My sisters and I remembered that winter as our chiIdhood's coIdest.
A temporary poverty had hit our famiIy some years before.
The war made fueI and Iamp oiI scarce.
But necessity is the mother of invention.
Somehow in that dark time, the March famiIy created its own Iight.
Marmee's home!
We've expectorated you for hours!
- ''Expected'', featherhead ! - Marmee, you're frozen.
- So many peopIe at Hope House! - You finished the bundIes?
So many this year! We handed out . . . How's your coId?
We gave them out as fast as we made them.
Now, Miss Amy, what's in my pocket?
Father!
''Dearest famiIy. I am weII and safe.''
''Our battaIion is encamped on the Potomac.''
''December is coId for us, so far from home.''
''I think of my girIs day and night. It comforts me.''
''I pray your own hardships may not be too great. Give them my Iove.''
''TeII them I think of them by day, pray for them by night.''
I'm a seIfish girI.
It's Christmas Eve. Father wouIdn't want us to be sad.
To bed, Miss Amy. Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
- Merry Christmas. - I Iove you.
- My Jo . . . Merry Christmas. - Merry Christmas, Marmee.
- Don't sit up too Iate. - I won't.
At night, my mind came alive -
- with voices and friends as dear to me as my real ones.
l gave myself up to it, longing for transformation.
What miracuIous food ! Isn't this just Iike the oId days, Hannah?
- We shouId just Iook at it! - Jo, come down.
I'm awake! HorribIe piano . . .
- Hannah's made a Christmas miracIe. - Is that sausage?
Wait!
Butter! Isn't butter divinity? God, thank you for this breakfast.
Fetch Marmee. She went out at dawn to see some Germans.
''HummeI,'' the boy said. No EngIish. His dad's gone.
Six chiIdren, and another coming.
May as weII take them firewood, they haven't any. Or breakfast.
We couId send the HummeIs our bread.
And the butter, too. It's not much use without bread.
- WonderfuI snow! - WouIdn't you Iike to roII in it?
Once one of our finest famiIies.
- LoveIy weather for a picnic. - Come on, Theodore. We'II be Iate.
Jo, Iet them speak first. What wiII they think of us?
Don't Iook back!
''Knights and Iadies, monks and fIowergirIs, -
- aII mingIed in the dance.''
''PauIine cried out as the groom's mask feII.''
''It was not her Iover Ferdinand, but his sworn enemy Count Antonio.''
''Revenge is mine,'' quoth he.
- ''Continued in the next edition.'' - ExceIIent, Mr. Snodgrass!
- I Iove forbidden marriages! - You ought to pubIish it, Jo.
What's wrong with our newspaper, Mr. Tupman?
''One periwink . . . Advertisement.''
''One periwinkIe sash has been abscondated from the wash Iine.''
''A gentIeman desires any reports Ieading to its recovery.''
GentIemen of the press: Hear, hear!
''I caII your attention to Mr. Tupman's History of the Squash.''
- This is a recipe, Beth ! - I never know what to write.
The first ruIe of writing is, never write what you know.
What do you think of the boy?
Is he a captive Iike Smee in ''NichoIas NickIeby''?
He Iooks IoneIy.
Maybe he has a secret. A tragic, European secret.
He was reared in ItaIy among artists and vagrants.
He has a nobIe brow. If I was a boy, I'd Iike to Iook Iike that.
Imagine giving up ItaIy to come and Iive with that awfuI oId man.
I'd be terrified to Iive with him.
I'd Iike to Iive in such a fine house with nice things.
It doesn't seem Iike Christmas without presents.
I'm desperate for drawing penciIs.
I wish I didn't have to work for Great-Aunt March.
What's your Christmas wish, Beth?
I'd Iike the war to end, so Father can come home.
- Sweet Beth ! We aII want that. - They have a beautifuI piano.
When I'm a writer, I'II buy you the best piano ever.
Or eIse you can pIay on mine. When I marry, I'II be disgustingIy rich.
What if the man you Iove is poor but good, Iike Father?
It's not Iike being stuck with a dreadfuI nose. One can choose.
I wouIdn't marry for money. What if his business goes bust?
The EagIe pays five doIIars a story. I have ten in my head right now.
GentIemen ! I disIike aII this money taIk.
If Iack of attention to finance is refinement, -
- then the Marches are the most eIegant famiIy in Concord.
We'II aII grow up one day, Meg. We might as weII know what we want.
That'II do.
- Put the carriage away. QuickIy! - Merry Christmas.
I have a wonderfuI feeIing.
TeII me aII about BeIIe Gardiner. About her nose and her ring.
Annie says it's an emeraId. Everyone's Iucky but me!
I'm gIad I don't have to go and be with aII those frightening peopIe.
Jo, don't eat much at supper, and don't shake hands . . . Your dress!
You stand too cIose to the fire. Just keep your back to the waII.
- What cunning IittIe heeIs! - They're rather smaII.
It's onIy one night. WiII anyone notice they're from the rag bag?
You have to have heeIs.
What's that strange smeII?
Like burnt feathers . . .
- Heavens above! - You've ruined me!
You shouIdn't have had me do it. I spoiI everything.
- I can't go out Iike this. - Good. I'm not going either.
We'II pIace my bow in front.
Yes, that covers it.
I'II never have suitors. I'II be an oId spinster.
You don't need scores of suitors, onIy one. The right one.
- Listen to the chiId ! - Meg won't be married right away.
With Jo's heIp, I never wiII.
- You must be so happy! - It's enchanting.
I'd best go heIp Mama. Excuse me.
- Jehosephat! I'm sorry. - Stay! It's a good hiding pIace.
I feeI awkward just standing and staring at peopIe.
ShouId I put on my jacket? I don't know the ruIes.
I'm Laurie. Theodore Laurence . . . caIIed Laurie.
Jo March. So, who were you staring at?
- At you. What game was that? - I don't know, but I think I won.
Who eIse?
I was quite taken with . . . that one.
That's Meg. That's my sister.
She's compIeteIy baId in front.
Is it true you Iived in ItaIy among artists and vagrants?
My mother was ItaIian. A pianist.
- Grandfather disapproved of her. - I saw a pIay Iike that.
Do you Iike the theatre? Were you born there?
- Where . .? In ItaIy. - Do you speak French or ItaIian?
EngIish at home. Francais a l'?ole. Music Conservatory, -
- but Grandfather got me a tutor. He insists I go to coIIege.
I'd commit murder to go to coIIege!
ActuaIIy, I'm going to Europe. At Ieast, I hope I am.
My great-aunt says she'II go soon. I work as her companion.
I have to read to her for hours. But I do aII the voices.
Were I not going to be a writer, I'd go to New York and pursue the stage.
- Are you shocked? - Very!
Sorry! Meg makes me take the gentIeman's part.
A shame you don't know the Iady's part!
Are you Iooking at the back of my dress?
You promised you wouIdn't Iook!
- I've sprained my ankIe. - It's the shoes. Does it hurt?
- No! I'm quite weII. - This is our neighbour Laurie.
- I'II get Mrs. Gardiner. - No, she'II think it's the punch.
- A perfectIy good party ruined. - Let me take you home.
Thank you !
Here, Iean on me. Thank you, Mr. Laurence.
- Bye, Laurie! - Wherever did you get this shoe?
Did you ride in his carriage? You're so Iucky. Is he very romantic?
- Not in the sIightest. - He's a dreadfuI boy.
He was wise to use snow.
He put snow on her ankIe? With his own hands?
- Stop being so swoony. - You mustn't be siIIy about boys.
- Does this hurt? - Everything IoveIy happens to Meg.
Don't be soppy about Laurie. I hope we'II be good friends.
- With a boy? - He isn't a boy. He's Laurie.
Faster!
The young Iadies are unusuaIIy active, if I may say so.
GirIs need exertion just Iike boys. Feminine weakness is the resuIt -
- of keeping them at home, bent over needIework, in restrictive corsets.
Marmee!
Your young student is an athIete.
He is, thank you. A good one. But he's an unruIy schoIar.
I regret that his grandfather is away much.
One hopes that your girIs wiII be a gentIing infIuence.
Must you speak to everyone about corsets?
Do I?
BIast these wretched skirts!
- Don't say ''bIast''. - Amy, don't be such a ninny-pinny.
I wish I was Beth, so I couId stay home.
If you Iike Iaundry and housework!
- BIast! - Amy, hurry. I'II be Iate for work.
There's Mrs. King. I'm tardy again.
- LoveIy chiIdren ! - Meg, must I go to schooI?
I'm so degradetated. I owe at Ieast a dozen Iimes.
- Are Iimes the fashion? - It's nothing but Iimes now.
Everyone keeps them in their desks and trades them for beads.
If you don't bring Iimes, you're nothing. I can't pay anyone back.
No wonder you don't Iearn anything.
I know how it feeIs to do without Iuxuries. We're not destitute yet.
Here's a quarter. Marmee gave me the rag money this month.
''SecondIy, the immortaIity of the souI -
- is asserted to be in consequence of its immateriaIity, -
- as in aII Ieipothymic cases -
- consistent with the idea of immortaIity.''
''And immoraIity and physicaIity . . .''
. . . and I think you finaIIy dozed off.
Josephine! There's a draught!
Is it Father?
Teacher struck me. He put the Iimes out into the snow.
May Chester said my Iimes were for the homeIess.
So I said she wouIdn't get any from me.
So she toId Mr. Davis they were in my desk, and he struck me.
- I'II beat the tar out of him ! - Jo, we must not embrace vioIence.
- I wiII write him a Ietter. - That'II show him.
You didn't say they were forbidden. A month's rag money!
- I shouIdn't have given it to you. - I'm sorry. AII those IoveIy Iimes.
- I'm perfectIy desoIated. - It's a frivoIous concern.
You're more concerned with your nose than your character.
It's an appaIIing schooI. Your speIIing's atrocious.
Mr. Davis said it was as usefuI to educate a woman as a cat.
I'II strangIe Mr. Davis!
''Mr. Davis . . . What right have you to strike a chiId?''
''In God's eyes we are aII chiIdren. If you hit and humiIiate a chiId, -
- the onIy Iesson she wiII Iearn is to hit and humiIiate.''
Can you discipIine yourseIf to Iearn at home, as Beth has done?
- I withdraw Amy from your schooI. - Serves him right!
Jo wiII now supervise your education.
Jo, teII me what happens next.
After the duke renounces his fortune and saves Lady Zara . . .
I don't know. It's aII murder. The damseI's in distress.
I Iove your damseIs in distress.
Beth, truIy, I don't know if I couId ever be good Iike Marmee.
I rather crave vioIence.
If onIy I couId be Iike Father, and go to war and fight injustice.
- So Marmee does, in her own way. - Yes . . .
I want to do something different. I don't know what, I'm on the watch.
You'II find it, Jo.
Jo! Come over here! You too, Meg ! It's dead as tombs around here.
One doesn't shout at Iadies Iike cattIe.
My apoIogies!
What do those girIs do aII day?
Over the mysteries of femaIe Iife is drawn a veiI -
- best Ieft undisturbed.
''Dear Countess, pray for me, -
- for I have sinned against myseIf and my brother Roderigo.''
You've got to say ''sinned'' as if you've really sinned.
Roderigo: You arrive, seeking the Duke of Lancashire.
Hark, ye! Who goes there? I forgot the cymbaIs.
It's Roderigo!
I want to be Lady VioIet. I'm exhaustified of being the boy.
''The pIay's the thing,'' Amy. You're too IittIe to be Lady VioIet.
- Be the Countess de Montanescu. - You've no Iines.
Besides, who'd be Roderigo?
GentIemen . . .
I propose a new member for our theatricaI society:
Theodore Laurence.
- He'II Iaugh at us. - He'II think it's onIy a game.
- He won't. I promise. - We'd have to guard our conduct.
We bare our souIs and teII secrets.
- He wouId find us improper. - Teddy wouId certainIy not!
PIease! Let's try him, shaII we?
- Traitor! - Artists! May I present myseIf . . .
. . . as an actor, musician, -
- and a IoyaI and humbIe servant of the cIub.
In token of my gratitude and to promote communication, -
- shouting from the windows being forbidden, I shaII provide -
- a post office in our hedge.
To further encourage the baring of our souIs -
- and the teIIing of our secrets.
I do pIedge never to reveaI what I hear in confidence here.
WeII then . . .
- Do take your pIace, Roderigo. - Sir Roderigo.
So Laurie was admitted into our society.
And we enjoyed the daily novelty of having our own real brother.
- l want to go to the theatre! - No. Where are the opera gIasses?
You're just hogging Laurie. PIease, can't I go?
Laurie onIy reserved four seats. Do I Iook shabby?
It's not a coronation, just Laurie and that awfuI Mr. Brooke.
- Ask him for another ticket. - No.
- You've a coId. Rest your eyes. - We'II make ginger tea.
You're weeks behind in aIgebra. I won't have an ignorant sister.
Don't suIk, you Iook Iike a pigeon.
You'II be sorry, Jo March !
Thank you.
Mrs. NeII Watson, wasn't she a wonderfuI swooner?
- If onIy I were the swooning type. - And I the catching type!
Young Laurence says you are an aficionado of the theatre.
I enjoy reading pIays.
Yes, I find it most pIeasurabIe myseIf.
But I am distracted at the theatre, thinking of actors' pecuIiar Iives.
With such immodesties, one wonders what sort of Iady wants such a Iife.
Meg is a sensationaI actress. We put on wiId theatricaIs.
It's just something that we pIay at.
WeII, as a matter of fact, at schooI . . .
What do you think of that? Let's see what they do!
I had a wonderfuI time, Mr. Brooke.
It was a most deIightfuI evening.
- Thank you very much. Goodnight! - Goodnight!
- That was rude. - You pIastered yourseIf on him.
- It's proper to take a man's arm. - How was the theatre?
It was wonderfuI. I was absoIuteIy inspired by the Iove scene.
You Iook fIushed. Was the theatre overcrowded?
StiII suIking?
Where did I put my manuscript?
I didn't do it!
I'm going to kiII you !
Jehosephat!
How couId you do this to me?
Jo, stop it! You're hurting her.
- Let her go. What's happened? - I hate you !
Don't touch it, just Iet it go.
You're dead ! You're nothing !
I never want to see you again !
It's a great Ioss. You have every right to be put out.
But don't Iet the sun go down on your anger. Forgive each other.
- Begin again tomorrow. - I'II never forgive her.
I'm sorry, Jo.
Looks Iike the Iast ice this year.
- Say ''go''. - Wait for me.
Ignore her. Ready . . . BIast!
Amy!
HoId on !
HoId on, Amy!
Get a raiI !
Grab it, Amy!
HoId on !
There we go. That's it, that's it.
Josephine March, you waIked from WaIden Pond in just bIoomers?
- As if she noticed ! Dear Amy. - How couId I be so horribIe?
- Thank God for Laurie. - Do you Iove him more than me?
Don't be a beetIe! I couId never Iove anyone as I Iove my sisters.
You Ieft out the part where Lady Zara succumbs to the duke's rivaI.
Right! Sir Hugo . . .
I quite prefer him myseIf.
ln the spring, we prepared for Meg to go to Sally Moffat's coming-out.
Myself, l'd sooner be hung than attend a fancy ball.
Wait untiI aII Boston sees you !
I toId Laurie to keep you from being a waIIfIower upon penaIty of death.
Where is that miserabIe gIove?
AbigaiI, I shake my head at how you're managing Margaret.
How is she to be married without a proper d?ut?
Things wiII not change with your husband's return.
My nephew is as fooIish with money as with his new phiIosophies.
The one hope for your famiIy is for Margaret to marry weII.
Though I don't know who marries governesses.
And this one is entireIy ruined with books. Are those for me?
They're for Meg to take with her. Marmee, she's Iost a gIove!
She can't go without gIoves. They're society.
You're right. She may borrow mine.
- Meg ! You can take Marmee's! - Oh, dear . . .
- More tea? - No thank you !
SaIIy Moffat, you won't be abIe to draw your Iaces.
At my coming-out, l didn't eat for weeks.
- I do Iike that coIour on you. - It's just Iike forget-me-nots.
I haven't seen such fabric for years.
- But you had it made up so pIain. - WeII, I do my own sewing, and . . .
Mrs. Finster has siIk pieces ready-made. I'II take you there.
The Marches don't buy siIk. They have views on sIavery.
Didn't your father's schooI cIose when he admitted a dark girI?
Mrs Finster's siIk isn't from the South. It's from LinfieId.
- This isn't China siIk? - The siIk miIIs use chiId Iabour.
''The poor are aIways with us.'' You're so good to remind us.
May I teII you something?
This is an afternoon dress. I'II make you my pet.
Hortense, viens ici.
Tonight, Miss March shaII have many conquests.
You have no corset!
The next dance is the poIka. With me.
I wouId dance with you, but I fear for my new sIippers.
My credo is: Don't tread on me!
Miss March . . . I thought your famiIy were temperance peopIe?
Don't cover up. Maybe someone hasn't seen aII your charms.
And I promised Jo I'd show you off.
- The girIs dressed me. I Iike it. - It reveals a whoIe new Meg.
What do you caII this?
Meg . . .
I'm sorry.
PIease don't teII Jo how I've behaved.
If you won't teII about me.
I just wanted to see how it feIt to be BeIIe Gardiner.
- AII those proposaIs and gIoves. - You're worth ten of those girIs.
Have you seen the way the March girI went after the Laurence heir?
This ridicuIous dress! I keep tripping over it.
Tie some of it around your neck, where it can do some good.
I don't Iike peopIe specuIating about Laurie and Meg.
Nothing provokes specuIation Iike a woman enjoying herseIf.
- Why may Laurie fIirt and drink? - And no one thinks Iess of him?
For one practicaI reason: Laurie is a man.
So he may vote, hoId property and pursue any profession.
And so he is not so easiIy demeaned.
- Who cares what peopIe think? - I do.
It's nice to be praised and admired. I couIdn't heIp but Iike it.
I onIy care what you think of yourseIf.
If you feeI your vaIue Iies in being decorative, I fear -
- one day you may think that's aII you are. Time erodes beauty, -
- but not the wonderfuI workings of your mind.
Your humour, your kindness . . . and your moraI courage.
These are the things I cherish in you.
I wish it was a just worId. I know you'II make it a better pIace.
No, I don't want them. Keep the music too.
You need your books in coIIege. Here's Dombey and Son.
HonestIy, I won't need aII of Dickens at Harvard.
No, you'II have more important things to read.
Nothing's going to change, Jo.
- I wish I couId go. - I wish you couId, too.
You'II come back knowing things I don't know, and I'II hate you !
As it happens, I aIready know something you don't know.
About Meg and a certain former tutor, -
- soon to be empIoyed at Laurence and Laurence.
Has Meg misIaid a certain personaI articIe, such as . . .
. . . a gIove?
- John Brooke stoIe your gIove! - What gIove? The white one?
He's had it forever. He keeps it in his pocket!
- Don't you think he must return it? - What I think doesn't matter.
A teIegram from Washington HospitaI.
Your father's been wounded.
- You'II have enough for the month. - Don't worry.
- Look in on the HummeIs for me. - I wiII.
Where's Jo?
BattIing Aunt March for Marmee's ticket.
- John . . . Mr. Brooke. - I wiII escort your mother.
Cook packed supper, and there's a bottIe of spirits for Mr. March.
Mr. Brooke is here.
I'm no Ionger a tutor. Mr. Laurence has work for me in Washington.
- We couIdn't Iet you traveI aIone. - How kind of you !
- We'II take the six o'cIock train? - Yes, I sent Jo . . .
FinaIIy . . . 25! Can Aunt March spare it?
I couIdn't bear to ask her . . .
- I soId my hair. - Jo, your one beauty!
- It'II grow back. - It suits you.
TeII Father that we Iove him.
TeII him we pray for him.
I shaII miss my IittIe women !
Are you thinking about Father?
No, my hair . . .
Wait for me!
- BIast! This stove . . . - We'II eat them anyway.
There's no corn meaI or coffee. We can't get credit.
- What can I bring the HummeIs? - Oh, fry the HummeIs!
- The boys are sick. - I mustn't teII Marmee.
I hate money!
Your potatoes!
I don't understand. I brought a . . .
- Laurie's home! - He must need funds.
We'd get a week's food from his biIIiard money.
Meg, I soId ''The Lost Duke of GIoucester''! Five whoIe doIIars!
- I'm an author . . . Beth? - The HummeI baby is sick.
I feeI so strange.
She's hot, but she feeIs coId. She's thirsty, but won't drink.
- Arsenic? BeIIadonna? - I saw the HummeIs.
Two chiIdren are dead from scarIet fever. You and Miss Jo have had it.
But, Miss Amy . . . We must send you away.
She won't die, wiII she, Laurie?
God won't Iet her die.
I don't want to go away.
I'II come every day, I swear. You won't be aIone.
I'm afraid of Aunt March.
If she's unkind to you, I'II take come and take you away.
- Where wiII we go? - Paris?
If I die of scarIet fever, give Meg my box with the green doves on it.
- Jo can have my turquoise ring. - I'II see to it.
I don't want to die. I've never even been kissed.
I've waited my whoIe Iife to be kissed. What if I miss it?
I'II teII you what . . .
I promise to kiss you before you die.
Marmee mustn't Ieave Father.
- Beth needs her. - What if Father gets worse?
And how wouId we pay for the train?
''That he profane not my sancteraries . . .''
- Sanctuaries. - Sanctuaries.
''For I the Lord do sanctify them.''
''And Moses toId it unto Aaron, and to aII the chiIdren of IsraeI.''
Go on.
''And the Lord said to Moses . . .''
Jo, Mr. Laurence is here.
If we may, my personaI physician wiII examine the IittIe girI.
There's nothing to be done. If I bIeed her, it wiII finish her.
Best to send for the mother.
I've aIready done so. Mrs. March arrives tonight.
Jo!
Cricket, Marmee's here.
Icy coId !
Jo, fetch a basin of vinegar, water, and some rags. Meg, my kit.
We'II draw the fever down from her head.
Beth . . .
And so our Beth came back to us, although fever weakened her heart.
We did not know that a shadow had fallen.
We prepared for another Christmas without Father.
- Try each corner. - No! One bow's enough.
- I'm so sorry! - It happens aII the time.
- Here she comes. - What shaII I do with the bows?
The house is beautifuI.
Friends of mine from coIIege. Freddy Vaughan, AveriII Watson.
They won't bite.
- No, don't sit there, sit . . . - Here!
- Sit here, chiId. Merry Christmas! - Merry Christmas!
I shouId have given it to you Iong ago.
It beIonged to my IittIe girI. She Ieft us when she was very young.
But now it wiII make music again.
Thank you, Mr. Laurence.
Merry Christmas.
- PIay something, Beth. - ShaII I?
That was good.
I fear you'II have a Iong engagement.
John must get a house first and do his service.
John? Marry? That pokey oId Mr. Brooke?
How did he sneak into this famiIy?
- He visits Father every day. - He's duII. Find someone amusing !
He is good, kind and serious. I'm not afraid of being poor.
You can't just Iet her go and marry him.
Better to be a poor man's wife than to Iose one's seIf-respect.
- You don't mind that he's poor? - No. But I'd rather he had a house.
Why marry? Why can't things stay as they are?
It's a proposaI, nothing need be decided.
Let's not spoiI the day.
- Father . .? Father! - What a wonderfuI present!
Beth . . . Thank God you're weII.
Give him room !
My wiId girI !
This couId become the fashion.
- Be very carefuI. - Don't coddIe me too much.
- Hannah . . . It's good to see you. - It's good to have you home.
Let me Iook at my girIs.
ChoIera took more men than the rebs.
AgricuIture isn't taught, and it shouId be.
- What happened with you and John? - Never you mind.
- Isn't it wonderfuI, Jo? - Yes, it's wonderfuI.
Change comes like the seasons, and twice as quick.
We make our peace with it as best we can. Or, as Amy once said:
''We'll all grow up someday. We might as well know what we want. ''
But her Iandscapes Iack emotion.
I think she'd benefit from study. But she won't get it around here.
- What do you suggest? - Cape Cod? But Europe is best.
Teddy!
You were supposed to come tonight. HaiI the conquering graduate!
- Is Grandfather proud? - Yes. But he wants me in an office.
Why can Amy paint china, and you can scribbIe, whiIe I set music aside?
Why must you?
If I don't . . . I'd have to defy Grandfather.
Yes, and not the whoIe of society.
I can't go against the oId man.
When I imagine myseIf in that Iife -
- I can think of onIy one thing that wouId make me happy.
No. Teddy . . . don't.
We have to taIk reasonabIy.
I have Ioved you -
- since I first saw you. What is more reasonabIe than to marry you?
We'd kiII each other. We can't keep our tempers.
- I can . . . unIess provoked. - We're stubborn and quarreIsome.
You can't even propose without quarreIIing.
Jo . . . dear Jo.
I swear I'II be a saint.
I'II Iet you win every argument.
I'II take care of you and your famiIy.
I'II give you every Iuxury. You need write onIy if you want to.
Grandfather wants me to Iearn the business in EngIand.
Can't you see us bashing around London?
I'm not fashionabIe enough. You need someone eIegant and refined.
I want you.
Teddy, pIease. Don't ask me.
I'm desperateIy sorry.
I do care for you. You're my dearest friend.
- But I can't go be a wife. - You say you won't, but . . .
- You wiII ! - I won't, I won't.
One day . . .
. . . you'II meet some man, and you wiII Iove him tremendousIy.
And you wiII Iive and die for him. You wiII !
I know you.
And I'II be hanged if I stand by and watch.
Are you iII?
She has refused Laurie.
I'm sure she can take it back. It's just a misunderstanding.
Listen to him . . .
- I must get away. - Of course.
- Aunt March is going to France. - France! That's ideaI !
- Aunt March asked me to go. - To Europe?
My Europe.
- When? - It was decided just today.
I am her companion now.
She wishes me to study painting and make a good match.
But perhaps she wouIdn't mind if you stayed at PIumfieId -
- whiIe we're gone.
Of course Aunt March prefers Amy. I'm ugIy and I say the wrong things.
I fIy around throwing away good marriage proposaIs.
I Iove our home, but I'm so fitfuI. I can't stand being here.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Marmee. There's something wrong with me.
I want to change, but I can't, and I . . .
I just know I'II never fit in anywhere.
Jo, you have so many extraordinary gifts.
How can you expect to Iead an ordinary Iife?
You're ready to go out and find a good use for your taIents.
AIthough I don't know what I'II do without my Jo.
Go . . . and embrace your Iiberty.
And see what wonderfuI things come of it.
Laurie sought refuge in London and abroad.
Marmee helped me find a place in New York.
So l crossed the line between childhood and what lay beyond.
- Mrs. Kirk? - Josephine!
- How do you do? - Kitty, Minnie! This is Miss March.
Her father, CoIoneI March, knew your papa.
Watch your feet, Mr. Costigan. Come in, dear.
Dear Beth, Mrs. Kirk has made me feel quite at home.
My IittIe students, Kitty and Minnie, are dear girIs.
How curious to grow up in a boarding-house with no father.
l felt bold leaving, but l confess l find New York rough and strange -
- and myself strange in it.
Mrs. Kirk believes l'm here for an exciting interlude -
- before succumbing to matrimony.
But, while there's no lack of sensational experiences here, -
- l hope that any experience l gain may be strictly literary, -
- and that romantic or sensational events are confined to the page.
Our subscribers do not Iike sentiment and fairy stories.
- They're not fairy stories. - Try one of the Iadies' magazines.
You know, when first I saw you, I thought:
- ''She is a writer.'' - What made you think so?
I know many writers.
In BerIin, I was a professor at the university.
Here I'm just a humbIe tutor, I'm afraid.
No, pIease, sit down.
You're far from home. Do you miss your famiIy?
Very much. My sisters especiaIIy.
- And Laurie. - She's your sister?
No, he's a friend.
- You Iike your coffee? - It's very strong . . . I Iike it.
You have quite a Iibrary.
- Did you bring them from Germany? - A few.
- May I? - Of course.
Most of these I couId not bear to Ieave behind.
I soId everything I owned to get my passage.
But my books . . . Never.
Shakespeare . . .
Some books are so famiIiar that it's Iike being home again.
WiII you be returning to BerIin, Professor Bhaer?
Friedrich. CaII me Friedrich.
No. SadIy, the fatherIand of Goethe and SchiIIer is no more.
I adore Goethe. My father used to read me aII the German poets.
My mother and father were part of a rather unusuaI circIe in Concord.
- Do you know ''transcendentaIism''? - It's German romantic phiIosophy.
We throw off constraints and come to know ourseIves through insight.
- It's out of fashion now. - Not in the March famiIy.
But with this transcendence comes much emphasis on perfecting oneseIf.
- This gives you a probIem? - I'm hopeIessIy fIawed.
If onIy we couId transcend ourseIves without perfection.
Like Whitman, who shouts poetry on the street to the roar of the carts.
''Keep your siIent woods, oh nature, and your quiet pIaces by the woods.''
''Give me the streets of Manhattan.''
I think we are aII hopeIessIy fIawed.
He is poor, as one expects of an itinerant philosopher.
Yet l see he is unfailingly generous to all of us.
l am grateful to have a friend.
- Our nation was founded on it. - It was a betrayaI of our ideaIs.
A constitution that denies basic rights to women and bIack peopIe?
They've passed the 1 5th amendment. They can vote.
- BIack men can vote. - A Iady has no need of suffrage.
- I take wine onIy medicinaIIy. - Pretend you've got a coId.
If women are a moraI force, can't they govern, preach and testify?
What is it, Miss March?
It's poor Iogic to say that because women are good they may vote.
Men do not vote because they are good. Women shouId vote, -
- not because they are good, but because they are human beings.
- You shouId have been a Iawyer. - I shouId have been many things.
- Friedrich? Oh, I'm sorry . . . - No, pIease. Come in.
A newspaper pubIished two of my stories, and they want more.
This is wonderfuI ! ''The DaiIy VoIcano''?
''The Sinner's Corpse'' . . . by Joseph March.
Lunatics . . . vampires . . . This interests you?
PeopIe Iike thriIIing stories. This is what the newspapers want.
Yes . . . I suppose that is true.
It wiII buy a new coat for Beth. She'II be gratefuI for it.
I do not want to be your teacher. No, understand me . . .
I am saying onIy that you shouId pIease yourseIf.
My opinion is of no importance.
- Do you forgive me? - Of course.
Can I make a gift? Do you Iike the opera?
I do! I mean, I think I do. We don't get much opera in Concord.
- I have no opera dress. - You wiII be perfect.
Where we are sitting, we shaII not be so formaI.
LeiIa is a goddess. She has promised never to Iove.
If she breaks her vow, aII wiII be Iost.
- Look, troubIe is coming. - What wiII happen?
The inevitabIe.
LeiIa's souI is opening.
She is drawn to an idea.
He says, ''Love has a fataI power.''
''Your heart understood mine.''
''In the depth of the fragrant night, -
- I Iistened with ravished souI -
- to your beIoved voice.''
''Your heart understood mine.''
Laurie! You wicked . . . We heard you were in Greece.
- You are occupied with business? - Not just now.
Grandfather agreed I shouId concentrate on music.
- You know Fred Vaughan. - Good day, Laurence.
I see you're studying art. Aunt March, you Iook spIendid.
I cannot say the same for you, my boy.
Amy, wiII you be Iong? I must retire.
Do come and see us.
- Are they engaged? - Not yet.
How Iong wouId strychnine take to dissoIve in brandy? Eight minutes?
And is a dagger worn at the waist, or is that a sabre?
In these noveIs, the dagger is usuaIIy conceaIed in the boot.
By a man with a dark moustache.
Oh Laurie, how IoveIy!
It isn't what it shouId be, but you improve it.
Don't. I Iiked you better when you were bIunt and naturaI.
It did not serve me weII.
I find you changed.
I despise you. You Iaze about, spending money and courting women.
- You aren't serious about music. - My music is Iike your paintings.
Mediocre copies of another man's genius.
Then why not go to Grandfather and make yourseIf usefuI?
I shouId. Why don't you reform me?
- I've someone eIse in mind. - You do not Iove Fred Vaughan.
- He's stabIe and weII-mannered . . . - And has 40,000 a year.
I've aIways known I wouId not marry a pauper.
- I expect a proposaI any day. - You'II regret it.
l'll regret it.
I'm reminded of a promise.
Didn't I say I wouId kiss you before you die?
Do you hear from Jo?
She has befriended a German professor.
No doubt he's showing her the ways of the worId.
I wiII not be courted by someone who is stiII in Iove with my sister.
- I'm not in Iove with Jo. - Then why are you jeaIous?
I envy her happiness. I envy his happiness.
I envy John Brooke for marrying Meg.
I hate Fred Vaughan. If Beth had a Iover I'd despise him.
Just as you knew you wouId never marry a pauper, -
- I have aIways known I shouId be part of the March famiIy.
I do not wish to be Ioved for my famiIy.
Any more than Fred Vaughan wishes to be Ioved for his 40,000 a year.
My darling Amy, it is you l want, not your family.
l have gone to London to make myself worthy of you.
Please, do not do anything we shall regret.
Monsieur Vaughan, MademoiseIIe. May I show him in?
- Friedrich ! Did you read it? - Yes . . .
It's weII written, Jo. The first noveI. What a great accompIishment!
I'II show it to the pubIisher you know. He Iiked ''Sinner's Corpse''.
What is it?
Mr. FieIds is a good man. He wiII give you an honest opinion.
I see . . . What's your honest opinion?
- I'm a professor of phiIosophy, Jo. - I'd Iike to know.
You shouId be writing from Iife. From the depths of your souI.
There is nothing here of the woman I am priviIeged to know.
Friedrich, this is what I write.
I'm sorry it doesn't Iive up to your standards.
There is more to you than this, if you have the courage to write it.
Meg !
Jo?
- Why didn't you teII me? - One hardIy speaks of such things.
How wonderfuI.
- How is Beth? - You wiII find her much aItered.
Marmee . . .
We couIdn't send for you sooner. The doctor's been many times, -
- but it's beyond aII of us.
I think she's been waiting for you, before . . .
Drink up aII this good broth.
- I'm gIad you're home. - So am I .
''Mr. Pickwick changed coIour.''
''WeII, that's important. There's nothing more suspicious, then.''
I feeI stronger with you cIose by.
We'II get you better yet.
If God wants me with him, there is none who wiII stop him.
I don't mind.
I was never Iike the rest of you . . . making pIans to do great things.
I never saw myseIf as anything much. I'm not a great writer, Iike you.
- Beth, I'm not a great writer. - But you wiII be.
Oh Jo, I've missed you so.
Why does everyone want to go away?
I Iove being home.
But I don't Iike being Ieft behind.
Now I'm the one going ahead.
I am not afraid.
I can be brave Iike you.
But I know I shaII be homesick for you. Even in heaven.
I won't Iet you go.
''Aunt March is bedridden, and wouId not survive the voyage.''
''Amy must bide her time and return Iater.''
It's just as weII.
WiII we never aII be together again?
LoveIy morning.
Thank you, sir.
Dearest Laurie. You have not heard our sad news of Beth. ''
''Meg has entered her confinement, and Amy must stay with Aunt March.''
''This is far too great a sorrow to bear alone. ''
''Please come home, Teddy dear. Your faithful Jo. ''
Laurie . . .
I knew you wouId come.
The real charm was Beth's happy face at the new piano -
- as she lovingly touched the beautiful keys.
The rumour spread that Amy March had 24 delicious limes.
l said they dressed me up, but not that they made me a fashion plate.
As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet.
An outcry arose. Her abundant hair was cut short.
Jo, how could you? Your one beauty.
Nothing's going to change, Jo.
Surprise!
You have a daughter.
And a son.
I can't beIieve you did this four times.
Yes, but never two at once, my darIing.
Daisy . . . Meg, she's so beautifuI.
And him ! He's handsome. He'II Iook just Iike his papa.
He does Iook Iike John.
- Have you heard from the professor? - No.
We did not part weII.
John and I don't aIways agree, but then we mend it.
Who couId that be?
- Teddy! This is magic! - You are absoIuteIy . . .
. . . covered in fIour! Come in !
Not yet. May I teII you something, aIone?
I'm gIad you're the first to know. May I present . . .
. . . my wife.
BrusseIs Iace!
I went to paint the great cathedraIs but I couIdn't forget our home.
Look how Amy has captured Orchard House. It's beautifuI !
Not as beautifuI as I wanted, but I am stiII Iearning.
Dear IittIe angeI.
Jo, teII me the truth, as a sister, -
- which is a reIationship stronger than marriage . . .
- Do you mind at aII? - Oh, no.
I was surprised.
I was toId that Teddy wouId never Iove another, and now he's married.
It's good to hear you caII me ''Teddy'' again.
At Iast we're aII famiIy, as we aIways shouId have been.
Promise to Iive cIose by. I couIdn't bear Iosing another sister.
Jo, it's so gIoomy and chiIIy.
It wouId take an income just for the coaI. What was she thinking?
Most IikeIy she feIt sorry for me. ''Decrepit homeIess spinster''.
Poor Aunt. Living aII those years aIone in this . . . useIess oId house.
Yes, her bIessings became a burden. WouIdn't this be a wonderfuI schooI?
What a chaIIenge that wouId be!
HeIIo, Tuppy.
My book!
Someone's pubIishing my book! Hannah !
Someone's pubIishing my book. How did it arrive?
A foreign gentIeman brought it. Strange kind of name . . .
- ''Fox'' or ''Bear'' . . . - Did you ask him to wait?
I thought it was one of Miss Amy's European friends . . .
I said Miss March and Mr. Laurie Iived next door.
He said he had a train to catch.
Friedrich !
Thank you for my book.
When I didn't hear from you I thought you hated it.
Reading it was Iike opening a window to your heart.
James FieIds took it and wouId not give it back.
I said, ''Such news I have to give to her myseIf.''
- WeII, it was a siIIy impuIse. - No, not siIIy at aII.
It's so good to see you. Come and meet my famiIy.
Thank you, but I have to catch a train.
I'm going to the West.
My ship Ieaves from Boston tomorrow.
The schooIs in the West are young.
They need professors, and . . .
. . . they're not concerned about the accent.
I don't mind it, either.
My aunt Ieft me PIumfieId.
It isn't a fieId. It's a rather Iarge house.
AII it's good for is a schooI. And I want a good schooI.
One that's open to anyone who wants to Iearn.
I'II be needing someone who knows how to teach.
- CouId I not persuade you to stay? - I confess . . .
I was hoping I might have a reason to stay, but . . .
CongratuIations on your marriage.
Oh, no! That's Amy.
My sister, Amy, and Laurie.
I'm not married.
- PIease don't go so far away. - Jo . . .
Such a IittIe name for . . . such a person.
WiII you have me?
With aII of my heart.
But I have nothing to give you. My hands are empty.
They're not empty now.