Маленькие женщины

Louisa May ALCOTT

LITTLE WOMEN

CLASSICAL LITERATURE

УДК 372.8:821.111
ББК 81.2 Англ 
 
О54

ISBN 978-5-9925-1491-9

Олкотт, Луиза Мэй.

О54      Маленькие женщины : книга для чтения на  

английском языке. / Л. М. Олкотт.  — СанктПетербург : КАРО, 2020. — 320 с. — (Classical 
Literature)

ISBN 978-5-9925-1491-9.

«Маленькие женщины» — роман американской писательни
цы Луизы Мэй Олкотт, покоривший сердца миллионов читателей. 
Написанный по просьбе издательства, но выливавшийся на страницы из самых глубин души, он основан на личных воспоминаниях. Семья, в которой она росла с тремя сестрами, заботливые мама 
и отец, друзья и учителя — все они воплотились в героев ее книги.

Действие романа разворачивается в годы Гражданской войны. 

Муж миссис Марч ушел воевать, и она осталась с четырьмя дочерьми справляться с тяготами существования. Кокетка Эми, тихоня 
Бет, романтичная Мег и сорванец в юбке малышка Джо искренне 
и трогательно заботятся друг о друге и своей маме, ссорятся и мирятся, смеются и огорчаются, и на глазах читателя взрослеют, превращаясь из обычных подростков в настоящих маленьких женщин, 
способных вынести на своих хрупких плечах тяготы войны, лишений и невзгод.

В книге представлен полный неадаптированный текст про
изведения на языке оригинала.

УДК 372.8:821.111 

ББК 81.2 Англ 

© КАРО, 2020
Все права защищены

Chapter one
Playing Pilgrims

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” 

grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down 

at her old dress.

“I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of 

pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,” added little 
Amy, with an injured sniff.

“We’ve got Father and Mother, and each other,” said 

Beth contentedly from her corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone 

brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as 
Jo said sadly, “We haven’t got Father, and shall not have 
him for a long time.” She didn’t say “perhaps never,” but 
each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where 
the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered 

tone, “You know the reason Mother proposed not having 
any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a 
hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we ought not to 
spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so 
in the army. We can’t do much, but we can make our little 

sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don’t,” 
and Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all 
the pretty things she wanted.

“But I don’t think the little we should spend would do 

any good. We’ve each got a dollar, and the army wouldn’t 
be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect 
anything from Mother or you, but I do want to buy Undine 
and Sintran for myself. I’ve wanted it so long,” said Jo, who 
was a bookworm.

“I planned to spend mine in new music,” said Beth, with 

a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and 
kettle-holder.

“I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing pencils; I really 

need them,” said Amy decidedly.

“Mother didn’t say anything about our money, and she 

won’t wish us to give up everything. Let’s each buy what we 
want, and have a little fun; I’m sure we work hard enough 
to earn it,” cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a 
gentlemanly manner.

“I know I do—teaching those tiresome children nearly 

all day, when I’m longing to enjoy myself at home,” began 
Meg, in the complaining tone again.

“You don’t have half such a hard time as I do,” said Jo. 

“How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you’re ready to fly out the window 
or cry?”

“It’s naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and 

keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes 
me cross, and my hands get so stiff, I can’t practice well at 

all.” And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that 
any one could hear that time.

“I don’t believe any of you suffer as I do,” cried Amy, 

“for you don’t have to go to school with impertinent girls, 
who plague you if you don’t know your lessons, and laugh 
at your dresses, and label your father if he isn’t rich, and 
insult you when your nose isn’t nice.”

“If you mean libel, I’d say so, and not talk about labels, 

as if Papa was a pickle bottle,” advised Jo, laughing.

“I know what I mean, and you needn’t be statirical 

about it. It’s proper to use good words, and improve your 
vocabilary,” returned Amy, with dignity.

“Don’t peck at one another, children. Don’t you wish 

we had the money Papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear 
me! How happy and good we’d be, if we had no worries!” 
said Meg, who could remember better times.

“You said the other day you thought we were a deal 

happier than the King children, for they were fighting and 
fretting all the time, in spite of their money.”

“So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do 

have to work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty 
jolly set, as Jo would say.”

“Jo does use such slang words!” observed Amy, with 

a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug.

Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, 

and began to whistle.

“Don’t, Jo. It’s so boyish!”
“That’s why I do it.”
“I detest rude, unladylike girls!”
“I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!”

“Birds in their little nests agree,” sang Beth, the peace
maker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the “pecking” ended for that time.

“Really, girls, you are both to be blamed,” said Meg, be
ginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. “You are 
old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, 
Josephine. It didn’t matter so much when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you 
should remember that you are a young lady.”

“I’m not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll 

wear it in two tails till I’m twenty,” cried Jo, pulling off her 
net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. “I hate to think I’ve 
got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, 
and look as prim as a China Aster! It’s bad enough to be a 
girl, anyway, when I like boy’s games and work and manners! I can’t get over my disappointment in not being a 
boy. And it’s worse than ever now, for I’m dying to go and 
fight with Papa. And I can only stay home and knit, like a 
poky old woman!”

And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rat
tled like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.

“Poor Jo! It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped. So you must 

try to be contented with making your name boyish, and 
playing brother to us girls,” said Beth, stroking the rough 
head with a hand that all the dish washing and dusting in 
the world could not make ungentle in its touch.

“As for you, Amy,” continued Meg, “you are altogether 

too particular and prim. Your airs are funny now, but you’ll 
grow up an affected little goose, if you don’t take care. I like 
your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when 

you don’t try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as 
bad as Jo’s slang.”

“If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?” 

asked Beth, ready to share the lecture.

“You’re a dear, and nothing else,” answered Meg warm
ly, and no one contradicted her, for the ‘Mouse’ was the pet 
of the family.

As young readers like to know ‘how people look’, we 

will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the 
four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while 
the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room, though 
the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a 
good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the 
recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed 
in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace 
pervaded it.

Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very 

pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft 
brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she 
was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and 
brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed 
to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very 
much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, 
and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, 
and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, 
thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled 
into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, 
big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the 
uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shoot

ing up into a woman and didn’t like it. Elizabeth, or Beth, 
as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth-haired, brighteyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and 
a peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed. Her  
father called her ‘Little Miss Tranquility’, and the name suited  
her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of 
her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she 
trusted and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most 
important person, in her own opinion at least. A regular 
snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on 
her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the 
characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found 
out.

The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, 

Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the 
sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for 
Mother was coming, and everyone brightened to welcome 
her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got 
out of the easy chair without being asked, and Jo forgot 
how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer 
to the blaze.

“They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new 

pair.”

“I thought I’d get her some with my dollar,” said Beth.
“No, I shall!” cried Amy.
“I’m the oldest,” began Meg, but Jo cut in with a de
cided, “I’m the man of the family now Papa is away, and 
I shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take special 
care of Mother while he was gone.”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Beth, “let’s each get 

her something for Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves.”

“That’s like you, dear! What will we get?” exclaimed Jo.
Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg  

announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her 
own pretty hands, “I shall give her a nice pair of gloves.”

“Army shoes, best to be had,” cried Jo.
“Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed,” said Beth.
“I’ll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it 

won’t cost much, so I’ll have some left to buy my pencils,” 
added Amy.

“How will we give the things?” asked Meg.
“Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her 

open the bundles. Don’t you remember how we used to do 
on our birthdays?” answered Jo.

“I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in 

the chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching 
round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things 
and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at 
me while I opened the bundles,” said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time.

“Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, 

and then surprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so much to do about the play for 
Christmas night,” said Jo, marching up and down, with her 
hands behind her back, and her nose in the air.

“I don’t mean to act any more after this time. I’m get
ting too old for such things,” observed Meg, who was as 
much a child as ever about ‘dressing-up’ frolics.

“You won’t stop, I know, as long as you can trail round 

in a white gown with your hair down, and wear goldpaper jewelry. You are the best actress we’ve got, and 
there’ll be an end of everything if you quit the boards,” 
said Jo. “We ought to rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy, 
and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker 
in that.”

“I can’t help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don’t 

choose to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat 
as you do. If I can go down easily, I’ll drop. If I can’t, I 
shall fall into a chair and be graceful. I don’t care if Hugo 
does come at me with a pistol,” returned Amy, who was 
not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because 
she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the 
villain of the piece.

“Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across 

the room, crying frantically, ‘Roderigo! Save me! Save me!’” 
and away went Jo, with a melodramatic scream which was 
truly thrilling.

Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly be
fore her, and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her “Ow!” was more suggestive of pins being 
run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave a despairing 
groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread 
burn as she watched the fun with interest. “It’s no use! Do 
the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience 
laughs, don’t blame me. Come on, Meg.”

Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the 

world in a speech of two pages without a single break. 
Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her