The Phantom; Or, The Miser's Dream, &c.

The Phantom; Or, The Miser's Dream, &c.1 E. / I. H. Gould2 The last of the stories published under the Gould pseudonym in March 1860, "The Phantom," traces, if it is indeed by Alcott, her maturing entry into the sensation mode—a mix of sentimentality and gothic—that earlier stories, like "The Painter's Dream," anticipate. For example, like "The Painter's Dream," this story notably turns on a phantasmic dream sequence; more broadly the story features tropes of gothic romance (previously artistic rivalry, here shipwreck) but hinges even more on the mundane questions of familial relations. Most obviously the story reads as a proto-feminist rewriting of Charles Dickens's Christmas Carol, an author and tale Alcott certainly knew well. One notices the playful coins speaking, a theatrical twist one might attribute to Alcott's many experiences adapting Dickens stories for the stage. But more importantly, the choice to accuse the old miser, and the Captain, not only of the crime of antisocial greed but of a sexual quid pro quo opens up new context in which to examine other works of Alcott's for their gothic-feminist critiques, if indeed this Gould story is hers. [End Page 203] Click for larger view View full resolution The first page of "The Phantom." Image courtesy of the American Antiquarian Society. ________ As dark shadows were beginning to envelop the city one rainy afternoon, Simon Mudge entered his little hovel, threw off what might once have been called an overcoat, and seating himself upon the hearth close to a few smoking fagots, he drew from his pocket a bag, and emptying its contents upon a table, began to compute its value. Every piece of gold had been replaced in the bag, several jewels had been examined, and carefully placed in his pocket, when he took up a ring, and in holding it to the light to determine its exact value, he perceived an inscription on the inside. As he examined it more closely, his features grew [End Page 204] pale and rigid, while his hand trembled till the ring dropped from his grasp. He now began to start at every sound, and glance wildly about the room. In doing so he perceived a footprint, which he felt quite sure, on first examination, could not have been made by himself.3 "Can it be possible any one has entered […]-quired."4 Seeing nothing to confirm his suspicion except the one footprint, he again seated himself, and indulged in the rare luxury of a lighted candle, for every sound started him. The last ember died out, and the fast consuming candle was too great extravagance for Simon Mudge long to indulge; therefore, extinguishing it he crept upon his miserable pallet. He slept at length, but he was troubled by dreams. A phantom stood beside him. "Who are you, and what seek you in a poor man's hovel?" inquired the miser. "You call yourself poor," replied the phantom, "but you think yourself rich, sleeping as you do upon a bed of coins. I am come to give voice to each of these, and teach you how really poor you are, and how much more so you soon shall be." "O, no, no! let me not hear of the future," pleaded Simon, "if I am to see the day when I shall have less possessions than now." "Do you remember your sister Alice?" inquired the phantom, pointing upwards. "O, do not speak of her. She loved me, confided in me." "And you settled her husband's estate, and took her children as your own," said the Phantom, inquiringly. "And here is what ye gained by the benevolent act," cried a large number of rusty coins. "Have you forgotten your niece?" inquired the Phantom. "Hold! hold!" pleaded the affrighted miser. "Ah, then, you remember her, as on her knees she begged you to revoke the command, to wed an old gold hoarder like yourself. And you remember your reply. "'Go, then, from my presence, nor seek shelter beneath my roof, and food at my table, while you are unwilling to obey my reasonable command, and save your poor uncle from penury!'" "And here...