LITTLE WOMEN - YouthPLAYS

LITTLE WOMENLITTLE WOMEN

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A full-length drama by

Isabella Russell-Ides This script is for evaluation only. It may not be printed, photocopied or distributed digitally under any circumstances. Possession of this file does not grant the right to perform this play or any portion of it, or to use it for classroom study.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

LOUISA MAY ALCOTT, 18. Author of Little Women, narrator.

MEG, 16. "Margaret, the eldest of the four, was 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 was rather vain." As described by Louisa May Alcott.

JO, 15. "Josephine was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn't like it." As described by Louisa May Alcott.

BETH, 13. "Elizabeth was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed. Her father called her 'Little Miss Tranquility,' and the name suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved." As described by Louisa May Alcott. Beth plays piano.

AMY, 12. "Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners." As described by Louisa May Alcott.

MARMEE, 35. The March girls' mother.

AUNT MARCH, 45. The March girls' imperious aunt.

THEODORE "LAURIE" LAURENCE, 15. Grandson of Mr. Laurence.

MR. LAURENCE, 60. The March girls' rich neighbor and grandfather to "Laurie" Laurence.

HANNAH, 30. The Marches' housekeeper. Can double as Aunt March.

MRS. HUMMEL, 35. A homeless mother. Can double as Aunt March.

GRETA HUMMEL, 16. Mrs. Hummel's daughter. Can double as Belle Moffat.

SILKE HUMMEL, 15. Mrs. Hummel's daughter. Can double as Annie Moffat.

KATRIN HUMMEL, 13. Mrs. Hummel's daughter. Can double as Sallie Gardiner.

BIRGIT HUMMEL, 12. Mrs. Hummel's daughter.

SALLIE GARDINER, 16. Meg's friend.

BELLE MOFFAT, 17. Rich girl.

ANNIE MOFFAT, 16. Rich girl.

NED MOFFAT, 17. The suitor that Aunt March prefers for Meg.

JOHN BROOKE, 18. "Laurie" Laurence's tutor and Meg's suitor.

FRED MAPLETHORP, 17. Male dance partner.

BERTY THATCHER, 17. Male dance partner.

MR. DAVIS, 35. A schoolteacher. Can double as Fred Maplethorp.

DR. BANGS, 35. A doctor. Can double as Berty Thatcher.

Additional nonspeaking parts can be added: dancers at the ball, servants and footmen at the Laurence house who can also serve as costumed stage hands for the mid-Act II set change.

Cast Size: 11-16F & 4-8M

Two of the eight males appear only as dance partners and could easily be played by females in period costume. That done, the minimum of four could be achieved as follows: (1) Ned Moffat and (2) John Brooke, who can double respectively as Dr. Bangs and Mr. Davis, (3) Mr. Laurence, the elder, and his grandson, (4) Laurie Laurence.

The eleven females are all in the Christmas scene so that number is fixed.

Suggestion for the mid-Act II set change: if there are costumed servants at the ball, they can change the performance space back to the Marches' sitting room, with the help of Hannah, the housekeeper, who can direct the changes in character.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to thank the Booker T. Washington School for the Performing Arts (Dallas, TX), in particular the students in Christie Vela's advanced acting class who gave Little Women its first developmental reading. Thank you Christie Vela (Marmee), Jessi Stegall (Jo March), Kat Reynders (Meg March), Kendall Ray (Amy March, Katrin Hummel), Elaine Hennig (Beth March), Alexandria Lofton (Beth March, Aunt March, Birgit Hummel), Joe Katinas (Mr. Laurence), Harrison Epstein (Laurie Laurence), Joe Burch (Mr. Brooke, Mr. Davis), Veronica Nichols (Mrs. Hummel, Greta Hummel, Belle Moffat), Faith Barnes (Silke Hummel, Sallie Gardiner), Corbin Climer (Ned Moffat), Max Sedacca (Dr. Bangs), Nancy

Padilla (Hannah, Stage Directions) Cruz Rendon (Stage Directions), and Mari Williams (Stage Directions).

The author would also like to thank her husband, Rod Russell-Ides, who is her first, foremost and most faithful reader.

Isabella Russell-Ides

© Isabella Russell-Ides This is a perusal copy only.

Absolutely no printing, copying/distribution or performance permitted.

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ACT I

SCENE 1: The Hearth

(SETTING: "December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it." Little Women.)

(The March sitting room. A fireplace, Marmee's chair, Papa's chair, book cases. MEG sits in Papa's chair, reading. BETH sits on a footstool close by Meg. Beth is knitting a slipper. AMY sits on sofa, drawing on handheld drawing board. JO sits at a desk facing audience, writing. The girls can be in place when the audience enters, or they can enter when the audience is almost settled. They behave naturalistically, unaware of the audience. They will freeze at the sound of a bell when LOUISA MAY ALCOTT enters at the top of the play.)

LOUISA MAY ALCOTT: (Enters from upstage.) Oh. This is a lovely room. Someone needs to light the fire.

(She does. It can be a cardboard-cutout fire that flips up, or a light effect.)

There, that's better. This must be Marmee's chair. And look at Meg, sitting in Papa's chair—so imperious.

(Meg glances up from book, gives disapproving look.)

That's right—Papa was off to war, a chaplain for the union soldiers. How I wanted be a soldier and fight for the abolitionist cause. Slavery was such an abomination and I was very much a girl who longed for heroics.

Did I forget to introduce myself? I always did have terrible manners. I am Louisa May Alcott, the author of Little Women. These are my characters, based on my true sisters. I love

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visiting my characters in theatrical productions. Whenever I make a visit, I am always eighteen—it is my favorite age.

The absolute biggest mistake of my life was being born a girl. So when I wrote Little Women, I named myself Jo.

You must be Jo.

(Jo nods.)

What are you writing?

JO: I'm writing a play.

LOUISA: Of course you are! (To audience:) I was constantly writing plays in those days. And casting them and directing them and playing all the male parts. This must be Beth.

(Beth ducks head.)

Don't be shy. And last but by no means least, little Amy.

(Louisa taps Amy on the nose.)

You be nice to that pretty little nose.

Here's something you probably don't know about me. At the same time I was writing Little Women, I wrote a sensational romantic thriller, a Gothic bodice ripper no less. I called it A Long Fatal Love Chase. No one would touch it. It wasn't published until 1995. I made the New York Times Bestseller List one hundred years after I was buried in the good green earth. Now that's an achievement! I love watching over my literary estate from my comfy perch in the sweet hereafter.

Let's see. What else should I tell you? I was homeschooled, principally by my father but also by his friends. Ralph Waldo Emerson was one of my teachers. You've heard of the famous transcendentalist? In my early teens, I wrote Mr. Emerson impassioned love letters. Later, I begged them back and burned them. He shaped some of my more forward ideas on personal liberty. I took those ideas further. I became an




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abolitionist. I became a suffragist. I was the first woman to register to vote in Concord, Massachusetts.

Early in life, our real father lost his fortune in a failed attempt to found a utopian commune. Fruitville had a brief but lively history. We were hippies before there were hippies. There was much philosophizing by the men and farming by the women; and we all starved equally.

My visionary father founded an alternative school: The Temple School. His ideas on sex education were considered unwholesome, and then when he enrolled a young Negro girl—well, that finished it. We had to sell everything to keep the creditors at bay. Some of his best ideas were buried with him. Here's one of his ideas that did take hold: You can all thank my father, Amos Bronson Alcott, for recess.

Henry David Thoreau was also one of my teachers. The great outdoors was our classroom. Just when the world had all but forgotten Walden Pond, I put my former teacher back on the literary map.

And just to brag a bit more, after the publication of Little Women, I became a millionaire. I pulled my family out of poverty once and for all.

In my lifetime, I was a constant collision of conflicting character traits: radical feminist and devoted mother to my orphaned niece, a romantic fool and a pragmatic industrialist. I started my first business at the age of ten, sewing doll clothes.

Much like the fictional March girls, the very real Alcotts lived the life of impoverished bohemians.

(Takes book off bookshelf.)

The Wandering Jew, a scandalous work. I think I'll borrow it. Even at our most destitute, I always had access to the stacks and stacks of books in Mr. Emerson's extensive library.

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JO: You can't butter your bread with books.

LOUISA: Of course, you can.

(She exits.)

(Jo scrunches up page into a ball.)

JO: Christmas won't be Christmas without presents!

(Tosses ball of paper.)

MEG: It is dreadful being poor at the holidays.

AMY: It's not fair. Why do some girls have all the pretty things?

MEG: And others have none.

BETH: We've got Father and Mother, and each other.

JO: We haven't got Father. The war has Father. What if he—?

BETH: Don't say it!

MEG: Yesterday mother said we ought not to spend any money for pleasure when our men are suffering so in the army.

JO: That's enough to put any girl in the [Pronounced "slew":] Slough of Despond. Jiminy Christmas!

AMY: You musn't say Jiminy. It sounds awfully like a swear, Jo.

JO: Christopher Columbus then. How's that?

MEG: Don't quarrel. I do wish we could all be like Marmee, making sacrifices with good cheer. But I can't.

AMY: We've each only got one dollar. Surely, the army won't miss our little fortunes. Besides, I already bought myself satin ribbons. To Amy, Merry Christmas. Love, Amy.

JO: Since we're fessing up. I bought a book. Everyone, just everyone is talking about Undine.




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MEG: Oh dear, I bought myself a new pair of gloves. Paid for with my own hard-earned money. Still, Mother's sure to be disappointed in us.

BETH: I've still got my dollar. But if I could give myself one present, I would buy new sheet music.

AMY: That's a nonesuch. No one can hear you play on your silly cloth keyboard.

BETH: I can hear myself play.

JO: I wish I could buy you a piano, Beth. We all deserve some fun.

MEG: Teaching those tiresome King children all day long nearly makes me—

JO: What about me? Shut up for hours with critchity crotchety Aunt March. What a fussbudget! She keeps me trotting from sun up to sundown. Look at the heels of my shoes, worn down to nothing.

BETH: It's naughty to fret.

JO: You're too good for this world, Beth. I should think washing dishes and pots and pans is the worst work in the world.

BETH: Sometimes it does make me cross. My poor hands are so stiff and swollen, I can barely finish these slippers.

JO: Here, give me your needles. I'll finish for you.

AMY: None of you suffer as I do!

JO: Says Miss Priss.

AMY: What do you know about it? You don't have to go to school with impertinent girls who plague you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and insult you when your nose isn't nice. What's more, they label our father because he isn't rich.

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JO: If you mean libel, you should say so. It's not nice to talk about Papa as if he were a pickle bottle in need of a label.

(All but Amy laugh.)

AMY: I know what I meant. So you needn't be satirtyranical about it. It's proper to use uncommon words and improve your vocabulation.

JO: Improve my what?

MEG: Don't peck at one another, children.

JO: I'm fifteen, nearly as old as you are. And maybe we do peck a bit, but we are a good deal happier than your charges, the King children—fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money. I'd say we are a pretty jolly set.

(Jo whistles, does little jig.)

AMY: Jolly set is gutter slang. And whistling is for boys!

(Jo throws ball of yarn at Amy.)

Stop it, Josephine.

JO: My name is Jo.

(Beth picks up ball of yarn still attached to her slipper-in-progress.)

Oh, Beth, sorry. Have I made a mess of your knitting?

AMY: You're always embarrassing yourself, Josephine. You're not my sister anymore. I disown you. I detest rude, unladylike girls!

JO: I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!

(Silence.)

BETH: Do let's be good little birds, chirping in our snug little nest.

(Flaps hands like funny bird wings.)




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JO: That should be a snap, now that I've only got two sisters.

MEG: Jo, if you would leave off boyish tricks, and stop provoking Amy, we would have a happy nest.

JO: Now you're pecking at me.

MEG: It didn't matter so much when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should 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 'til I'm twenty!

(Jo pulls off her net, and shakes out down a chestnut mane, proceeds to make pigtails.)

I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be a Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as China Aster! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And I won't. It's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa.

BETH: Poor Jo! I am so sorry your life is a misery. Really I am.

AMY: It's a misery of her own making. It's posalutely ludisacris.

MEG: As for you, Amy—you are altogether too particular and prim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll grow up a puffed up goose. Your affected vocabulary is as bad as Jo's slang.

BETH: Oh, do lecture me too, Meg, or I shall feel left out. If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?

JO: You're a dear, and nothing else.

AMY: You always take Beth's part.

(The clock strikes six.)

BETH: Quick. Warm Marmee's slippers.

AMY: Look. They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair!

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BETH: I'm knitting as fast as I can.

MEG: We'll all pitch in then, and they'll be finished by Christmas morning.

(MARMEE enters from street.)

MARMEE: Oh, my dears, what a day! The boxes are all packaged and off to the soldiers.

(HANNAH enters from kitchen.)

Here, take my packages. Thank you, Hannah. (Taking off gloves:) I've spent every last penny on our Christmas breakfast, dear girls. It will be a feast. I can promise you that. Christmas supper is another matter.

HANNAH: I 'spect by supper time tomorrow, we'll have had Jo's marvelous theatricals to dine on. By then, we'll be so cozy, no one will mind a nice warm bowl of soup.

MARMEE: I am sure your soup will be a feast in itself, Hannah. Help me off with these wet things, girls.

(Meg takes Marmee's cloak, Jo takes her bonnet. Marmee sits in her chair, Amy removes Marmee's wet boots, Beth brings her warm slippers.)

Oh, it's lovely to sit. This is always the best hour of the day. Warm slippers! Oh, Beth. What could be nicer?

AMY: A letter from Papa.

MEG: We just had a letter yesterday.

MARMEE: We'll read Papa's letter again after supper.

JO: I've got the best part by heart. (Puts hand over her heart:) "I know my dutiful daughters will be loving children to you, will serve their ideals faithfully, and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I come back I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women."

AMY: (Dreamy:) Little women.




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(Lights out.)

SCENE 2: Christmas

(The March sitting room, the next day. The sitting room is being readied for the holiday. Beth and Meg deck the hearth with garlands. Amy fastens bows in her hair.)

(Jo enters, wearing her "Roderigo/Pedro" costume, boots, breeches, a vest, a foil. She is also wearing her white "dress" gloves.)

JO: Prepare the board!

MEG: Heavens, Jo! Must you be so boisterous at such an early hour?

(Meg and Jo place "board" on two side tables.)

(Hannah enters, holding tablecloth.)

HANNAH: Freshly ironed and smellin' sweet as rosebuds.

(All dress table: napkins, plates, candles, silver, cups quickly appear. A paper crown is set at Marmee's place. Hannah moves in and out bringing pitcher, strawberries, silverware. All is a merry bustle.)

MEG: (Sings:) Fa la la la la la la la la. Oh, deck the halls with boughs of holly.

JO: Here are your lines. (Passing out scripts:) Rehearse well, and we shall present our play anon!

MEG: For goodness' sake, Jo, must I always play the witch? I'm getting too old for childish pastimes.

JO: Never. You mustn't ever let growing up spoil our fun.

AMY: I love my part! The Moon Fairy. Thank you, Jo!

(Beth looks at her script, disappointed.)

BETH: The princess. Oh, dear.

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(Bows head.)

MEG: Quick. Let's put Mother's new slippers at her place.

BETH: I do wish we had some satin bows.

AMY: Here.

(Takes bows from her hair:)

You may have my Christmas ribbons.

BETH: No. Amy, it's your only present. I can't take them.

AMY: It is a hardship, but in the spirit of the season, I will sacrifice my bows.

(Gives bows to Meg, who attaches bows to slippers.)

BETH: It's perfectly lovely of you to give up your ribbons for Marmee.

JO: Hark, revelers! Be certain, I am keeping my book. In the spirit of the season, I set it right here at my place. Christmas isn't Christmas without presents. And I intend to have my one present.

MEG: I stand with Jo on this. I shall keep my gloves.

BETH: Amy, you shall have my one dollar.

(Puts dollar at Amy's place.)

AMY: Oh, Beth. Now there is naught by your place.

BETH: Here is my Christmas wish. Oh pretty please, dear playwright, grant my wish and excuse me from acting in your play. Jo?

JO: I wrote the part just for you.

BETH: I will blush and stutter and ruin everything. Especially now that you've invited the neighborhood.

JO: (Hoisting foil:) By my troth, your wish is granted! Hannah? You can be the princess.




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HANNAH: Not I. Oh, no. No, no.

(Shakes her hands in the air, running from Jo, who chases Hannah about with sword, girls laugh, Hannah exits.)

MARMEE: (Enters.) My, aren't we the merriest of Marches? Darling girls, I've placed a book under each of your pillows—Pilgrim's Progress. The girls squeal and run out to fetch their books.

(Hannah enters with covered tray of waffles. Marmee lifts lid.)

Ah, Hannah, you managed the very bread of heaven.

(Jo enters with Meg. Jo's book is crimson colored.)

JO: What a beautiful cover! I will treasure this forever and ever. (Opens at random:) "Yea, let young damsels learn of Mercy, a virtue early on to prize and so even little maids grow wise."

(Meg's book is green-colored.)

MEG: Whenever did you find the time, Marmee? The embroidery is beyond compare.

(Amy enters with Beth. Amy's book is blue-colored.)

AMY: I will keep mine by my bedside.

JO: Next to your clothespin?

AMY: You do not have permission to mention my personal clothespin.

(Beth's book is dove-colored.)

BETH: I will read my book every day, as faithful as faithful can be. Remember when we were little, how we played pilgrims and made up bundles to carry our burdens in? I've got my bundle somewhere still.

JO: You are the best of us, Beth. You have no character flaws to weigh down your bundle.

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BETH: But I do tire so easily. And that is a burden.

MARMEE: My, aren't these the loveliest pair of slippers? And what charming bows. There must be angels in the house.

MEG: Everyone has a gift at her place except Beth.

MARMEE: Then Beth has the best gift of all because she has given much.

BETH: Look here. I do have something.

(Holds up beat up rag doll.)

MARMEE: Why that's Jo's old doll, Miss Sabine.

BETH: I rescued her from the rag bag, just before the rag collector came.

JO: I supposed I should have given her a decent burial at sea. Har. Har.

BETH: You needn't worry about Miss Sabine. She has a comfy bed in my doll hospital. But I won't have her be an orphan. I wish to adopt her. If you don't mind, Jo—perhaps you could draw up some adoption papers? That would be awfully nice. Then, I shall truly have the best Christmas present because she once belonged to you, Jo.

MEG: Beth, look what you've done. You've made us all cry. Even Hannah.

HANNAH: The pfannkuchen is getting cold.

MARMEE: Come girls, let us sit down to our bountiful feast.

(Everyone sits, holds hands.)

My Christmas prayer for each of you is that you will conquer yourselves beautifully, steer clear of the Slough of Despond and journey safely to the Celestial City.

(As Marmee speaks, we begin to hear CAROLERS outside, singing a traditional 18th Century German carol.)




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CAROLERS: Kling, Glöckchen, klingelingeling! Kling, Glöckchen, kling! Laßt mich ein, ihr Kinder!

MARMEE: We are pilgrims all, making our sure progress. And on this Christmas Day we are reminded that the joys outweigh the hardships.

CAROLERS: Ist so kalt der Winter!

(Hannah joins carolers.)

CAROLERS & HANNAH: Öffnet mir die Türen! Laßt mich nicht erfrieren!

(All at table join in.)

ALL: Kling, Glöckchen, klingelingeling! Kling, Glöckchen, kling!

HANNAH: (Peers through window, gasps:) Ach, mein Gott! The poor tings is frozen.

MARMEE: Throw the door open. Bring them in.

(MRS. HUMMEL enters holding baby, with GRETA, SILKE, KATRIN, and BIRGIT in tow. They are in rags.)

MRS. HUMMEL: A tousand blessings. We only want a little bread. The girls' father is kilt in the war. Beg pardon.

MEG: Come. Come in. Stand by the fire.

MARMEE: Beth, warm these Christmas slippers for our unexpected guest.

(Hands Beth slippers.)

BETH: Yes, Marmee. I can see your halo. Truly, I can.

(Beth takes slippers to fire place.)

MARMEE: Amy, run get the socks we knitted for the soldiers. Meg, Jo, help the girls off with their wet things. Hannah, fetch dry quilts.

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HANNAH: What quilts?

MARMEE: Take them off the beds. (To Mrs. Hummel:) Here, come sit. Let me take off your wet boots. A towel. A towel.

MRS. HUMMEL: Thems only rags, ma'am, not hardly boots.

MARMEE: Beth, the slippers.

(Beth brings warm slippers.)

MRS. HUMMEL: Oh, ma'am. I never thought to see such angels on earth.

MARMEE: I am Mrs. March, no angel.

BETH: (To Katrin:) There now. You are altogether snug wearing my quilt. I'm Beth. Let's do be friends.

KATRIN: I'm Katrin.

MARMEE: Do my all Christmas visitors have names?

MRS. HUMMEL: Ach, mein poor manners. I am Mrs. Hummel. Poor manners as befits a poor woman. This is mein only son, baby Johann.

BIRGIT: Mama.

MRS. HUMMEL: (Corrects herself.) John. He is American boy. And these are mein gut girls: Greta, Silke, Katrin and Birgit. Mein gut hungry girls. Beg pardon.

(Each Hummel girl is now wearing a quilt and blue knitted socks.)

MARMEE: Now you must forgive me my poor manners. Surely, there are angels among us, and here is the proof. We've exactly five place settings at our table. Daughters, show the Hummel girls to their seats.

JO: Allow me to be your footman. What is your name?

SILKE: I'm Silke.

JO: I'm Jo. At your service.




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(Jo pulls out chair. The other March sisters follow suit, each conducting a Hummel girl to her seat.)

This is a jolly turn.

MARMEE: Mrs. Hummel, your place. Let us serve you. Here, Mrs. Hummel, you must wear the paper crown.

BETH: May I hold Baby John?

(Mrs. Hummel passes Baby John to Beth.)

SILKE: Look, here, beside my plate. Undine. Everyone is talking about this book.

JO: Are they?

(Jo picks up book.)

It's too bad you probably can't read English.

GRETA: All of us read and speak English.

MRS. HUMMEL: Mein gut girls were born on these blessed shores. I was born in the old country and do struggle some with the English.

(Birgit reaches across table for the strawberries.)

GRETA: Birgit, mind your manners.

MEG: Spoken like a true older sister.

HANNAH: I've got hot tea. Step aside. Let me pour.

AMY: Birgit, my name is Amy. That's your Christmas dollar. I give it thee.

BIRGIT: Truly? Mama, we're rich! I've got a spandy dollar.

MARMEE: Amy, I shall write Father and tell him that you've made him proud. His youngest little woman is conquering herself beautifully.

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JO: What, ho! Self-conquering is my trade. Silke, please do me the honor and accept Undine, with my gratitude for this opportunity to demonstrate the progress of a pilgrim.

SILKE: This is awfully good of you, Jo.

JO: You have made my bundle less weighty on the road to the Celestial City. Meg, isn't your bundle getting a bit heavy?

MEG: You are an incorrigible imp, Jo. Greta, I hope you will accept these gloves.

GRETA: For me? My, they are fine. I don't deserve them.

BETH: (Still holding Baby John, trying for Katrin's attention:) Katrin. Katrin.

KATRIN: (Turns in chair:) Sorry, to be stuffing myself. Yesterday, we had naught but stale bread.

BETH: I am so sorry.

KATRIN: Don't be sorry, Beth. You are my Christmas angel.

BETH: But I have no gift for you. I've only got ragdolls and they're all in the hospital. Miss Sabine has a broken leg. (Starts to cry:) And poor Joanna has the cholera.

JO: Christopher Columbus! Don't cry so, Beth. The dolls are sure to recover with you as their devoted nurse.

BETH: But how shall I make Father proud? I have no gift.

JO: Yes, you do have a gift.

BETH: What have I got?

JO: Come here.

(Whispers to Beth.)

BETH: You are so clever, Jo. Katrin. Come here.

KATRIN: Me?

(Beth whispers to Katrin.)




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KATRIN: (To Beth:) Why, yes.

BETH: Take my script notes. They're in my pocket. Come, sit by the fire. I'll help you memorize. Look at you, Baby John. Aren't you the sweetest little bundle? (Rubs noses with baby.)

(Jo slips into Katrin's chair.)

JO: Pass the pfannkuchen. I'm nearly starved to death. And the strawberries.

(Jo drops strawberries in her lap.)

Jiminy Christmas!

MARMEE & THE MARCH SISTERS: Jo!

(Jo scoops up strawberries with her white gloves.)

JO: There. I've saved the strawberries.

MEG: But you've positively spoiled your gloves. Oh, don't wipe them on your dress. Mercy.

(Lights out.)

SCENE 3: Jo's Play

(The March sitting room, an hour later. The little women and their new friends have taken over the sitting room. Jo is helping Meg into her witch costume. Beth is dressing Katrin as the Princess Zara. Amy and Silke are offstage in bedroom. All props and costumes look homemade and improvised. Marmee, Hannah, Greta, Birgit and Baby John are offstage in kitchen.)

MEG: I don't mean to act any more after this time.

JO: You are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards. Put on your witch hat. (Shouts:) Amy!

GRETA: (Holding gloves:) Meg, I hope you'll not think badly of me, but I must refuse this gift. These gloves are lovely, but I've no place to wear them. And I'm afraid my dress would look all

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the more shabby with such handsome gloves.

MEG: Oh, I've made you unhappy. I'm sorry.

GRETA: Not at all. I am the happiest of Hummels. Your hearth has warmed us inside and out. Look at Katrin!

JO: (Calling out:) Amy!

BETH: (Placing a ringlet of flowers on Katrin's head:) Amy's up in Marmee's room. She means to surprise us. (To Katrin:) Look at you. You are a true princess. Your cheeks are like roses. Scarlet roses.

KATRIN: I wish I could live in this dream forever.

(Katrin coughs, Greta exits.)

BETH: Wouldn't that be the best?

(Katrin coughs again.)

I could put you in my doll hospital and cure that scratchy throat of yours in a fortnight. My dolls are splendid company, but it is ever so much more fun to dress a live girl.

(Mrs. Hummel enters with Birgit from kitchen. Mrs. Hummel is drying a dish.)

MRS. HUMMEL: Ach, mein Katrin. What a vision! If Papa could only see his darling now. (Wiping tears.)

KATRIN: Mama.

BIRGIT: Don't cry, Mama. Our gut Papa is smiling down on us from heaven.

MRS. HUMMEL: Ach, mein heart. I'll not spoil your rehearsal, with happy tears and fuss. Come Birgit. (Exits.)

BIRGIT: May I stay and watch?

JO: (To Katrin:) Be my guest. Princess Zara, have you got your lines?

KATRIN: (Stiff, by rote:) Roderigo. Save me. Save me.




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JO: No. You must act the part with spirit! You must clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, crying out frantically— (Demonstrates:) Roderigo! Save me! Save me!

(Jo screams melodramatically and then faints.)

BIRGIT: What a spectacular faint! What is your play called?

JO: The Witch's Curse, an Operatic Tragedy. Meg, have you got the paper chains? Where's Hugo's sword? Think fast, Jo. Ah ha! Who is the mother of invention?

KATRIN, BIRGIT, MEG & BETH: Necessity!

JO: (Picks up toasting iron:) Necessity provides! This toasting iron shall serve as my trusty sword. (Calls out:) Amy! Even for Amy, this is a prolonged prink.

(Amy enters with Silke trailing behind. Amy is splendidly decked out as the Moon Fairy.)

AMY: Look, how Silke has turned me out.

JO: Silke, you're a trump!

SILKE: Danke.

JO: Have you got your lines Moon Fairy? Here, let me give you your cue:

Make it swift and sweet and strong,

Spirit answer now my song.

AMY: Hither I come, From my airy home, Afar in the silver moon. Take the magic spell, And use it well, Or its power will vanish soon!

(All clap.)

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JO: Now that's smart! The Moon Fairy must give the love potion to Zara, who falls in love with the hero, Roderigo. Here is the toughest part: for I must be both Roderigo and his mortal enemy, Hugo, and kill myself most dreadfully in the fight scene. I shall do it thus. Now I am Roderigo.

(She demonstrates.)

I bust out of my chains. I grab Hugo's sword.

(Hoists toasting iron.)

I stab him. Then leap I to the side—thus—and take the fatal blow.

(Groans and pulls red ribbon of "blood" from her vest.)

Next, I fall to the ground, crying out: "You shall not defeat me." I stagger back to my feet. "Esmeralda, Mistress of the night, most powerful sorceress, do give me a reviving potion. And quick."

BETH: You're a regular Shakespeare! My, Jo, I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things.

MEG: I don't see why Jo can't play all the parts, the witch as well.

JO: Esmeralda! Don't be difficult. I need the reviving potion.

(Meg hands Jo small bottle.)

MEG: Hugo, here, take this elixir at one swallow. It will be your deliverance.

JO: (Takes bottle.) Give it me. (Swallows, moans.) What scourging pain besets me? Have I been betrayed? What treachery is here? Alas. Alack. Oh, bloody death. Oh, fatal death. Oh, deadly death. Oh, dear.

(She groans and writhes on floor.)

MEG: (Laughs, wicked witchy laugh.) I deliver you to the darkest pits, never more to set eyes on the beauteous Zara. Did you




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never guess? Zara is my daughter.

(LAURIE enters, unnoticed.)

JO: Why no, what sad twist is this? Oh, fatal fate. My broken heart ticks…it's last…poor tock. Now I am slain. A cloud fogs mine eye. Sweet Zara, goodbye. (Kisses her own hand with loud, smacking kisses.) Now die, (Pulls out another ribbon of "blood.") die, die, die I.

(Laurie claps.)

LAURIE: Bravissimo! Bravissimo!

ALL: A boy!

LAURIE: Yes, and a real one, I might add. But say, good fellow, that was some pumpkins!

AMY: (Angry:) Those were my red ribbons!

JO: Don't embarrass yourself in front of company, Amy. (Holding ribbons high, as Amy tries to grab them.) You are making a poor first impression on our neighbor.

MEG: You must be Mr. Laurence's grandson.

JO: It is he. We were talking through the fence just yesterday. I'm Jo March and these are my sisters. Plus one Hummel or two.

LAURIE: Pleased to meet the March sisters, plus one Hummel or two. Officially, I am Theodore but you can all call me Laurie, short for Laurence.

MARMEE: (Enters.) Another visitor. What a day for surprises.

LAURIE: I come at my grandfather's behest. Mr. Laurence would like to send over Christmas dinner, if you would be so kind as to accept. You can't say no. The servants have packed it all up. There's a roasted goose. A pasty of venison. Creamed celery with pecans. A custard. Jellies. Two mince pies with rum butter sauce. And cranberry ice cream.

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(Hannah, Mrs. Hummel, Greta holding Baby John enter as Laurie details the sumptuous menu.)

MARMEE: I am speechless. I have not had the pleasure of your grandfather's acquaintance. I cannot think how Mr. Laurence was moved to treat us with such a kindness.

LAURIE: That's a mystery easily solved. Your maid was chatting with our kitchen help.

MARMEE: Hannah?

LAURIE: Over the fence, you know. That's how I met Jo.

MARMEE: Please tell Mr. Laurence…we accept.

(A cheer goes up.)

(Lights out.)

SCENE 4: The Dress

(The March sitting room, two days later. Jo holds an invitation that she has just finished reading out loud to Marmee, Amy and Meg.)

AMY: Read it again. Are you sure I'm not invited?

JO: Mr. Theodore "Laurie" Laurence requests the pleasure of the company of Miss Margaret March and Miss Josephine March for a dance and light supper to be held on New Year's Eve.

MEG: Marmee? May we please accept?

AMY: Just yesterday, he sent me new red ribbons. He can't have forgotten me so soon.

MARMEE: Amy, the ribbons are a thoughtful gesture, not a prelude to a courtship. Did you write a thank-you note?

MEG: Marmee, may we go?

JO: Do say yes.




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MARMEE: Dear girls, I entirely approve of your knowing the young Mr. Laurence. His manners are most agreeable.

MEG: Is that a yes?

MARMEE: Meg. Jo. We can't afford new dresses. You would have to make do. And you've only one tarlatan between you. You would have to wear your poplins and I am afraid —

JO: I'm not afraid. Our pops are good enough to go dancing next door.

MARMEE: You say that now. But the young Mr. Laurence is rich and likely to have rich friends. The other young ladies may be wearing silks and tulle. I'm afraid you will feel dull.

JO: I never feel dull. I shall be perfectly happy in my homely dress. I shall put a chrysanthemum in my hair, and I hereby declare that there is no jewel under God's heaven that can beat out a flower. I'll shall march into that ballroom, full of silly rich girls, and double dare Laurie to not to dance with me. If he refuses me, then I shall henceforth consider him a snob, and I will banish him from any further social intercourse with the illustrious March Sisters of Orchard House. Upon my word, I will.

MEG: Tell her, Marmee! She absolutely must not ask a fellow to dance.

MARMEE: Dear Jo, sometimes you carry a jest too far. It is unkind to make your sister fret needlessly. In your theatrical enthusiasms, you habitually fall prey to overstatement. You must never forget that the March sisters share a reputation. To sully one is to sully all.

BETH: (Enters. Anxious:) Sorry to interrupt. Aunt March is here.

MARMEE: Aunt March? Why have you left her in the hallway?

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BETH: She asked to be announced.

MARMEE: Well, please bid her join us.

(Beth exits.)

JO: Christopher Columbus! It's still the holidays. She's come to drag me back to work, you wait and see. I won't go.

MEG: There's something I must fess. You mustn't think me awful. I sent—

BETH: (Enters. Announces importantly:) Aunt March.

AUNT MARCH: (Enters.) Good morning, ladies. So a dance. The question is—will it be a brilliant dance and worth the fuss? Let's us ponder a moment. A brilliant dance is necessarily a collection of brilliantly fashionable creatures. My poor nieces hardly qualify. Of course, Meg would not be in her current state of social distress had I been permitted to adopt her when Mr. March set his family spiraling into ruin.

MARMEE: I am rich in my daughters, thank you.

AUNT MARCH: One daughter may be counted a blessing. But four daughters is a scandal.

MEG: Marmee, I'm sorry. I should have asked first. I sent round a note—

AUNT MARCH: A presumptuous note, under the circumstances. Meg, you were my darling. I meant to give you the best of everything. You broke my heart. Now, you see how you've cheated yourself. An important invitation. And only one shabby tarlatan between two sisters.

JO: It's worse than that. We've only got one pair of gloves. I'd quite forgotten. Mine are ruined with strawberries. There's nothing for it. I can't go.

MEG: And I can't possibly attend without you. How would it look?




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AUNT MARCH: There you have it. Gloves are de rigueur. Ladies of fashion often carry an extra set to a dance. To carry none at all is a grievous offense against decency. Absolutely no one attends a dance without gloves. Amy, put your hands over your ears. I must address a delicate matter.

MARMEE: (Under her breath:) Heaven help me.

AUNT MARCH: Young ladies, there is nothing more obscene than (Pauses. Stage whisper:) a damp hand.

JO: A what?

AUNT MARCH: A damp hand. It pains me to speak of it. But young men, do at times become…damp while dancing. And that, dear ones, is the medical reason why gloves are worn at a dance. Josephine, I for one applaud your decision not to attend.

MARMEE: I've not yet given my permission for anyone to attend.

AUNT MARCH: We'll get to that. You meant to offer me tea, did you not?

MARMEE: Yes, of course. Beth come, we'll prepare a tray. Amy, you may uncover your ears.

AUNT MARCH: I am going to encourage you to attend, Meg, although I must allow that I do not altogether approve of dances. Everyone is of a similar age at a dance. I would have much preferred that my eldest niece come out at a ball. A ball is more edifying because it is inclusive of all ages, and therefore one encounters more personages of rank.

AMY: Aunt March, beg your pardon.

AUNT MARCH: Yes, Amy, you may speak.

AMY: Would it be proper for Meg to ask if I could be invited? I have a pair of gloves. And Laurie Laurence sent me red ribbons.

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AUNT MARCH: Red ribbons! Dear child, you must not complicate one faux pas with another. Begging additional invitations for one's sisters is simply not done. Brothers are another matter altogether. Men who dance are always an asset, but an extra girl is about as welcome as a frog at a garden party.

AMY: (Dismayed:) Oh. A frog.

AUNT MARCH: Don't frown, dear. It's unbecoming. I commend you, Amy, for soliciting my advice. I am your most knowledgeable resource on all matters of social etiquette. You may always apply to me with confidence.

BETH: (Enters.) Your tea.

AUNT MARCH: Your mother isn't joining us?

BETH: She has a bit of a headache. She begs your pardon. Are you going to tell Meg about the dress?

AUNT MARCH: You've given away my secret. Please, go fetch the dress.

(Beth exits to hallway.)

A young lady who dresses like a frump will only attract unfortunates from the outskirts of society—tutors and tailors and such. To achieve a distinguished marriage proposal is the ultimate social success to which you must apply yourself from the moment you accept your first invitation.

(Beth enters with dress.)

BETH: Here, it is.

MEG: Oh. My goodness. It's heavenly. Aunt March. Is this really for me?

AUNT MARCH: I once danced with a duke in that dress. Nothing matters more than the dress at your first dance. Oh, you'll be told that it is the inner qualities that matter most. And they do matter. But no gentleman of distinction will draw




34

close enough to discover your finer qualities if they are not packaged enchantingly. Comme ça.

AMY: Oh, I'd give anything for an invitation just to see you turn about the room in such a fairy dress. Imagine the flowers, the candlelight. Imagine the happiness.

AUNT MARCH: A dance is not a frivolity. It is the duty of a young women, especially one of no means, to marry well. Meg, you have your work cut out for you. It is up to you to convince your mother. Believe me, I have nothing but the highest regard for her. She is a saint. An absolute saint. The sacrifices she makes. Her virtues are beyond reproach. But she is unschooled in the ways of society.

MEG: How can I ever thank you?

AUNT MARCH: No. No. No kisses. My thanks will come when you've made a brilliant marriage and lifted your family out of poverty. I'll see myself out.

(Aunt March exits.)

JO: Marriage! Fiddlesticks! If that isn't the worst sort of damper to cast over a girl, I don't know what is. Promise me, Meg, you'll never get married.

MEG: (Laughing:) I might just—someday, Jo. You can't stop loving me if I get married. Marmee is married and we love her so.

JO: It's different for her. We're sisters: first, last and forever.

BETH: I'd better go check on Marmee.

(Beth exits.)

MEG: (Teasing:) Don't you want me to raise you up from poverty?

JO: Just you wait until I make my fortune. Then we shall all have fancy ball gowns, and ride in carriages. And we shall eat ice cream every day.

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MEG: Don't be ridiculous. How ever in this world will you make a fortune?

AMY: Wait, Jo. Don't tell. Let me guess.

JO: Take the stage, Amy. You be my gypsy fortune teller. Look into your crystal ball.

AMY: (Mimes crystal ball:) Ah, I see the future. Oh, no! Jo has cut off her curls, put on breeches, and roams the seven seas, pirating jewels and such, her trusty sword ever at the ready. Is that it? Did I get it?

JO: The pen is mightier than the sword, dear girl. The plays may well be fun and games, but I am serious about my writing. I've been hard at work on a new story. I intend to get published in the newspaper. Look here, I've nearly got it finished.

(Holds up manuscript.)

It doesn't pay much, but it's a start. I must own, though—Amy, cover your ears—that sometimes when I write, I am afflicted with a damp hand.

MEG: Oh, no. Not the damp hand.

(Amy, Meg and Jo laugh.)

JO: (Imitating Aunt March:) It pains me to speak of it. There must be some rule of etiquette that addresses the unmentionable moisture that betimes besets the hand of the lady writer.

AMY: I should very much like to be a proper lady, but I am discouraged by how many rules there are to remember.

JO: The only reason to remember rules is so you can bend rules to your liking.

AMY: Then why aren't you willing to bend one little rule to my liking? I'm desperate to be invited. I'm begging you to ask for me.




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JO: (Imitating Aunt March:) An extra girl is about as welcome at a dance as a frog at a garden party.

AMY: I'm not a frog! It's my nose. That's it. Isn't it? Admit it! You're embarrassed by my hateful nose.

JO: You may think so, but the sun does not rise and set upon the incline of Amy's nose. Besides, having a straight nose hardly counts as a worthy goal in life.

AMY: Go ahead. Mock me. Miss Shakespeare.

(Picks up Jo's manuscript, runs to the fireplace.)

Oh you hateful, hateful, hateful—.

(Amy throws manuscript into fire.)

There.

JO: No! (Runs to fire.) My story.

(Reaches in grabs scorched pages, burns hand.)

Ouch!

(Meg wrestles Jo away from fire.)

MEG: Jo, careful.

JO: (Falls to knees, wails:) My story. It's ashes.

(Jo sobs.)

MEG: Jo. Jo. You'll write another.

AMY: No use crying over spilt milk.

(Jo goes after Amy.)

JO: Now you've done it!

(She grabs Amy by hair.)

(Amy screams, starts to cry, tries to wriggle free.)

AMY: Stop it. Stop it.

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(Marmee enters with Beth close behind. Amy brushes past Marmee and exits sobbing.)

MARMEE: Good grief! What has happened to our happy hearth?

MEG: Amy tossed Jo's story into the fire.

BETH: Poor Jo. Poor Amy.

MARMEE: Was the misbehavior unprovoked?

MEG: We were making jests. About Aunt March.

MARMEE: That woman is my Apollyon.

JO: And Amy is mine. She is a wicked, wicked girl. She is a destroyer. She is an abomination. I should cut off her curls while she's sleeping and toss them in the fire and see how she likes it.

MARMEE: Jo, darling, I am very sorry about your story. And in a very little while Amy will be very sorry as well—without any provocation. To behave badly is its own punishment. I caution you, hasty words once spoken cannot be unsaid.

JO: There's scads of words that ought to be unsaid by my reckoning. Do you think I never notice how everyone in this house treats me as if I were nothing more than a clumsy colt? And the best future that anyone wants for me is to be tamed and saddled. I'm better than that. I'm going to make something of myself. I'm going to be a writer. How dare she burn my story? I could strangle her.

MEG: Stop fuming, Jo, or you'll set yourself on fire.

JO: Fine. I'm doused. (Angry:) I forgive her.

MARMEE: (Pause.) Let's take a moment of silence.

(They sit. Bow heads. Pause.)

"The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest; It




38

blesseth her that gives and her that takes." (The "her" substituted for "him" is Marmee's modification of the Shakespeare line.)

JO: Shakespeare's Portia is a saint. Mercy comes easy for the saints. I am no saint. Look at my hands. They're still shaking.

MARMEE: I had to leave the room this morning. I did not know what ugly words might fall from my lips when your Aunt March insulted your father and had the temerity to call my four beloved daughters a scandal. My heart is at peace now, but I assure you it was a struggle and cost me bitter tears. I am not so different from you Jo, nor is Amy.

JO: I am nothing like that little priss.

MEG: I wish you could see it, Jo. Amy has a passionate nature, just as you do.

MARMEE: But Amy does not have your confidence, Jo. She suffers the taunts of the other schoolgirls. She tries so hard to belong to the smart set and it makes her all the more vulnerable when they cut her. She punishes her perfectly lovely nose every night with that clothespin, in the mistaken belief that a smaller, more pointy nose will make her more lovable.

BETH: Shall I go to Amy?

MARMEE: No, Beth. Stay by. We must allow Amy her private weep.

(Beth unrolls her cloth "piano" and begins to play silently.)

JO: What am I supposed to do? I can't make Amy more lovable.

MARMEE: True enough. But you can make her feel loved.

JO: Let Meg be the one to prop her up. Why must it be me?

MARMEE: Amy knows she has Meg's love.

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JO: I can't love her. I don't know how.

MARMEE: She has done something appalling. When you forgive her, she will know that there is nothing that can ever shut her out of your heart. She will know herself to be worthy, because you deem her worthy. You are like a goddess to her. And she struck you so you could feel her pain. Be bold, Jo. Go to her.

JO: The bundle feels mighty heavy.

MARMEE: I promise you, when you come back down the stairs, your step will be lighter than air.

JO: (Mimes slinging a bundle over her shoulder:) I trudge. Take note how obligingly I go down the Road of Difficulty and into the Valley of Humiliation.

MARMEE: Yes, it is time to slay Apollyon on the Sword of the Spirit. You'll be fine, Jo.

JO: Heave ho.

(Jo exits.)

MEG: She makes it so hard on herself.

MARMEE: That's easy for you to say, Meg. One blest with a calm nature cannot hope to understand the afflictions of one born with a passionate soul. Jo is all dark storms and bright enthusiasms. I don't know that I always do her justice. I would not harm her spirit, but I worry that the world will not welcome such a girl. Beth, is that Mozart?

BETH: Beethoven.

MARMEE: Perfect for storms. How I would love to hear you play again. Do you miss the old piano?

BETH: A little. But it bought us a roof. And I would miss not having a roof much more than I miss my piano. The poor Hummels.




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MARMEE: The war spreads hardship everywhere. Beth, be a dear and give Hannah a hand in the kitchen.

BETH: Of course.

(Beth rolls up "piano," exits. Marmee waits.)

MARMEE: Meg, darling, do you have you something to say to me?

MEG: Must I give back the dress? Is that your wish? I will do whatever you say. I'm so sorry I sent round the note. Aunt March was a perfect bear to you. It's all my fault, I know. Must I give up the dance too?

MARMEE: If Jo will attend, then you may go to the dance with your sister.

MEG: I see. I have your permission. Why don't I feel your blessing?

MARMEE: That's a question for you to answer. I do not withhold blessings, Meg. Come, kiss your mother. (Meg does.) You may riffle my jewel box to your heart's content. As far as Aunt March's ball gown is concerned, you will make your own decision.

MEG: That seems hard. I love the dress so, and yet there are so many good reasons not to wear it.

MARMEE: Darling Meg, you are of an age and there are choices you must own. Time will tell if the gown is a burden or a blessing or a mixed bundle. (Smiles.)

MEG: It doesn't seem right that I should have something splendid to wear and Jo beside me looking like a mouse in poplin.

JO: (Enters.) A mouse? What, me? Never.

MEG: I can't go without you.

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JO: I suppose if I held my hands thus and thus. No one would ever catch a glimpse of the strawberry stains on my gloves. Besides, I would never have it said of me: she was defeated by a pair of gloves. Oh, Marmee, you read me perfectly. I am fairly floating on air.

MARMEE: There's my girl. Now I must fix myself a restorative tea.

(Marmee exits.)

MEG: I am torn, Jo. Help me decide about the gown.

JO: I say it's a horse. You should saddle it and ride it. Now that we've endured Aunt March's theatricals, I say you've jolly well earned the right to wear it.

MEG: You won't be jealous?

JO: Not I. Your gown may have danced with a duke. But my poplin has gone cherry picking, sleighing, and oh, my—the many books I've read in this dress. Dear dress, what was your favorite? (Pauses to listen.) Ivanhoe. What part? (Pauses to listen.) Yes! When the Black Knight avenges Rebecca…

MEG: …who has been accused of being a witch! You are the best of sisters, Jo. We'll spruce up the old tarlatan for you. I am ever so thankful you do not resent the gown.

JO: I shall only resent it, if it catches a husband. You may have as many sweethearts as you like, but marriage is forbidden.

BETH: (Enters.) I saw Sallie Gardiner hurrying down the walk. I'll go let her in.

(Beth exits.)

MEG: Oh, I do hope Sallie received an invitation.

(SALLIE enters, all in a twitter.)

Sallie. Here, let me take your bonnet and cloak. It is ever so good to see you.




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SALLIE: (Breathless:) No. No. Leave my cloak and bonnet. I can't stay but a minute. I rushed to Orchard House just as soon as ever I could get away. Oh, sweet friends, I do hope you received an invitation. Don't keep me in suspense? Is it a yes?

MEG & JO: Yes!

SALLIE: That's some plum pudding! This might prove the best holiday ever. I must confide in you: I hope to dance with Mr. Brooke. We were introduced at church. My, he is marvelous handsome, Mr. Brooke is. I can only assume that he's been invited. He is the young Mr. Laurence's tutor. He speaks five languages. Isn't that the beatingest? A tutor, mind you.

JO: Meg has been warned against tutors and tailors.

SALLIE: Is he not worthy? Have you heard something?

MEG: Jo was only making a jest. I'm sure your Mr. Brooke is beyond reproach. In any language.

SALLIE: Oh, please don't call him my Mr. Brooke. That is so forward. I've had a note from Annie Moffat.

JO: Miss Moffat Money Bags.

MEG: You are incorrigible, Jo. Please, Sallie, do tell.

SALLIE: I've lost my place.

MEG: You've had a note from Annie Moffat.

SALLIE: Yes. Here, let me read it. (Takes note from reticule:) Annie Moffat writes and I quote: "My brother, Ned, is home from Princeton"—Princeton! Dancing on the arm of a Princeton man. Can you imagine? Oh, I've lost my place again. Here, it is—"home from Princeton for the holidays and he will escort me to Mr. Laurence's dance." Now, there's a catch. Ned Moffat. Can you imagine? He can't give all his dances to his sisters, now can he?

MEG: Is there more?

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SALLIE: Yes, but the next part is in French. That set all likes to chatter away in French. I think I can say it— (With effort:) "Je me rejouis de vous revoir. À très vite!"

(The girls laugh.)

I must run. Give my kisses to Mrs. March. See you at the dance! (Flutters hands affectedly.) Au revoir. Au revoir.

JO: I guess it's going to be a highty tighty affair.

(Meg and Jo, hug, giggle.)

MEG & JO: (Imitate Sallie:) Au revoir. Au revoir.

(Lights out.)

(Act break.)




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ACT II

SCENE 1: Fast Friends

(The drawing room at the Laurence residence. We hear muted ballroom music; possibly we see the shadows of dancers behind a scrim. There is a small "cabinet" piano in the room.)

(Jo stands alone at a fireplace. She looks lovely in her spruced up tarlatan. Chrysanthemums adorn her hair.)

LAURIE: (Enters.) What are you doing in here?

JO: Mr. Laurence!

LAURIE: Do dances bore you, Miss March?

JO: I might ask the same of you. It looks like you've escaped from your own party.

LAURIE: Please call me Laurie.

JO: Only if you'll call me Jo.

LAURIE: Jo it is then. I suppose it's our fancy clothes made us formal with each other. You hardly look like the girl I met over the fence.

JO: Doesn't Meg look pretty tonight?

LAURIE: May I be frank?

JO: If we are to be particular friends, we must always be frank.

LAURIE: No, I don't think she looks pretty. She looks like she's trying to be pretty.

JO: Aunt March sent over her personal maid, Hortense, and she amended Meg to such an extreme, I hardly know her myself. First Hortense force fed Meg a list of French phrases. Meg pronounces the phrases beautifully, but she doesn't know what they mean.

LAURIE: I speak French. My tutor, Mr. Brooke, sees to that.

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JO: Then perhaps you can help poor Meg translate her phrases. After the French lessons, Hortense crimped Meg's hair to a fare-thee-well and burnt the edges until Meg smelled like a toasted slipper.

(They laugh.)

JO: Then Hortense tucked in the burnt edges and piled it up so high—

LAURIE: —it appears your sister is wearing a bride's cake on her head.

(They laugh.)

JO: We shall be fast friends. I can tell right off you're a capital fellow. So am I, when it comes to that.

LAURIE: Shall we two fellows dance?

JO: Well, I can't. My stars! What is that smell?

LAURIE: Your dress! It's on fire!

(He brushes off the back of Jo's dress, ruining his gloves.)

JO: Oh, fiddlesticks!

LAURIE: There. It's out.

JO: My, that was close. I might have gone up like a Salem witch were it not for your quick heroics. Laurie Laurence, savior of damsels in distress. You are my Ivanhoe.

LAURIE: I feel right smart. But I shall have to get out an umbrella, should you keep showering me with complements.

JO: 'Tis a mixed blessing, Good Knight. For now both the March sisters smell of toasted slippers.

(Laurie and Jo laugh.)

You shall have to sneak me home through the kitchen. I can't appear at the dance like this and embarrass Meg.

LAURIE: Oh, don't run off just yet.




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JO: I'd like to call you Teddy.

LAURIE: Do you often rename your friends?

JO: No. You're my first. I shall only use it when we speak in confidence. Don't let anyone else call you Teddy. Shall I try it out?

LAURIE: I suppose.

JO: Teddy, was it your idea to send over Christmas dinner?

(Laurie bows head.)

I knew it!

LAURIE: My grandfather can be rather formidable.

JO: So you've a formidable grandfather in your bundle!

LAURIE: In my what?

JO: I couldn't imagine what your burdens might be, with so many lovely things in your palace. Before you charged in on me, I was admiring this dear little cabinet piano. I know it's rather bold, but I hope to corral an invitation from you, dear fellow—for my sister, Beth. If she could practice on such a sweet instrument, she would feel she'd arrived in the Celestial City.

LAURIE: It belonged to my sister.

JO: Oh, dear, I've bungled. Oh, no. Not the Celestial City?

(Laurie nods, yes.)

Oh. I am ever so sorry, Teddy.

LAURIE: At least grandfather did not hear. He's still rather broken up.

MR. LAURENCE: (Enters.) I dare say, Laurie, you are in a confiding frame of mind.

JO: Mr. Laurence!

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LAURIE: May I please introduce my grandfather? This is our neighbor, the second oldest Miss March.

(Jo bows head, slight curtsy.)

MR. LAURENCE: Your sister plays piano? Does she play well?

JO: She practices on a bit of white cloth with the keys embroidered in black. Beth is very clever with a needle. I have no idea if she plays well or not. We sold the piano over a year ago.

MR. LAURENCE: Please extend her my invitation to come practice in our drawing room.

JO: I spoke too soon. My sister, Beth, is afraid of strangers. Sir, you would be the Lion that she would have to pass in order to enter the Palace.

MR. LAURENCE: Pilgrim's Progress.

JO: Yes, Sir. Indeed, sir.

MR. LAURENCE: And what is your Lion, Miss March?

JO: Me, sir? I'm not afraid of anything.

MR. LAURENCE: Then why are you hiding out in my drawing room? I haven't seen you take a turn about the dance floor.

JO: I supposed there's nothing for it, but to fess up. I've strawberry stains on my gloves (Shows gloves.) and now I've burnt the back of my frock. (Shows dress.) So I am stuck here in the Valley of Humiliation.

MR. LAURENCE: I see.

LAURIE: And I've soiled my gloves brushing off the ashes, sir. We're a bit of a mess.

MR. LAURENCE: You two are a perfect match. I believe there's a Cally Polka coming up on the dance card. My




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grandson will whisk you about the room at such a pace that no one will notice either gloves or dress.

LAURIE: Miss March?

(Laurie extends his arm. Jo takes Laurie's arm.)

JO: (To Mr. Laurence:) If they do notice, will you promise to scowl at them?

MR. LAURENCE: Indeed, Miss March.

(Lights out.)

SCENE 2: The Dance

(The Laurence Ballroom. Dancers: Sallie Gardiner and MR. BROOKE, BELLE MOFFAT and FRED MAPLETHORP, Meg March and NED MOFFAT, ANNIE MOFFAT and BERTIE THATCHER are dancing a quadrille. Extra actors may be used as FOOTMEN, GUESTS, SERVANTS. When the dance ends, Mr. Brooke, Fred and Bertie escort their partners to side tables. Ned Moffat escorts Meg to a semi-private bench. The bench can be in an alcove, or placed by potted shrubs in such a way that those seated on the bench cannot be seen by persons standing nearby.)

NED: Are you quite comfortable Miss March?

MEG: Yes. I mean—oui, merci, Mr. Moffat.

NED: Est-ce qu'on peut se tutoyer?

MEG: Oh, dear.

MR. BROOKE: (Entering the private nook.) He is asking if he might address you in familiar terms. I think your answer should be a decided "no."

MEG: I'm afraid the French has gotten me into a muddle. Too much champagne.

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MR. BROOKE: I would consider myself most fortunate if you'd permit me to visit and tutor you in French. Or Spanish. Or Latin. Or Greek, for that matter.

NED: I say Mr. Brooke, American girls don't go in for all that European chattering.

MR. BROOKE: What do American girls go in for, Mr. Moffat? Pray tell.

NED: Let's apply to the enchanting Miss March. Please enlighten your poor suitors.

MEG: Why, I suppose I wouldn't mind a dish of ice cream.

NED: There you have it. I shall be right back.

(Ned leaves alcove.)

MEG: If you would be ever so kind, Mr. Brooke, some coffee would do me a world of good. I'm feeling a bit over the moon. Two glasses of champagne are twice as much as I've ever had in my entire life.

MR. BROOKE: No sooner spoken than done.

(Mr. Brooke leaves alcove. Sallie, Annie and Belle gather nearby. Mr. Brooke acknowledges them in passing:)

Ladies.

(He hurries off on his errand.)

SALLIE: I wonder where Mr. Brooke is hurrying off to.

ANNIE: That March girl seems to have turned everyone's head. But I believe your Mr. Brooke is safe. The socially ambitious Miss March would never settle on a tutor.

BELLE: She is decidedly overdressed for a dance. That Marie Antoinette coiffeur is best consigned to the eighteenth century. In her effects, Miss March seems to have achieved the impossible. She is at once forward and backwards.




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(Girls titter. Meg sneezes into lacy handkerchief.)

ANNIE: Did anyone sneeze?

SALLIE: I feel I must defend my friend. Meg is really awfully nice. I can't think what has made her act above herself.

ANNIE: That's easy enough to puzzle out.

BELLE: Do tell!

ANNIE: It's always the mother in these cases. You know the Marches are poor as church mice. I'll wager a spandy dollar it's the Laurence fortune Mrs. March has set her sights on for her eldest daughter.

(The girls remain unaware that Meg is seated nearby and can hear the conversation.)

BELLE: Mais, non. I rather fancy Miss March means to capture our brother, Ned.

(Returning with ice cream, Ned overhears Belle's remark. He stops before entering nook.)

NED: (To Belle:) C'est un fait accompli.

BELLE: (To Ned:) I see. She's won you over.

MR. BROOKE: (Returning with coffee. To Ned:) Credo nos in fluctu eodem esse.

BELLE: Two hearts conquered.

NED: May the best man win!

(Meg rushes out, passing her erstwhile suitors, repressing tears, handkerchief over her mouth. She bumps into old Mr. Laurence.)

NED: What the dickens!

MR. LAURENCE: (To Meg:) Madame, I beg your pardon.

MEG: Sir, you must rescue me. I am afraid I've made a terrible fool of myself. Pretend to speak to me.

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MR. LAURENCE: There is no need of pretense. We are speaking, my dear. Now dry those tears. Show some Yankee fortitude, young lady.

(Meg sees Jo on Laurie's arm.)

MEG: Oh, blessed saints in heaven! There's my sister, Jo! On your grandson's arm. We are undone. I do believe she means to dance.

MR. LAURENCE: Yes, I believe you are right. Shall we join them? The Cally Polka is an old favorite of mine. Will you do me the honor of your hand?

MEG: Sir.

(Bows head. Slight curtsy.)

(The other couples partner up. Mr. Brooke with Annie, Ned with Belle, Fred with Sallie—one does not dance with the same partner twice in a row. A lively dance ensues. The partners bow when the dance finishes.)

JO: (To Laurie:) That was jolly fun.

LAURIE: (To Jo:) I'm sorry it was the last dance.

JO: (To Laurie:) Cheer up, good fellow. We're young. We've plenty dances ahead of us. Now walk slightly behind me to cover my cinders and steer me to the punch bowl and the bonbons.

BELLE: (To Ned:) Look at her! The younger March girl.

ANNIE: How clumsy she is.

BELLE: Something's amiss with her dress.

ANNIE: Really Ned, you must take a look. It's too funny.

NED: I cannot look. I've only eyes for the elder sister.




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MR. BROOKE: It's not fair for Mr. Laurence to monopolize her. I leave for Washington tomorrow. I'm joining the Army of the Potomac.

NED: Hear, hear.

MEG: (To Mr. Laurence:) I can't thank you enough.

MR. LAURENCE: The pleasure was entirely mine.

MEG: I afraid I am a disaster. Everyone is talking about me and my silly hair and my unfortunate dress.

MR. LAURENCE: Ah, yes, the young demoiselles. Never mind them. You have charmed all the gentlemen present, myself among them. Clearly, you and your sister are better than your costumes. And that cannot be said of everyone in the room.

(A supper bell is heard.)

Come, let us go in to super. I shall enjoy the spectacle of the young gentlemen vying for your attention.

MEG: So, you do not think me a silly goose?

MR. LAURENCE: I did not say that, Miss March. It will be a pleasure, however, to watch you become the lady you were meant to be.

(Lights out.)

SCENE 3: Dark Days

(The March sitting room, one day later. Beth, Marmee and Hannah are a whirlwind of frantic preparations.)

BETH: Here are some extra socks for Father. And a wool cap.

MARMEE: (Stuffing the socks and cap in her case.) Thank you Beth, darling.

HANNAH: These boiled rags will make good clean dressings. You must change the dressings every day.

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MARMEE: Yes, thank you Hannah. What else? Oh, the medicines. Let's pack them in my hatbox. Beth, you write a thank-you note to Mr. Laurence. I think he fairly emptied his medicine chest. I am so grateful.

MEG: (Enters, looking disheveled.) Mother? What is all this? I've an awful headache. I only thought to skip breakfast.

MARMEE: Oh, Meg, darling. We've had some news. Come, sit.

MEG: Is it Father? Oh, no!

MARMEE: It is only a flesh wound. But I must go tend him. The hospitals are overrun. And the infections—it's unspeakable. Oh, pray for me. I must keep my head.

MEG: This is the worst. I'm a terrible daughter. Why didn't you wake me?

MARMEE: You were quite beyond us, dear. Jo tried before she ran off. I must think. Oh yes, Mr. Brooke has been by. He will accompany me to Washington. What a kindness. And Ned Moffat brought a basket from his mother with dried fruits and smoked bacon.

MEG: Oh Marmee, I must fess.

MARMEE: Not today. There is no time for tears and regrets. Help Hannah pack the medicines. I must say, Mr. Laurence sent a curious note with his generous gift. He said he was returning a favor and made a point of thanking me for the medicine that I sent him.

MEG: What medicine did you send him?

MARMEE: I rather think he meant you and Jo. Where is Jo? Beth, fetch my cape. It needs a new button. Will you mend it?

BETH: Quick as you please.




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MARMEE: I shall wait 'til Amy comes home from school for lunch. Then, I must kiss my girls goodbye and set off for the train station. Where is Jo?

HANNAH: Oh, I nearly forgot the biscuits and jellies.

(Hannah exits to kitchen.)

(Jo enters at a rush. Bends over, hands on knees, out of breath. She is wearing a newsboy cap. Laurie enters a pace behind her.)

MARMEE: Jo!

JO: Marmee! I made it (Pants.) on time. Here's twenty-five dollars!

MARMEE: What in the world—

LAURIE: We had to wake the barber—

(Jo takes off cap, bows.)

MARMEE: Your beautiful curls.

LAURIE: After the haircut we marched right next door and woke up the newspaper editor. Mr. Dugan.

JO: I am promised another two dollars for a newspaper story, soon as I can deliver it.

MARMEE: Well done, Jo. Come, kiss your mother. Let me ruffle short your curls.

BETH: What a noble sacrifice!

MEG: My, you look so boyish.

JO: Am I disaster? Do I look too awful?

BETH: I think you look splendid, Jo.

LAURIE: Hear. Hear.

(Laurie starts song. All join in.)

For he's a jolly good fellow. For he's a jolly good fellow.

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For he's a jolly good fellow Which nobody can deny. Which nobody can deny. Which nobody can deny. For he's a jolly good fellow

(A loud knocking is heard.)

Which nobody can deny.

(MR. DAVIS and Amy have entered during song. Mr. Davis pounds his cane on the floor three times, holding Amy by the ear.)

(Amy runs to Marmee, sobs in her arms.)

AMY: Marmee.

MARMEE: Amy. Mr. Davis. What is the meaning of this?

MR. DAVIS: I thought to deliver the miscreant myself.

MARMEE: Amy, darling, your hand is bleeding. Miscreant?

MR. DAVIS: I shall explain.

MARMEE: Amy, go to Hannah in the kitchen and let her dress your wound. Mr. Davis, her hands are red as beets. Please tell me you did not beat my daughter's hands 'til she bled.

MR. DAVIS: There was cause, Mrs. March. Your daughter—

MARMEE: Mr. Davis, there is no greater trespass than the wounding of a child. No matter her offense, yours is by far the greater. You have broken a sacred trust.

MR. DAVIS: I am sorry you feel that way. I had hoped for an apology.

MARMEE: We are at war, Mr. Davis. My husband has been injured. You have added to our grief.

MR. DAVIS: I beg your pardon.




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(Amy enters, goes to Marmee.)

MARMEE: Please leave us, Mr. Davis.

AMY: Why does he just stand there?

(Jo hoists foil.)

JO: If you do not leave, as bid, I will be forced to challenge you to a duel, sir! I will happily avenge my sister's honor.

(Laurie grabs a toasting iron.)

LAURIE: I will be your second.

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