Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (6 page)

           
Skilled too is the use made by
Louisa Alcott of scenes and episodes of her life that she saw fit to entwine in
these tales. A Russian baron, encountered at the Pension Victoria in Vevey,
Switzerland, where she was companion to an invalid in 1865, is recognizable in
the Tartar tamed bv Sybil Varna.
⁴ⁱ
A visit to Gloucester and
Norman’s Woe in 1864 had literary consequences the following year when “Ariel.
A Legend of the Lighthouse” was produced. This tale of a creature of the sea is
set in a lighthouse on an island. On the island’s further side is a chasm, a
great split in the rock on Gull’s Perch through which the sea flows. The chasm
bears likeness to that deeply cut fissure in the ledge near Magnolia,
Massachusetts, known as Rafe’s Chasm, a rockbound channel through which the sea
rushes with tremendous force.
⁴⁴
What she saw, Louisa Alcott used,
molding scenes and characters — along with her convictions and her furies —
into the tales she told.

 
          
The
connections between Alcott’s life and literature may now be further explored.
Assuredly, there are intriguing queries still awaiting firm answers. Which
particular performance of
Macbeth
induced her to pick up her pen and
indite “A Pair of Eyes”? Was it indeed Fuseli’s portrait of Lady Macbeth or
some other that she depicted on Max Erdmann’s canvas? Was it
her
own
“Captive of Castile” or another Spanish play she had in mind when
she wrote “A Double Tragedv” for Erank Leslie? Was she herself ever mesmerized,
or did she rely simply upon the text of Dr. Theodore Leger? What initially
attracted her to the dark theme of Hindu Thuggism? Was it Meadows Taylor’s
triple-decker alone? Most important, what power struggles beyond
father-daughter relations and the experience in domestic service — struggles
thus far hidden from her biographers — did she win or lose and weave into her stories?
As more of her sensational tales emerge, so too do enigmas
that eall for solutions.

[43.] Louisa
May Alcott, “Life in a Pension,”
The Independent
(
7 November 1867
), 2.

[44.] Although
“Rafe’s Chasm is at the water’s edge in Magnolia, a section of
Gloucester
, and not on an island”
(Marion A. Harding, Cape Ann Historical Association), it bears a striking
resemblance to the chasm in “Ariel.”

 
          
Always
one persistent question remains: VVhat further anonymous Aleott stories with
still more varied themes lie buried in the crumbling pages of
nineteenth-century periodicals, how many more graphically illustrated
installments of other tales of darkness — written in secret and published
without a name — await the pursuit of researcher, the delight of avid reader?

 
          
Although
it may not be necessary to rewrite Alcott’s biography, it is necessary to rcw
rite more radically our concept of this
Concord
author, this delver into dark and diverse
themes, this keeper of many secrets. Her achievement, ranging from the exotic
to the domestic, appears to be even grander and more varied than had been
suspected. It is time it was fully recognized and reassessed.

 
          
A
DOUBLE LIFE reprints five stories written by Louisa May Aleott and published
anonymously in nineteenth-century newspapers and magazines. The sources for
these texts are:

 
          
“A
Pair of Eyes; or, Modern Magic,”
Frank Leslies Illustrated Newspaper
; 24
and
31 October 1863
, 69-71, 85-87.

 
          
“The
Fate of the Forrests,”
Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper,
11,
18, and
25 February 1865
, 325-326, 341-343,
362
-363.

 
          
“A Double Tragedy.
An Actor’s Story,”
Frank
Leslie's Chimney Corner
;
3 June
1865
, 1-3.

 
          
“Ariel.
A Legend of the Lighthouse,”
Frank Leslie's
Chimney Corner
, 8 and 15 July 1865, 81-83, 99-101.

 
          
“Taming
a Tartar,”
Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper
; 30 November, and 7, 14,
and 21 December 1867, 166-167, 186-187, 202-203, 219.

 
 
          
In
preparing these stories for publication, we have made emendations only where
the text would be obviously in error or unclear without them. For example, we
have corrected obvious spelling and typographical errors, inserted words and
punctuation marks for clarity, and provided missing single or double quotation
marks. We have let stand nineteenth-century spellings (such as “to-day”) and
inconsistencies in capitalization, hyphenation, and commas in series. We have
also declined to alter such technical matters as the error in “The Fate of the
Forrests” when in Part I Felix whispers “three words” in Kate’s ear and in Part
II tells Ursula that they were “‘To win my heart.’” Alcott was careless in
preparing her manuscripts for publication, and compositors for
nineteenth-century newspapers and magazines were not particularly careful in
setting type from even the best-prepared copy, so we have in general tried to
modernize or “correct” these texts as little as possible.

 
         
I was
DISAPPOINTED — the great actress had not given me what I wanted, and my picture
must still remain unfinished for want of a pair of eyes. I knew w hat they
should be, saw them clearly in my fancy, but though they haunted me by night
and day I could not paint them, could not find a model who would represent the
aspect I desired, could not describe it to any one, and though I looked into
every face I met, and visited afflicted humanity in many shapes, I could find
no eyes that visibly presented the vacant yet not unmeaning stare of Ladv
Macbeth in her haunted sleep. It fretted me almost beyond endurance to be
delayed in my work so near its completion, for months of thought and labor had
been bestow ed upon it; the few w ho had seen it in its imperfect state had
elated me with commendation, whose critical sincerity I kjnew the worth of; and
the many not admitted were impatient for a sight of that which others praised,
and to w hich the memory of former successes lent an interest beyond mere
curiosity. All was done, and well done, except the eyes; the dimly lighted
chamber, the listening attendants, the ghostly figure with wan face framed in
hair, that streamed shadowy and long against white draperies, and whiter arms,
whose gesture told that the parted lips were uttering that mournful cry —

 
          
“Here’s
the smell of blood still!

           
All the perfumes of
Arabia
will not

           
Sweeten this little hand
— ”

 
          
The
eyes alone baffled me, and for want of these my work waited, and my last
success was yet unwon.

 
          
I
was in a curious mood that night, weary yet restless, eager yet impotent to
seize the object of my search, and full of haunting images that would not stay
to be reproduced. My friend was absorbed in the play, which no longer possessed
any charm for me, and leaning back in my seat I fell into a listless reverie,
still harping on the one idea of my life; for impetuous and resolute in all
things, l had given myself body and soul to the profession I had chosen and
followed through many vicissitudes for fifteen years. Art was wife, child,
friend, food and fire to me; the pursuit of fame as a reward for my long labor
was the object for which I lived, the hope which gave me courage to press on
over every obstacle, sacrifice and suffering, for the word “defeat” was not in
my vocabulary. Sitting thus, alone, though in a crowd, I slowly became aware of
a disturbing influence whose power invaded my momentary isolation, and soon
took shape in the uncomfortable conviction that some one was looking at me.
Every one has felt this, and at another time I should have cared little for it,
but just then I was laboring under a sense of injury, for of all the myriad
eyes about me none would give me the expression I longed for; and unreasonable
as it was, the thought that I was watched annoyed me like a silent insult. I
sent a searching look through the boxes on either hand, swept the remoter
groups with a powerful glass, and scanned the sea of heads below, but met no
answering glance; all faces were turned stage- ward, all minds seemed intent
upon the tragic scenes enacting there.

 
          
Failing
to discover any visible cause for my fancy, I tried to amuse myself with the
play, but having seen it many times and being in an ill-humor with the heroine
of the hour, my thoughts soon wandered, and though still apparently an
interested auditor, I heard nothing, saw nothing, for the instant my mind
became abstracted the same uncanny sensation returned. A vague consciousness
that some stronger nature was covertly exerting its power upon my own; I smiled
as this whim first suggested itself, but it rapidly grew upon me, and a curious
feeling of impotent resistance took possession of me, for I was indignant
without knowing why, and longed to rebel against — I knew not what. Again I
looked far and wide, met several inquiring glances from near neighbors, but
none that answered my demand by any betrayal of especial interest or malicious
pleasure. Baffled, yet not satisfied, I turned to myself, thinking to find the
cause of my disgust there, but did not succeed. I seldom drank wine, had not
worked intently that day, and except the picture had no anxiety to harass me;
vet without anv physical or mental cause that I could discover, every nerve
seemed jangled out of tune, my temples beat, my breath came short, and the air
seemed feverishly close, though I had not perceived it until then. I did not
understand this mood and with an impatient gesture took the playbill from my
friends
knee, gathered it into my hand and fanned myself
like a petulant woman, I suspect, for Louis turned and surveyed me with
surprise as he asked:

 
          
“What
is it, Max; you seem annoyed?”

 
          
“I
am, but absurd as it is, I don’t know why, except a foolish fancy that someone
whom I do not see is looking at me and wishes me to look at him.”

 
          
Louis
laughed — “Of course there is, aren’t you used to it yet? And are you so modest
as not to know that many eyes take stolen glances at the rising artist, whose
ghosts and goblins make their hair stand on end so charmingly? I had the
mortification to discover some time ago that, young and comely as I take the
liberty of thinking myself, the upturned lorgnettes are not levelled at me, but
at the stern-faced, black-bearded gentleman beside me, for he looks
particularly moody and interesting to-night.”

 
          
“Bah!
I just wish I could inspire some of those starers with gratitude enough to set
them w alking in their sleep for my benefit and their own future glory. Your
suggestion has proved a dead failure, the woman there cannot give me what I
want, the picture will never get done, and the whole affair will go to the
deuce for want of a pair of eyes.”

           
I rose to go as I spoke, and there
they were behind me!

 
          
What
sort of expression my face assumed I cannot tell, for I forgot time and place,
and might have committed some absurdity if Louis had not pulled me down with a
look that made me aware that I was staring with an utter disregard of common
courtesy.

 
          
“Who
are those people? Do you know them?” I demanded in a vehement whisper.

 
          
“Yes,
but put down that glass and sit still or I’ll call an usher to put you out,” he
answered, scandalized at my energetic
demonstrations.                                             
.

 
          
“Good!
then
introduce me — now at once — Come on,” and I rose
again, to be again arrested.

 
          
“Are
you possessed to-night? You have visited so many fever wards and madhouses in
your search that you’ve unsettled your own wits, Max. What whim has got into
your brain now? And why do you want to know those people in such haste?”

 
          
“Your
suggestion has not proved failure, a woman can give me what I want, the picture
will be finished, and nothing will go to the deuce, for I’ve found the eves —
now be obliging and help me to secure them.”

 
          
Louis
stared at me as if he seriously began to think me a little mad, but restrained
the explosive remark that rose to his lips and answered hastily, as several
persons looked round as if our whispering annoyed them.

 
          
“I’ll
take you in there after the play if you must go, so for heavens sake behave
like a gentleman till then, and let me enjoy myself in peace.”

 
          
I
nodded composedly, he returned to his tragedy and shading my eyes with my hand,
I took a critical survey, feeling more and more assured that my long search was
at last ended. Three persons occupied the^box, a well-dressed elderly lady
dozing behind her fan, a lad leaning over the front absorbed in the play, and a
young lady looking straight before her with the aspect I had waited for with
such impatience. T his figure I scrutinized with the eye of an artist which
took in every accessory of outline, ornament and hue.

           
Framed in darkest hair,
rose
a face delicately cut, but cold and colorless as that
of any statue in the vestibule without. The lips were slightly parted with the
long slow breaths that came and went, the forehead was femininely broad and
low, the brows straight and black, and underneath them the mysterious eyes
fixed on vacancy, full of that weird regard so hard to counterfeit, so
impossible to describe; for though absent, it was not expressionless, and
through its steadfast shine a troubled meaning wandered, as if soul and body
could not be utterly divorced by any effort of the will. She seemed unconscious
of the scene about her, for the fixture of her glance never changed, and
nothing about her stirred but the jewel on her bosom, whose changeful glitter
seemed to vary as it rose and fell. Emboldened by this apparent absorption, I
prolonged my scrutiny and scanned this countenance as I had never done a womans
face before. During this examination I had forgotten myself in her, feeling
only a strong desire to draw nearer and dive deeper into those two dark wells
that seemed so tranquil vet so fathomless, and in the act of trying to fix
shape, color and expression in my memory, I lost them all; for a storm of
applause broke the attentive hush as the curtain fell, and like one startled
from sleep a flash of intelligence lit up the eyes, then a white hand was
passed across them, and long downcast lashes hid them from my sight.

 
          
Louis
stood up, gave himself a comprehensive survey, and walked out, saying, with a
nod,

 
          
“Now,
Max, put on your gloves, shake the hair out of your eyes, assume your best
‘deportment,’ and come and take an observation which may immortalize your
name.”

 
          
Knocking
over a chair in mv haste, I followed close upon his heels, as he tapped at the
next door; the lad opened it, bowed to my conductor, glanced at me and strolled
away, while we passed in. The elderly lady was awake, now, and received us
graciously; the younger was leaning on her hand, the plumy fan held between her
and the glare of the great chandelier as she watched the moving throng below.

 
          
“Agatha,
here is Mr. Yorke and a friend whom he wishes to present to you,” said the old
lady, with a shade of deference in her manner which betrayed the companion, not
the friend.

           
Agatha turned, gave Louis her hand,
with a slow smile dawning on her lip, and looked up at me as if the fact of my
advent had no particular interest for her, and my appearance promised no great
pleasure.

 
          
“Miss
Eure, my friend Max Erdmann yearned to be made happy by a five minutes
audience, and I ventured to bring him without sending an
avant courier
to prepare the wav. Am I forgiven?” with which half daring, half apologetic
introduction, Louis turned to the chaperone and began to rattle.

 
          
Miss
Eure bowed, swept the waves of silk from the chair beside her, and I sat down
with a bold request waiting at my lips till an auspicious moment came, having
resolved not to exert myself for nothing. As we discussed the usual topics
suggested by the time and place, I looked often into the face before me and
soon found it difficult to look away again, for it was a constant surprise to
me. The absent mood had passed and with it the frost seemed to have melted from
mien and manner, leaving a living woman in the statue’s place. I had thought
her melancholy, but her lips were dressed in smiles, and frequent peals of
low'-toned laughter parted them like pleasant music; I had thought her pale,
but in either cheek now bloomed a color deep and clear as any tint my palette
could have given; I had thought her shy and proud at first, but with each
moment her manner warmed, her speech grew franker and her whole figure seemed
to glow' and brighten as if a brilliant lamp were lit behind the pale shade she
had w orn before. But the eyes were the greatest surprise of all — I had
fancied them dark, and found them the light, sensitive gray belonging to highly
nervous temperaments. They were remarkable eyes; for though softly fringed with
shadowy lashes they were not mild, but fiery and keen, w'ith many lights and
shadow's in them as the pupils dilated, and the irids shone with a transparent
lustre w'hich varied with her varying w'ords, and proved the existence of an
ardent, imperious nature underneath the seeming snow.

 
          
They
exercised a curious fascination over me and kept my ow'n obedient to their
will, although scarce conscious of it at the time and believing mine to be the
controlling pow'er. Wherein the charm lay I cannot tell; it was not the influence
of a womanly presence alone, for fairer faces had smiled at me in vain; vet as
I sat there I felt a pleasant quietude creep over me, I knew my voice had
fallen to a lower key, my eye softened from its wonted cold indifference, my
manner grown smooth and my demeanor changed to one almost as courtly as my
friend’s, who well deserved his soubriquet of “Louis the Debonnair.”