Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by Carriage Paths. Tonight we'll read The Good Anna, a short story written by Gertrude Stein as part of her first published book, titled Three Lives, Published in 1909. We first read the story back in 2020. Stein was an American novelist, poet, playwright, and art collector. Born in the United States, she moved to Paris as an adult and stayed there the rest of her life. She hosted a Paris salon where the leading figures of modernism in literature and art, such as Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Unre Matisse would meet. Two quotes from Stein's works have become widely known. Rose is a rose is a rose and there is no there there. The good Anna is set in the fictional city of Bridgepoint,

which is modeled after Baltimore, Maryland, where Stein lived at one time.

Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. The Good Anna. The tradesmen of Bridgepoint learn to dread the sound of Miss Matilda.

For with that name, the good Anna always conquered. The strictest of the one-price stores found that they could give things for a little less. When the good Anna had fully said that Miss Matilda could not pay so much

and that she could buy it cheaper by Lintimes. Lintimes was Anna's favorite store. For there, They had bargain days.

When flower and sugar were sold for a quarter of a cent less for a pound. And there the heads of the departments were all her friends and always managed to give her the bargain prices, even on other days. Hannah Led, arduous and troubled life. Anna managed the whole little house for Miss Matilda. It was a funny little house, one of a whole row of all the same kind that made a close pile like a row of dominoes that a child knocks over. For they were built along a street, which at this point came down a steep hill. They were funny little houses, two stories high, with red brick fronts, and long white steps. This one little house was always very full with Miss Matilda and underservant, stray dogs and cats, and Anna's voice that scolded, managed,

grumbled all day long. Sally, can't I leave you alone a minute but you must run to the door

to see the butcher boy come down the street. And there is Miss Matilda calling for her shoes. Can I do everything while you go around always looking about for nothing at all? If I ain't after you every minute, you'd be forgetting all the time. And I take all this pains. And when you come to me, you was as ragged as a buzzard and as dirty as a dog. Go and find Miss Matilda, her shoes, where you put them this morning. Peter, her voice rose higher. Peter, Peter was the youngest and the favorite dog. Peter, if you don't leave Baby alone, Baby was an old blind, terrier that Anna had loved for many years. Peter, if you You don't leave baby alone. I take a raw hide to you. You bad dog.

The good Anna had high ideals for canine chastity and discipline. The three regular dogs. The three that always lived with Anna. Peter and old baby. And the fluffy little rags, who was always jumping up into the air just to show that he was happy. Together with the transients, the many stray ones that Anna always kept until she found them homes. We're all under strict orders, never to be bad one with the other. A sad disgrace did once happen in the family. A little transient terrier for whom Anna had found a home, suddenly produced a crop of pups. The new owners were certain that this faxie had known no dog since she was in their care. The good Anna held to it stoutly that her Peter and her rags were guiltless, and she made her statement with so much heat that Foxy's owners were at last convinced that these results were due to their neglect. You bad dog. Anna said to Peter that night, you bad dog. Peter was the father of those pups. The good Anna explained to Miss Matilda, and they looked just like him too. And poor little Foxy. They were so big that she could hardly have them. But Miss Matilda, I would never let those people know that Peter was so bad. Periods of evil thinking came very regularly to Peter and to Rags and to the visitors within their gates. such times and Anna would be very busy and scold hard. And then too she always took great care to seclude the bad dogs from each other whenever she had to leave the house. Sometimes just to see how good But it was that she had made them Anna would leave the room a little while and leave them all together. And then she would suddenly come back. Back would slink all the wicked-minded dogs at the sound of her hand upon the knob, and then they would sit, desolate in their corners, like a lot of disappointed children whose stolen sugar had been taken from them. innocent, blind, old baby was the only one who preserved the dignity becoming in a dog. You see that Anna led an arduous and troubled life. The good Anna was a small spare German woman at this time about 40 years of age. Her face was worn, her cheeks were thin, her mouth drawn and firm, and her light blue eyes were very bright. Sometimes they were full of lightning, and sometimes full of humor, but they were always sharp and clear. Her voice was a pleasant one when she told the histories of bad Peter, and of baby, and of little rags. Her voice was a high and piercing one when she called to the teamsters and to the other wicked men what she wanted that should come to them. She did not belong to any society that could stop them, and she told them so, most frankly, but her strained voice and her glittering eyes, and her queer piercing German English first made them afraid and then ashamed. They all knew too that all the policemen on the beat were her friends. These always respected and obeyed Miss Annie as they called her and promptly attended to all of her complaints.

For five years Anna managed the little house for Miss Matilda. In these five years there were four different under-servants. The one that came first was a pretty cheerful Irish girl. Anna took her with a doubting mind. Lizzy was an obedient, happy servant, and Anna began to have a little Faith. This was not for long. The pretty cheerful Lizzy disappeared one day without her notice and with all her baggage and returned no more. This pretty cheerful Lizzy was succeeded by a melancholy Molly. Molly was born in America of German parents. All her people had been long dead or gone away. Molly had always been alone. She was a tall, dark, Salo, thin-haired creature, She was always troubled with a cough, and she had a bad temper, and always said ugly dreadful swear words. Anna found all this very hard to bear, but she kept Molly a long time out of kindness.

The kitchen was constantly a battleground.

Anna scolded and Molly swore strange oaths,

and then Miss Matilda would shut her door hard to show that she could hear it all.

At last, Anna had to give it up. Please Miss Matilda won't you speak to Molly. Anna said, I can't do a thing with her. I scold her and she don't seem to hear. And then she swears so that she scares me. She loves you, Miss Matilda. And you scold her please, once. But Anna cried poor Miss Matilda. I don't want to. And that large, cheerful, but faint-hearted woman looked all aghast at such a prospect. But you must please Miss Matilda, Anna said. Miss Matilda never wanted to do any scolding. But you must please Miss Matilda, Anna said. Ms. Matilda every day put off the scolding, hoping always that Anna would learn to manage Molly better. It never did get better, and at last Ms. Matilda saw that the scolding simply had to be. It was agreed between the good Anna and her Miss Matilda that Anna should be away when Molly would be scolded. The next evening that it was Anna's evening out, Miss Matilda faced her task and went down into the kitchen. Molly was sitting in the little kitchen, leaning her elbows on the table. She was a tall, thin, salo girl, age 23, by nature slatternly and careless, but trained by Anna into superficial neatness. Her drab striped cotton dress and grey black checked apron, increased the length and sadness of her melancholy figure. Oh Lord, groaned Miss Matilda to herself as she approached her. Molly, I want to speak to you about your behavior to Anna. Here Molly dropped her head still lower on her arms and began to cry. Oh, oh, groaned Miss Matilda. It's all Miss Annie's fault, all of it. Molly said it last in a trembling voice. I do my best. I know Anna is often hard to please. began Miss Matilda with a twinge of mischief. And then she sobered herself to her task. But you must remember Molly. She means it for your good. And she is really very kind to you. I don't want her kindness, Molly cried. I wish you would tell me what to do, Miss Matilda, and then I would be alright. I hate Miss Annie. This will never do Molly, Miss Matilda said sternly in her deepest, firmest tones, and is the head of the kitchen, and you must either obey her or leave. I don't want to leave you, Wimbert Mellon, Collie, Molly. Well, Molly then try and do better, answered Miss Matilda, keeping a good stern front and backing quickly from the kitchen. Oh, oh, grown Miss Matilda, and she went back up the stairs. Miss Matilda's attempt to make peace between the constantly contending women in the kitchen had no real effect. They were very soon as bitter as before. And last it was decided that Molly was to go away. Molly went away to work in a factory in the town, and she went to live with an old woman in the slums, a very battled woman, Anna said. And I was never easy in her mind about the fate of Molly. Sometimes she would see or hear of her. Molly was not well. Her cough was worse. And the old woman really was a bad one. After a year of this unwholesome life, Molly was completely broken down. Anna then again took her in charge. She brought her from her work and from the woman where she lived and put her in a hospital to stay till she was well. She found a place for her as nurse made to a little girl out in the country and Molly was at last established and content. Molly had had at first no regular successor. In a few months it was going to be the summer, and Miss Matilda would be gone away, and Old Katie would do very well to come in every day and help Anna with her work. Old Katie was a heavy, ugly, short, and rough, old German woman with a strange, distorted German English all her own. Anna was worn out now with her attempt to make the younger generation do all that it should, and rough old Katie never answered back, and never wanted her own way. No scolding or abuse could make its mark on her uncouth and aged peasant hide. She said her, yes, Miss Annie, when an answer had to come, and that was always all that she could say. Old Katie is just a rough old woman, Miss Matilda, and O said, but I think I keep her hair with me. She can work. She don't give me trouble like I had with Molly all the time. Anna always had a humorous sense from this old Katie's twisted peasant English, from the roughness on her tongue of buzzing ass's and from the queer ways of her brutish, servile humor. Anna could not let old Katie serve at table. Old Katie was too coarsely made from natural earth for that. So Anna had all all this to do herself and that she never liked. But even then this simple, rough old creature was pleasant to her than any of the upstart young. Life went on very smoothly now in these few months before the summer came. Miss Matilda, every summer, went away across the ocean to be gone for several months. Once she went away this summer, old Katie was so sorry and on the day that Miss Matilda went, old Katie cried hard for many hours. An earthy, uncouth, survival peasant creature old Katie Shirley was. She stood there on the white stone steps of the little red brick house with her bony, square, dull head with its thin, tan, toughened skin and its sparse and kinky, grizzled hair, and her strong, squat figure,

a little overmaid on the right side, clothed in her blue striped cotton dress, all clean,

and always washed, but rough and harsh to see. And she stayed there on the steps till Anna brought her in, blubbering her apron to her face and making queer guttural moans. When Miss Matilda early in the fall came to her house again, Old Katie was not there. I never thought Old Katie would act so Miss Matilda, Anna said, when she was so sorry when you went away, and I gave her full wage as all the summer, but they're all alike Miss Matilda. There isn't one of them that's fit to trust. You know how Katie said she liked you, Miss Matilda, and went on about it when you went away. And then she was so good and worked all right until the middle of the summer when I got sick and then she went away and left me all alone and took a place out in the country where they gave her some more money. She didn't say a word, Miss Matilda. She just went off and left me there alone when I was sick, after that awful hot summer that we had. And after all we done for her, when she had no place to go. At all summer, I gave her better things to eat than I had for myself. Miss Matilda, there isn't one of them has any sense of what's the right way for a girl to do, not one of them. Old Katie was never heard from anymore. No undersurvent was decided upon now for several months. Many came and many went, and none of them would do. At last Anna heard of Sally. Sally was the oldest girl in a family of eleven, and Sally was just 16 years old. From Sally down they came always littler and littler in her family, and all of them were always out at work, excepting only the few littleest of them all. Sally was a pretty blonde and smiling German girl, and stupid, and a little silly. The littler they came in her family, the brighter they all were. The brightest of them all was a little girl of ten. She did a good day's work, washing dishes for a man and wife in a saloon, and she earned a fair day's wage. And then there was one littler still. She only worked for half the day. She did the housework for a bachelor doctor. She did it all, all of the housework, and received each week her eight cents for her wage. Anna was always indignant when she told that story. I think he ought to give her ten cents Miss Matilda anyway. Eight cents is so mean when she does all his work, and she is such a bright little thing too, not stupid like our Sally. Sally would never learn to do a thing if I didn't scold her all the time. But Sally is a good girl, and I take care, and she will do all right. Sally was a good obedient German child. She never answered Anna back. No more did Peter, old baby, and little rags. And so though always Anna's voice was sharply raised in strong repute and worn expostulation, they were a happy family, all there together in the kitchen. Anna was a mother now to Sally, a good, incessant German mother who watched and scolded hard to keep the girl from any evil step. Sally's temptations and transgressions were much like those of Naughty Peter and Jolly Little Rags, and Anna took the same way to keep all three from doing what was bad. Sally's chief badness, besides forgetting all the time, and never washing her hands clean to serve at table, was the butcher boy. He was an unattractive youth enough, that butcher boy. Suspition began to close in around Sally, that she spent the evenings when Anna was away in company with this bad boy. Sally is such a pretty girl, Miss Matilda, Anna said, and she's so dumb and silly, and she puts on that red waste, she crinkles up her hair with

irons, so I have to laugh. Then I tell her, if she only washed her hands clean, it would be better than all that fixing all the time. But you can't do a thing with the young girls nowadays, Miss Matilda. Sally's a good girl, but I got to watch her all the time. Suspicion closed in around Sally more and more that she spent Anna's evenings out with this boy sitting in the kitchen. One early morning, Anna's voice was sharply raised. Sally, this ain't the same banana that I brought home yesterday for Miss Matilda for her breakfast, and you was out early in the street this morning. What was you doing there? Nothing Miss Annie. I just went out to see. That's all. And that's the same banana.

Did it is, Miss Annie. I just went out to see. That's all. And that's the same banana. Did it is, Miss Annie? Sally, how can you say so, and after all, I do for you? And Miss Matilda is so good to you? I never brought home no bananas yesterday. It was specs on it like that. I know better. It was that boy was here last night and ate it while it was away. And he was out to get another this morning. I don't want no lying, Sally. Sally was stout in her defense, but then she gave it up. And she said it was the boy who snatched it as he ran away at the sound of Anna's key opening the outside door. But I'll never let him in again Miss Annie. Deidre won?" said Sally. And now it was all peaceful for some weeks, and then Sally, with fatuous simplicity, began on certain evenings to resume her bright, red waist, her bits of jewels, and her crinkly hair.

One pleasant evening in the early spring, Miss Matilda was standing on the steps besides the open door, Feeling cheerful in the pleasant gentle night. Anna came down the street, Returning from her evening out. Don't shut the door, please Miss Matilda. said, in a low voice, I don't want Sally to know I'm home. Anna went softly through the house and reached the kitchen door. With the sound of her hand upon the knob, there was a wild scramble and a bang, and then Sally sitting there alone when Anna came into the room. But alas, the butcher boy forgot his overcoat in his escape. You see that Anna led an arduous and troubled life. had her troubles too with Miss Matilda. And I slave and slave to save the money, and you go out and spend it on all foolishness. The good Anna would complain when her mistress, a large and careless woman would come home with a bit of porcelain, a new etching, and sometimes even an oil painting on her arm. But Anna argued Miss Matilda, if you didn't save this money, don't you see I could not buy these things. And then Anna would soften and look pleased until she learned the price. And then her hands. Oh Miss Matilda, Miss Matilda, she would cry, and you gave all that money out for that, when you need a dress to go out in so bad? Well, perhaps I will get one for myself next year, Anna. Miss Matilda would cheerfully concede. If we lived till then, Miss Matilda, I see that you do. Anna would then answer darkly. Anna had great pride in the knowledge and possessions of her cherished Miss Matilda, but she did not like her careless way of wearing always her old clothes. You can't go out to dinner in that dress, Miss Matilda. She would say, standing firmly before the outside door. You got to go and put on your new dress. She always looks so nice in. But Anna, there isn't time. Yes, there is. I go up and help you fix it. Please, Miss Matilda. You can't go out to dinner in that dress.

Next year, if we live till then, I make you get a new hat too. It's a shame, Miss Matilda, to go out like that.

The poor, mistress side, and had to yield. It suited her cheerful, lazy temper to be always without care, but sometimes it was a burden to endure. For so often she had it all to do again, unless she made a rapid dash out of the door before Anna had a chance to see. Life was very easy always for the slarge and lazy Missilda, with the good Anna to watch and care for her and all her clothes and goods. But alas, this world of ours is after all much what it should be. And cheerful Miss Matilda had her troubles too, within. It was pleasant that everything for one was done, but annoying often, that what one wanted most just then one could not have when one had foolishly demanded and not suggested one's desire. And then Miss Matilda loved to go out on joyous country tramps when stretching free and far with cheerful comrades over rolling hills and cornfields. Glorious in setting sun, and dark wood white and shining underneath the moon and clear stars overhead and brilliant air and tingling blood. It was hard to have to think of Anna's anger at the late return. Though Miss Matilda had begged that there might be no hot supper cooked that night. And then when all the happy crew of Miss Matilda and her friends tired with fullness of good health and burning winds and glowing sunshine in the eyes, stiffened and justly worn, and holy ripe, her pleasant food and gentle content. We're all come together to the little house.

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