Louisa May Alcott’s

“LITTLE WOMEN”A Romantic Play

by John Donald O’Shea

(An adaptation from Ms. Alcott’s novel)

Copyright 2014

John Donald O’Shea

The drawing on the cover is from an 1868-1869 printing of “Little Women.”

“LITTLE WOMEN”The Play

SYNOPSIS

This is the story of four young American women - three teen-agers and

their 12 year old sister - during and after the American Civil War.

This adaptation closely follows the main story-line of Ms. Alcottt’s long

novel.

It is the story of four young women raised by parents who lived their own

lives around the teachings of the Bible and John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.

And yet it is the story of four very different young women - women with

very different views of womanhood, marriage and what they want to do with

their lives.

It is the story of four young women, who while living according to their

parents’ teachings and their faith, successfully live their very different lives and

achieve their very different goals.

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“LITTLE WOMEN”The Play

Cast of Characters

(9 women and 7 men. * following the name of the characterindicates character can be “doubled.”)

Jo March Age 15 at beginning of play. Tall and thin. A tom-boy. Imaginative. Loves to write. Has a temper that is hard to control.

Meg March The eldest of the four sisters. Soft, sweet and pretty. Age 16 at beginning of play. Amy March The youngest. A blue-eyed blond with a nose that doesn’t please her. She carries herself as a young lady of importance, always mindful of her manner. A temper that matches Jo’s. Age 12 at curtain.

Beth March Age 13 at curtain. “Little Miss Tranquility.” Bright-eyed, shy and very timid. Never thinks of herself first.

Marmee March The girls’ mother. Thoughtful, caring, warm, solid. Concerned about her girls and others.

Hannah* The March family servant.

“Laurie” Lawrence The boy next door in the large house. He becomes “Jo’s boy.” a month short of 16

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at curtain. He is an orphan who lives with his grandfather. Handsome and thoughtful, but comes with a temper.

Mr. Lawrence Laurie’s wealthy grandfather. A menacing figure with a craggy face, gruff voice and and bushy eyebrows. But there is a twinkle in his eyes.

Dr. Bangs* The town doctor

John Brooke Laurie’s tutor. A handsome young man. An “excellent” young man.

Mr. March The girls‘ father and Marmee’s husband. A minister, and chaplain to the army at the beginning. Patient and wise.

Aunt March The girls‘ rich and opinionated aunt. Jo’s fussy employer.

Aunt Carrol* Another of the girls’ aunts. Sister of Mr. March. Mother of Flo.

Mrs. Kirke* Marmee’s friend, and Jo’s second employer Runs a Boarding House in New York.

Dashwood* Editor and publisher of Weekly Volcano

Professor Bhaer An immigrant for Germany, who resides at Mrs. Kirke’s Boarding House, and who supports himself and two orphan nephews by giving German lessons.

TIME AND SETTING

The play takes place in a small unnamed New England town. If begins about 1861 during the Civil War and covers roughly a 15-year period.

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“LITTLE WOMEN”SCENE 1

JUST BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

GIRLS BEMOAN NO PRESENTS.

DECIDE TO BUY PRESENTS FOR MARMEE.

THEY PRACTICE THE CHRISTMAS PLAY.

MARMEE COMES HOME.

FATHER’S LETTER. PLAYING PILGRIMS’ PROGRESS. THE RESOLUTIONS. PROMISE OF “GUIDE

BOOKS” UNDER PILLOW.

CHRISTMAS AT THE MARCHS’

(At curtain, we discover Jo, Meg, Amy and Beth seated in the March parlor and knitting

away in the twilight. Outside, a December snow falls. Inside, the fire crackles cheerfully

and shines brightly on the faces of the four little women. They sit in a comfortably

appointed parlor. The carpet is faded. The furniture is very plain. A good picture or two

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hang on the walls. Books fill shelves in the recesses. Chrysanthemums and Christmas

roses bloom in the windows. Overall, there is a pleasant atmosphere - a homey peace

pervades. The March parlor is the main venue of the play.

! Margaret, the eldest of the four, is sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair,

with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she

is rather vain.

! Fifteen-year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminds one of a

colt, for she never seems to know what to do with her long limbs. She has a decided

mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appear to see everything, and are

by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair is her one beauty, but it is

usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. There is a flyaway-look to her clothes,

and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who is rapidly shooting up into a woman

and who doesn’t like it.

!! Elizabeth - Beth as everyone calls her - is a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-

eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which

is seldom disturbed. Her father calls her `Little Miss Tranquility', and the name suits

her excellently, for she seems to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to

meet the few whom she trusts and loves.

! Amy, though the youngest, age 12, is a most important person, at least in her

own opinion. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her

shoulder. She is, pale and slender, and always carries herself like a young lady mindful

of her manners.)

!

! (The clock has just struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth has put a

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pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect

upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyone brightened to welcome her. Meg

stops lecturing, and lights the lamp, Amy gets out of the easy chair without being asked,

and Jo forgets how tired she is as she sits up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze)

Jo. (Lying on the rug. Dejectedly) Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents.

Meg. (Looking down at her old dress and sighing) It's so dreadful to be poor!

Amy. (With an injured sniff) I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty

! things, while other girls have nothing at all.

Beth. (Sitting in her corner) We've got Father and Mother, and each other.

Jo. (Sadly) We haven't got Father, and shall not have him for a long time."

(She doesn’t say "perhaps never," but each silently adds it, thinking of Father far away,

off in the Civil War where the fighting is)

Meg. (After a moment of concern for their father. Regretfully) Jo, you know the reason

! why Mother has proposed not having any presents this Christmas. She thinks

! we ought not spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the

! army.

Jo. (Disagreeing, but not selfishly) But, Meg, I don't think the little we might spend would

! do any good. We've each only have a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much

! helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I

! do want to buy “ Undine and Sintram” for myself. (Editor’s note: Two works of

! Friedrich de la Motte, Baron Fouque)

Beth. (With a little sigh) I planned to spend mine on new music.

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Amy. (Decidedly) I really need a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils.

Jo. Mother didn't say anything about our money, Meg, and she won't wish us to give up

! everything. Let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun. I'm sure we work

! hard enough to earn it.

Meg. (Complaining) I know I do, Jo -- teaching those tiresome children nearly all day.

Jo. How would you like to be shut up for hours with nervous, fussy old Aunt March,

! who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to

! fly out the window or cry?"

Beth. It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the

! worst work in the world. It makes me cross, and my hands get so stiff (looking at

! her rough hands, and sighing), I can't practice well at all."

Amy. I don't believe any of you suffer as I do! You don't have to go to school with

! impertinent girls, who plague you if you don't know your lessons, laugh at

! your dresses, label your father because he isn't rich, and insult you when

! your nose isn't nice."

Jo. (Laughing at Amy’s misused of “label”) Amy, if you mean “libel,” Don’t talk about

! “labels” - as if Papa was a pickle bottle!

Amy. (With wounded dignity) You know what I meant, and you needn't be satirical

! [again using the wrong word] about it.

Meg. (Upbraiding her sisters) Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we

! had the money Papa lost. How happy and good we'd be, if we had no

! worries!" (recalling better times).

Beth. (Recalling a prior inconsistency) You said the other day we were a good deal

! happier than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in

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! spite of their money."

Meg. So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to work, we have fun,

! and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say."

Amy. (Reproving Jo who is stretched out on the rug) Jo does use such slang words!"

(Jo sits up, puts her hands in her pockets, and begins to whistle)

Amy. Don't, Jo. It's so boyish!

Jo. That's why I do it.

Amy. I detest rude, unladylike girls!

Jo. (Nonchalantly) I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"

Beth. (Singing and with a funny little look on her face that causes both sharp voices to

! soften. Amy and Jo laugh and the bickering ends at least momentarily) Birds in

! their little nests agree.

Meg. (Beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion) Really, girls, you are both to be

! blamed. You are old enough, Josephine, to leave off boyish tricks, and to

! behave better, You’ve grown tall, and turn up your hair. Remember that you

! are a young lady.

Jo. I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm

! twenty! (Pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane). It's bad enough

! to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and manners! I'm dying to

! go and fight with Papa. Instead, I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old

! woman!

(Jo shakes the blue army sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball bounds

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across the room)

Beth. (Sympathetically) Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you must try to

! be contented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls.

Meg. (Still in big sister mode) As for you, Amy, you are altogether too particular and

! prim.Your airs are funny now, but you'll grow up an affected little goose. I like

! your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, but your absurd words are as

! bad as Jo's slang.

Beth. (Sweetly, ready to share Meg’s lecture) If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what

! am I, please?

Meg. (Warmly) You're a dear, and nothing else.

Beth. (Examining Marmee’s slippers) They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a

! new pair. I'll get her some with my dollar.

Amy. No, I shall!

Meg. I'm the oldest...

Jo. (Firmly cutting Meg off) ... I'm the man of the family now that Papa is away, and I

! shall provide the slippers.

Beth. I'll tell you what we'll do!" Let's each get her something for Christmas, and not get

! anything for ourselves.

Jo. (Approvingly) That's so like you, Beth, dear! What will we get?"

(Everyone soberly muses for a minute)

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Meg. (As if her idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands) I shall give her

! a nice pair of gloves.

Jo. (Excitedly) Army shoes! Best to be had! Or maybe slippers.

Beth. Some handkerchiefs. All hemmed.

Amy. (Killing two birds with one stone) I'll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it

! won't cost much, so I'll have some money left to buy my pencils."

Meg. "How will we give the things?

Jo. Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles. Proffering a

! solution) Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then surprise

! her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so much to do

! about the play for Christmas night. (Delivering the lines as she marches up and

! down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air)

Meg. (Not quite past acting, as she protests, as long as she can “dress up”) I'm getting

! too old to act.

Jo. (Aware of Meg’s weakness) You won't stop, as long as you can trail round in

! a white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best

! actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards.

! (Becoming the “director”) Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene. You are

! as stiff as a poker in that."

Amy. (With less concern for the play than for herself, and full of excuses) I can't help it. I

! have never seen anyone faint, and I don't choose to make myself all black and

! blue. I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol.

Jo. (Demonstrating) Do it this way. Clasp your hands so (illustrating) , and stagger

! across the room (illustrating), crying frantically (illustrating with a thrilling

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! melodramatic scream) ”Roderigo, Save me! Save me!” Then fall into a chair.

Amy. (Poking her hands out stiffly, jerking along mechanically) Roderigo Save me!

! Save me. (She staggers, faints and, after looking first to make sure where she is

! about to fall, falls into a chair. As she does, she drops character) Ow! (More

! suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish)

Jo. (Groans despairingly)

Meg. (Laughs outright)

Beth. (With amused pity) It's no use!

Jo. (Resigned) Do the best you can, and if the audience laughs, don't blame me. Come

! on, Meg.

(The play within the play commences)

Hugo. (Meg, melodramatically, as the villain) My plans are laid! And you,

! my pretty Zara ... You are in my power. I shall have you and

! your father’s gold. No one can save you now! (She laughs an evil laugh)

Zara. (Amy, as “Zara,” with all the emotion of a fence post. Roderigo Save me!

! Save me!

Hugo. (Mocking) Your prayers will not be answered. Roderigo, Your lover is

! mewed safely in my keep, fettered with iron chains, and drugged into

! lethargy. (He indicates the witch, his accomplice)

Hagar. (Beth, broadly conjuring, as “the witch”) Simmering toads that grace the

! kettle -- sap and bleed Roderigo’s mettle!!

Roderigo. (Jo bursting his chains) No witch’s potent, no evil, however dire, can

! overcome the heart that is pure. Before heaven, shackles fall asunder

! like leaves falling from a tree at Michaelmas. (Bounding forth) Hugo, you

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! cur, prepare to meet thy doom!

Hugo. (Turning and seeing Roderigo) Curses! How come you here?

Zara. (Again, with the emotion of a fence post) Roderigo, save me! Save me!

(Roderigo and Hugo duel. Roderigo runs the villain through)

Hugo. (Wounded, melodramatically) I have been forsaken by the powers of Hell!

! I shall have my revenge! You have not seen the last of me!

(Roderigo kicks over the witch’s kettle)

Roderigo. (To the witch) Your incantations and potents, are no match for a clean

! heart. Now, Hag, be gone at once, or suffer your master’s fate!

Zara. (Greatfully, but flatly) Roderigo, my love! You have come!

Roderigo. Zara, my darling. (They embrace)

Meg. (The dead villain sits up) It's the best play we've had yet.

Beth. (With genuine admiration) I don't see how you can write such splendid

! things, Jo. You're a regular Shakespeare!"

Jo. (With sincere modesty) Not quite. I do think “The Witch’s Curse,” my Operatic

! Tragedy is rather superior to this. But I would like to try “MacBeth.” (As “Lady

! MacBeth,” rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous

! tragedian do) “Is that a dagger that I see before me?"

Marmee. (Entering from front door, in a cheery voice) I’m Glad to find you so merry, my

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! girls. (The girls all turn to her)

(Marmee is a tall, motherly lady with a “can I help you” look about her, which is truly

delightful. She is not elegantly dressed, but is a noble-looking woman. She wears a

gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet; to the girls she is the most splendid mother in the

world)

Marmee. (With genuine interest) Well, how have you all gotten on today? There was

! so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow. (She pauses a second)

! Has anyone called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? (A slight pause) Jo, you look

! tired to death. Come and kiss me, Amy, baby."

(As she speaks, Marmee takes off her wet things, puts her warm slippers on, and sits

down in the easy chair. She draws Amy to her lap, and prepares to enjoy the happiest

hour of her busy day. The girls flitter about, trying to make things comfortable, each in

her own way. Meg arranges the tea table, Jo brings wood and sets chairs, dropping,

over-turning, and clattering everything she touches. Beth trots to and fro between parlor

kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gives directions to everyone, as she sits with her

hands folded. They gather about the table)

Marmee. (With a particularly happy face) I've got a treat for you.

Beth. (Happily clapping her hands) A treat?

Jo. A letter! A letter from Father?"

Marmee. Yes, He is well, and thinks he shall get through the cold season better than

! we feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and a special

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! message to you girls,"

Meg. (Warmly) I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he was too

! old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier!

Jo. Don't I wish I could go as a drummer! Or a nurse, so I could be near him and help

! him!

Amy. It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting

! things, and drink out of a tin mug.

Beth. (With a quiver in her voice) When will he come home, Marmee?

Marmee. Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his work

! faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for him back a minute sooner than

! he can be spared. Now, come and hear his letter.

"Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think

of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort

in their affection at all times. A year seems very long to wait

before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all

work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know they will

remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to

you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely,

and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I come back to them

I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women."

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(They all draw near to the fire. Marmee sits in the big chair with Beth at her feet. Meg

and Amy are perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leans on the back, where no

one would see any sign of emotion if the letter should happen to be touching. The letter

says little of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness. It is

a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military

news)

Amy. (Hiding her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbing) "I am a selfish girl! But

! I'll truly try to be better, so he may not be disappointed in me by-and-by."

Meg. We all will. I think too much of my looks and hate to work, but won't any more.

Jo. I'll try and be what he loves to call me, “a little woman” and not be rough and wild,

! but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else.

Beth. (Saying nothing, wipes away a tear with the blue army sock and begins to knit

! with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that lay nearest her as she

! quietly resolves to do as her father asks)

Marmee. Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrims’ Progress? Nothing delighted

! you more than to have me tie bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats,

! sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar,

! which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop, where you had all the

! lovely things you could collect to make a Celestial City?

Jo. (Fondly recalling) What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon,

! and passing through the valley where the hob-goblins were!

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Meg. I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs.

Amy. I don't remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellar and the dark

! entry, and that I always liked the cake and milk we’d have up at the top. If I

! wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play it over again.

Marmee. (Encouraging) We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we

! are playing every day in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our road

! is before us, and our longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads

! us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true Celestial

! City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again in earnest to see how far

! on you can get before Father comes home.

Amy. Really, Mother? (Taking her mother literally) Where are our bundles?

Marmee. Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I rather think

! she hasn't got any.

Beth. Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and

! being afraid of people.

(They find Beth's “bundle” a funny one. Everybody wants to laugh, but nobody does, for

it would have hurt Beth’s feelings very much)

Meg. (Thoughtfully) Even though we do want to be good, it's hard work and we

! forget, and don't do our best.

Marmee. Look under your pillows Christmas morning, and you will find your guidebook,"

! (Pausing for a moment) Now, I think we should sing a bit. Beth, will you play for

! us?

Beth. (Plays “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” (1849). Marmee begins to sing. She is a

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born singer. Meg, who has a voice like a flute, harmonizes. Amy and Jo unintentionally

add dissonance)

! ! ! ! ! !

It came upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,From angels bending near the earth,To touch their harps of gold:"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,From heaven's all-gracious King."The world in solemn stillness lay,To hear the angels sing.

! !(Marmee alone sings the next verse, thinking of her husband and the war)

! !Yet with the woes of sin and strifeThe world has suffered long;Beneath the angel-strain have rolledTwo thousand years of wrong;And man, at war with man, hears notThe love-song which they bring;O, hush the noise, ye men of strife,And hear the angels sing.

(Meg alone sings the next verse, thinking of the Pilgrims’s Progress)

! !And ye, beneath life's crushing load,Whose forms are bending low,Who toil along the climbing wayWith painful steps and slow,Look now! for glad and golden hourscome swiftly on the wing.O rest beside the weary road,And hear the angels sing!

(All sing the final verse)

! !For lo! the days are hastening on,By prophet bards foretold,When with the ever-circling years

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Comes round the age of goldWhen peace shall over all the earthIts ancient splendors fling,And the whole world give back the songWhich now the angels sing.

(As all begin to sing last verse, music fades out)

Still through the cloven skies they come,With peaceful wings ....

! ! ! !

! ! ! End of Scene - Music - Lights Down

SCENE 2

CHRISTMAS MORNING AT THE MARCHS’

AND LATER, JO’S PLAY AND TREATS

(It is Christmas morning. No stockings hang on the fireplace. As the girls wake, each

has found her present from Marmee under her pillows. Having dressed, they are

discovered in the parlor)

Meg. (Seriously, addressing her sisters) Girls, Mother would want us to read, love

! and mind these books (holding her green-covered book, her present from

! Marmee). You can all do as you please, but I shall keep my book on my

! nightstand and read a little every morning as soon as I wake. It will do me good

! and help me through the day. (Meg sits at the table. She opens her green-

! covered book and silently begins to read. Jo kneels next to her cheek to cheek,

! puts her arm around her and they silently read together)

Beth. (Impressed with Meg’s example, she produces a dove-colored book, and she

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! whispers) Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll help you with the hard words. (She

! sits in a large stuffed chair)

Amy. (Squeezing in beside Beth) I'm glad mine is blue.

(Lights down to connote the passage of time. When they come back up, Amy has

exited. The girls are finishing up their reading)

Meg. (Having finished her brief reading. Hannah enters) Where is Mother?" We must

! thank her for our gifts!

Hannah. (She is the family’s “servant.” Having lived with the family since Meg was born,

! she is considered more a friend than a servant) Heaven only knows. Some poor

! child came a-beggin', and your ma went straight off to see what was needed.

Beth. Merry Christmas, Hannah!

Jo. Meg and Amy. Merry Christmas, Hannah!

Meg. She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everything ready.

(Hannah exits to kitchen. Meg turns her attention to the presents that they have each

gotten for Marmee. She pulls a basket out from under the sofa where the presents were

collected. She begins to examine each. Notices that one is missing)

Meg. Where is Amy's bottle of cologne?"

Jo. (She dances about in the new army slippers, to soften them up for Marmee) She

! took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, I think.

Beth. (Admiring her present and her work) How nice my handkerchiefs look!

! Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself.

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Jo. (She holds up and examines one) She's gone and put “Mother” on them instead of

! “M. March.” How funny!

Beth. (Troubled) Isn't that right? I thought it was better. Meg's initials are M.M., and I

! don't want anyone to use these but Marmee.

Meg. It's all right, dear; and quite sensible too. No one can ever mistake them now. It

! will please her very much. (With a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth)

Jo. (The front door opens and closes. Steps sound in the front hall) There's Mother,

! now. Hide the basket, quick!

(Amy enters hastily, and looks rather abashed as she saw her sisters all waiting for her)

Meg. Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?

Amy. Don't laugh at me, Meg, I exchanged the little bottle for a big one, and I gave all

! my money to get it. I'm truly trying not to be selfish any more.

(As she speaks, Amy holds up a handsome flask which has replaced the cheap one.

She looks so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget herself that Meg is induced

to hug her on the spot)

Beth. (Goes to the window, and picks her finest rose to adorn the stately bottle)

Amy. I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about being good

! this morning, So I ran round the corner and exchanged it.

(The front door is heard again. The girls slide the basket back under the sofa, and then

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flock to the table to sit, eager to eat breakfast. Marmee enters. Hannah brings the food)

Beth. Merry Christmas, Marmee!

Jo. Many more of them!

Meg. Thank you for our books. We read some ...

Amy. ... and mean to every day.

Marmee. (Having entered) Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad and hope you will

! keep on. But I have a request before we sit down. Not far away from here, lies a

! poor woman with a little newborn baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to

! keep from freezing. They have no fire; nothing to eat. Mrs. Hummel’s oldest boy

! came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. Girls, will you give them

! your breakfast as a Christmas present?"

(They are all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour for breakfast. For a minute

no one speaks. Then, ...)

Jo. I'm so glad you came before we began!"

Beth. May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?

Amy. I shall take the cream and the muffins. (Sacrificing what she likes best)

(Meg is already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one big plate)

Marmee. (Smiling. Satisfied) I thought you'd do it. You shall all go and help me, and

! when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at

! dinnertime.

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(The lights darken to denote a passage of time. When they come back up, the girls are

on stage awaiting Marmee so they can give her their presents and then have their late

breakfast)

Meg. (To Jo) Did you hear what Mrs. Hummel said to us as we walked in her door? “It is

! good angels come to us!"

Jo. Funny angels in hoods and mittens.

Amy. They called us "Die Engel-kinder!" The “angel children.”

Beth. We left comfort behind. It’s strange how Christmas became merrier for us when

! we gave our breakfasts away.

Meg. (As she sets out their presents for Marmee) That's loving our neighbor better than

! ourselves, and I like it.

Jo. (Hearing Marmee descend the stairs) She's coming! (As Marmee reaches the base

! of the stairs) Three cheers for Marmee!

Meg. (Escorts Marmee to the place of honor at the table)

Beth. (At the piano, plays her gayest march)

Marmee. (As Marmee sits, she is both surprised and touched. She smiles with her eyes

! full, as she examines her presents and reads the little notes which have

! accompanied them. Jo’s slippers are put on at once, Beth’s new handkerchief is

! slipped into her pocket, well-scented with Amy's cologne. Beth’s rose is then

! fastened in her bosom. The tries on Meg’s gloves. And finally examine’s Amy’s

! gift of cologne)

Marmee. (Referring to the gloves, and maybe to her family as well) A perfect fit! Thank

19

! you, my little women. And now, let’s enjoy our breakfast.

(Light darken to indicate passage of time. When they come up, it is evening. Jo and

Amy set “the stage” for Jo’s OPERATIC TRAGEDY as Meg, Beth and Hannah put on

their costumes either stage L or stage R. The set is light-weight and simple to move.

The cave, castle tower and Roderigo’s cell can be cut outs made from cardboard

sheets, with triangles on the back to keep them upright. Remember, This set is being

erected in a living room and not in a theater! The cave is set SL. The castle tower is set

C. The cell is set SR.The cardboard sheets are decorated with Amy’s artwork)

Amy. (To Jo) Where does this kettle go, again?

Jo. At the mouth of the cave, or just inside.

Amy. Didn’t i do a good job painting the tower and cave?

Jo. You did wonderful work.

Amy. Are we all set?

Jo. The stage is. But we need to put our costumes on.

(The stage has now been set for the presentation of Jo’s new OPERATIC TRAGEDY.

Jo and Amy exit to the wings to get into their costumes. All costumes must be easy and

quick to get into. Inside the cave or at its mouth, we discover a kettle that glows and

gives off steam. After a moment, Hugo, the villain, stalks in with a clanking sword at his

side, a slouching hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. He paces to and

fro in much agitation. He sings [chants] of his hatred of Roderigo, and his love for Zara.

He promises to kill the former and win the latter)

20

Hugo. (Meg, Singing or chanting) Roderigo, Roderigo, (who is not present) I have

! returned for my revenge. Know I well that I shall never I possess the beautious

! Zara while you live. Therefore, you shall die, that I may love! (He crosses to the

! entrance of the cave) Hagar, come forth! Come hither! I have need of thee!

Hagar. (Beth, dressed as a witch. Emerging from her cave) What woulds’t thou of me,

! Master?

Hugo. I would have thee fashion me two potents. The first to make the fair Zara

! love me. The second, to destroy Roderigo, who would stand in the way of

! my marriage to Zara, the fairest flower of these enchanted woods.

Hagar. (Summoning her familiar spirit)

! ! Hither, hither, from thy home,

! ! Airy sprite, I bid thee come!

! ! Born of roses, fed on dew,

! ! Charms and potions canst thou brew?

! ! Bring me here, with elfin speed,

! ! The fragrant philters which I need.

! ! Make them sweet and swift and strong,

! ! Spirit, answer now my song!

! ! Make one inspire a maiden’s love,

! ! The second, a brew of foxglove.

The Spirit. (Hannah)

! ! Hither I come,

! ! From my airy home,

! ! Afar in the silver moon.

21

! ! Take the magic spells,

! ! And use them well,

! ! Or their power will vanish soon!

(Dropping the vials at Hagar’s feet)

! ! The first will fire a maiden’s love.

! ! The second’s fatal foxglove.

Hugo. (Seizing the vials) I thank thee much, Hag. From my heart, I thank thee much.

! (He departs)

Hagar. This night, I do his bidding. Tomorrow, I thwart his every plan. This

! vile Hugo has killed a small host of my friends. I shall be revenged of him

! on the morrow for once and for all. (She laughs a witch’s insane evil laugh)

(The lights go down denoting a passage of time and change of place. The lights come

up on a superb castle tower. It rises to the ceiling. Half-way up the tower is a lighted

window, in which Zara appears in a lovely blue and silver dress)

Roderigo. What sort of father would confine his loving daughter? (Jo, entering to below

the tower, is arrayed with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and

boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sings his serenade to the

Edward Purcell’s melody, “Passing By” )

! ! Her gestures, motions, and her smile,

! ! Her wit, her voice, my heart beguile,

! ! Beguile my heart, I know not why,

! ! And yet I love her till I die.

Zara. (Sings in reply)

22

! ! Cupid is wing-ed and doth range,

! ! Her country; so my love doth change.

! ! But change the earth, or change the sky,

! ! Yet will I love you till I die.

Roderigo. (Producing a rope ladder) I have with me, the means of your escape.

! (He tosses it up to her, and she catches it) Attach and descend, my love.

Zara. (Does as Roderigo bids. Then, she starts to descend) I am coming. (Her cloak

! however catches. As she pulls it, it knocks things over, creating a loud noise)

! Yet, I fear, we shall be discovered, my love. (Her cloak comes free and she

! finishes her descent)

(Don Pedro [Hannah has changed costumes], her cruel sire, roused by the noise,

enters. Seeing what is afoot, he seizes her, and then turns on Roderigo)

Don Pedro. Roderigo, Thou art banished forever from my lands. Depart my kingdom,

! this instant. Or spend your remaining days mewed up in my dungeon.

Roderigo. Your daughter, Sir, and I are in love. I shall not stir from here without

! her.!

Zara. I love him. father.

Don Pedro. Enough of your nonsense, child. You shall marry Hugo. He swears

! of his love for you, and he is rich. (Referring to Roderigo) Would you waste

! yourself on this penniless adventurer?

Zara. (Begging) Relent, father, for I cannot live without him!

Don Pedro. Then forever you shall be together. Ferdinando! (To his retainer who

! enters) Place these fools in adjoining cells in the dungeon!

23

(Ferdinando chains Roderigo and lead him away. As Zara tries to hold on to

him, she too is led away to the dungeon)

(The lights go down denoting a passage of time and change of place. When they come

back up, we discover Hagar hiding near the tower. Hugo enters opposite. He produces

a wine bottle and two cups. He then fills the cups. Finally, he empties the contents of

the two vials, one into each of the cups)!

Ferdinando.!(Ferdinando enters, bearing news) My Lord, my Lord. I have news.

Hugo. (Ever impatient) Don’t stand there, Fool. Out with it. I pay you well to spy upon

! your master for me! Prove you are worthy of my largess.

Ferdinando. Roderigo’s plot to elope with Zara was discovered by her Sire. I have

! mewed the lovers in his keep at my master’s command.

Hugo. Eureka! The powers of Hell have not failed me! All my plans are working out.

! You have served me well! (Commanding) Bear these (referring to the cups) to

! the captives in their cells. (About to hand them to Ferdinando)

Ferdinando. Wait, my Lord, there is something more I first must tell you.

Hugo. (He sets the cups down) Then out with it, Sirrah!

Ferdinando. Over here my Lord, where none can over hear what I have to say (He

! draws Hugo far left away form the tower SR)

Hagar. (Hugo has set the cups down to listen to what Ferdinando wishes to tell him

! in private. While they are conferring SL, Hagar sneaks in. She produces two

! more identical cups. She pours the remaining contents of Hugo’s bottle into those

! cups, and then pours the contents from Hugo’s cups back into the bottle. She

! then removes the cups that Hugo had produced, and leaves her cups in their

24

! place, along with the bottle. She disappears. Hugo and Ferdinando return to the

! area of the cups) You have done well, Sirrah. (Handing him the cups) Now, do as

! I have bidden you.

(Ferdinando departs with the cups which Hugo believes contain the potents)

Hugo. (Sings)

! ! Alas, my love you do me wrong to cast me off discourteously

! ! For I have loved you well and long, delighting in thy company.

! ! (He grabs the bottle, as if to toast Zara, and takes a swig)

! ! Zara, thou art all my joy.

! ! Zara you’re my ... (the poison suddenly takes its effect. He

! ! collapses in agony) my de .... (he does not finish but rather dies)

(The lights go down. When they come back up, we find Ferdinando over Hugo’s dead

body. Hagar appears)

Hagar. There is nothing you can do for him.

Ferdinando. But how, Hagar? Twas but five minutes hence that we here spoke.

! How came he so sudden-like to die?

Hagar. He is victim of his own machinations. He drank the poison draught he intended

! for his rival, and suffered the fate he resolved for Roderigo. I will tend to him.

! (Producing two keys) Get you this keys to Roderigo, (threatening him) lest a

! similar fate should befall you.

(Ferdinando scurries to comply with her command)

25

(The lights go down. When they come back up we find Roderigo in his cell, his wrists

chained to the wall. We hear the sound of Zara’s cell being opened)

Ferdinando. (To Roderigo) My Master, Don Pedro, charges me to tell you that the Lady

! Zara has reconsidered her ingratitude and promised to abide her sire’s will. I am,

! therefore, commanded to afford you a choice: imprisonment in this cell for as

! long as you shall live....

Roderigo. That is no choice. You afford me no alternative.

Ferdinando. Don Pedro offers you a choice: live within this chamber ‘til heaven

! beckons, or (producing a dagger) anticipate heaven’s call. You have ‘til dawn to

! choose. If you still live at sunrise, you will be deprived of choice - this dagger.

! (Setting it down for Roderigo to pick up and use, the jailer exits)

Roderigo. (Despairing of Zara’s love. He sings a verse of Purcell’s “Passing By”)

! ! ! There is a lady sweet and kind

! ! ! T’was never face so pleased my mind,

! ! ! I did but see her passing by

! ! ! And yet I love her till I die!! !

! ! (He raises the dagger to his heart to kill himself, when suddenly he hears)

Zara. (She sings, answering and admonishing him)

! ! Alas, my love you do me wrong to doubt me so discourteously

! ! I always love you well and long, delighting in thy company.

Roderigo. (Understanding what Ferdinando said was a lie, cast the dagger aside

26

! and we see his strength and determination return. And just then, the

! two keys are thrown into his cell. He scurries to pick them up)

(The lights go down. As they come up, we discover Don Pedro and Zara before the

! tower)

Don Pedro. Choose, my Lady. Bend your will to mine, or choose life in yon

! convent.! !

Zara. If you love with a father’s love, you cannot do this. I have committed no

! crime. Because I have chosen to love, I will not love you less.

Don Pedro. I will not allow my daughter to ally herself in matrimony with a

! penniless adventurer.

Ferdinando. (Entering) My Lord, I received this (delivering a letter and a bag) from a

! witch-like hag who bade me to deliver this to you, under dire threats if I failed to

! heed her directions.

Don Pedro. (First opening the letter and reading) The letter informs that Roderigo has

! bequeathed “untold wealth,” and threatens me with “being eaten from within by

! maggots” should I further obstruct true love’s course. (A slight pause) What proof

! have I of this “untold wealth?”

Ferdinando. I do not know, my Lord. (Handing bag to Don Pedro) I was also given this.

Don Pedro. (He opens the bag, looks in, is shocked, and then dumps the

! contents on a nearby table) ‘sblood!

Zara. Have we your blessing, Father?

Don Pedro. (In shock, can only raise his arms as if to bless their union)

27

(Lights down. The play within a play ends. If there are “extras,” they wildly applaud.

The lights then come up for curtain call. Amy, Beth, Meg, Jo, Hannah and Marmee do

their “bows.” They all begin to remove their costumes as the dialogue continues)

Hannah. (Stepping out) And now, if you all, with Mrs. March’s compliments, will come

! over to the table, there are treats for all of you, which I will set out, if you

! just give me a minute or so. (She exists to kitchen)

Marmee. They are a little reward for the good deeds you all did this morning when you

! shared your Christmas breakfasts with the Hummel children.

Meg. I thought good works were their own reward.

Marmee. Most often they are, but not always.

(Hannah re-enters, pushing in a tea cart. To the surprise of all, there are two large

dishes containing pink and white ice cream, a cake, fruit and distracting french

bonbons. There are also plates. Hannah begins to serve)

Amy. (Dazzled) Is it fairies?

Beth. Santa Claus!

Meg. (Guessing) Mother did it.

Jo. (With a sudden inspiration) Aunt March had a good fit and sent supper.

Marmee. All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it.

Meg. The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thing into his head?

! We don't know him!

Marmee. Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is an odd old

28

! gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father years ago, and he sent me

! a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would allow him to express his

! friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the

! day. I could not refuse, and so you have a little feast at night to make up for the

! bread-and-milk breakfast."

Jo. That boy put it into his head, I know he did! He's a capital fellow, and I wish we

! could get acquainted. He looks as if he'd like to know us but he's bashful, and

! Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to him when we pass. (The plates are

! passed round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, with “ohs” and “ahs” of

! satisfaction) The old gentleman keeps his grandson shut up, when he isn't

! walking with his tutor, and makes him study very hard.

Amy. We should have invited him to our operatic tragedy.

Beth. Mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to us girls."

Jo. Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the fence. We

! were getting on capitally, all about cricket, and so on, when he saw Meg coming,

! and walked off.

Marmee. I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman. I've no objection to

! your knowing him. He brought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him

! in, if I had been sure what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful as he went

! away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own."

Jo. (Inspired) It's a mercy you didn't , Mother! But we'll have another play sometime

! that he can see. Perhaps he'll help act. Wouldn't that be jolly?"

(Lights down. End of Scene)

29

SCENE 3

MRS. GARDINER’S INVITATION

JO MEETS LAURIE

(Lights up. We discover Jo reading and eating an apple in the girls’ bedroom)

Meg. (Entering) Jo!? ... Jo?

Jo. (In a husky voice) "Here! (There are tears in her eyes as she reads from her play)

Meg. (She reads from a note) “Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and

! Miss Josephine at a little dance on New Year's Eve.” Marmee is willing we should

! go. Now what shall we wear?

Jo. (With a mouth full of apple) What's the use of asking that? You know we shall

! wear our poplins. We haven't got anything else

Meg. If I only had a silk! Mother says I may when I'm eighteen.

Jo. Our “pops” look like silk, and they are nice enough for us. Yours is as good as new.

! But I’ve got a burn on the back of mine, and it shows badly. I can't wear it out.

Meg. Just keep your backside out of sight. Sit a lot. (Then thinking of herself) I shall

! have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmee will lend me her little pearl pin. My

! new slippers are lovely, and my gloves will do.

Jo. (Untroubled) Mine are spoiled with lemonade, and I can't get any new ones. I shall

! have to go without.

Meg. (Somewhat appalled) You must have gloves. Gloves are more important than

! anything else. You can't dance without them.

Jo. (Unconcerned) Then I won’t dance.

30

Meg. You can't ask Mother for new ones, She said when you carelessly spoiled yours

! that she shouldn't get you any more this winter. Can't you make them do?"

Jo. I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know how stained they are.

! (A bright idea) Or we could each wear one good one and carry a bad one.

Meg. Your hands are bigger than mine. You’d stretch my glove dreadfully.

Jo. (Taking up her book) Then I'll go without. I don't care what people say!

Meg. (Yielding a glove) Take one of mine. Only don't stain it! And do behave nicely.

! Don't put your hands behind you. Don’t stare, or say “Christopher Columbus!”

Jo. Don't worry about me. I'll be as prim as I can and not get into any scrapes. Now go

! answer your note, and let me finish this splendid story."

Meg. (Exits)

(Lights go down to show passage of time.

(The girls are in the girls’ bedroom. New Year's Eve. Meg and Jo are absorbed in the all-

important business of `getting ready for the party'. There is a strong smell of burning

hair. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo undertook to pinch the papered

locks with a pair of hot tongs)

Beth. (Sitting and Watching with rapt attention) Ought hair smoke like that?

Jo. (Working with hot tongs to create a few curls for Meg) It’s the dampness drying.

Amy. (Also perched and watching) It smells like burned feathers," (As she smoothes

! her own pretty curls with a superior air).

Jo. (Putting down the tongs) There! Now I'll take off the papers and you'll see a cloud of

! little ringlets.

(She takes off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appear. Instead, Meg’s hair comes

31

with the papers. Jo, now the horrified hairdresser lays a row of little scorched bundles

on the bureau before her victim)

Meg. (Wailing) Oh, Jo! What have you done? I'm spoiled! I can't go! My hair, oh, my

! hair! (Looking with despair at the uneven frizzle on her forehead)

Jo. Just my luck! You shouldn't have asked me to do it. (Tearing up) I always spoil

! everything. I'm so sorry, but I guess the tongs were too hot.

Amy. (Consolingly) It isn't spoiled. Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come

! on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the latest fashion.

Meg. (Petulantly) Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I'd let my hair alone.

Beth. (Crossing to kiss and comfort) So do I, it was so smooth and pretty.

(Both girls get their dresses. Beth assists Jo. Amy assists Meg. Beth and Jo retreat to

dress behind dressing screens. Both will wear simple suits. Meg’ s is silvery drab, with a

blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin. Jo’s is maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly

linen collar, and a white chrysanthemum or two for her only ornament. Each will put on

one nice light glove, and carried one soiled one. Meg's high-heeled slippers are very

tight and hurt her, though she would not admit it)

Marmee. (Entering) Are you almost ready?

Meg. Almost.

Amy. They will be elegant or die.

(Meg and Jo present themselves for inspection)

Marmee. Have a good time, dearies! Don't eat much supper, and come home at eleven

! when I send Hannah for you.

Meg. We will.

32

Marmee. Have you each got a nice pocket handkerchief?"

Jo. Yes, and Meg has cologne on hers. (Laughing. Then to her sisters) I do believe

! Marmee would ask that if we were all running away from an earthquake.

Meg. (Speaking as an aristocrat) It is one of Marmee’s aristocratic tastes.

Amy. It’s quite proper. A real lady is always known by neat boots, gloves, and

! handkerchief.

(The lights go down to signal a change of time and place. When they come back up,

the two sisters are at Mrs. Gardiner’s party. The are at the foot of the stairs, alone)

Jo. I know I shall forget. If you see me doing anything wrong, just remind me by a wink!

! (Jo, Gives her collar a twitch and her head a hasty brushing)

Meg. No, winking isn't ladylike. I'll lift my eyebrows if any thing is wrong. And I’ll nod if

! you are all right. Remember, hold your shoulder straight, take short steps, and

! don't shake hands if you are introduced to anyone. It isn't “the thing."

Jo. How do you learn all the proper ways? I never can ... Isn't that music gay?

(As the music plays, Meg is asked to dance [by John Brooke]. She accepts. Jo is now

trapped. She cannot roam about and amuse herself, for the scorch mark on her dress

would show. Jo then sees a big red headed youth [someone doubling] approaching her.

Fearing he means to engage her, she slips into a curtained recess, hoping to peep and

enjoy herself in peace. Unfortunately, another bashful person has already chosen the

same refuge, for, as the curtain falls behind her, she finds herself face-to-face with the

“Laurence boy.”)

33

Jo. (Surprised) I’m sorry. I didn't know anyone was here!

Laurie. (Pleasantly startled, laughing) Don't mind me. Stay if you like."

Jo. Shan't I disturb you?

Laurie. Not a bit. I’m only here because I don't know many people, and felt rather

! strange.

Jo. So do I. Please stay - unless you'd rather. (Disingenuously. Shyly) You live near us,

! don't you?"

Laurie. (Laughing at her) Very near. Next door.

Jo. (Now at ease) We had a delightful Christmas, thanks to your lovely present.

Laurie. Grandpa sent it.

Jo. But you put it into his head, didn't you, now?

Laurie. (Deftly changing the subject) How is your cat, Miss March?"

Jo. Fine, thank you, Mr. Laurence. But I am not Miss March, I'm only Jo.

Laurie. I'm not Mr. Laurence; only Laurie.

Jo. Laurie Laurence .... What an odd name!

Laurie. My first name is Theodore, but I don't like it. The fellows call me Dora, so I

! make them say Laurie instead."

Jo. I hate my name. I wish every one would say Jo instead of Josephine. How did you

! make the boys stop calling you Dora?

Laurie. I thrashed `em.

Jo. (Resigned) I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it.

Laurie. Do you like to dance, Miss Jo?"

Jo. I like it well enough --- if there is plenty of room. Here, I'm sure to upset something,

! tread on people's toes, or do something dreadful. So to keep out of mischief, I let

! Meg sail about. Do you dance?"

34

Laurie. Sometimes. You see, I've been abroad a good many years, and haven't been

! into company enough yet to know how you do things here."

Jo. "Abroad!." ... Oh, tell me about it! I love dearly to hear people describe their travels.

Laurie. (Not knowing quite where to begin) Well, I attended school in Vevay,

! Switzerland....

Jo. I do wish I'd been there! ... Did you go to Paris?"

Laurie. We spent last winter there."

Jo. Can you talk French?

Laurie. We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay.

Jo. Please say something. I can read it, but can't pronounce."

Laurie. Quel nom a cetter jeune demoiselle en les pantoulles jolis?

Jo. How nicely you do it! (Thinking it out) You said, “Who is the young lady in the pretty

! slippers,” didn't you?

Laurie. Oui, mademoiselle.

Jo. It's my sister Margaret. You knew it was! Do you think she is pretty?

Laurie. Yes.

Jo. (Fishing, to find out Laurie’s age) I suppose you are going to college soon? I see

! you pegging away at your books...

Laurie. (Unconcerned about her choice of words) Not for a year or two. Not before

! I’m seventeen, anyway."

Jo. (Surprised and pleased) Are you only fifteen?

Laurie. Sixteen, next month.

Jo. I wish I was going to college! You don't look as if you like it.

Laurie. I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking.

Jo. What do you like?"

35

Laurie. To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way."

Jo (Wanted very much to ask what his own way was, but changing the subject instead)

! That's a splendid polka! Why don't you go and try it?

Laurie. If you will come too.

Jo. (Stymied) I can't.

Laurie. Why not?

Jo. You won't tell?

Laurie. Never!

Jo. I scorched my frock standing too close to the fire, and it shows. Meg told me to keep

! still, so no one would see it. You may laugh, if you want to. It is funny, I know."

Laurie. (Gallantly) Never mind that. I'll tell you how we can manage. There's a long hall

! out there, and we can dance grandly, and no one will see us. Please come."

!

(They move down the hall and start to polka)

! ! ! ! (Lights down. End of Scene)

SCENE 4

JO LEARNS LAURIE HAS BEEN ILL

JO VISITS LAURIE

JO MEETS MR. LAWRENCE

TEA AND TOUR OF PREMISES

(A snowy afternoon. Meg is in the March parlor. Jo tramps through wearing rubber

boots, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other)

36

Meg. Jo, I’m missing a one of my gloves. I lost it the night of the Gardiner party. Have

! you seen it?

Jo. (Uninterested) No.

Meg. It was my good one. What in the world are you going to do now, Jo?

Jo. (With a mischievous twinkle in her eye) Going out for exercise.

Meg. (With a shiver) I should think two long cold walks this morning would have been

! enough! Or is the Laurence boy out there?

Jo. That boy is suffering for society and fun. His grandpa keeps him shut up all alone.

! He needs somebody young and lively to play with. I've a great mind to go over

! and tell the old gentleman so!

Meg. (Shocked) Or to see his grandson! Jo March, you’re horrible!

(She exits. Lights Down. Passage of time. The scene shits to the Lawrence mansion.

We discover Jo and Laurie in the drawing room)

Jo. This is the first time you invited me in.

Laurie. I was afraid if I didn’t, that you would continue to throw snowballs at my window

! until you finally broke it.

Jo. It wasn’t very lady-like of me, was it?

Laurie. The fact that you aren’t lady-like is what I like best about you.

Jo. I haven’t seen you out walking for these last few days. Have you been sick?

Laurie. (Croaking hoarsely) I've had a bad cold, and been shut up for a week.

Jo. I'm sorry. How do you amuse yourself?

Laurie I don’t. It's dull as a tomb around here.

Jo. Don't you read?

37

Laurie. Not much. They wouldn’t let me.

Jo. Can't somebody read to you?

Laurie. Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don't interest him, and I hate to ask

! Brooke all the time.

Jo. Have someone come and see you, then.

Laurie. There isn't anyone else. Boys make such a row, and my head is weak.

Jo. (Fishing for an invitation) Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you? Girls

! are quiet and like to play nurse.

Laurie. I don't know any.

Jo. (Laughing and then stopping) You know us.

Laurie. (Quite delighted) So, I do! Will you come, please?"

Jo. I'm not quiet and nice, but I'll come, if Mother will let me. I'll go ask her. Wait for me;

! I’ll be right back.

(Lights go down to show a passage of time and place. When they come up, Jo is back)

Jo. (Enters, Carrying a covered dish, and a kitten) Here I am, bag and baggage.

! Mother sent her love. Meg wanted me to bring some of her blancmange, which

! she makes very nicely, and Beth thought her kitten would be comforting. I knew

! you'd laugh, but I couldn't refuse. She was so anxious to do something."

Laurie. (Holding the kitten, and forgetting his bashfulness) That looks too pretty to

! eat. (Smiling with pleasure, as Jo uncoveres the dish, and showed the

! blancmange, surrounded by a garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of

! Amy's pet geranium) How kind you all are! Now, please take the big chair and

! let me do something to amuse my company.

38

Jo. No, I came to amuse you. Pick a book, and I shall read to you

Laurie. Thank you! But if you don't mind, I'd rather talk.

Jo. Not a bit. I'll talk all day if you'll only set me going. My sister Beth says I never know

! when to stop.

Laurie. (With interest) Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home a good deal and

! sometimes goes out with a little basket?

Jo. Yes, that's Beth. She's my girl.

Laurie. The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe?

Jo. How did you know?

Laurie. (Turning a bit red) I often hear you calling to one another, and when I'm alone

! up here, I can't help looking over at your house. You always seem to be having

! such good times. I beg your pardon for being so rude. When the lamps are

! lighted, it's like looking at a picture - to see the fire, and you all around the

! table with your mother. I haven't got any mother, you know.

Jo. (With warm friendship) We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave

! to look as much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you'd come

! over and see us. Wouldn't your grandpa let you?

Laurie. I think he would, if your mother asked him. He's very kind, though he does not

! look so, and he lets me do what I like, pretty much. (Brightening) Only he's afraid

! I might be a bother to strangers.

Jo. We are not strangers; we are neighbors. And you needn't think you'd be a bother.

! You ought to make an effort and go visiting everywhere you are asked,

! then you'll have plenty of friends, and pleasant places to go to. Never mind being

! bashful. It won't last long if you keep going.

Laurie. (Surprised, but not offended by Jo’s candor, he changes the subject) Do you

39

! like your school?

Jo. No, I'm a businessman--girl, I mean ... I go to wait on my great-aunt. She’s a dear,

! cross old soul! She has a fat little poodle, a parrot that talks only Spanish and a

! wonderful library.

Laurie. She sounds like quite a character.

Jo. And so is her parrot. Once a prim old gentleman came once to woo Aunt March, and

! in the middle of his fine speech, Poll tweaked the old gentleman’s wig off his

! head! (Noticing the books that line the walls) Have your read all those books?

Laurie. They are grandfather’s. But I’m sure he’d let you borrow any one of them.

(A bell rings, and Jo tenses)

Jo. Mercy me! It's your grandpa!

Laurie. (Finally finding a chink in her armor) Well, what if it is? You’re not afraid of

! anything, are you?

Jo. I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't know why I should be. Marmee said I

! might come.(Composing herself, as she keeps her eyes on the door)

Laurie. Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose I must see who it is,

! and I have something to do.

Jo. Don't mind me. I'm happy as a cricket here..

(Laurie exits. Jo amuses herself, first scanning the books. She finds herself standing

before a fine portrait of Mr. Lawrence. The door quietly opens; but Jo continues to

assess the figure in the portrait, presuming that Laurie has re-entered)

40

Jo. (Thinking out loud) I'm sure now that I shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got kind

! eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he has a tremendous will. He

! isn't as handsome as my grandfather, but I like him.

(As she says this Mr. Laurence has entered and stands watching)

Mr. Laurence. (A gruff voice) Thank you, ma'am.

(Jo turns. She blushes till she couldn't blush any redder, and her heart begins to beat

uncomfortably fast. For a minute a wild desire to run away possesses her, but she

decides that that would be cowardly, and that the girls would laugh at her, so she

resolves to stay and get out of the scrape as best she cam. A second look shows her

that the living eyes, under the bushy eyebrows, are kinder than the painted ones, and

that there is a sly twinkle in them, which lessenes her fear a good deal. The gruff voice

however, was gruffer than ever)

Mr. Laurence. So you're not afraid of me, hey?

Jo. Not much, sir.

Mr. Laurence. And you don't think me as handsome as your grandfather?

Jo. Not quite, sir.

Mr. Laurence. And I've got a tremendous will, have I?

Jo. I only said I thought so.

Mr. Laurence. But you like me in spite of it?

Jo. Yes, I do, sir.

41

(That answer pleases the old gentleman. He gives a short laugh, shakes hands with

her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turns up her face, examines it gravely, and

lets it go, saying with a nod)

Mr. Laurence. You've got your grandfather's spirit, if not his face. He was a fine man.

! But what is better, he was brave and honest. I was proud to be his friend.

Jo. (Becoming quite comfortable) Thank you, sir.

Mr. Laurence. (Sharply) What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?

Jo. Only trying to be neighborly, sir.

Mr. Laurence. You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?

Jo. Yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him good, perhaps. We

! are only girls, but we should be glad to help if we could, for we don't forget the

! splendid Christmas present you sent us.

Mr. Laurence. Tut, tut, tut! That was the boy's affair. How is the poor woman?

Jo. Doing nicely, sir. My mother just thought she needed a little help.

Mr. Laurence. Just her father's way of doing good. I shall come and see your mother

! some fine day. Tell her so. There's the tea bell, we have it early on the boy's

! account. Come over whenever you wish and go on being neighborly.

Jo. If you'd like to have me, sir.

Mr. Laurence. Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't." (Mr. Laurence offered her his arm with old-

! fashioned courtesy)

(The is a commotion on the stairs as Laurie runs down them)

Mr. Laurence. (As Laurie comes running into the room) Hey! Why, what the dickens

! has come over the fellow?

Laurie. (Giving Jo a triumphant glance) I didn't know you'd come, sir.

42

Mr. Laurence. That's evident - by the racket you made coming downstairs.

(Mr. Lawrence turns to Jo)

Mr. Laurence. (Approving Jo’s odd, blunt ways and how she seemes to understand

! the boy almost as well as if she had been one herself) Miss March, I believe

! you’re right. I do believe that the lad is lonely. Let’s see what you four little girls

! can do for him.

Jo. That is a lovely piano. (To Laurie with respectful expression) Do you play?

Laurie. (Modestly) "Sometimes.

Jo. Please do so now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth.

Laurie. Won't you first?

Jo. Don't know how. Too stupid to learn.

Laurie. (Plays the piano extremely well)

Jo. That was really quite lovely (Her compliment embarrasses Laurie)

Mr. Laurence. (Coming to his rescue) That will do, that will do, young lady. Too many

! sugarplums are not good for him. His music isn't bad, but I hope he will do as

! well in more important things. (Taking the hint, Jo moves to leave) Going? well,

! I'm much obliged to you, and I hope you'll come again. My respects to your

! mother. Good night, Doctor Jo. (He shares Jo’s hand and exits the room)

(Laurie begins to walk Jo to the door)

Jo. Did I say something amiss.

Laurie. No, it was me. He doesn't like to hear me play.

Jo. Why not?

43

Laurie. I'll tell you some day. You will come again, I hope?

Jo. I’ll promise to come if you promise to come and see us after you are well."

Laurie. I will. (He picks up a bouquet of flowers and gives them to Jo) When I stepped

! out of the room, I went to the conservatory and cut these. Please give these

! to your mother, and tell her I like the medicine she sent me very much.

Jo. (Taking the bouquet) Good night, Laurie!

Laurie. Good night, Jo, good night!

(Jo exits.The lights go down. When the come bak up we are in the March parlor. The

lights come up during a conversation that is already under way)

Jo. (Curious) Mother, why do you think Mr. Laurence doesn’t like to have Laurie play?

Marme. I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie's father, married an

! Italian lady, a musician. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he

! did not like her. He never saw his son after he married. Both died when Laurie

! was a little child, and then his grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy, who

! was born in Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losing him.

! Laurie comes naturally by his love of music, for he is like his mother. I suspect

! Mr. Lawrence fears that he may want to be a musician. At any rate, his skill

! reminds him of the woman he did not like.

Meg. Dear me, how romantic!

Jo. How silly! Let him be a musician if he wants to, and not plague his life by sending

! him to college, when he hates to go."

44

Meg. That's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, I suppose.

! Italians are always nice.

Jo. What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoken to him,

! hardly.

Meg. I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how to behave. That

! was a nice little speech about the medicine Mother sent him.

Jo. He meant the blancmange, I suppose.

Marmee. How stupid you are, child! He meant you, of course.

Jo. (Opening her eyes as if the thought never had occurred to her) Did he?

Meg. (With the air of a young lady who knew all about the matter) I never saw such a

! girl! You don't know a compliment when you get it!

(LIGHTS DOWN; END OF SCENE)

SCENE 5

MR. LAWRENCE NOW A FAMILY FRIEND

NOTICES BETH IS SHY

HIS GIFT OF THE PIANO

(The March Parlor. Mr. Lawrence visits. Marmee, Laurie and Beth are present. Mr.

Lawrence and Marmee have tea cups and saucers)

Mr. Laurence. (To Laurie) Have you noticed how very different each of the girls are?

Laurie. Yes. Joe, besides her plays, likes the things boys like: skating , sledding ...

Mr. Laurence. But she’s deeper than that. She likes books. And she convulses me with

! her literary criticisms.

45

Marmee. Meg says that she can spend hours in your conservatory. Amy, delights in

! copying your pictures. Beth, here, I believe is still sizing you up.

Mr. Lawrence. (Lightheartedly) As well she should. Not very long ago, a young lady,

! who also I think was a little frightened of me, told me that I have “kind eyes,” but

! a rather “grim mouth,” and that I looked as if I had “a tremendous will.”

! But to be honest, I think it’s my bushy eyebrows. I’m told they make me look

! somewhat ferocious. (Changing the subject) Are the four of them at all alike?

Marmee. All four- especially Jo - wish they could travel in Europe, as you have. They’d

! love to see the ancient cathedrals and great buildings.

Mr. Laurence. (Making an effort to overcome Beth’s timidness) It’s far more than that.

! Besides the architecture, I had the pleasure of hearing great singers and the

! finest pianos and organs in the world.

Marmee. (To Laurie) Jo says you play very well. (To Mr. Lawrence) You must enjoy that

! very much.

Mr. Laurence. The boy neglects his music now, and I'm glad of it, for he was getting too

! fond of it. But the piano suffers for want of use. Wouldn't some of your girls like to

! run over, and practice on it now and then? Just to keep it in tune, you know.

(Beth stirs with excitement, but is paralyzed with fear)

Marmee. Wouldn’t they be a bother?

Mr. Laurence. They needn't see or speak to anyone. They could just run in at any time.

! I'm always shut up in my study at the other end of the house. Laurie is out a

! great deal, and the servants are never near the drawing room after nine o'clock.

46

(Beth makes up her mind to speak, but still can’t quite get it out)

Mr. Laurence. Please, Mrs. March, tell the young ladies what I’ve said, and if they don't

! care to come, why, never mind. (He turns to exit)

Beth. (Beth’s little hand slips into his, as she looks up at him with a face full of

! gratitude) Oh sir, they do care, very very much!

Mr. Laurence. (Looking down at her kindly) Are you the musical girl?

Beth. (Trembling) I'm Beth. I love music dearly, and I'll come, if you are quite sure

! nobody will hear me, and be disturbed.

Mr. Laurence. Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day, so come and drum

! away as much as you like, and I shall be obliged to you.

Beth. How kind you are, sir!

Mr. Laurence. (Mr. Laurence softly strokes the hair off her forehead, and, stoops down,

! he kisses the top of her head. Then, in a tone few people had ever heard) I had

! a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear! (To Marmee) Good

! day, Madam. (He exits)

(Lights down to connote passage of time)

(The lights come back up in the March’s parlor. Marmee and Beth are present)

Marmee. So, now that you’ve had a chance to play it, how is Mr. Laurence’s piano?

Beth. I love it. It has such a beautiful sound. I’m glad I finally worked up the courage

! to take advantage of his invitation.

Marmee. What do you mean?

Beth. The day after he invited us, I was still afraid to go. I started over three times

47

! before I finally worked up the courage. Once I did, I snuck in the side door like a

! a little mouse. And guess what?

Marmee. What?

Beth. I guess by accident, somebody had left some easy music - right on the piano.

Hannah. (Entering) She’d a stayed there all night if I hadn’t gone over to fetch her

! home for dinner.

Beth. I’ve been there every day since. I just play, and nobody listens and it’s

! wonderful. (A sudden thought) Mother, I’d like to make Mr. Laurence a pair of

! slippers. He is so kind to me, I must thank him. Do you think he would like

! slippers? Trimmed with flowers? Maybe with purple and yellow pansies?

(Lights down to connote passage of time.When the lights come back up, Jo, Meg and

Amy are in the parlor. Beth enters)

Amy. (Dying to break the news) Beth, there’s a letter here for you from Mr. Laurence!

! Come quick, and read it!

Beth. (Excited) Where is it, Amy.

Amy. Look there!

Meg. Look there, Beth.

(As she looks, she sees a little cabinet piano, and on its glossy lid, the letter)

Beth. For me?

Jo. Yes, all for you, my precious! Isn't it splendid of him? Don't you think he's the

! dearest old man in the world? I think the key is in the letter. We didn't open it, but

! we are dying to know what he says. (Hugging Beth)

Beth. You read it! I can't, I feel so queer! Oh, it is too lovely!" (Beth hides her face in Jo's

48

! apron, quite upset by her present. Jo opens the letter and reads)

Jo. Miss Beth March (Reading the Envelope, then extracting the letter) !

! “Dear Madam---

! “I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had any that

! suited me so well as yours, Heartsease is my favorite flower, and these will

! always remind me of the gentle giver. I like to pay my debts, so I know you will

! allow “the old gentleman” to send you something which once belonged to the

! little grand-daughter he lost. With hearty thanks and best wishes, I remain, Your

! grateful friend and humble servant,

! “JAMES LAURENCE.”

Jo. It’s a great honor, Beth. Laurie has told me how fond Mr. Laurence used to be of

! the child who died, and how he kept all her little things carefully. Now, he's given

! you her piano! That comes of having big blue eyes and loving music. (Trying to

! soothe Beth, who trembles with more excitement than Jo had ever seen before)

Meg. See the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the nice green sild, puckered up,

! with a gold rose in the middle, and the pretty rack and stool, all complete.

! (Opening the instrument and displaying its beauties)

Amy. (Much impressed) “Your humble servant, James Laurence.” Only think of his

! writing that to you! I'll tell the girls. They'll think it's splendid.

Hannah. (Entering and sharing the family’s joys) Try it, honey. Let's hear the sound of

! the baby pianny.

49

Beth. I will. In a little bit.

Hannah. What are you going to do now?

Beth. I’m going to go next door and give Mr. Laurence a big hug and a kiss.

(Lights down. End of Scene)

SCENE 6

LAURIE’S INVITATION TO MEG AND JO

AMY GETS ANGRY AND NOT BEING INCLUDED

BURNS JOES MANUSCRIPT

AMY NEARLY DROWNS SKATING

(It is Saturday afternoon. Meg and Jo are getting ready to go out with an air of secrecy.

They are in the parlor)

Amy. (Entering and curious) Meg, Jo, where are you going?

Jo. (Somewhat sharply) Never mind. Little girls shouldn't ask questions.

Amy. (Insulted and turning to Meg who never refuses her anything very long) I should

! think you might let me go, too. I haven't got anything to do, and am so lonely."

Meg. (Regretfully) I can't, dear, because you aren't invited.

Jo. (Impatiently) You can't go, Amy, so don't be a baby and whine about it.

Amy. You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are.

Jo. Yes, we are. Now do be still, and stop bothering.

(Amy sees Meg slip a fan into her pocket)

Amy. I know! I know! You're going to the theater to see The Seven Castles of the

50

! Diamond Lake.” And I shall go, too. It was mean not to invite me..

Meg. Be a good child. Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah.

Amy. I want to go with you and Laurie. (Pleading) Please let me. I've been shut-up with

! this cold so long. I'm dying for some fun. (Looking as pathetic as she can) I'll

! be ever so good, Meg.

Meg. (Weakening) Suppose we might take her?

Jo. (Crossly) If she goes I shan't. It will be very rude. Laurie invited only us.

Amy. (Angry) I shall go. Meg’s willing to take me and I’ll pay for myself,

Jo. You can't sit with us. Our seats are reserved, and you mustn't sit alone. It isn’t

! proper. If Laurie gives you his place, that will spoil our pleasure. (Scolding) So

! you may just stay where you are.

Amy. (Angry, sitting on the floor with one boot on) You'll be sorry for this, Jo March! Just

! see if you ain't.

Jo. Fiddlesticks! (Jo and Meg exit the front door)

(The lights go down to connote the passage of time. When they come up again,

Jo and Meg return home after seeing “The Seven Castles of the Diamond Lake.” As

they enter the parlor, they find Amy reading and Beth sewing. Amy assumes an injured

air as they come in, never lifting her eyes from her book, or asking a single question)

Beth. Well, are you both going to keep us in suspense? Aren’t you going to tell us about

! The Seven Castles of the Diamond Lake?”

Jo. (Taking off her hat and coat) It was as wonderful as any heart could wish.

Meg. There were comical red imps, sparkling elves, and gorgeous princes and

! princesses.

51

Jo. (Trying to make up to Amy for not letting her go along, but also alert to the fact,

! based on past experience, that Amy might well have taken her revenge)

! The fairy queen's yellow curls reminded me of yours, Amy. (Because Amy has

! not lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a single question, Joe scans the

! room for any sign that Amy has tried to get even)

Beth. I can’t wait to see it.

Jo. (She looks about the room and notices that her manuscript has disappeared from

! the mantel of the fireplace where she had left it. She suddenly becomes fearful)

! My, manuscript! Has anyone seen my manuscript? I left it on the mantel.

Meg. (Reacting and looking surprised) No.

Beth. (Reacting and looking surprised) No.

Amy. (Amy rises. Crosses to the fireplace. Pokes the fire. Says nothing)

Jo. (From Amy’s silence, Jo construes guilt) Amy, you've got it!

Amy. No, I haven't.

Jo. You know where it is, then!

Amy. No, I don't.

Jo. That's a fib! (Taking her by the shoulders, and looking fierce)

Amy. It isn't. I haven't got it, don't know where it is now, and don't care.

Jo. You know something about it, and you'd better tell at once, or I'll make you. (Giving

! Amy a slight shake)

Amy. (Getting excited) Scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old book

! again.

Jo. Why not?

Amy. I burned it up.

Jo. (Incredulously) You burned my book? I worked so hard on it. I meant to have it

52

! finished when Father got home? (Really worried) Have you really burned it? (Her

! eyes kindled and her hands clutch Amy nervously)

Amy. (Proud of herself) Yes, I did! I told you I'd make you pay for being so cross,

! and I have, so...

Jo. (Shaking Amy till her teeth chattered in her head, Jo cries in passion, grief and

! anger) ... You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again. I'll never forgive

! you as long as I live.

(Meg moves to rescue Amy. Beth moves to pacify Jo. Jo rushes to the stairs in tears)

Marmee. (Entering from upstairs, finds Amy in tears being comforted by Meg)

! What’s going on here?

Meg. Amy wanted to see the play with us, and we wouldn’t take her. Jo tried to explain

! to her that Laurie had only invited us. Amy got angry. She blamed Jo, and while

! we were gone she burned Jo’s manuscript.

Marmee. Is that true, Amy?

Amy. She deserved it.

Marmee. No, Amy, she didn’t deserve it. Jo was very proud of her book. She had put

! her whole heart into it.

Amy. Six stupid fairy tales!

Marmee. Amy, your sister has put her whole heart into that book.

Amy. It was just a book. (Jo descends to the base of the stairs)

Marmee. (Sternly and grieved) Jo has worked patiently on it, copying everything with

! great care with the hope that it might be good enough to be published. You have

! selfishly destroyed her manuscript. Your bonfire has consumed the loving work of

53

! several years.

Amy. (Feeling that no one would love her till she had asks pardon for the act which

! she now regretted more than any of them, turning to Jo) Please forgive me, Jo.

! I'm very, very sorry.

Jo. (Still furious) I never shall forgive you.

Marmee. Jo, stay for a minute. The rest of you can get ready for bed. (When Meg, Beth

! and Amy have exited , Marmee whispers gently) My dear, don't let the sun go

! down upon your anger. Forgive each other, and begin again tomorrow.

Jo. (Perceiving that Amy is eavesdropping, winking hard) It was an abominable thing,

and she doesn't deserve to be forgiven. (Jo marches off to bed, pausing just! !! a second to let Amy scoot to her room)

(Lights down. Lights come back up the following day)

Amy. (Offended that her peace overture has been repulsed, Amy begins to wish she

! had not humbled herself) I thinks it’s dreadful that people, who always talk about

! being good, make no effort to be good even when other people set them a

! virtuous example. People who say one thing and do the opposite are “democrats”

Jo. (Having had enough of Amy’s victim routine, and addressing her remark to Amy)

! Everybody is so hateful; I'm going to ask Laurie to go skating. (She goes into the

! hall to get her skates. We hear the blades clashing together)

Amy. (To Meg) There! She promised I should go next time, and this is the last ice we

! shall have. But it’s useless to ask the old crosspatch [grump] to take me.

Meg. (Being the big sister) You were very naughty. It’s hard for Jo to forgive you for

! burning her book. But I think she will, if you try her at the right minute. Tag along.

! Don't say anything till Jo has gotten good-natured with Laurie. Then just kiss

54

! her, or do some kind thing, and I'm sure she'll be friends again.

Amy. I'll try. (She heads off to get her skates and exits)

(Lights down to denote passage of time. Then back up. The scene is again the parlor

of the March house. Laurie enters, carrying Amy. Amy is soaking wet and shivering. He

sets her down. She is wet and shivering)

Jo. (Greatly shaken and blaming herself) Amy broke through the ice!

Marmee. (Taking control) Meg take her upstairs , get those wet clothes off, and then

! bring her back down here. Beth, grab two or three blankets, and we’ll put her

! near the fire. (Meg takes Amy up stairs. Beth gets blankets)

Jo. (Very scared and tearful) If it hadn’t been for Laurie, she might have drowned.

Marmee. How exactly did it happen?

Jo. (With great guilt) It was my fault. I saw her coming but I turned my back on her.

! When we got to the river, Laurie went ahead to check the ice. I skated after him,

! while she was putting on her skates. I slowly zigzagged down the river, and never

! looked back. I took satisfaction in ignoring her. But then, something held me

! back. I heard the crash of rotten ice, the splash of water. I turned, just in time to

! see Amy throw up her hands and go down. I froze with fear. I tried to call Laurie

! but my voice was gone. I tried to rush forward, but my feet seemed to have no

! strength in them. For a second, I could only stand motionless, terror-stricken,

! staring at the little blue hood above the black water. Then Laurie rushed to

! her and cried out... "Bring a rail, Jo! Quick! (Jo is holding her hands which are

! injured)

(Meg and Amy return. Amy is now in warm pajamas. Beth enters with blankets, a bowl

55

of water and two towels)

Marmee. Jo, Amy turn the sofa to the fire.

(Amy and Jo turn the sofa close to the fire. Meg puts Amy on the sofa and covers her)

Marmee. (To Amy) You’ll warm up in just a couple minutes, darling.

Amy. Laurie saved my life

Laurie. I had gone ahead to check the ice. It was cold, but I was afraid the ice might

! be bad after the recent warm spell. As I was on my way back, I hollered at them,

! "Keep near the shore. It isn't safe in the middle."

Jo. I heard him.

Laurie. I don’t think Amy did. She was heading out into the middle. It was just then,

! when I saw her go through. I raced for her, and told Jo to get a fence rail.

Jo. By the time I was able to get a rail, Laurie was lying flat, and holding Amy up with

! his arms and his hockey stick.

Lauire. I was able to fish her out with the rail.

Jo. He covered her with his coat, and we brought her home.

Beth. She’s fallen asleep.

Marmee. Let her sleep. I’ll keep an eye on her. Why don’t the rest of you ...

Jo. Thank you, Laurie.

The other. Thank you, etc.

(Laurie, Beth, and Meg exit. Jo crosses to exit)

Marmee. Jo, before you go, let me have a look at your hands.

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(Jo displays her wounded hands. Marmee quickly examines them. Besides bringing the

blankets, Beth also has brought water, a hand towel, and a drying towel. Marmee

proceeds to clean up Jo’s hands)

Jo. (Remorsefully) Are you sure she is safe?"

Marmee. (Cheerfully) Quite safe, dear. she is not hurt, and won't even take cold, I think,

! you were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly.

Jo. Laurie did it all. Mother, if she should die, it would be my fault. (Jo drops down

! beside the sofa in a passion of penitent tears). It's my dreadful temper! I try to

! cure it. I think I have, but then it breaks out worse than ever. Oh, Mother, (in

! despair) what shall I do?

Marmee. Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible

! to conquer your faults. (said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy head to her

! shoulder and kissing the wet cheek tenderly. Jo cries even harder)

Jo. You don't know, how bad it is! It seems as if I could do anything when I'm in a

! passion. I could hurt anyone and enjoy it. I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful

! some day, and spoil my life. Oh, Mother, help me. Do help me!

Marmee. I will, my child, I will. Now, don't cry so bitterly. But remember this day, and

! resolve with all your soul that you will never know another like it. (A pause) Jo,

! dear, we all have our temptations. It often takes us all our lives to conquer them.

! You think your temper is the worst in the world, but mine used to be just like it.

Jo. (Surprised. Remorseful) Yours, Mother? Why, you are never angry!"

Marmee. I've been trying to cure it for forty years; I have only succeeded in controlling

! it. I get angry nearly every day of my life, Jo, but I have learned not to show it. I

! still hope to learn not to feel it, though that may take me another forty years.

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Jo. (Comforted by the knowledge that her mother has had a fault like hers, and has

! succeeded in mending it - even if it has taken forty years) Mother, are you angry

! when you fold your lips tight together and go out of the room sometimes?

! (Feeling nearer and dearer to her mother than ever before)

Marmee. Yes, I've learned to check the hasty words that rise to my lips, and when I feel

! that they mean to break out against my will, I just go away for a minute,

(Smiling, as she smoothes and fastens up Jo's disheveled hair)

Jo. My sharp words fly out before I know what I'm about, and the more I say the worse I

! get, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings. Tell me how you do it.

!Marmee. I had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good many bitter tears over my failures, for

! in spite of my efforts I never seemed to get on. Then your father came, and I was

! so happy that I found it easy to be good. But by-and-by, when I had four little

! daughters round me and we were poor, then the old trouble began again. I am

! not patient by nature. It tried me very much to see my children wanting anything.

Jo. Poor Mother! What helped you then?

Marmee. Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, and never doubts or complains. He

! helped and comforted me, and showed me that I must try to practice all the

! virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example.

Jo. (Touched) Oh, Mother, if I'm ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied.

Marmee. I hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must keep watch over your

! “bosom enemy,” as father calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoil your life. You

! have had a warning. Remember it, and try with heart and soul to master this

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! quick temper, before it brings you greater sorrow and regret than you have

! known today.

Jo. I will try, Mother. I truly will.

(A pause)

Jo. I used to see Father sometimes put his finger on his lips, and look at

! you with a very kind but sober face, and you always folded your lips tight and

! went away. Was he reminding you then?

Marmee. Yes. I asked him to help me. He spared me from many a sharp word by

! that little gesture and kind look.

Jo. Was it wrong to watch you and to speak of it? (A pause) It's so comfortable to say

! all I think to you. I feel safe and happy here.

Marmee. My Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my greatest happiness

! and pride to feel that my girls confide in me and know how much I love them.

(Amy stirs and sighs in her sleep, and as if eager to begin at once to mend her fault. Jo

looks up with an expression on her face which it had never worn before)

Jo. I let the sun go down on my anger. I wouldn't forgive her, and today, if it hadn't been

! for Laurie, it might have been too late! How could I be so wicked?

(As if she heard, Amy opens her eyes, and holds out her arms, with a smile that goes

straight to Jo's heart. Jo rises and crosses to Amy. Neither says a word, but they hug

one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything is forgiven and forgotten in

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one hearty kiss)

! ! LIGHTS DOWN; END OF SCENE

SCENE 7

JO TAKES TWO OF HER STORIES TO FOR PUBLICATION

TWO SECRETS

JOHN HAS MEG’S LOST GLOVE

JO’S STORY IS PUBLISHED

(Jo and Laurie are in the March parlor)

Laurie. I saw you when you came out of the Dentist’s office yesterday afternoon. Did

! you have a bad time?

Jo. Not very.

Laurie. You got through quickly.

Jo. Yes, thank goodness!

Laurie. Why did you go alone?

Jo. I Didn't want anyone to know.

Laurie. You're the oddest fellow I ever saw. How many teeth did you have out?"

Jo. (At first she doesn’t understand him . When she does, she laughs as if mightily

! amused. Then joking) There are two which I want to have come out, but I

! must wait a week.

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Laurie. (Mystified) What are you laughing at? You are up to some mischief, Jo?

Jo. No, but you were. You were at the billiard parlor again weren’t you?

Laurie. Wrong. I was at the gymnasium taking a fencing lesson. Now, what mischief

! were you up to?

Jo. It’s a secret.

Laurie. Then we each have a secret.

Jo. What is it?

Laurie. Very well. But if I tell you mine, you must tell me yours.

Jo. You'll not say anything about it to anybody, will you?

Laurie. Not a word.

Jo. And you won't tease me in private?

Laurie. I never tease.

Jo. Yes, you do. You get everything you want out of people. You are a born wheedler.

Laurie. Thank you. Fire away.

Jo. I wasn’t at the Dentist’s. I was upstairs visiting with the newspaper publisher. I

! dropped off two of my manuscripts.

Laurie. Hurrah for Miss March, the celebrated American authoress! (Throwing up his

! hat and catching it)

Jo. It probably won't come to anything, I dare say, but I couldn't rest until I had tried, and

! I said nothing about it because I didn't want anyone else to be disappointed.

Laurie. You won't fail. Why, Jo, your stories are works of Shakespeare compared to half

! of the rubbish that is published every day.

(Jo's eyes sparkle. It is always pleasant to be believed in, and a friend's praise is

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always sweeter than a dozen newspaper puffs)

Jo. Now, what’s your secret? Out with it, Teddy, or I'll never believe you again.

Laurie. I may get into a scrape for telling... (A pause) I know where Meg's lost glove is.

Jo. (Looking disappointed) Is that all?

Laurie. It's quite enough as you'll agree when I tell you where it is.

Jo. Tell, then.

(Laurie bends, and whispers three words in Jo's ear. This produces a comical change.

Jo stands and stares at him for a minute, looking both surprised and displeased)

Jo. (Sharply) How do you know?

Laurie. Saw it.

Jo. Where?

Laurie. In his pocket.

Jo. All this time?"

Laurie. Yes, isn't it romantic?

Jo. No, it's horrid. What would Meg say?

Laurie. You are not to tell anyone. Remember?

Jo. I didn't promise.

Laurie. That was understood, and I trusted you.

Jo. Well, I won't for the present, anyway, but I'm disgusted.

Laurie. I thought you'd be pleased.

Jo. At the idea of anybody coming to take Meg away? No, thank you.

Laurie. You'll feel better about it when somebody comes to take you away.

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Jo. (Fiercely) I'd like to see anyone try it!

Laurie. (Chuckling at the idea) So should I.

Jo. I don't think secrets agree with me, (Ungratefully) You’ve rumpled up my mind.

(The lights go down to indicate a change of time. When they come up, Meg, Beth and

Amy are in the parlor) )

Meg. (Disapproving) What shall we do with that girl? She never will behave like a

! young lady.

Beth. I hope she won't. She is funny and dear as she is.

Meg. She’s been behaving queerly for two weeks.

Amy. She rushes to the door whenever the postman rings.

Meg. She’s been rude to John Brooke whenever they happen to meet.

Amy. (Checks the window. Returning to her chair) She’s coming in.

(Jo bounces in, lays herself on the sofa, and affects to read)

Meg. (Condescendingly) Have you anything interesting there?

Jo. (Careful not to display the paper she has in hand) Nothing but a story. It won't

! amount to much, I suspect.

Amy. (In her most grown-up tone) You'd better read it aloud. That will amuse us and

! keep you out of mischief.

Beth. What's the name? (Wondering why Jo keeps her face behind the sheet)

Jo. “The Rival Painters.”

Meg. It has a good sound. Read it.

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Jo. (Hemming and hawing) Okay, here we go....

(The lights go down briefly and come right back up)

Jo. ... “The End.”

Amy. I like her description of the splendid picture.

Meg. (Wiping her eyes) I prefer the romantic part. Viola and Angelo are two of our

! favorite names, isn't that queer?

Beth. (Suspecting) Who wrote it?

Jo. (Sitting up, casting away the paper, displaying a flushed countenance, and with a

! funny mixture of solemnity and excitement replying in a loud voice) Your sister!

Meg. (Astonished and dropping her work) You?

Amy. (Critically) It's very good.

Beth. I knew it! Oh, Jo, I am so proud! (Beth runs to hug her sister and exult over her

! splendid success)

Meg. I don’t believe it! Let me see.

(Jo passes her the paper. Marmee and Hannah hearing the commotion, enter)

Meg. (Reading) Miss Josephine March! You are actually printed in the paper?

Amy. (Critically) You described the artistic parts beautifully. You should do a sequel.

! But then you can’t. You have killed off both the hero and heroine!

Hannah. Sakes alive! Well I never! That Jo's doin's?

Marmee. Jo. this is wonderful!

(The paper is passed from hand to hand)

Amy. Tell us about it.

Beth. Yes, tell us everything!

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Meg. How much did you get for it?

Marmee. What will your Father say?

Beth. Won't Laurie laugh?"

Jo. (Proudly) Stop jabbering, girls, and I'll tell you everything.

! ! I took two of my manuscripts down to the paper. The man asked for a

! week to read them. And when I went back to get my answer, he said he liked

! them both, but didn't pay beginners. He said it was good practice, and when the

! beginner improved, then he would pay. So I let him have the two stories.

! ! Today this was sent to me. He said that I’ll be paid next time.

! Marmee, maybe I’ll be able to support myself and help the girls.

(As Jo's breath gives out, the lights go down. End of Scene)

SCENE 8

THE TELEGRAM - FATHER IS ILL

PREPARATIONS FOR MARMEE’S TRIP

(It is a dreary November weekday, mid afternoon. Marmee, the girls and Laurie are

in the March parlor. Doorbell rings. Hannah enters and answers it, and comes in with a

telegram)

Hannah. (As if she is afraid it would explode and do some damage) It's one of them

! horrid telegraph things, mum.

Marmee. (Snatching it, she opens it and silently reads it. She drops back into her chair

as white as if the little paper had sent a bullet to her heart. Laurie dashes for water. Meg

and Hannah support Marmee. Jo takes the telegram and reads aloud, in a frightened

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voice)

Jo. (Reading aloud) “Mrs. March: Your husband is very ill. Come at once. S. HALE.

! Blank Hospital, Washington.”

(The room goes still. The day outside darkens as suddenly the whole world seems to

change. The girls gather about their mother, feeling as if all the happiness and

support of their lives is about to be taken from them)

Marmee. (She composes herself, stretches out her arms to the girls) I shall go at once,

! but it may be too late.

(For several minutes there is nothing but the sound of sobbing. Hannah is the first to

recover, and with unconscious wisdom she sets all the rest a good example, for with

her, work was panacea for most afflictions)

Hannah. (Heartily, as she wipes her face on her apron) The Lord will keep the dear

! man! I’d better help you start packing

Marmee. I need a moment to think. (Having collected her thoughts) Where's Laurie?'

Laurie. (Re-enters. He hands her the glass of water) Here, ma'am. Let me do

! something!

Marmee. (To Laurie) Please, send a telegram saying I will come at once. (To all) The

! next train goes early in the morning. I'll take that.

Laurie. (Looking ready to fly to the ends of the earth) What else? The horses are ready.

! I can go anywhere, do anything!

Marmee. Leave a note at Aunt March's. Jo, give me that pen and paper.

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(Jo complies. Marmee writes a note and hands it to Laurie)

Marmee. (To Laurie) Now go, Laurie dear, but don't kill yourself driving at a desperate

! pace. There is no need of that. (Laurie with the note, exits)

Marmee. Jo, I will need a few things so that I’m prepared to be a nurse. (Jo hands

! Marmee a piece of paper to make a list. Marmee quickly makes her list, and

! hands it to Jo. Jo departs) Beth, go and ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of bottles

! of old wine. Amy, tell Hannah to get down the black trunk, and Meg ....

Meg. Mother. You need a quiet minute to plan. Why don’t you go up to your room for a

! few minutes, and let us do the work.

(They all scatter like leaves before a gust of wind. Lights down for an instant to show

passage of time and then back up. Meg and Marmee are discovered in the parlor)

Mr. Laurence. (Entering with Beth and John Brooke) I have brought a few things that

! I thought might be of some use. We’ll look out for the girls while your gone,

! and if you’d like I would be honored to act as your escort.

Marmee. Thank, you. But this is a long journey. (With an expression of relief on

! her face, but concerned about a man of Mr. Laurence’s age making such a

! long journey) I don’t think you should.

Mr. Laurence. In that case, I am authorized to offer you the services of John Brooke.

Brooke. (In a quiet pleasant tone) Mr. Laurence anticipated that you would feel the trip

! would be too arduous for him. It would give me real satisfaction to be of service.

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!

Meg. (She puts out her hand, with a face so full of gratitude) Of course, Mother will

! accept. It will be a great relief for all of us to know that she has someone to take

! care of her. Thank you very much!

Marmee. Yes, thank you, Mr. Brooke.

Laurie. (Popping in, followed by Aunt March) Your Aunt insisted on coming back with

! me.

Aunt March. (Entering) I thought of sending a note, but I figured that I had better come

! myself, just in case you needed anything else.

Marmee. Thank you for coming, Aunt March.

Aunt March. Here is some money. I’m sure you’ll need it.

Marmee. Thank you, Auntie. You will be repaid.

Aunt March. This, of course, is all so unnecessary. You should have followed my

! advice in the first place. You’ll recall that I told you that it was absurd for March to

! go into the army, and I always predicted that no good would come of it. Next

! time, I hope you will take my advice.

Marmee. (With her lips folded tightly in a way which Jo would have understood) I recall

! your advice, but my husband felt he had to go. He felt it was his duty. And thank

! you again, Auntie.

Aunt March. You’re welcome, dear. (To Laurie) And now young man, will you be kind

! enough to drive me back home? (She exits followed by Laurie)

(There is a momentary pause and then Jo enters with a very queer expression on her

face. It is a mixture of fun, fear, satisfaction and regret)

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Meg. Where have you been all this time?

Jo. (Laying a roll of bills before her mother, with a little choke in her voice) That's my

! contribution toward making Father comfortable and bringing him home!

Marmee. (Counting the money) Twenty-five dollars! Where did you get it, Jo?

! I hope you haven't done anything rash?

Jo. No, it's mine honestly. I didn't beg, borrow, or steal it. I earned it, and I don't think

! you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own.

(As she speaks, Jo takes off her bonnet. Her hair has been cut short. There is a general

gasp)

Marmee. Your hair! Your beautiful hair! Oh, Jo, how could you? My dear girl, there

! was no need of this. (To the others) She doesn't look like my Jo any more, but I

! love her dearly for it!

(Beth hugs Jo’s cropped head tenderly)

Jo. (With an indifferent air, which deceives no one, she rumples up the “brown bush,”

! trying to look pleased ) It doesn't affect the fate of the nation, and it will be good

! for my vanity. I will soon have a curly crop, which will be boyish, becoming, and

! easy to keep. I'm satisfied, so please take the money and let's have supper.

Marmee. I know that you willingly sacrificed your vanity to your love. But, my

! dear, it was not necessary, and I'm afraid you will regret it one of these days.

Jo. (Stoutly, relieved that her efforts have not been condemned) No, I won't!

Amy. What made you do it?

Jo. Well, I was wild to do something for Father and I hate to borrow. And I knew if I

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! asked Aunt March, she would croak. So I sold what I had.

Marmee. (With a look that warms Jo’s heart) I’m very proud of you, Jo.

Beth. (In a tone of awe) I don't see how you dared to do it,

Jo. I hadn't the least idea of selling my hair at first. Then, in the barber's window, I saw

! tails of hair. A black tail, not so thick as mine, was forty dollars. So, I just

! walked in, asked if they bought hair, and what they would give me for mine?

Meg. (With a shiver) Didn't you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?

Jo. Only when he was done, and when I saw my dear old hair laid out on the table.

! Suddenly, It almost seemed as if I'd an arm or leg off. The barber’s wife saw

! me look at it, and picked out a long lock for me to keep, which I give it to you,

! Marmee, just to remember past glories.

(Lights down. End of Scene)

SCENE 9

MARMEE IS STILL AWAY TENDING MR. MARCH.

BETH GOES TO HELP THE HUMMELS

BETH RETURNS HOME SICK - SCARLET FEVER

AMY SENT TO AUNT MARCH’S

END OF FREE PREVIEW

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