Chapter: XXXI. OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT.


                       


                                                    "LONDON.
    "DEAREST PEOPLE,--

    "Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel,
    Piccadilly. It's not a fashionable place, but uncle stopped here
    years ago, and won't go anywhere else; however, we don't mean to
    stay long, so it's no great matter. Oh, I can't begin to tell
    you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I'll only give you bits
    out of my note-book, for I've done nothing but sketch and
    scribble since I started.

    "I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but
    after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day,
    with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Every one was very
    kind to me, especially the officers. Don't laugh, Jo; gentlemen
    really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait
    upon one; and as they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to make
    them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death, I'm
    afraid.

        [Illustration: "Every one was very kind, especially the
                         officers."--Page 378.]

    "Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let
    alone, so when I had done what I could for them, I went and
    enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid
    air and waves! It was almost as exciting as riding a fast
    horse, when we went rushing on so grandly. I wish Beth could
    have come, it would have done her so much good; as for Jo, she
    would have gone up and sat on the main-top jib, or whatever the
    high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and
    tooted on the captain's speaking-trumpet, she'd have been in
    such a state of rapture.

    "It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and
    found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here
    and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's
    country-seats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It
    was early in the morning, but I didn't regret getting up to see
    it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore _so_
    picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it.

    "At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us,--Mr.
    Lennox,--and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney,
    he sighed and sung, with a look at me,--

        'Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney?
         She lives on the banks of Killarney;
         From the glance of her eye,
         Shun danger and fly,
         For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney.'

    Wasn't that nonsensical?

    "We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It's a dirty, noisy
    place, and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a
    pair of dog-skin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an
    umbrella, and got shaved _à la_ mutton-chop, the first thing.
    Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton; but
    the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little
    bootblack knew that an American stood in them, and said, with a
    grin, 'There yer har, sir. I've give 'em the latest Yankee
    shine.' It amused uncle immensely. Oh, I _must_ tell you what
    that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came on with
    us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I saw in my
    room was a lovely one, with 'Robert Lennox's compliments,' on
    the card. Wasn't that fun, girls? I like travelling.

    "I never _shall_ get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was
    like riding through a long picture-gallery, full of lovely
    landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight; with thatched roofs,
    ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy
    children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil than
    ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a
    contented cluck, as if they never got nervous, like Yankee
    biddies. Such perfect color I never saw,--the grass so green,
    sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark,--I was in a rapture
    all the way. So was Flo; and we kept bouncing from one side to
    the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along
    at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to
    sleep, but uncle read his guide-book, and wouldn't be astonished
    at anything. This is the way we went on: Amy, flying up,--'Oh,
    that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!' Flo,
    darting to my window,--'How sweet! We must go there some time,
    won't we, papa?' Uncle, calmly admiring his boots,--'No, my
    dear, not unless you want beer; that's a brewery.'

    "A pause,--then Flo cried out, 'Bless me, there's a gallows and
    a man going up.' 'Where, where?' shrieks Amy, staring out at two
    tall posts with a cross-beam and some dangling chains. 'A
    colliery,' remarks uncle, with a twinkle of the eye. 'Here's a
    lovely flock of lambs all lying down,' says Amy. 'See, papa,
    aren't they pretty!' added Flo sentimentally. 'Geese, young
    ladies,' returns uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo
    settles down to enjoy 'The Flirtations of Capt. Cavendish,' and
    I have the scenery all to myself.

    "Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was
    nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked,
    and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some
    new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasn't half ready.
    A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the
    loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is
    perfectly splendid; things seem so cheap--nice ribbons only
    sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in
    Paris. Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and rich?

    "Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while aunt
    and uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned
    afterward that it wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in
    them alone. It was so droll! for when we were shut in by the
    wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and
    told me to stop him. But he was up outside behind somewhere, and
    I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see me flap
    my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling
    away, and whirling around corners at a break-neck pace. At last,
    in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it
    open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said,--

    "'Now then, mum?'

    "I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the
    door, with an 'Aye, aye, mum,' the man made his horse walk, as
    if going to a funeral. I poked again, and said, 'A little
    faster;' then off he went, helter-skelter, as before, and we
    resigned ourselves to our fate.

    "To-day was fair and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are
    more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives
    near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate; and the
    Duke of Wellington's house is not far off. Such sights as I saw,
    my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dowagers
    rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous
    Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and
    powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest
    children I ever saw; handsome girls, looking half asleep;
    dandies, in queer English hats and lavender kids, lounging
    about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps
    stuck on one side, looking so funny I longed to sketch them.

    "Rotten Row means '_Route de Roi_,' or the king's way; but now
    it's more like a riding-school than anything else. The horses
    are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well; but
    the women are stiff, and bounce, which isn't according to our
    rules. I longed to show them a tearing American gallop, for they
    trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high
    hats, looking like the women in a toy Noah's Ark. Every one
    rides,--old men, stout ladies, little children,--and the young
    folks do a deal of flirting here; I saw a pair exchange
    rosebuds, for it's the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and
    I thought it rather a nice little idea.

    "In the P.M. to Westminster Abbey; but don't expect me to
    describe it, that's impossible--so I'll only say it was sublime!
    This evening we are going to see Fechter, which will be an
    appropriate end to the happiest day of my life.

                                                          "MIDNIGHT.

    "It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning
    without telling you what happened last evening. Who do you think
    came in, as we were at tea? Laurie's English friends, Fred and
    Frank Vaughn! I was _so_ surprised, for I shouldn't have known
    them but for the cards. Both are tall fellows, with whiskers;
    Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for
    he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard
    from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their
    house; but uncle won't go, so we shall return the call, and see
    them as we can. They went to the theatre with us, and we did
    have _such_ a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and
    Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we
    had known each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for
    her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when
    I spoke of Jo, and sent his 'respectful compliments to the big
    hat.' Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we
    had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it?

    "Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I _must_
    stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing
    here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a
    jumble of parks, theatres, new gowns, and gallant creatures who
    say 'Ah!' and twirl their blond mustaches with the true English
    lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsense
    am, as ever, your loving
                                                               AMY."


    "DEAR GIRLS,--                                           "PARIS.

    "In my last I told you about our London visit,--how kind the
    Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I
    enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum
    more than anything else,--for at Hampton I saw Raphael's
    cartoons, and, at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner,
    Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The
    day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regular English
    picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I
    could copy; also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We
    'did' London to our hearts' content, thanks to Fred and Frank,
    and were sorry to go away; for, though English people are slow
    to take you in, when they once make up their minds to do it they
    cannot be outdone in hospitality, _I_ think. The Vaughns hope to
    meet us in Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully
    disappointed if they don't, for Grace and I are great friends,
    and the boys very nice fellows,--especially Fred.

    "Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again,
    saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland.
    Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she
    couldn't say a word; and now we get on nicely, and are very glad
    he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I don't know
    what we should do without him. Uncle doesn't know ten words, and
    insists on talking English very loud, as if that would make
    people understand him. Aunt's pronunciation is old-fashioned,
    and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good
    deal, find we don't, and are very grateful to have Fred do the
    '_parley vooing_,' as uncle calls it.

    "Such delightful times as we are having! sight-seeing from
    morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay
    _cafés_, and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy
    days I spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn
    up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no
    soul for art; but _I_ have, and I'm cultivating eye and taste as
    fast as I can. She would like the relics of great people better,
    for I've seen her Napoleon's cocked hat and gray coat, his
    baby's cradle and his old toothbrush; also Marie Antoinette's
    little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne's sword, and
    many other interesting things. I'll talk for hours about them
    when I come, but haven't time to write.

    "The Palais Royale is a heavenly place,--so full of _bijouterie_
    and lovely things that I'm nearly distracted because I can't buy
    them. Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didn't allow
    it. Then the Bois and the Champs Elysées are _très magnifique_.
    I've seen the imperial family several times,--the emperor an
    ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed
    in bad taste, _I_ thought,--purple dress, green hat, and yellow
    gloves. Little Nap. is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his
    tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as he passes in his
    four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets, and a
    mounted guard before and behind.

      [Illustration: I've seen the imperial family several times]

    "We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely,
    though the antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Père la
    Chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are like small
    rooms, and, looking in, one sees a table, with images or
    pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in
    when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy.

    "Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and, sitting in the
    balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It is
    so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there, when too
    tired with our day's work to go out. Fred is very entertaining,
    and is altogether the most agreeable young man I ever
    knew,--except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I wish
    Fred was dark, for I don't fancy light men; however, the Vaughns
    are very rich, and come of an excellent family, so I won't find
    fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.

    "Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland; and, as we
    shall travel fast, I shall only be able to give you hasty
    letters. I keep my diary, and try to 'remember correctly and
    describe clearly all that I see and admire,' as father advised.
    It is good practice for me, and, with my sketch-book, will give
    you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles.

    "Adieu; I embrace you tenderly.                     VOTRE AMIE."


    "MY DEAR MAMMA,--                                   "HEIDELBERG.

    "Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I'll try to tell
    you what has happened, for some of it is very important, as you
    will see.

    "The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed
    it with all my might. Get father's old guide-books, and read
    about it; I haven't words beautiful enough to describe it. At
    Coblentz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn, with
    whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade. It was
    a moonlight night, and, about one o'clock, Flo and I were waked
    by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew up, and
    hid behind the curtains; but sly peeps showed us Fred and the
    students singing away down below. It was the most romantic thing
    I ever saw,--the river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress
    opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heart of
    stone.

    "When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them
    scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and
    go laughing away,--to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next
    morning Fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his
    vest-pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and
    said I didn't throw it, but Flo, which seemed to disgust him,
    for he tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible again.
    I'm afraid I'm going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to
    look like it.

    "The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden, where
    Fred lost some money, and I scolded him. He needs some one to
    look after him when Frank is not with him. Kate said once she
    hoped he'd marry soon, and I quite agree with her that it would
    be well for him. Frankfort was delightful; I saw Goethe's house,
    Schiller's statue, and Dannecker's famous 'Ariadne.' It was very
    lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more if I had known the
    story better. I didn't like to ask, as every one knew it, or
    pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell me all about it; I
    ought to have read more, for I find I don't know anything, and
    it mortifies me.

    "Now comes the serious part,--for it happened here, and Fred is
    just gone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite
    fond of him; I never thought of anything but a travelling
    friendship, till the serenade night. Since then I've begun to
    feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily
    adventures were something more to him than fun. I haven't
    flirted, mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and
    have done my very best. I can't help it if people like me; I
    don't try to make them, and it worries me if I don't care for
    them, though Jo says I haven't got any heart. Now I know mother
    will shake her head, and the girls say, 'Oh, the mercenary
    little wretch!' but I've made up my mind, and, if Fred asks me,
    I shall accept him, though I'm not madly in love. I like him,
    and we get on comfortably together. He is handsome, young,
    clever enough, and very rich,--ever so much richer than the
    Laurences. I don't think his family would object, and I should
    be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous
    people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have
    the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid one as it is! A city
    house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses,
    but twice as comfortable, and full of solid luxury, such as
    English people believe in. I like it, for it's genuine. I've
    seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and
    pictures of the country place, with its park, great house,
    lovely grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should
    ask! and I'd rather have it than any title such as girls snap up
    so readily, and find nothing behind. I may be mercenary, but I
    hate poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minute longer than I
    can help. One of us _must_ marry well; Meg didn't, Jo won't,
    Beth can't yet, so I shall, and make everything cosey all round.
    I wouldn't marry a man I hated or despised. You may be sure of
    that; and, though Fred is not my model hero, he does very well,
    and, in time, I should get fond enough of him if he was very
    fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So I've been turning
    the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible
    to help seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but little
    things showed it; he never goes with Flo, always gets on my side
    of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we
    are alone, and frowns at any one else who ventures to speak to
    me. Yesterday, at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us,
    and then said something to his friend,--a rakish-looking
    baron,--about '_ein wonderschönes Blöndchen_,' Fred looked as
    fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely, it nearly flew
    off his plate. He isn't one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but
    is rather peppery, for he has Scotch blood in him, as one might
    guess from his bonnie blue eyes.

    "Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset,--at
    least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there, after going
    to the Post Restante for letters. We had a charming time poking
    about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun is, and the
    beautiful gardens made by the elector, long ago, for his English
    wife. I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine;
    so, while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there
    trying to sketch the gray stone lion's head on the wall, with
    scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if I'd got
    into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar rolling
    through the valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band
    below, and waiting for my lover, like a real story-book girl. I
    had a feeling that something was going to happen, and I was
    ready for it. I didn't feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool,
    and only a little excited.

[Illustration: Trying to sketch the gray-stone lion's head on the wall]

    "By and by I heard Fred's voice, and then he came hurrying
    through the great arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I
    forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He said
    he'd just got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was
    very ill; so he was going at once, in the night train, and only
    had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, and
    disappointed for myself, but only for a minute, because he
    said, as he shook hands,--and said it in a way that I could not
    mistake,--'I shall soon come back; you won't forget me, Amy?'

    "I didn't promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied,
    and there was no time for anything but messages and good-byes,
    for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know
    he wanted to speak, but I think, from something he once hinted,
    that he had promised his father not to do anything of the sort
    yet awhile, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a
    foreign daughter-in-law. We shall soon meet in Rome; and then,
    if I don't change my mind, I'll say 'Yes, thank you,' when he
    says 'Will you, please?'

    "Of course this is all _very private_, but I wished you to know
    what was going on. Don't be anxious about me; remember I am your
    'prudent Amy,' and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as
    much advice as you like; I'll use it if I can. I wish I could
    see you for a good talk, Marmee. Love and trust me.

                                    "Ever your                 AMY."

 This chapter consists of some of Amy's letters home to her family from Europe. The first letter is written from London. Amy, along with her Aunt and Uncle Carrol and her cousin Flo, is staying at a hotel in Piccadilly. Amy says that she had a pretty good time on board ship on the way to London, after she got over her first seasickness. Her aunt and cousin were seasick most of the time, so she spent a lot of time alone on deck watching the waves. Their ship docked on the coast of Ireland, which was beautiful. One of the men Amy met on board ship, Mr. Lennox, recited a limerick for her before he left. The ship went on to Liverpool for a few hours, where Uncle Carrol bought the right accessories and got the right haircut to make him look British - or at least that's what he thinks. Also at Liverpool, one of Mr. Lennox's friends brought Amy a bouquet from him. Amy and her family traveled across the country from Liverpool to London. The journey was really picturesque; Amy and Flo were excited about everything, Uncle Carrol calmly read his guidebook, and Aunt Carrol went to sleep. When they arrived in London, it was raining. The first thing Aunt Carrol did was to buy Amy some nice clothes. While Aunt and Uncle Carrol took a nap in their hotel room, Amy and Flo went for a ride in a hansom cab, although later they found out that they had behaved improperly. The cab driver would only go really fast or really slow. Most recently, the family went to Hyde Park, an extremely fashionable park in an upper-class part of London. They did some fun people-watching and saw a lot of aristocrats. They also went along a fancy boulevard called "Rotten Row," which is a corruption of the "Route de Roi" or "Way of the King." Many people were riding, and Amy thought it was funny to see English-style riding instead of the American-style. In the evening, they went to Westminster Abbey. Amy doesn't try to describe it because it was too fantastic. That's the end of the first letter, but then Amy adds a P.S. to say that Laurie's English friends, the twins Fred and Frank Vaughn, came to see her. She and Fred, who is quite handsome now, talked about old times. Amy's second letter is written from Paris some time later. She refers to other letters from London that aren't included in the novel, reminding her family about sightseeing trips that she went on with Fred and Frank Vaughn. Fred, she says, was especially nice. Now Amy and her aunt, uncle, and cousin are in Paris, and Fred has turned up there to visit them! At first Amy's aunt disapproved of his obvious romantic interest, but now they're glad he's there, because he's the only one of them who can speak French. Amy is enjoying sightseeing in Paris, especially the art in the Louvre and the relics of famous people. Amy's also admiring the jewelry that she sees. Fred wants to buy her some, but she won't let him. Amy describes walks in the famous garden, the Jardin des Tuileries, and the view from her hotel window. She says Fred is with them a lot, and that he's very entertaining and has great manners. Next week, Amy says, they are going to Germany and Switzerland, and she won't be able to write as many letters because they'll be moving around. That's the end of this letter. The next letter is written from Heidelberg, in Germany, and addressed just to Mrs. March. Amy begins by saying that she has a little time before they go to Berne, in Switzerland, and needs to tell her mother what has happened. One night, Amy says, they went sailing up the Rhine in the moonlight with Fred. It was beautiful, and a group of students they met serenaded her and her cousin. That night, after they came home, Fred and the students serenaded them again under their windows. It was very romantic, and they threw flowers down to the men. The next day, Fred showed Amy a flower he was keeping in his pocket. She said that Flo had thrown it, and he threw it away, but she's starting to realize that he's interested in her. Amy tells her mother that she never realized Fred was interested in her, and she hasn't really fallen in love with him. However, she's decided that, if he asks her to marry him, she will say yes. Amy tells her mother all Fred's advantages: he's handsome and wealthy and smart, he loves her, and his family like her. Isn't that enough? Amy writes that someone in the family has to marry well - Meg didn't, Jo won't, and Beth can't . Their family needs money and good connections, so she's going to make them! Yesterday evening, Amy says, she was sitting in a castle that they were touring, waiting for Fred to come back from picking up his letters. She felt like a girl in a storybook. Fred came rushing in upset about something. He received a letter asking him to come home because his brother, Frank, is very sick. Fred asked Amy not to forget him. She wouldn't make any promises, but she gave him an affectionate look, and he seemed to accept it as a promise. Amy tells her mother that she expects Fred to come back and propose to her, and she's planning to say yes. And that's the end of the letter!

