May Alcott, and so
her stories must appeal enormously to all who have been enthralled by the life
and work of the author of Little Women. Since those same psychological insights
reveal her as intensely modern, intensely if obliquely feminist, her stories
must command an immediate response today. They are rich with interest for those
in search of current themes and preoccupations as well as for those in search
of Louisa May Alcott. And for those who seek merely the thrills of the cliff-
hanger, they bring the delights of the suspenseful tale well told.

 
          
The
four narratives selected for Behind a Mask are, it is hoped, an earnest, a
foretaste of others that will follow.
For Louisa Alcott was
indeed a natural—an almost limitless—“source of stories.”
Here
hergorgeous fancies” and her flamboyant characters do “cavort at their own
sweet will.” And here, in an extraordinary union, the excitements of escape are
coupled with the excitements of self-discovery. She writes in a vortex behind
her mask and she proves
,
if proof is needed, that “the
writers of sensation novels are wiser in their generation than the children of
sweetness and light.”

 
          
           
"Has she come?"

 
          
           
"No, Mamma, not yet."

 
          
           
"I wish it were well over. The thought of it worries and excites me.
A cushion for my back, Bella."

 
          
           
And poor, peevish Mrs. Coventry sank into an easy chair with a nervous sigh and
the air of a martyr, while her pretty daughter hovered about her with
affectionate solicitude.

 
          
           
"Who are they talking of, Lucia?" asked the languid young man
lounging on a couch near his cousin, who bent over her tapestry work with a
happy smile on her usually haughty face.

 
          
           
"The new governess, Miss Muir.
Shall I tell you
about her?"

 
          
           
"No, thank you. I have an inveterate aversion to the whole tribe. I've
often thanked heaven that I had but one sister, and she a spoiled child, so
that I have escaped the infliction of a governess so long."

 
          
           
"How will you bear it now?" asked Lucia.

 
          
           
"Leave the house while she is in it."

 
          
           
"No, you won't. You're too lazy, Gerald," called out a younger and
more energetic man, from the recess where he stood teasing his dogs.

 
          
           
"I'll give her a three days' trial; if she proves endurable I shall not
disturb myself; if, as I am sure, she is a bore, I'm off anywhere, anywhere out
of her way."

 
          
           
"I beg you won't talk in that depressing manner, boys. I dread the coming
of a stranger more than you possibly can, but Bella
must
not be neglected; so I have nerved myself to endure this woman,
and Lucia is good enough to say she will attend to her after tonight."

 
          
           
"Don't be troubled, Mamma. She is a nice person, I dare say, and when once
we are used to her, I've no doubt we shall be glad to have her, it's so dull
here just now. Lady Sydney said she was a quiet, accomplished, amiable girl,
who needed a home, and would be a help to poor stupid me, so try to like her
for my sake."

 
          
           
"I will, dear, but isn't it getting late? I do hope nothing has happened.
Did you tell them to send a carriage to the station for her, Gerald?"

 
          
           
"I forgot it. But it's not far, it won't hurt her to walk" was the
languid reply.

 
          
           
"It was indolence, not forgetfulness, I know. I'm very sorry; she will
think it so rude to leave her to find her way so late. Do go and see to it,
Ned."

 
          
           
"Too late, Bella, the train was in some time ago. Give your orders to me
next time. Mother and I'll see that they are obeyed," said Edward.

 
          
           
"Ned is just at an age to make a fool of
himself
for any girl who comes in his way. Have a care of the governess, Lucia, or she
will bewitch him."

 
          
           
Gerald spoke in a satirical whisper, but his brother heard him and answered
with a good-humored laugh.

 
          
           
"I wish there was any hope of
your
making a fool
of yourself in that way, old fellow. Set me a good
example,
and I promise to follow it. As for the governess, she is a woman, and should be
treated with common civility. I should say a little extra kindness wouldn't be
amiss, either, because she is poor, and a stranger."

 
          
           
"That is my dear, good-hearted Ned! We'll stand by poor little Muir, won't
we?" And running to her brother, Bella stood on tiptoe to offer him a kiss
which he could not refuse, for the rosy lips were pursed up invitingly, and the
bright eyes full of sisterly affection.

 
          
           
"I do hope she has come, for, when I make an effort to see anyone, I hate
to make it in vain. Punctuality is
such
a virtue, and I know this woman hasn't got it, for she promised to be here at
seven, and now it is long after," began Mrs. Coventry, in an injured tone.

 
          
           
Before she could get breath for another complaint, the clock struck seven and
the doorbell rang.

 
          
           
"There she is!" cried Bella, and turned toward the door as if to go
and meet the newcomer.

 
          
           
But Lucia arrested her, saying authoritatively, "Stay here, child. It is
her place to come to you, not yours to go to her."

 
          
           
"Miss Muir," announced a servant, and a little black-robed figure
stood in the doorway. For an instant no one stirred, and the governess had time
to see and be seen before a word was uttered. All looked at her, and she cast
on the household group a keen glance that impressed them curiously; then her
eyes fell, and bowing slightly she walked in. Edward came forward and received
her with the frank cordiality which nothing could daunt or chill.

 
          
           
"Mother, this is the lady whom you expected. Miss Muir, allow me to
apologize for our apparent neglect in not sending for you. There was a mistake
about the carriage, or, rather, the lazy fellow to whom the order was given
forgot it. Bella, come here."

 
          
           
"Thank you, no apology is needed. I did not expect to be sent for."
And the governess meekly sat down without lifting her eyes.

 
          
           
"I am glad to see you. Let me take your things," said Bella, rather
shyly, for Gerald, still lounging, watched the fireside group with languid
interest, and Lucia never stirred. Mrs. Coventry took a second survey and
began:

 
          
           
"You were punctual, Miss Muir, which pleases me. I'm a sad invalid, as
Lady Sydney told you, I hope; so that Miss Coventry's lessons will be directed
by my niece, and you will go to her for directions, as she knows what I wish.
You will excuse me if I ask you a few questions, for Lady Sydney's note
was
very brief, and I left everything to her judgment."

 
          
           
"Ask anything you like, madam," answered the soft, sad voice.

 
          
           
"You are Scotch, I believe."

 
          
           
"Yes, madam."

 
          
           
"Are your parents living?"

 
          
           
"I have not a relation in the world."

 
          
           
"Dear me, how sad!
Do you mind telling me your
age?"

 
          
           
"Nineteen." And a smile passed over Miss Muir's lips, as she folded
her hands with an air of resignation, for the catechism was evidently to be a
long one.

 
          
           
"So young!
Lady Sydney mentioned five-and-twenty,
I think, didn't she, Bella?"

 
          
           
"No, Mamma, she only said she thought so. Don't ask such questions. It's
not pleasant before us all," whispered Bella.

 
          
           
A quick, grateful glance shone on her from the suddenly lifted eyes of
 
 Miss Muir, as she said quietly,
"I wish I was thirty, but, as I am not,
 
 I do my best to look and seem
old."
 
 

 
          
           
Of course, every one looked at her then, and all felt a touch of pity at the
sight of the pale-faced girl in her plain black dress, with no ornament but a
little silver cross at her throat. Small, thin, and colorless she was, with
yellow hair, gray eyes, and sharply cut, irregular, but very expressive
features. Poverty seemed to have set its bond stamp upon her, and life to have
had for her more frost than sunshine. But something in the lines of the mouth
betrayed
strength,
and the clear, low voice had a
curious mixture of command and entreaty in its varying tones. Not an attractive
woman, yet not an ordinary one; and, as she sat there with her delicate hands
lying in her lap, her head bent, and a bitter look on her thin face, she was
more interesting than many a blithe and blooming girl. Bella's heart warmed to
her at once, and she drew her seat nearer, while Edward went back to his dogs
that his presence might not embarrass her.

 
          
           
"You have been ill, I think," continued Mrs. Coventry, who considered
this fact the most interesting of all she had heard concerning the governess.

 
          
           
"Yes, madam, I left the hospital only a week ago."

 
          
           
"Are you quite sure it is safe to begin teaching so soon?"

 
          
           
"I have no time to lose, and shall soon gain strength here in the country,
if you care to keep me."

 
          
           
"And you are fitted to teach music, French, and drawing?"

 
          
           
"I shall endeavor to prove that I am."

 
          
           
"Be kind enough to go and play an air or two. I can judge by your touch;
 
 I used to play finely when a
girl."
 
 

 
          
           
Miss Muir rose, looked about her for the instrument, and seeing it at the other
end of the room went toward it, passing Gerald and Lucia as if she did not see
them. Bella followed, and in a moment forgot everything in admiration. Miss
Muir played like one who loved music and was perfect mistress of her art. She
charmed them all by the magic of this spell; even indolent Gerald sat up to
listen, and Lucia put down her needle, while Ned watched the slender white
fingers as they flew, and wondered at the strength and skill which they
possessed.

 
          
           
"Please sing," pleaded Bella, as a brilliant overture ended.

 
          
           
With the same meek obedience Miss Muir complied, and began a little Scotch
melody, so sweet, so sad, that the girl's eyes filled, and Mrs. Coventry looked
for one of her many pocket-handkerchiefs. But suddenly the music ceased, for,
with a vain attempt to support herself, the singer slid from her seat and lay
before the startled listeners, as white and rigid as if struck with death.
Edward caught her up, and, ordering his brother off the couch, laid her there,
while Bella chafed her hands, and her mother rang for her maid. Lucia bathed
the poor girl's temples, and Gerald, with unwonted energy, brought a glass of
wine. Soon Miss Muir's lips trembled, she sighed, then murmured, tenderly, with
a pretty Scotch accent, as if wandering in the past, "Bide wi' me, Mither,
I'm sae sick an sad here all alone."

 
          
           
"Take a sip of this, and it will do you good, my dear," said Mrs.
 
 Coventry, quite touched by the
plaintive words.
 
 

 
          
           
The strange voice seemed to recall her. She sat up, looked about her, a little
wildly, for a moment, then collected herself and said, with a pathetic look and
tone, "Pardon me. I have been on my feet all day, and, in my eagerness to
keep my appointment, I forgot to eat since morning. I'm better now; shall I finish
the song?"