Books: A Modern Cinderella
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Louisa May Alcott >> A Modern Cinderella
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May was bidding June good-morrow, and the
roses were just dreaming that it was almost time to
wake, when John came again into the quiet room
which now seemed the Eden that contained his
Eve. Of course there was a jubilee; but something
seemed to have befallen the whole group, for
never had they appeared in such odd frames of
mind. John was restless, and wore an excited
look, most unlike his usual serenity of aspect.
Nan the cheerful had fallen into a well of
silence and was not to be extracted by any
Hydraulic power, though she smiled like the June sky
over her head. Di's peculiarities were out in full
force, and she looked as if she would go off like a
torpedo at a touch; but through all her moods
there was a half-triumphant, half-remorseful
expression in the glance she fixed on John. And
Laura, once so silent, now sang like a blackbird,
as she flitted to and fro; but her fitful song was
always, "Philip, my king."
John felt that there had come a change upon
the three, and silently divined whose unconscious
influence had wrought the miracle. The embargo
was off his tongue, and he was in a fever to ask
that question which brings a flutter to the stoutest
heart; but though the "man" had come, the
"hour" had not. So, by way of steadying his
nerves, he paced the room, pausing often to take
notes of his companions, and each pause seemed to
increase his wonder and content.
He looked at Nan. She was in her usual place,
the rigid little chair she loved, because it once
was large enough to hold a curly-headed
playmate and herself. The old work-basket was at
her side, and the battered thimble busily at work;
but her lips wore a smile they had never worn be-
fore, the color of the unblown roses touched her
cheek, and her downcast eyes were full of light.
He looked at Di. The inevitable book was on
her knee, but its leaves were uncut; the strong-
minded knob of hair still asserted its supremacy
aloft upon her head, and the triangular jacket still
adorned her shoulders in defiance of all fashions,
past, present, or to come; but the expression of her
brown countenance had grown softer, her tongue
had found a curb, and in her hand lay a card with
"Potts, Kettel & Co." inscribed thereon, which
she regarded with never a scornful word for the
Co."
He looked at Laura. She was before her easel
as of old; but the pale nun had given place to a
blooming girl, who sang at her work, which was
no prim Pallas, but a Clytie turning her human
face to meet the sun.
"John, what are you thinking of?"
He stirred as if Di's voice had disturbed his
fancy at some pleasant pastime, but answered with
his usual sincerity,--
"I was thinking of a certain dear old fairy tale
called 'Cinderella.'"
"Oh!" said Di; and her "Oh" was a most
impressive monosyllable. "I see the meaning of
your smile now; and though the application of the
story is not very complimentary to all parties
concerned, it is very just and very true."
She paused a moment, then went on with softened
voice and earnest mien:--
"You think I am a blind and selfish creature.
So I am, but not so blind and selfish as I have
been; for many tears have cleared my eyes, and
much sincere regret has made me humbler than I
was. I have found a better book than any father's
library can give me, and I have read it with
a love and admiration that grew stronger as I
turned the leaves. Henceforth I take it for my
guide and gospel, and, looking back upon the
selfish and neglectful past, can only say, Heaven
bless your dear heart, Nan!"
Laura echoed Di's last words; for, with eyes
as full of tenderness, she looked down upon the
sister she had lately learned to know, saying,
warmly,--
"Yes, 'Heaven bless your dear heart, Nan!'
I never can forget all you have been to me; and
when I am far away with Philip, there will always
be one countenance more beautiful to me
than any pictured face I may discover, there will
be one place more dear to me than Rome. The
face will be yours, Nan, always so patient, always
so serene; and the dearer place will be this home of
ours, which you have made so pleasant to me all
these years by kindnesses as numberless and
noiseless as the drops of dew."
"Dear girls, what have I ever done, that you
should love me so?" cried Nan, with happy
wonderment, as the tall heads, black and golden,
bent to meet the lowly brown one, and her sisters'
mute lips answered her.
Then Laura looked up, saying, playfully,--
"Here are the good and wicked sisters;-where
shall we find the Prince? "
"There!" cried Di, pointing to John; and
then her secret went off like a rocket; for, with her
old impetuosity, she said,--
"I have found you out, John, and am ashamed
to look you in the face, remembering the past.
Girls, you know when father died, John sent us
money, which he said Mr. Owen had long owed
us and had paid at last? It was a kind lie, John,
and a generous thing to do; for we needed it, but
never would have taken it as a gift. I know you
meant that we should never find this out; but
yesterday I met Mr. Owen returning from the
West, and when I thanked him for a piece of justice
we had not expected of him, he gruffly told me
he had never paid the debt, never meant to pay it,
for it was outlawed, and we could not claim a
farthing. John, I have laughed at you, thought
you stupid, treated you unkindly; but I know you
now, and never shall forget the lesson you have
taught me. I am proud as Lucifer, but I ask you
to forgive me, and I seal my real repentance so--
and so."
With tragic countenance, Di rushed across the
room, threw both arms about the astonished young
man's neck and dropped an energetic kiss upon his
cheek. There was a momentary silence; for Di
finally illustrated her strong-minded theories by
crying like the weakest of her sex. Laura, with "the
ruling passion strong in death," still tried to draw,
but broke her pet crayon, and endowed her Clytie
with a supplementary orb, owing to the dimness of
her own. And Nan sat with drooping eyes, that
shone upon her work, thinking with tender pride,--
They know him now, and love him for his generous heart."
Di spoke first, rallying to her colors, though a
little daunted by her loss of self-control.
"Don't laugh, John,--I couldn't help it; and
don't think I'm not sincere, for I am,--I am; and
I will prove it by growing good enough to be your
friend. That debt must all be paid, and I shall
do it; for I'll turn my books and pen to some
account, and write stories full of clear old souls like
you and Nan; and some one, I know, will like and
buy them, though they are not 'works of Shakespeare.'
I've thought of this before, have felt I
had the power in me; now I have the motive, and
now I'll do it."
If Di had Proposed to translate the Koran, or
build a new Saint Paul's, there would have been
many chances of success; for, once moved, her
will, like a battering-ram, would knock down the
obstacles her wits could not surmount. John
believed in her most heartily, and showed it, as he
answered, looking into her resolute face,--
"I know you will, and yet make us very proud
of our 'Chaos,' Di. Let the money lie, and when
you have a fortune, I'll claim it with enormous
interest; but, believe me, I feel already doubly
repaid by the esteem so generously confessed, so
cordially bestowed, and can only say, as we used
to years ago,--'Now let's forgive and so forget."
But proud Di would not let him add to her obligation,
even by returning her impetuous salute;
she slipped away, and, shaking off the last drops,
answered with a curious mixture of old freedom
and new respect,--
"No more sentiment, please, John. We know
each other now; and when I find a friend, I never
let him go. We have smoked the pipe of peace;
so let us go back to our wigwams and bury the
feud. Where were we when I lost my head? and
what were we talking about?"
"Cinderella and the Prince."
As she spoke, John's eye kindled, and, turning,
he looked down at Nan, who sat diligently ornamenting
with microscopic stitches a great patch
going on, the wrong side out.
"Yes,--so we were; and now taking pussy for
the godmother, the characters of the story are well
personated,--all but the slipper," said Di, laughing,
as she thought of the many times they had
played it together years ago.
A sudden movement stirred John's frame, a
sudden purpose shone in his countenance, and a
sudden change befell his voice, as he said,
producing from some hiding-place a little
wornout shoe,--
"I can supply the slipper;--who will try it
first?"
Di's black eyes opened wide, as they fell on
the familiar object; then her romance-loving nature
saw the whole plot of that drama which needs but
two to act it. A great delight flushed up
into her face, as she promptly took her cue, saying--
" No need for us to try it, Laura; for it wouldn't
fit us, if our feet were as small as Chinese dolls;
our parts are played out; therefore 'Exeunt
wicked sisters to the music of the wedding-bells.'"
And pouncing upon the dismayed artist, she swept
her out and closed the door with a triumphant
bang.
John went to Nan, and, dropping on his knee as
reverently as the herald of the fairy tale, he asked,
still smiling, but with lips grown tremulous,--
"Will Cinderella try the little shoe, and--if
it fits--go with the Prince?"
But Nan only covered up her face, weeping
happy tears, while all the weary work strayed
down upon the floor, as if it knew her holiday had
come.
John drew the hidden face still closer, and while
she listened to his eager words, Nan heard the
beating of the strong man's heart, and knew it
spoke the truth.
"Nan, I promised mother to be silent till I was
sure I loved you wholly,--sure that the knowledge
would give no pain when I should tell it, as I am
trying to tell it now. This little shoe has been mv
comforter through this long year, and I have kept
it as other lovers keep their fairer favors. It has
been a talisman more eloquent to me than flower
or ring; for, when I saw how worn it was, I always
thought of the willing feet that came and went for
others' comfort all day long; when I saw the little
bow you tied, I always thought of the hands so
diligent in serving any one who knew a want or
felt a pain; and when I recalled the gentle creature
who had worn it last, I always saw her patient,
tender, and devout,--and tried to grow more
worthy of her, that I might one day dare to ask
if she would walk beside me all my life and be my
'angel in the house.' Will you, dear? Believe
me, you shall never know a weariness or grief I
have the power to shield you from."
Then Nan, as simple in her love as in her life,
laid her arms about his neck, her happy face against
his own, and answered softly,--
"Oh, John, I never can be sad or tired any
more!"
DEBBY'S DEBUT.
On a cheery June day Mrs. Penelope Carroll
and her niece Debby Wilder, were whizzing along
on their way to a certain gay watering-place, both
in the best of humors with each other and all the
world beside. Aunt Pen was concocting sundry
mild romances, and laying harmless plots for the
pursuance of her favorite pastime, match-making;
for she had invited her pretty relative to join her
summer jaunt, ostensibly that the girl might see a
little of fashionable life, but the good lady secretly
proposed to herself to take her to the beach and
get her a rich husband, very much as she would
have proposed to take her to Broadway and get her
a new bonnet: for both articles she considered
necessary, but somewhat difficult for a poor girl
to obtain.
Debby was slowly getting her poise, after the
excitement of a first visit to New York; for ten
days of bustle had introduced the young philosopher
to a new existence, and the working-day
world seemed to have vanished when she made her
last pat of butter in the dairy at home. For an
hour she sat thinking over the good-fortune which
had befallen her, and the comforts of this life which
she had suddenly acquired. Debby was a true
girl, with all a girl's love of ease and pleasure;
it must not be set down against her that she
surveyed her pretty travelling-suit with much
complacency, rejoicing inwardly that she could use
her hands without exposing fractured gloves, that
her bonnet was of the newest mode, needing no
veil to hide a faded ribbon or a last year's shape,
that her dress swept the ground with fashionable
untidiness, and her boots were guiltless of a patch,
--that she was the possessor of a mine of wealth
in two of the eight trunks belonging to her aunt,
that she was travelling like any lady of the land
with man- and maid-servant at her command, and
that she was leaving work and care behind her for
a month or two of novelty and rest.
When these agreeable facts were fully realized,
and Aunt Pen had fallen asleep behind her veil,
Debby took out a book, and indulged in her favorite
luxury, soon forgetting past, present, and future
in the inimitable history of Martin Chuzzlewit.
The sun blazed, the cars rattled, children
cried, ladies nodded, gentlemen longed for the
solace of prohibited cigars, and newspapers were
converted into sun-shades, nightcaps, and fans;
but Debby read on, unconscious of all about her,
even of the pair of eves that watched her from the
Opposite corner of the car. A Gentleman with a
frank, strong-featured face sat therin, and amused
himself by scanning with thoughtful gaze the
countenances of his fellow-travellers. Stout Aunt Pen,
dignified even in her sleep, was a "model of deportment"
to the rising generation; but the student
of human nature found a more attractive subject in
her companion, the girl with an apple-blossom face
and merry brown eyes, who sat smiling into her
book, never heeding that her bonnet was awry,
and the wind taking unwarrantable liberties with
her ribbons and her hair.
Innocent Debby turned her pages, unaware that
her fate sat opposite in the likeness of a serious,
black-bearded gentleman, who watched the smiles
rippling from her lips to her eyes with an interest
that deepened as the minutes passed. If his paper
had been full of anything but "Bronchial
Troches" and "Spalding's Prepared Glue," he
would have found more profitable employment;
but it wasn't, and with the usual readiness of idle
souls he fell into evil ways, and permitted curiosity,
that feminine sin, to enter in and take possession
of his manly mind. A great desire seized him to
discover what book his pretty neighbor;
but a cover hid the name, and he was too
distant to catch it on the fluttering leaves. Presently
a stout Emerald-Islander, with her wardrobe
oozing out of sundry paper parcels, vacated the
seat behind the two ladies; and it was soon quietly
occupied by the individual for whom Satan was
finding such indecorous employment. Peeping
round the little gray bonnet, past a brown braid
and a fresh cheek, the young man's eye fell upon
the words the girl was reading, and forgot to look
away again. Books were the desire of his life;
but an honorable purpose and an indomitable will
kept him steady at his ledgers till he could feel
that he had earned the right to read. Like wine to
many another was an open page to his; he read a
line, and, longing for more, took a hasty sip from
his neighbor's cup, forgetting that it was a
stranger's also.
Down the page went the two pairs of eyes,
and the merriment from Debby's seemed to light
up the sombre ones behind her with a sudden shine
that softened the whole face and made it very
winning. No wonder they twinkled, for Elijah
Pogram spoke, and "Mrs. Hominy, the mother
of the modern Gracchi, in the classical blue cap
and the red cotton pocket-handkerchief, came
down the room in a procession of one." A low
laugh startled Debby, though it was smothered
like the babes in the Tower; and, turning, she
beheld the trespasser scarlet with confusion, and
sobered with a tardy sense of his transgression.
Debby was not a starched young lady of the
"prune and prism" school, but a frank, free-
hearted little body, quick to read the sincerity of
others, and to take looks and words at their real
value. Dickens was her idol; and for his sake she
could have forgiven a greater offence than this.
The stranger's contrite countenance and respecttul
apology won her good-will at once; and with
a finer courtesy than any Aunt Pen would have
taught, she smilingly bowed her pardon, and,
taking another book from her basket, opened it,
saying, pleasantly,--
"Here is the first volume if you like it, Sir. I
can recommend it as an invaluable consolation for
the discomforts of a summer day's journey, and it
is heartily at your service."
As much surprised as gratified, the gentleman
accepted the book, and retired behind it with the
sudden discovery that wrongdoing has its compensation
in the pleasurable sensation of being forgiven.
Stolen delights are well known to be specially
saccharine: and much as this pardoned sinner loved
books, it seemed to him that the interest
of the story flagged, and that the enjoyment of
reading was much enhanced by the proximity of a
gray bonnet and a girlish profile. But Dickens
soon proved more powerful than Debby, and she was
forgotten, till, pausing to turn a leaf, the young
man met her shy glance, as she asked, with the
pleased expression of a child who has shared an
apple with a playmate,--
"Is it good?"
"Oh, very!"--and the man looked as honestly
grateful for the book as the boy would have done
for the apple.
Only five words in the conversation, but Aunt
Pen woke, as if the watchful spirit of propriety had
roused her to pluck her charge from the precipice
on which she stood.
"Dora, I'm astonished at you! Speaking to
strangers in that free manner is a most unladylike
thing. How came you to forget what I have told
you over and over again about a proper reserve?"
The energetic whisper reached the gentleman's
ear, and he expected to be annihilated with a look
when his offence was revealed; but he was spared
that ordeal, for the young voice answered,
softly,--
"Don't faint, Aunt Pen: I only did as I'd be
done by; for I had two books, and the poor man
looked so hungry for something to read that I
couldn't resist sharing my 'goodies.' He will see
that I'm a countrified little thing in spite of my
fine feathers, and won't be shocked at my want of
rigidity and frigidity; so don't look dismal, and I'll
be prim and proper all the rest of the way,--if I
don't forget it."
"I wonder who he is; may belong to some of our
first families, and in that case it might be worth
while to exert ourselves, you know. Did you
learn his name, Dora? " whispered the elder lady.
Debby shook her head, and murmured, "Hush!"--but
Aunt Pen had heard of matches being made in cars as
well as in heaven; and as an experienced general,
it became her to reconnoitre, when one of the enemy
approached her camp. Slightly altering her position,
she darted an all-comprehensive glance at the invader,
who seemed entirely absorbed, for not an eyelash stirred
during the scrutiny. It lasted but an instant, yet in
that instant he was weighed and found wanting; for
that experienced eye detected that his cravat was
two inches wider than fashion ordained, that his
coat was not of the latest style, that his gloves
were mended, and his handkerchief neither cambric
nor silk. That was enough, and sentence was
passed forthwith,--"Some respectable clerk,
good-looking, but poor, and not at all the thing
for Dora"; and Aunt Pen turned to adjust a
voluminous green veil over her niece's bonnet,
"To shield it from the dust, dear," which process
also shielded the face within from the eye of man.
A curious smile, half mirthful, half melancholy,
passed over their neighbor's lips; but his peace of
mind seemed undisturbed, and he remained buried
in his book Till they reached -----, at dusk. As he
returned it, he offered his services in procuring a
carriage or attending to luggage; but Mrs. Carroll,
with much dignity of aspect, informed him that her
servants would attend to those matters, and, bowing
gravely, he vanished into the night.
As they rolled away to the hotel, Debby was
wild to run down to the beach whence came the
solemn music of the sea, making the twilight
beautiful. But Aunt Pen was too tired to do
anything but sup in her own apartment and go
early to bed; and Debby might as soon have
proposed to walk up the great Pyramid as to make
her first appearance without that sage matron to
mount guard over her; so she resigned herself to
pie and patience, and fell asleep, wishing it were
to-morrow.
At five, a. m., a nightcapped head appeared
at one of the myriad windows of the ----- Hotel,
and remained there as if fascinated by the miracle
of sunrise over the sea. Under her simplicity of
character and girlish merriment Debby possessed a
devout spirit and a nature full of the real poetry of
life, two gifts that gave her dawning womanhood
its sweetest charm, and made her what she was.
As she looked out that summer dawn upon the
royal marriage of the ocean and the sun, all petty
hopes and longings faded out of sight, and her
young face grew luminous with thoughts too deep
for words. Her day was happier for that silent
hour, her life richer for the aspirations that uplifted
her like beautiful strong angels, and left a blessing
when they went. The smile of the June sky
touched her lips, the morning red seemed to linger
on her cheek, and in her eye arose a light kindled
by the shimmer of that broad sea of gold; for
Nature rewarded her young votary well, and gave
her beauty, when she offered love. How long she
leaned there Debby did not know; steps from below
roused her from her reverie, and led her back
into the world again. Smiling at herself, She stole
to bed, and lay wrapped in waking dreams as
changeful as the shadows. ancing on her charnber-
wall.
The advent of her aunt's maid, Victorine, some
two hours later, was the signal to be "up and
doing"; and she meekly resigned herself into the
hands of that functionary, who appeared to regard
her in the light of an animated pin-cushion, as she
performed the toilet-ceremonies with an absorbed
aspect, which impressed her subject with a sense
of the solemnity of the occasion.
"Now, Mademoiselle, regard yourself, and
pronounce that you are ravishing" Victorine said
at length, folding her hands with a sigh of
satisfaction, as she fell back in an attitude of
serene triumph.
Debby robeyed, and inspected herself with great
interest and some astonishment; for there was a
sweeping amplitude of array about the young
lady whom she beheld in the much-befrilled gown
and embroidered skirts, which somewhat alarmed
her as to the navigation of a vessel "with such a
spread of sail," while a curious sensation of being
somebody else pervaded her from the crown of
her head, with its shining coils of hair, to the soles
of the French slippers, whose energies seemed to
have been devoted to the production of marvellous
rosettes.
"Yes, I look very nice, thank you; and yet I
feel like a doll, helpless and fine, and fancy I was
more of a woman in my fresh gingham, with a knot
of clovers in my hair, than I am now. Aunt Pen
was very kind to get me all these pretty things;
but I'm afraid my mother would look horrified to
see me in such a high state of flounce externally
and so little room to breath internally."
"Your mamma would not flatter me, Mademoiselle;
but come now to Madame; she is waiting to behold
you, and I have yet her toilet to make "; and,
with a pitying shrug, Victorine followed Debby
to her aunt's room.
"Charming! really elegant!" cried that lady,
emerging from her towel with a rubicund visage.
"Drop that braid half an inch lower, and pull the
worked end of her handkerchief out of the right-hand
pocket, Vic. There! Now, Dora, don't run about and
get rumpled, but sit quietly down and practice repose
till I am ready."
Debby obeyed, and sat mute, with the air of
a child in its Sunday-best on a week-day, pleased
with the novelty, but somewhat oppressed with the
responsibility of such unaccustomed splendor, and
uttefly unable to connect any ideas of repose with
tight shoes and skirts in a rampant state of starch.
"Well, you see, I bet on Lady Gay against
Cockadoodle, and if you'll believe me -- Hullo!
there's Mrs. Carroll, and deuse take me if she
hasn't got a girl with her! Look, Seguin!"--
and Joe Leavenworth, a "man of the world,"
aged twenty, paused in his account of an exciting
race to make the announcement.
Mr. Seguin, his friend and Mentor, as much his,
senior in worldly wickedness as in years, tore himself
from his breakfast long enough to survey the
new-comers, and then returned to it, saying,
briefly,--
"The old lady is worth cultivating,--gives
good suppers, and thanks you for eating them.
The girl is well got up, but has no style, and
blushes like a milkmaid. Better fight shy of her,
Joe."
"Do you think so? Well, now I rather fancy
that kind of thing. She's new, you,see, and I get
on with that sort of girl the best, for the old ones
are so deused knowing that a fellow has no chance
of a -- By the Lord Harry, she's eating bread
and milk!"
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