The Radicalization of Louisa May Alcott
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The Radicalization of Louisa May Alcott
The mostly-true story of Fruitlands and the Transcendentalists
A Two-Act Play ©2021 Daniel Rover Singer
Contact: Roverzone@gmail.com
A melodramatic, ten-year-old tomboy spends a transformative summer at an
experimental farm community organized by 19th-Century America’s quirkiest
philosophers and reformers on a quest to create Utopia. The girl grows up to become
abolitionist, feminist, suffragist and author Louisa May Alcott.
NOTICE!
Your use of this script acknowledges that you agree, under penalty of prosecution,
that it shall remain con idential and proprietary, and shall not be shared, duplicated
or distributed in any manner. This play shall not be performed, ilmed, interpreted,
translated, published or used in any manner without the written permission of the
author, and in most cases, payment of a royalty. Representation: Jonathan Mills
@Paradigm Agency (212) 897-6400 jmills@paradigmagency.com.
CHARACTERS: (12 actors: 8 men, 3 women, 1 child)
*All characters are white except Hiram Jones, African-American
**Color-blind casting always recommended
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT, 10, precocious, bright & wild
BRONSON ALCOTT, 44, an esoteric philosopher, teacher & father
RALPH WALDO EMERSON, 40, 59, a sage philosopher
HENRY DAVID THOREAU, 26, a dreamy philosopher
JOSEPH PALMER, 54, 73, a progressive farmer & father
NANCY PALMER, 58, 77, a spirited wife & mother
HIRAM JONES, 38, 57, a diligent farmhand, formerly enslaved
TOM PALMER, 23, 42, Joseph’s cynical son, a dentist
CHARLOTTE, 21, 40, Tom’s ianc e (later his wife)
CHARLES LANE, 43, a serious British reformer
WOOD ABRAHAM, 35, 54, an eccentric farmhand
ABBY ALCOTT, 43, wife, mother & activist
SHERIFF (played by Thoreau)
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT, 29, a vivacious writer (played by Abby)
Four TRAMPS (played by Bronson, Lane, Emerson and Thoreau)
The action takes place in rural Massachusetts 1843-1862 at a Concord Meeting Hall,
the Common Room of the Fruitlands farmhouse, a pond, a forest, a ield, a jail cell, and
a barn.
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Act I, Scene 1: Rural Massachusetts, 1843
(Enter LOUISA MAY ALCOTT, 10, dressed in a humble play-dress and
somewhat dirty. Upset, she howls an angry, primal yell at us. Enter
RALPH WALDO EMERSON, 40, a distinguished and un lappable
philosopher, and BRONSON ALCOTT, 44, an effusive educational
reformer. They’re alarmed by LOUISA’s strange behavior. She runs a
igure-eight around the two men, howling repeatedly. Finally, she comes
to a halt Downstage Center and addresses the audience.)
LOUISA:
What am I so upset about? I honestly couldn’t tell you. People call me moody and
one lady even said I was dangerous. (Swooning with pleasure) Dangerous! Can you
imagine? I’m only ten! But the world is such an unfair place. I get very frustrated.
Extremely frustrated. And when I’m cross, I like to run. (Runs a large loop around
the men.)
EMERSON:
Is something the matter with her?
BRONSON:
She likes to run.
LOUISA: (shouting without stopping)
Sometimes for miles!
EMERSON:
She must have been a deer or a horse in some former life.
BRONSON:
She’s fearless. Climbs trees, leaps fences… I worry for her safety.
EMERSON:
Louy! Come here, please.
(LOUISA approaches them, breathless.)
Tell me, what do you want to be someday?
LOUISA:
A boy!
BRONSON:
Why do you say that?
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LOUISA:
Boys get to do whatever they want. Get dirty, ight, shout, and not get scolded for it.
EMERSON:
And then, when you become a grown-up, what sort of man—er, woman—would you
be?
LOUISA:
An actor!
EMERSON:
An actor? (To BRONSON) How does she even know what that is?
BRONSON:
We took her to see a play in Boston. Now instead of novels, she’s taken to reading
plays.
LOUISA: (melodramatically)
I shall be the inest actor the stage has ever known!
EMERSON: (to BRONSON)
Is she any good?
BRONSON:
Um, it’s too early to tell.
LOUISA:
Augh, like a dagger to my heart! (Aside:) Oh! How rude of me to not tell you who
these gentlemen are! That’s my father, the famous Bronson Alcott. He knows a
much better way of educating children. Very modern! He opened his own school.
Everyone wanted to come, because it was the latest thing! A few weeks later,
parents found out their children were receiving a progressive education, and wham!
—those happy kids were yanked out of there and put back in traditional schools. It
was a scandal. New England is not very progressive!
BRONSON:
Acting is a very arti icial profession. Why not think about becoming a teacher—
LOUISA:
What do you mean, arti icial?
BRONSON:
Actors are argumentative and vain.
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LOUISA:
I wouldn’t be argumentative! Or vain! Not me! Look at me! How could I—?
EMERSON:
What your father means is: why not choose a profession that feeds your soul?
LOUISA: (aside)
And this is my father’s dear friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Yes, that Ralph Waldo
Emerson! Distinguished philosopher! I’ve known him since I was a baby!
(Addressing EMERSON) What do you mean, Uncle Waldo? Is my soul hungry?
EMERSON:
Of course. You must decide to be a person of admirable morality—someone who’s
compassionate and hardworking, who’ll be a pillar of their community.
LOUISA:
I’d rather be a duchess. Or a duke. Or better yet: a spy!
BRONSON:
She reads far too many books.
EMERSON:
Louy, instead of reading so much lurid iction, you might contemplate your soul’s
relationship to the universe.
LOUISA:
You mean God?
EMERSON:
Yes.
LOUISA:
But you said I should stop imagining that He’s sitting on a throne in the sky, like
Zeus. So, what am I supposed to imagine?
BRONSON:
Everyone needs to personally understand God. You can’t accept what others
describe. You must feel His presence yourself.
LOUISA:
Well… One morning I was running, and I stopped to watch the sunrise. I don’t know
why, but I suddenly felt like I was watching it for the very irst time. And I felt happy
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at how beautiful and new the day was. Is that sort-of-like feeling the presence of
God?
BRONSON:
Well done, Louy.
LOUISA:
But where is my soul? Is it in my chest? Or my head?
EMERSON:
Louy, everything in the world is made up of tiny particles. Our bodies, the trees, the
water, the stones… Everything is made out of those same particles.
LOUISA:
You mean WE are made out of the same things that trees are made of?
EMERSON:
Yes. What happens to our bodies when we die?
LOUISA:
We’re buried in the ground.
EMERSON:
If you plant an apple tree in the ground, it feeds on the soil as it grows. Our bodies
return to the particles we’re made of, and those particles feed the tree.
LOUISA: (struggling)
And then we eat the apples? And those particles become—become—
EMERSON:
Our souls are always present, no matter how the particles are arranged.
LOUISA:
So I should feel the tree inside me? And does the tree feel me inside of it?
EMERSON:
What do you think?
LOUISA: (overwhelmed)
It’s too hard to understand!6
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BRONSON:
Allow me. (Emphatically) As your heart pumps its eternal systole and diastole,
incarnating organ and vessel in its mystic low, creation’s self ebbs into chaos and
invisibility: a spiritual quintessence.
LOUISA:
Papa, I couldn’t understand a single word you said.
EMERSON:
Never mind, Louy. Anytime you have a dif icult question, come to me, yes?
(She hugs EMERSON; he kisses her forehead.)
BRONSON:
Let’s return to our classroom. Come, Louy!
(He reaches for her hand. She yells and runs in the opposite direction
and hides.)
LOUY! (Sigh!) (They trot after her, exiting.)
LOUISA: (re-appears, addresses audience)
I think God is Ralph Waldo Emerson. I worship him completely. And his prot g , the
mysterious Mr. Thoreau, is one of the most curious men I’ve ever met… as if he
always has one foot in some other world! I like to visit him at his favorite spot near
Mr. Emerson’s pond.
(HENRY DAVID THOREAU, 26, is discovered seated like a Buddha,
playing a tune on a little lute. LOUISA attempts to tiptoe silently.)
THOREAU:
No use sneaking up, Louy. I hear the snap of every twig.
LOUISA:
Are you going to sit there all day?
THOREAU:
I’m studying the practice of the yogis of ancient India.
LOUISA:
What for?
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THOREAU:
Meditation separates us from suffering. One can achieve a pure state of awareness,
so that one’s consciousness is free to achieve balance. Join me.
LOUISA:
I don’t want to sit here all day.
THOREAU:
What pressing urgency otherwise commands you?
LOUISA:
I want to inish the book I’m reading: “The Phantom’s Revenge.” It’s about a ghost
who haunts his murderer, obviously…
THOREAU:
Ugh, throw that dreadful trash in the gutter. You must read the classics! Do you
speak Greek and Latin?
LOUISA:
No.
THOREAU:
Learn them!
LOUISA:
What would folks think if I suddenly started speaking Greek?
THOREAU: (rising)
Confound what folks think! You must renounce Society, Louy! All that desperate
squabbling and gossiping turns men and women into demons. You must experience
solitude, as I do.
LOUISA:
Aren’t you lonely?
THOREAU:
Never. Behold the myriad colors and textures of the forest. Listen to the sounds of
Nature. When I’m feeling weak or unwell, all I need is a deep draft of morning air.
(Inhales deeply, then coughs a little.) Every moment is full of fascinations. And then
—just beyond—is another realm of perception waiting to be explored.
LOUISA:
What do you mean? Beyond what?
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THOREAU:
Ah, beyond what? Indeed!
(With a mysterious look, THOREAU resumes playing his lute. EMERSON
and BRONSON enter and greet him. The three chat silently.)
LOUISA: (aside)
I think the three of them want to change the way the whole world thinks.
Sometimes I fall asleep to the sound of he and Emerson and my father talking deep
into the night about things I can’t even begin to understand.
(EMERSON, BRONSON and THOREAU share a laugh and exit together.)
There’s one more of my friends I want you to meet—the one I most want to tell you
about is the one I’m sure you’ve never heard of. He doesn’t give lectures or publish
essays. He’s a farmer. I noticed him because in a world of entirely clean-shaven
men, Joseph Palmer dares to wear a beard.
(Enter JOSEPH PALMER, 54, a solid-looking farmer with a long,
attractive beard and neatly cut hair. He’s a calm, pleasant, stoic fellow
wearing overalls. LOUISA stares up at him.)
LOUISA:
I’ve never seen a bearded man before. I thought whiskers were forbidden.
PALMER:
Where’d ye get that notion?
LOUISA:
From storybooks. The only men with beards are villains. Sinners.
PALMER:
I’m just a farmer and I ain’t no sinner. Nothing wrong with growing a beard. Ask
your father, or Mr. Emerson; they know me. My name’s Joseph Palmer.
LOUISA: (curtseying)
I’m Louisa May Alcott.
PALMER:
I’ve heard all about you. You’re the wildest of the Alcott girls. Did you really break
that window with your head on purpose?
LOUISA:
Yes. I wanted to know which was harder. How do you know my father?
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PALMER:
I been comin’ to his lectures nigh on thirteen years. From the irst time I heard him, I
knew we spoke the same language.
LOUISA:
English?
PALMER:
I mean a spiritual language. I don’t mind sayin’, I don’t hold with traditional religion.
That’s why I follow these here Transcendentalists.
LOUISA:
I’ve heard that word before. What does it mean?
PALMER:
I wish I could tell you, Miss Alcott, but I don’t rightly know.
LOUISA:
Your beard is beautiful. May I touch it?
PALMER:
You may. (He leans down; she strokes it tentatively.)
LOUISA:
Ooh! I should like a winter coat made of it.
PALMER:
Ha! Well, if’n it goes missin’, I’ll know who to come lookin’ for. Are you here for the
big announcement?
LOUISA:
What announcement?
ACT I, Scene 2: A Meeting House in Concord, Massachusetts
(A lood of characters ills the stage, chatting and greeting each other.
They have brought with them four small benches, which are set down in
two rows to face a lectern Upstage.)
(PALMER is joined by his wife NANCY (58) and son TOM (23) who stand
in a group. Elsewhere, BRONSON, EMERSON, THOREAU, and CHARLES
LANE (43) stand chatting in another group. In another area, HIRAM
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“JONESY” JONES (38) and WOOD ABRAHAM (35) meet as strangers,
shake hands, and chat quietly as a third group.)
LOUISA: (continued, as the tableaux settle)
This is our meeting house in Concord. I suppose Mr. Emerson is going to make a
speech! My father comes every Sunday, but this is my irst time. Let’s see who else I
recognize… That Englishman is Charles Lane, who runs a school in London using my
father’s reform principles! Isn’t that wonderful? I hope HIS stays open! He’s been
living with us for months, but I don’t know why. Kind of an odd bird, if you ask me!
That woman must be Mrs. Palmer…
(TOM’s iancée CHARLOTTE (21) enters. LOUISA eavesdrops.)
TOM:
Ah! Here she is, inally, as promised! Joseph and Nancy Palmer, I want you to meet
my ianc e Charlotte.
CHARLOTTE:
I’m so pleased to meet you.
PALMER:
How do ye do?
TOM:
Oh, don’t be so formal, Father. Give her a kiss.
(PALMER takes CHARLOTTE’s hands and kisses her cheek.)
CHARLOTTE:
Oh, it tickles! I mean—that’s a… a very handsome beard, Mr. Palmer.
PALMER:
Did Tom tell ye to say that?
CHARLOTTE:
Yes, sir.
PALMER:
Are you afraid of it? Of me?
CHARLOTTE:
A little.
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NANCY:
Well you needn’t be. He’s tame as a lapdog.
TOM:
So what’s so important that we had to come tonight?
NANCY:
Not yet. Your father wants to tell you later.
TOM:
Well then, I’ll make an announcement. Now that I’m a proper dentist, I had cards
printed up. (Pulls a calling-card from his pocket.) See that? DOCTOR Thomas
Palmer DDS. Aren’t they grand? Go ahead, take it. It’s for you.
PALMER:
That’s right smart.
NANCY: (reading it)
What’s this address in Fitchburg?
TOM:
I’ve decided to open my practice in Fitchburg. There’s no competition! I’ll be the
only dentist in town! And closer to you in Leominster! Ain’t that grand? Well?
Aren’t you pleased?
PALMER:
I’m selling the farm.
TOM:
What? Why?
PALMER:
I didn’t want to tell you until after they explain things at the meeting.
TOM:
Father, you know I don’t approve of this nature-spirit hokum. I’m sure these folks
are well-intentioned but you shouldn’t make rash decisions based on—
PALMER:
This ain’t no rash decision. I been meetin’ with these fellers for thirteen years, and I
irmly believe that folks need to step away from these corrupt churches and
experience God directly instead of through some arrogant, ire-and-brimstone
preacher! These men are much better at explainin’ things than I am. I just want you
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to promise me, both of you, that you’ll keep your minds open, and listen to what
these fellers have to say. Do ye promise?
(TOM and CHARLOTTE nod their assent. Everyone sits on the benches
facing the lectern. Enter ABBY ALCOTT, 43 and ierce.)
ABBY:
Louisa! Where have you been hiding?
LOUISA: (aside)
And this is my mother, obviously. Abigail May Alcott. I love her but she’s very
serious and loud—not a typical New England housewife at all.
ABBY:
I’ve told you a hundred times: don’t eavesdrop. It’s a very rude habit.
LOUISA:
But people are so funny! They’re like the characters in my books!
ABBY:
Now Louy, you must be silent tonight. Sit here next to me, and don’t say a word.
(They sit. BRONSON ALCOTT goes to the podium, where he clears his
throat.)
Sorry I’m late, dear Bronson. Do begin.
BRONSON:
Thank you. Welcome everyone! “The foregoing generations beheld God and Nature
face-to-face. Why should not we also enjoy an original relationship to the Universe?
There are new lands, new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own works and
laws and worship.” These words, extracted from the profound essay “Nature,” were
written by the world’s champion of Individualism. His words shatter the
conventions that keep the souls of men bound up, thereby freeing us to soar. Please
welcome my dear friend, Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson.
(Applause as BRONSON sits and EMERSON takes the podium.)
EMERSON:
Society destroys our Wholeness. To regain our Wholeness we must commune with
Nature, separated from the laws and distractions imposed on us by Society. Solitude
is the single mechanism through which we can be fully engaged in the world of
Nature. If a man would be alone, let him look to the stars.
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(WOOD ABRAHAM stands. He clearly suffers from some mild mental
disorder.)
ABRAHAM:
Mr. Emerson, I’d like to join your brotherhood of Transom… mentalists.
BRONSON: (rising, concerned but polite)
And who might you be, sir?
ABRAHAM:
Name’s Wood Abraham. Used to be Abraham Wood, but I done switched ‘em
around. I used to read Mr. Emerson’s essays in the Asylum.
BRONSON:
The… Asylum?
ABRAHAM:
The County Asylum, sir. I was a patient there when I was poorly. I’m better now, God
damn it.
(Audience is a tad shocked at his swearing.)
BRONSON:
Sir, we’ll have no coarse language here. Or drinking.
ABRAHAM:
Oh, I ain’t drunk—I jes’ talks like that. I always had an indivi isicallistic relationship
with God, so I thought I’d be a good it with you folks.
BRONSON:
That’s ine. Now please sit down, Mr. Wood…
ABRAHAM: (sitting)
Mr. Abraham.
BRONSON:
Yes, I’ll speak to you after the meeting. Pray forgive the interruption, Mr. Emerson.
Continue.
EMERSON:
I brought with me tonight the extremely thoughtful young man I’ve taken under my
wing. He embraces the ideals we hold dear and expresses them better than any man
I’ve met. Please welcome my young friend, Henry David Thoreau.
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(Polite applause as EMERSON sits and THOREAU rises and takes the
podium.)
THOREAU:
It is not enough to believe the evidence presented by our senses. An ideal spiritual
state transcends, or goes beyond, the physical and empirical, and one achieves that
insight through personal intuition rather than religious doctrine. Because of this,
one of our critics called us Transcendentalists. I think he meant it as a rude joke.
But it’s a perfectly good word, so here we are using it. We transcend everyday things
when we immerse ourselves completely in the Natural World. Then, through quiet
introspection, along with simple living and self-suf iciency, we can discover the spirit
that Nature reveals. Only then can we imagine the Divine. Thank you.
(Applause as THOREAU takes his seat. BRONSON takes the podium.)
BRONSON:
Beautifully spoken, Mr. Thoreau! It’s with these ideals in mind that we are now
ready for our announcement. I’d like to ask Mr. Charles Lane to step up to the
podium. Mr. Lane and I met in England last year and immediately discovered we
strive towards identical goals. He followed me back to the United States, determined
to help our vision become a reality. Here he is, my dear, dear friend, Mr. Lane.
LANE:
(A serious, severe man with a British accent)
We have made arrangements with a Mr. Wyman, proprietor of an estate of some
ninety acres near here, which will liberate this tract from human ownership. Here
we propose to initiate a Consociate Family in harmony with the primitive instincts of
man. Here shall we grow vegetables, fruits and grains, affording ample manual
occupation and chaste supplies for bodily needs. In order to adhere strictly to our
principles, we must separate entirely from all local economies: no commerce, no
trade, no ownership, no paid labor. Everything we eat will have been grown by our
own hands. Complete self-suf iciency. No animals shall be abused for labor, nor
exploited for their skins, their lesh, nor other substances: neither meat, butter,
cheese, eggs, milk nor honey shall pollute our tables, nor corrupt our bodies. No
leather or wool may be used—shoes and clothing must be made from whatever
linen we can spin from lax. No tallow may be used for tapers. Every day we shall
follow a strict regimen. Also there can be no—
BRONSON: (interrupting)
Pardon, Mr. Lane, but let me reiterate that this experiment—this Eden, if you will—
may be entered only through the gates of self-denial; but the inner nature of each
member of our family shall be puri ied by this toil. Now, who’ll subscribe to this
quest to achieve a divine Utopia on Earth?
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(PALMER, NANCY, JONESY, ABRAHAM, LANE, BRONSON, ABBY and
LOUISA all raise their hands, until TOM speaks.)
TOM: (rising)
I have a question, Mr. Alcott.
BRONSON:
Yes, young Mr. Palmer?
TOM:
Doctor Palmer, DDS. How much will it cost to join this “consociate family”?
LANE:
There is no cost. We only ask that you live at the farm and contribute your labor.
TOM:
How is that possible? I mean, who bought, or, um, who paid for the, uh…
LANE:
The buyers wish to remain anonymous. Mr. Emerson holds the deed to the land as a
trustee.
TOM:
Mr. Emerson, very kind of you, sir. Do you intend to live there?
EMERSON:
Um, alas, I cannot. I have obligations that I cannot abandon. But I wish the
enterprise much luck.
TOM:
Do you think it will succeed?
EMERSON: (doubtfully)
I… have every reason to expect so.
(TOM sits, still skeptical.)
PALMER: (rising)
These ninety acres… Is this already a farm, or is it just raw land?
LANE:
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PALMER:
How many apple trees?
LANE:
Ten.
PALMER:
That’s all?
BRONSON:
It’s a blank slate, Mr. Palmer—ready for us to design and plant the ideal farm of our
dreams.
PALMER:
Well, forgive my bluntness, but I’m concerned that a farm that’s expected to feed a
dozen people hasn’t been planted yet, and it’s already May. You gents ain’t farmers,
so I don’t think you understand how much work lies ahead. I’m willin’ to join this
venture because I believe in it. My wife Nancy and my hand Jonesy are comin’ too.
I’m selling my farm in Leominster and I’ll bring my tools and seed and my two oxen.
LANE:
No oxen!
PALMER:
No oxen? How do you expect to plow raw land?
LANE:
With spades.
JONESY:
You expect four men to plow ninety acres with their bare hands?
ABRAHAM: (rising)
Five men!
PALMER:
Five men, thank you Mr. Wood.
ABRAHAM: (sitting)
Mr. Abraham, if you please, God damn it. (He swears pleasantly, not angrily)
LANE:
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NANCY:
Mr. Lane, I think you’ll ind women less able to turn over soil with spades. Our backs
are not as strong as men’s.
PALMER:
In my experience, the—
BRONSON:
Mr. Palmer, this venture is fortunate in the extremity to bene it from your expertise.
I’m quite sure we couldn’t accomplish these goals without you. You may have
doubts, but keep in mind that this is an experiment. In order for it to succeed, it
requires faith. Faith in our convictions. Faith in our abilities. This enterprise is
rooted in a reliance on an ever-bounteous Providence.
PALMER:
I’d have a deal more faith in my oxen.
LANE:
Mr. Palmer, your stubbornness is well-known to us—your tremendous beard
remains a shining example of it. But we must insist that no animals be exploited nor
harmed in any way. If you wish to keep your oxen in the barn as pets, you are free to
do so.
PALMER:
And my cow?
LANE:
And your cow.
JONESY:
Jus’ be careful where you throw ‘em sticks to fetch.
TOM:
Father, I beg you, reconsider. This will make you a laughing-stock!
PALMER:
Like Mr. Alcott says, if you ain’t got faith in your convictions, what do you have?
Nothing. I hope you and Charlotte will come and visit us often.
TOM:
Then I wish you all the luck in the world. (Aside to CHARLOTTE) I think he’ll need it.
LOUISA: (standing on her bench)
I have something to say!
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BRONSON:
Yes, Louisa? What have you to say?
LOUISA:
I—I love everybody in this room.
(Everyone giggles; a smattering of applause. She sits.)
BRONSON:
Gentlemen, and ladies, we will arrive at the farm on June the First. We look forward
to seeing you there, for what I’m certain will be a grand, rewarding adventure.
Remember that all enduring changes in society must originate within the individual
and work their way outwards. Every day we shall strive to achieve Beauty, Virtue,
Justice, & Love. And the name of our Garden of Eden shall be… FRUITLANDS!
(Sound of THUNDER cracking and RAIN. As the meeting breaks up, all
exit with umbrellas, hats, shawls, etc.)
Act I, Scene 3: Fruitlands Farmhouse Common Room
(THUNDER and RAIN continue as LOUISA addresses the audience in a
Pinspot DC.)
LOUISA:
It couldn’t have been a muddier, more miserable journey, but the rain couldn’t
dampen our spirits. We had such high hopes, my three sisters and I… imagining we
were going to a promised land where the sun always shines. Oh, forgive me if I leave
my three sisters out of this part of the story. Anna and I are always competing for
attention; Lizzy actually gets all the attention because she’s so perfect and sweet;
and May’s only three, so she’s practically a baby. So let’s pretend I’m an only child;
it’s so much simpler! (Exits.)
(THUNDER again. LIGHTS come up on a dreary afternoon in a
depressingly dilapidated Kitchen/Common Room with a broken
chimney. A ire burns in the hearth with a steaming cauldron hanging
above the lames.)
(PALMER, NANCY and JONESY wait gloomily. JONESY sings “Bound to
Go” from “Slave Songs of the United States” #30.)
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JONESY:
I BUILD MY HOUSE UPON THE ROCK, HALLELUJAH
NO WIND, NO STORM CAN BLOW IT DOWN, HALLELUJAH
MARCH ON, BROTHER, BOUND TO GO
MARCH ON, SISTER, BOUND TO GO
MARCH ON, CHILDREN, BOUND TO GO
BROTHER, FARE YOU WELL.
(Another peal of THUNDER. The front door opens with a loud creak.
Enter LANE, BRONSON, ABBY and LOUISA, all looking miserable.)
BRONSON:
Oh blessed day!
NANCY:
Thank goodness you’re here at last. (She takes hot potatoes from the cauldron and
puts them in a rough bowl.)
ABBY:
And soaked to the bone. Louisa, go stand by the ire and warm yourself.
LANE: (coughs)
It’s smoky in here.
PALMER:
Chimney’s broken. So’re the winda’s. Roof leaks, too.
LOUISA: (brightening as she looks around)
Ooh, it’s wonderfully creepy and forlorn! I wonder what strannnge events befell the
mysterious people who lived here before. I’m sure somebody was murdered.
LANE:
Alcott! Is that any way for a child to speak?
BRONSON:
I encourage Louisa to be imaginative. She likes telling stories.
LANE:
I suggest she imagine brighter, more productive tales, such as the annual return of
the seasons; the wonder of seeds that grow into crops; and the rewards that hard
work and plain living bring to the soul.
LOUISA:
Ugh, I’d rather slit my own throat. Kccchhhht! (Pantomimes it gruesomely.)
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BRONSON:
Louisa, you must be polite to your elders.
LOUISA: (curtseying arti icially)
I’m sorry, Mr. Lane. —Please, may I go exploring?
ABBY:
Have something to eat irst.
NANCY:
I boiled some potatoes. That’s all we had handy.
BRONSON:
That’s better than nothing, isn’t it?
(NANCY distributes the hot potatoes. People hold them with kerchiefs or
a corner of their coats, etc.)
LOUISA:
Where should we sit?
PALMER:
Chairs’ll be here tomorrow. Dishes too.
LOUISA:
You mean we just stand here, and bite our potatoes, like savages?
ABBY:
Yes, Louisa.
(LOUISA growls and bites her potato savagely.)
JONESY:
Do we have any salt?
LANE:
Do you suppose there’s a salt mine on this farm? No! Salt was mined by the labor of
the enslaved. We’ll have none of it here!
JONESY:
But—
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LANE:
We must be unwavering in our commitment to abstain from worldly things.
JONESY:
But food without salt is—
NANCY:
Jonesy, we’ll grow some herbs to lavor our food.
LANE:
If you lack the integrity to comply with our strictures, Mr. Jones, you are always
welcome to excuse yourself.
JONESY:
No no, Mr. Lane. I’m tough, believe me. If you can do it, I can do it.
LOUISA:
This is fun! Like a picnic!
PALMER:
There ain’t a day to lose. We must till the soil tomorrow, rain or shine.
NANCY:
Abby and I’ll tidy up the house. (Notices the loor.) Ugh, what’s that big stain?
ABBY:
Maybe there was a murder here.
NANCY:
It’s so dark. I brought some candles.
LANE:
Are they vegetable oil tapers? Or wax?
NANCY:
No, they’re… tallow.
LANE:
Then throw them away. We’ll burn no animal fat in this house.
ABBY:
So are we to sit in the dark?
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BRONSON:
Abby, my dear, this new way of life will take some getting used to. We will make hay
while the sun shines, sleep when it sets, and burn wood in the winter evenings. Mr.
Lane has arranged a very sensible plan for us to follow.
LANE:
We shall arise at dawn each day, and begin by bathing in cold water. Then a chaste
breakfast of fruit and bread. We’ll work till midday, when we’ll rest from our
healthful labor with deep-searching conversation. In the evenings, after a repast of
bread and vegetables, we’ll assemble in social communion until sunset, when we
retire to sweet repose.
NANCY & ABBY: (smirking)
God willing! (They giggle.)
LANE:
Mrs. Alcott, Mrs. Palmer, do not mock us. You may not believe in the philosophies to
which we aspire, but while you live in this house, please be positive and supportive,
lest any disdain bring about discord.
ABBY:
Of course.
BRONSON:
Remember, we are one big family now. We are all brothers and sisters. I suggest we
use our Christian names to promote our new familial bond. Brother Charles,
Brother Joseph, Sister Nancy, Brother…? (Looks at JONESY.)
JONESY:
“Hiram.” No sir, I think “Jonesy” is better. “Brother Jonesy” will do jus’ ine.
LANE:
This will take some getting used to. We rarely use such familiarity in England.
ABBY:
Well, Brother Charlie, it seems we all have a great deal to get used to.
(THUNDER cracks. A menacing igure appears suddenly in the doorway.
Everyone starts; some scream. The monster takes a step into the room
and reveals itself to be WOOD ABRAHAM.)
BRONSON: (somewhat relieved)
Ah, Brother Abraham!
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ABRAHAM:
The name’s Wood! God damn it!
(ALL react—ABBY cups her hands over LOUISA’s ears. The tableau
freezes. BLACKOUT.)
Act I, Scene 4: Same, a few days later. Day
(The storm transitions to summery birdsong and the buzz of insects.
LOUISA appears in a warm Pinspot Downstage. She holds a large blank
book and a slightly oversized pencil.)
LOUISA:
Mr. Thoreau makes pencils, too. Can you imagine! (Writes in her book) Ahem. “Thus
these modern Pilgrims journeyed hopefully out of the Old World, to found a new one
in the Wilderness, consecrated to Human Freedom. We shall save souls by returning
to acorns and a Golden Age which had never been.” (Changes her mind.) “…which
HAS never been.” (Snaps her book closed.) Oh, you BET I’m gonna write a book
about this! (Exits.)
(Sunny LIGHTS up on the Common Room. There is now a rudimentary
table and four benches around it. The place looks tidier. ABBY wipes
the table with a rag as PALMER and JONESY enter, ilthy and bent with
exhaustion. They sit.)
PALMER:
Is it noon yet?
ABBY:
Very nearly. How goes the tilling?
JONESY:
Very slow. Very hard. I think I heard the oxen in the barn, laughing at us.
PALMER: (observing his hands)
I’ve never had such blisters!
ABBY:
I’ll ind some cloth you can wrap them with.
(LANE enters from the hall at the back of the room.)
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LANE:
Ah, Brother Joseph, Brother Jonesy. Time for our midday sustenance!
JONESY:
We could’ve used your help in the meadow today, Brother Charles. Plenty of spades.
LANE:
Ah, I was writing letters to Mr. Emerson and Mr. Thoreau about what a success our
endeavor is thus far. It’s vital to keep them abreast of our forward progress.
PALMER:
Won’t be no forward progress ‘less’n you grab a spade. I’m serious, we need every
man!
LANE:
Tomorrow.
JONESY:
Brother Charles, I’m hopin’ you won’t mind if I collect the manure from the oxen and
the cow, to fertilize that barren soil.
LANE:
Don’t you dare! No animal products are to be used—none whatsoever.
PALMER:
But that don’t make sense. The critters ain’t bein’ harmed, or harnessed, or worked.
The manure just—well—it just comes out of ‘em, naturally.
LANE:
No matter!
PALMER:
But that land needs to be nourished! Without manure, nothing will grow in it!
JONESY:
When we muck out the barn, what you want us to do with the manure? We have to
put it somewheres. Might as well be in the ield.
LANE:
That soil is sacred. What grows from the seeds we sow will feed us. Do you really
want your food to be desecrated by the profane feces of animals?
PALMER & JONESY:
Yes.
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(NANCY enters holding up the corners of her apron skirt. It’s illed with
a thick green weed she’s collected. She dumps it onto the table.)
NANCY:
Look what I found: purslane! Lots of it. Quite wholesome, and not at all bitter.
(The MEN taste it. It’s chewy but at least it doesn’t taste bad. As
everyone enters, they each sit and eat some purslane.)
Was Brother Wood helping in the meadow?
PALMER:
Yes. He works very hard.
JONESY:
But lordy, that man sure know how to curse. Seems like every other thing he say is
some kind of oath.
ABBY:
We must get him to stop.
JONESY:
I don’t think you can. He said somethin’ about the Lord prefer him to swear. Says it
keeps him honest.
ABBY:
Nonsense. I don’t want Louisa May hearing that coarse language.
(BRONSON and LOUISA enter. LOUISA carries her big journal.)
LOUISA:
What coarse language?
ABBY:
All those queer things Brother Wood shouts all the time. You mustn’t pay them any
mind.
LOUISA:
I think he’s funny. Look, Marmee: Papa gave me an Imagination Book to write in.
ABBY:
What are you going to write?
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LOUISA:
I’m gonna write about the farm, and everybody in it, and draw pictures.
PALMER:
We could have used you in the meadow, Brother Bronson.
BRONSON:
Ah, but Louisa’s education comes irst. This farm is such a perfect opportunity to
teach her about the world around us. Every blade of grass* tells a story—
PALMER: (*interrupting)
If we don’t get that ield tilled, it’ll be too late to put seeds in the ground!
BRONSON:
What about Brother Wood? Isn’t he helping?
PALMER:
We need every pair of hands!
NANCY:
Where is Brother Wood?
JONESY:
He stopped at the pump to wash.
NANCY:
Well he’d better come in before the purslane’s gone.
(NANCY walks towards the door but is startled by ABRAHAM, who
enters wearing nothing but a little loincloth—or some drawers.
Everyone is startled by his lack of clothing.)
LANE:
Good Lord, man! Put some clothes on!
ABRAHAM:
What, there’s some sort o’ rule about havin’ to wear clothes?
BRONSON:
Er… no, but you can’t be running around all… indecent.
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ABRAHAM:
What’s indecent about it? This is how God made me. Nothin’ to be ashamed of. You
tellin’ me the Transcontinentalists gonna force me to wear goll-darned clothes if I
don’t wanna? (Crows and struts around in a circle, lapping his elbows like a rooster.)
(EVERYONE pauses and looks at everyone else. No one can think of a
rebuttal. After a few seconds, NANCY breaks the silence.)
NANCY:
Have some purslane. It’s not bad.
(ABRAHAM sits at the table with everyone else and pops some purslane
into his mouth. Everyone sits and chews quietly, methodically, like cows
chewing their cuds. After about ive seconds, ABRAHAM breaks the
silence.)
ABRAHAM:
Is there more o’ this?
NANCY:
It’s a weed. There’s acres of it.
ABRAHAM:
Well, damn me to blazes.
LANE:
Brother Bronson, may I speak with you, privately?
BRONSON:
Indeed, just a moment…
(They chew… and chew… and chew… BLACKOUT.)
Act I, Scene 5: Another room, immediately following
(BRONSON and LANE meet in a dimly lit space.)
LANE:
Somehow I imagined we’d have more… normal farmers. I don’t know how to begin
to discipline this extraordinary group of…
BRONSON:
Of what?
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LANE:
It’s not what I expected. I’d hoped Mr. Emerson and Mr. Thoreau, and others would
be here with us. I’d hoped they’d have given us more support. I’d hoped a lot of
things.
BRONSON:
Brother Charles, this is our utopian dream come to life! You said yourself, “This
enterprise must be rooted in the reliance on an ever-bounteous Providence, by whose
vital af inities, secured by uncorrupted ields and unworldly persons, the cares and
injuries of a life of GAIN are avoided!”
LANE:
You’re quoting yourself, I think.
BRONSON:
There are times when we must simply trust God to provide. And this is one of those
times. Do you believe that this venture can and will succeed? Do you believe, Brother
Charles?
LANE: (agonizing)
But—Children! Madmen! Atheists! An African slave!
BRONSON:
We are all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Lord. It’s your job to keep us all on
the straight and narrow path—ALL of us—and with an open heart. Will you do it?
LANE: (with dif iculty)
Yes. I will. I can. I—I believe.
(BLACKOUT.)
Act I, Scene 6: A Nearby Forest. Weeks later. Day.
(PALMER and LOUISA are strolling near a broken fence; they wear
straw hats and carry fence-mending supplies and tools.)
LOUISA: (aside)
I love everybody on this farm! Well—except for Mr. Lane. But I’m trying. They all
take turns lecturing me about the world. Brother Joseph’s my favorite. He’s so
direct and down-to-earth. I wish my chats with Joseph Palmer could go on forever.
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PALMER:
Louisa, who are you chatterin’ to? Let’s keep our minds on our task.
LOUISA:
Must we mend the fence? I think it looks artistic this way.
PALMER:
Fiddlesticks! The cow and oxen graze here, and the fence stops ‘em wandering off.
Good fences make good neighbors.
LOUISA:
What does that mean?
PALMER:
The folks next door won’t get mad as hornets because our cow won’t wind up in
their garden stompin’ down the lowers.
LOUISA:
Oh. But I don’t know how to mend a fence. Why don’t you get Jonesy to help you?
PALMER:
Jonesy has his own chores. This is part of your schoolin’. The irst thing you do
when something’s broken is to look at it. (They stare for several seconds.)
LOUISA:
It’s still broken.
PALMER:
Why is it broken?
LOUISA:
Somebody broke it.
PALMER:
I don’t care who broke it! What’s wrong with it?
LOUISA:
This thing fell off of that thing.
PALMER:
This is a RAIL and this is a POST. It fell because when wood is out in the sun and
rain, it starts to rot.
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LOUISA:
Yes, its particles return to the soil so they can feed the plants. We’re all made of
particles! Mr. Emerson said so.
PALMER:
Well, that high-brow thinkin’ don’t mend fences. We need to make a new rail, but
today we’re just gonna bind it in place with twine. That’ll hold it a while. You hold
the rail up like so.
(LOUISA holds up the rail while PALMER takes a ball of twine and starts
methodically wrapping the junction.)
LOUISA:
How did you come to know Brother Jonesy?
PALMER:
We met when we was both in jail.
LOUISA:
In jail? Why were you in jail?
PALMER:
It’s not a story for li’l folks. You’re too young.
LOUISA:
I am not!
PALMER:
If I told you, you would scream.
LOUISA:
(Gasp!) I LIKE stories that make me scream.
PALMER:
I’ll tell you when you’re older.
LOUISA:
If you tell me, it’ll make your character in my book more exciting.
PALMER:
I’m in your book?31
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LOUISA:
I put everyone in my book. But don’t worry, I don’t use your real name. I call you
Moses. Because of your beard. And because you’re wise. (She sings a bit of “Brother
Moses Gone” #65.)
BROTHER MOSES GONE TO THE PROMISED LAND
HALLELU, HALLELUJAH.
PALMER:
Louisa, did you learn that song from Jonesy?
LOUISA:
Of course! I wish you’d call me Louy like my folks do.
PALMER:
All right then, Louy, what do you wanna be when you’re all growed up?
LOUISA:
A duchess.
PALMER:
What’s a duchess?
LOUISA:
A duchess gets to live in a beautiful house, in Europe, and be surrounded by lovely
ladies-in-waiting, and have adventures on horses and boats… but she doesn’t have
any responsibility. She doesn’t have to rule a kingdom. And everybody likes her.
PALMER:
Sounds like she’s spoiled rotten.
LOUISA:
Maybe. What else should I be? I’ll turn eleven this year. That’s practically grown up!
PALMER:
You ain’t grown up. Grown-ups work hard to improve themselves.
LOUISA:
Every year I resolve to improve myself, but I’m no good at it. I try to learn the
lessons everyone teaches me, but it’s so hard.
PALMER:
For starters, stop wanting to be a spoiled duchess. Don’t be sel ish when you think
about your future. You should try instead to make the world a better place than you
found it.
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LOUISA:
Make the whole world a better place? But the world is so huge, and I’m only one
little person.
PALMER:
One person makes a difference. Take my example: prisoners in jails used to be very
badly treated. But not any more.
LOUISA:
Why? What happened?
PALMER: (after a beat)
You serious about bein’ grown up?
LOUISA:
Cross my heart!
PALMER:
Come here… (He lifts her and sets her on the repaired rail.) That seems good and
strong. So… about thirteen years ago, I was set upon by some men that wanted to
cut off my beard. Beards ain’t popular nowadays, and a preacher in Fitchburg yelled
at me right in church. Called me a dirty blasphemer in front of the whole
congregation, just because I wore a beard like our Lord Jesus Christ.
LOUISA:
Why would he do that?
PALMER:
I can’t explain it. Folks get boiled up about strange things sometimes. That preacher
got everyone boiled up. When I went into town for supplies, folks cursed at me, and
spat, and threw stones… called me all sorts of vile names. And I never done nothin’
wrong. I’m a good Christian, and fought in the War of 1812! I went into battle to
protect these folks’s freedom. But them four men attacked me. They had scissors
and a razor, and they told me they was gonna do me a favor.
LOUISA: (wide-eyed)
What did you do?
PALMER:
I took out my knife. I told them to stay back, but they held me down. So I started
cuttin’ at their legs. That made ‘em stop, but the Sheriff arrested me. I told the Judge
I was defending myself from bein’ set-on by that gang, but he said I was crazy for
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LOUISA:
How awful! I’ve read about dungeons in books. Dark, cold and damp, with rats
chewing on you while you sleep.
PALMER:
It’s all them things. And a jailer who beat me and starved me near to death.
LOUISA:
Didn’t you get a trial?
PALMER:
The Judge suspended my sentence, I s’pose ‘cause I’m a good, decent man. But there
was ifty dollars due in ines and such, and I told the judge I wouldn’t pay it.
LOUISA:
Because you were innocent! I can’t wait to write this down in my book! It’s the best
true story I’ve ever heard! How did you get out?
PALMER:
When Nancy and little Tommy come to visit, they brought pen and ink, and paper. In
secret I wrote letters tellin’ about the awful conditions. They took my letters to the
newspapers. When they was published, people started talkin’ about me, and seein’
that my incarceration was a terrible breach of justice. That ol’ judge inally waived
the ines and let me out, after more than a year.
LOUISA:
You were in-car-cer-ation for a whole year?
PALMER:
Mm. Gives a man plenty of time to think.
LOUISA:
What about?
PALMER:
I started a campaign to improve the conditions of prisoners in jails. People took
notice, and conditions improved. Also, I was angry at the churches.
LOUISA:
Why?
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PALMER:
For their hypocritical meddling! The natural purity of the soul should be protected,
and nurtured. That’s why I like Mr. Emerson’s story about Nature—about how folks
can know God directly, and shouldn’t let crazy preachers poison their minds with a
lot of mean talk. Folks shouldn’t act superior, or be afraid of each other. And we
need to act, to do things, and not just talk about ‘em. So, you still wanna be a
duchess, or do you wanna make the world a better place?
(As the LIGHTS change, PALMER exits and LOUISA steps Downstage.)
LOUISA: (aside)
I think I’d rather be a duchess. Honestly. Making the world a better place sounds
like an awful lot of trouble. But I would like to grow a long beard like Brother
Joseph’s. It’s so rebellious! And I want to learn how to sing, the way Brother Jonesy
does. Singing is so very romantic! (She hums, and waltzes with herself.)
Act I, Scene 7: A Field at the farm. Day
(Enter JONESY. He hands LOUISA a hoe, and together they weed the
ield as he sings “When We Do Meet Again” #53.)
JONESY:
WHEN WE DO MEET AGAIN
WHEN WE DO MEET AGAIN
WHEN WE DO MEET AGAIN
‘TWILL BE NO MORE TO PART.
JONESY & LOUISA: (singing)
BROTHER BRONSON, FARE YOU WELL
SISTER ABBY, FARE YOU WELL
WE’LL SING HALLELUJAH
WHEN WE DO MEET AGAIN.
LOUISA:
That’s about death, isn’t it? I know it’s supposed to sound hopeful, but it ills me
with a sort of longing. Do you believe our departed souls get to meet again?
JONESY:
Don’t know. Even if we don’t, just pretending helps us get through our troubles.
Don’t tell nobody, Sister Louy, but I don’t believe in no God. I just sing them songs
‘cause my mama taught ‘em to me, and they help me feel close to her.
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LOUISA:
Where is she? (JONESY shrugs.) Brother Joseph told me he met you in jail. What
were you doing there?
JONESY:
Oh, Sister Louy… you don’t wanna hear about that.
LOUISA:
I do! More than anything. I love true stories.
JONESY:
You keep this private, you understand? Don’t go tellin’ nobody.
LOUISA:
Cross my heart.
JONESY:
I was a runaway slave.
LOUISA:
(Gasp!) Truly? Papa says slavery’s a beastly practice. Makes me sick at heart to think
about it. Please go on.
JONESY:
I s’pose that Virginny plantation was a right beautiful place, but I hated it. We lived
in a little dirt- loor shack. Me and my folks. They both died when I was ifteen.
LOUISA:
How’d they die?
JONESY:
Oh, little sister, it hurts too much to tell it.
LOUISA:
I’m sorry.
JONESY:
One night, I done took off. I just ran and ran and ran. I couldn’t feel my feet bleedin’
or my stomach growlin’… I was numb all over. Somehow I got lucky. Found some
nice folks along the way—kept me alive. I laid low, and starting working on farms. I
was workin’ in Fitchburg when one night I starts to drinkin’ a little.
LOUISA:
(Gasp!) Hard liquor?
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JONESY:
An’ you know how I likes to sing. One night I starts singin’ them old songs my mama
taught me. Didn’t realize I was singin’ so loud—just kinda got lost in them
memories. Wandered into town, singin’ like I was it to bust. Somebody called for
the sheriff ‘cuz I was disturbing the peace. Didn’t have no papers to prove I’s free, so
they was gonna send me back. Brother Joseph told Sister Nancy, straight off, “We got
to help Jonesy get his freedom.” Nancy wrote to her cousin in Virginny, and he went
to see my old master. Ten years gone by, so he didn’t even ‘member me. Sold my
freedom to Nancy’s cousin for a hundred and ifty dollars.
LOUISA:
Wowee! Did you have to pay ‘em back?
JONESY:
They wouldn’t let me. Just wanted me to be one of the family. Never met such
gen’rous, kindly folks.
LOUISA:
I think the Palmers are the inest folks I’ve ever met. So if you don’t believe in God,
how can you be a Transcendentalist?
JONESY: (laughs)
I ain’t! Spending the day jawin’ ‘bout philosophy don’t do a lick o’ good. If we gonna
believe in somethin’, we should believe in good folks. All we got is the goodness in
each other to help us through our troubles. I believe in folks like Joseph Palmer. If
he started a religion, I’d be the irst man to follow him. How ‘bout you?
LOUISA:
I believe what Mr. Emerson told me: that everything in the world is made out of the
same tiny particles, and it all circulates, and it’s all holy, so we should all love and
respect… everything. That’s why it can’t be true.
JONESY:
What can’t?
LOUISA:
That Black folks are less human than white folks.
JONESY:
Where’d you hear that?
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“The Radicalization of Louisa May Alcott” © 2021 Daniel Singer Draft 5/9/21
LOUISA:
From Mr. Lane, of course. But I think all people must be the same, whatever their
color happens to be. Because we’re all made of the same tiny particles. Isn’t that
right?
JONESY:
Sounds like you should start your own religion, too.
(sings “Freedom”)
NO MORE WEEPIN'
NO MORE WEEPIN'
NO MORE WEEPIN' OVER ME
AND BEFORE I'LL BE A SLAVE
I'LL BE BURIED IN MY GRAVE
AND GO HOME TO MY LORD AND BE FREE
OH, FREEDOM, OH, FREEDOM
OH FREEDOM OVER ME
AND BEFORE I'LL BE A SLAVE
I'LL BE BURIED IN MY GRAVE
AND GO HOME TO MY LORD AND BE FREE
(They exit as the LIGHTS transition to… )
Act I, Scene 8: Fruitlands Farmhouse. Afternoon.
(The dining table has been pushed aside and the benches arranged in
two rows. LOUISA stands on a chair Upstage, holding her open book,
ready to address her “audience.” BRONSON, ABBY, LANE, JONESY,
PALMER, NANCY, TOM, CHARLOTTE and ABRAHAM take their seats
facing LOUISA. Some hold horn-books, ie. wooden paddles with scripts
tacked to one side.)
LOUISA:
Please be seated, ’tis nigh the ‘pointed hour.
CHARLOTTE:
I don’t understand. What sort of show is this?
TOM:
Some sort of recital, I suppose.38
“The Radicalization of Louisa May Alcott” © 2021 Daniel Singer Draft 5/9/21
LOUISA:
As you know, my father Bronson Alcott, the internationally-acclaimed school
reformer, has taken a personal interest in my education, as have all of you. I must
prove that I have learned something, or else be lunked to repeat my lessons over
again. Alas, two members of our school board have failed to turn up, so we shall
begin without them. Today’s program is entitled: “A Day at Fruitlands.” We begin—
(The door opens suddenly, and EMERSON and THOREAU enter.)
THOREAU:
So sorry to be late!
LOUISA:
Ah, Mr. Emerson, Mr. Thoreau! Your timing is un-peckable!
BRONSON:
That’s “IMpeccable,” my dear.
EMERSON:
We wouldn’t have missed this for the world.
LOUISA:
Here are your hornbooks.
THOREAU:
What are these for?
LOUISA:
All shall be revealed in due time. Please be seated. Ahem! Today’s program is
entitled: “A Day at Fruitlands.” We begin at sunrise! No cock-a-doodle-doo starts our
day; we would not dare force a rooster to crow, as that would unfairly deprive him of
his right to remain asleep. Instead, the dawn is greeted by Louisa May Alcott, taking
her usual morning run around the farm. As the sun peeks above the horizon, she
pauses to inhale the morning mist. The irst rays of sunshine awaken the dewy
ields and trees. It’s at moments like these that one can feel the presence of God in
every living thing.
(EMERSON rises to read his lines.)
EMERSON: (as God)
Goooood moooorning Looouisa!
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“The Radicalization of Louisa May Alcott” © 2021 Daniel Singer Draft 5/9/21
LOUISA:
Good morning, God! I feel your presence in every particle of my being! Bless our
consociate family and our farm and everything in it. Amen.
EMERSON: (as God)
It would be my pleasure, as long as you promise to work hard and obey your elders.
Awaken, Spirits of Nature!
(LOUISA points to THOREAU, who takes his lute from his pocket and
plays a sweet melody.)
Awaken, forest creatures, trees, and lowers! Awaken seeds, sleeping snugly beneath
the muddy ground. Today shall you stretch and grow and reach for the heavens in
your quest to become grains and vegetables to sustain the consociate family!
NANCY, ABBY & CHARLOTTE: (rising, as “seeds”)
We’ll grow larger every hour,
Making grain to grind to lour,
Thank you, God, for all your power,
Making food that folks devour.
LOUISA:
Speak, Spirit of Nature!
THOREAU: (rising, reads)
Neighbors, leave your neighborhoods!
Come with us, live in the woods!
Cast aside Society’s noise
Before your soul it quite destroys.
Join the foxes and the deer
And the trees that blossom here!
Bounteous Nature shall provide!
Life becomes more simpli ied.
Pray like an Indian Yogi
For balance and for harmony.
If thou wouldst be truly free,
Come live in the woods with me.
LOUISA: (to THOREAU)
How was that?
THOREAU: (quietly)
Your scansion needs work; we’ll talk about it later.
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