by Matthew Browne.
Originally published in The Argosy (Strahan & Co.) vol.2 #9 (Aug 1866).
The first thing Bella saw this fine hot day was a crowd of people round the church door, watching the cabs as they drove up; and she thought this would be something to excite her mind, so she came up as fast as she could, and stood among the people looking. As she had been running, her hair was anyhow, and one of her boots nearly off her foot; indeed, she had to hitch up her old frock over her shoulder, just as the young ladies, all in white, began to step out of the cabs, and walk into the church one after the other. They wore long white veils; they had no bonnets on; and their hair shone like jewels in the warm sun.
Bella was very much surprised, and said to a policeman, who was so tall that she had to look up at him as if he was a monument, and so stiff that he could hardly see below his own chin—
"If you please, sir, what is this?"
Now the policeman took no notice of Bella, but he called out to a boy who was up the lamp-post—
"Hi, you sir, come down!"
Then Bella determined to ask the little boy, who had no doubt seen inside the church-window, and so she said—
"Are they all going to be married?"
"Married! no!" said the rude boy: "it's a confrummation. They're all going to be confirmed."
This was a great mystery to Bella; so she rubbed her nose with her old stuff frock, and felt much interested. In a short time, she heard the singing and the music, very loud and nice. Then the very pavement seemed to shake under her feet, and she had a pricking sensation at the roots of her hair, and something in her throat as if she was going to cry.
"There!" said the little boy, nudging her: "that's the confrummation. They're a-being done now; it's a bishop as does it; I see him go in at the other door."
This made Bella feel sad.
"I never saw a bishop," said she, very humbly. But she made a solemn resolution in her own mind that she would be confirmed, with music, and singing, and a white veil. Only she had not considered how expensive it is to ride in a cab, poor child; half-a-crown, perhaps; and she had never had half-a-crown in her hand in all her life. However, she said in her own mind, "I will be confirmed when I am older;" and she stamped with one foot on the pavement as she had the thought.
It was a good long time before there was any more conversation; however, at last the little boy spoke again, and said—
"They haves a bun and a glass o' wynd apiece."
Then the organ burst out again, and the little boy gave her a violent push, he was so excited.
"There!" says he, "don't you hear? They're eatin' their buns now, while the orgin plays 'Glory be to the Father!'"
At this, Bella was quite overcome, and leaned with one hand on the little boy's shoulder. So he came closer, and put his great red paw round Bella's downy thin arm, and spoke more softly, saying—
"I say, don't you cry, silly! I'm going to be confirmed some day—and I'll take you with me!"
Now, indeed, Bella felt as if she had something to look forward to in life, and she asked the little boy what his name was.
"Name?" says he, "Bos-eye."
"That's not your real name," said Bella.
"No; they calls me Bos-eye in our Buildin's, because I can squint double—jest look here!"
"Oh, don't you!" cried Bella, and hid her face in her frock, as the little boy squinted horribly;—they might well call him Bos-eye.
"Shall you be confirmed in a white veil?" inquired Bella, doubtfully.
"No—oh!" said the boy, very loud. "White veil? no—oh. I shall have a shirt-pin, and a new hat, and we'll have a --"
"Now then, move on, move on!" said the stiff policeman, and all the cabs came rattling up to the church again, and the people rode away, and a stout man came and stood at the door of the church, in a great coat all over broad gilt lace, and he had a cocked hat, all over gilt lace too, and he carried a tall stick, with a real silver knob to it.
Then Bella trembled very much, and stood very close to the little boy, and laid hold of the lappel of his jacket, and said—
"Oh, what a beautiful bishop!"
"Bishop! ha, ha, ha!" said the little boy; "he's only a beadle; he belongs to the workus; bishop! ha, ha! Come along, little 'un! why, none of the girls is pretty, not nigh so pretty as you are; and look how they're dressed up, and how they greases their hair!"
Just then, an omnibus came by with a good many gentlemen on the outside, very smartly dressed.
"Oh, here's a lot o' Swells!" cried the little boy, very much delighted; and, when one of the gentlemen happened to smile at him, he ran at the side of the omnibus, and began turning over and over sideways on his hands, head down, head up, so that his hair went flying, and you could see all the rents in his trousers: just like a wheel he looked, turning and turning like mad. At last one of the gentlemen threw him a penny, and away he ran. He never came back to Bella. This caused a void in her bosom, and she went wandering down the long broad street in search of Excitement, though she did not know the name of the thing she was in search of.
The next remarkable place she came to was a shop called a Restaurant. Inside were all manner of nice things to eat and drink, with china plates, and silver forks, and flowers, and waiters, and waitresses. And ladies and gentlemen were sitting at little marble tables taking Refreshments, and as Bella looked at the gentlemen, she thought of Bos-eye, and remembering the appearance of the gentlemen she had seen upon the top of the omnibus, she said to herself, "These also are Swells." And the Swells were eating pleasant meats and green salads, which made Bella feel as if she could go and find out a field and lie down and bite the grass. But of all the things she saw in this place nothing pleased her so much as the ices. For Bella had had a Penny Ice one day, and knew an ice when she saw one. All girls are fond of ices, and especially pink ices, such as these ladies were eating, and Bella stood looking in at the door, with very large eyes and her mouth wide open. That was quite rude of her, but she did not know any better, and when at last one of the waiters came to the door and hished at her, with a white napkin, as if she was a puppy-dog, she went away, ashamed and miserable and angry.
The sun was very hot indeed, and the streets dry and dusty, and Bella looked about in vain for Bos-eye, and then stood up against a post feeling her skin dry and her mouth dry, and all over dry, and quite uncomfortable and low. Just as she was in this unhappy frame of mind, there came by a watering-cart, and, oh, how refreshing it looked in the eyes of our Bella! The bright, glittering jets of water made rainbows in the sun, and a longing, longing thought came over Bella which she could not resist. So she rushed up to the back of the cart, and laid hold of the water pipe with both hands, and ducked up and down, and let the jets of water play over her again and again till she was wet through nearly. "Oh, how nice and cool!" thought Bella; and so it was, only she looked like a drowned rat. This made a gentleman laugh so that he gave her a threepenny piece, though why a gentleman should give a street-girl a piece of silver because she looked like a drowned rat, I cannot tell. And the gentleman walked off laughing. Bella heard him say to another gentleman, "By Jove! it's as good as a play!" and perhaps if it was it was worth threepence to him. But all dry people do not like wet people, and Bella had not gone many yards along the hot pavement before she heard a lady, who was walking with another lady, say, in a fretful tone of voice, "That wet girl is a nuisance." Now Bella did not know the meaning of the word nuisance; but, looking behind, she saw that she had made the pavement wet all the way as she came along. So she concluded that life was very difficult, seeing one person called her as good as a play and gave her a silver threepenny piece for being dripping wet, while another said she was a nuisance. These things made Bella somewhat melancholy, and she thought to herself—
"When I am confirmed I shall understand things, perhaps."
Then, for a moment, she seemed to hear the loud rolling organ, and the sweet voices of the singers, and she felt better, though she wished Bos-eye was with her to tell her how to spend her money, and to share what she bought with it.
Just at that moment, a costermonger came by, wheeling a broad barrowful of fruit, and looking at Bella, as if he knew she was a capitalist; and he made a noise, saying—
"Yah—yaw—yah—yee—hee—yigh—yo—yo—o—oh!"
"Bella went up to the man's barrow, and shaking back her hair and pointing with her finger, said—
"What's this a piece?"
"That's pineapple, miss," said the costermonger; "West-Injy pine; a penny a slice."
"And what's the cherries?" asked little Bella.
"Cherries, my dear," says the costermonger, "a penny a bunch; them in the bags twopence."
Now, what Bella wanted in her very heart to do was to buy a slice of pine for a penny, and a bunch of cherries for a penny, because this was a variety, and the slice of pine looked solid, like bread and butter; but, unfortunately, just at that very moment, she caught the eye' of a lady fixed upon her, and thought to herself—
"It will be more genteel if I buy a bag of cherries."
There was no time for thought, for the costermonger gave his barrow a push, and cried out once more—
"Yah—yaw—yah—yee—hee—yigh—yo—yo—o—oh!"
So Bella bought a bag of cherries for twopence, and had only one penny left of her silver piece.
The first thing she did, you may be quite sure, was to begin upon her cherries, and very nice they were, and very great was her joy in their niceness. Did you ever think how completely happy young children are while they are eating pleasant things? But in the midst of her joy, she had an unpleasant feeling, which it is not easy for me to describe. You must consider that she had heard the organ, and made a friend, and parted from a friend, and had a shower-bath, and been tipped with silver, and been called a nuisance, and that, after all, she was a human being, just like you and me. Now, what was it she felt? She felt a sort of vacancy, and a sort of vexation with herself; as if she wanted to go to sleep and forget something. I do not understand these things myself, but I know a gentleman who is a Moralist, and wears spectacles, and always reads at breakfast; and he says Bella had lost some of her Self-respect by buying cherries in a bag, in order to be genteel, when what she wanted in her inmost bosom was a slice of West-Indian pine, and a bunch of cherries for variety.
I wish I understood Morality, and Manners, and Society, and things of that sort, and then I should know how much blame to lay on the shoulders of the lady who, a few minutes before, had called Bella a nuisance; for, though Bella did not know what a Nuisance was, she felt as much lowered as if she had been called an Abracadabra or a Parallelopipedon; and which is the worst of the three, goodness only knows.
At the time at which these exciting events were happening to our Bella, there was a place in our city called Leicester Square. In the middle of this square was a statue that looked as if by tipsy and reckless habits it had become poor and shabby; and all round was rough, straggling grass, with a very few trees, that looked as shabby as the statue. But when rain fell, the trees and the grass smelt sweetly, as trees and grass always do, and I have with my own eyes watched a sparrow pecking at the grass-seed in that very square. Owing to causes which I cannot explain, not being Chief Commissioner of Works, or a Bishop, or a Policeman, or anything of that sort, there are places round this square at which the railings have been broken, so that the children can creep in. As the railings are of solid iron, I do not believe the children themselves can have broken them, but I do know that I have seen them, three or four at a time, creep in at a hole, head foremost, exhibiting their little brown dusty thighs, and showing, by their looks, that they felt guilty and insecure in what they were doing. One of the children that strolled up and went in this day was our Bella.
The moment our Bella got inside, with the little bag of cherries in her hand, she regretted the step she had taken; for there were about as many children in the square as there were cherries-in her bag, and they all left off play to look at her, as if they would like to eat her up, poor thing. There was one little boy of whom special mention must be made. He was older than Bella, and she considered that he was gorgeously dressed, and of such genteel manners, that if he had been a man she would have said to herself, "And here, also, is a Swell!"
Bella had not been many moments in the square when this young gentleman walked up to her and commenced a conversation by asking if she liked playing among the haycocks.
"Are they good to eat?" said Bella.
"No—oh!" answered the young gentleman, in a very impolite manner—"aint you ever been in the country?"
"No," said poor little Bella, blushing much. Indeed, she felt so humbled, again, she hardly knew what to do. The little boy she was conversing with was well-dressed, and she was shabby; he knew what a haycock was, and she did not; he looked down upon her, and was rude to her; and there was only one thing in which she was able to stand against him. Now, what was that? The little boy was no more a Moralist, or a Poet, or a Philosopher, than I am, and I will bet anything he could not even spell Æsthetics; so he had no idea that there were depths in Bella's child-woman's eyes that there were not in his, or anything beautiful in her round smooth brow more than in his square, rough, selfish forehead. But Bella had the cherries. And when the boy was rude to her, she turned red in the face, and had a little agony all to herself (oh, what fine words are here; but things are finer than words, I assure you!) and offered the cherries to the well-dressed boy, and they sat down under a tree, and ate them together. When they had eaten them all, they turned over the cherry-stones in their mouths, and Bella went fast asleep on the dry, half-yellow grass.
A long sleep she had, and a long dream, which I may some day give an account of; but when she woke it was quite night! All the other children had gone home to bed; and around her were the gas-lamps of the pavement and the shops, and the noisy people making a sound like thunder with their tongues and their feet, as Bella woke lonely and cold in the square. At first, Bella forgot that the cherries had all been eaten, and felt for them at her side—but there was only the bag, and that was burst; for the greedy little gentleman had blown it out with his mouth, and popped it.
Now, it seemed to Bella that the people were all hurrying one way, and she heard them crying, "Fire, Fire!" So she thought to herself, "I should like to see a fire!" and up she got, and scrambled round the square, till she found the hole she had got in by, and so out into the street, when she followed the crowd. And a long way she went, I can tell you, up one street and down another, and still the sky was red in front of her, and still it got redder and redder, and the crowd grew thicker and thicker. At last she began to see smoke rising up from the fire, and the weathercock of a church-steeple as bright as gold and brighter, and the people kept on guessing what place it was that was burning.
"It's a coach-maker's!" said one.
"It's a hoil-cloth factory!" said another.
"I smell the hoil!" said a third.
"And I smells the turps!" said a fourth, as the crowd was becoming so thick that poor little Bella was almost afraid of being knocked down by the fellows; they do push so.
But a severe disappointment awaited her. The crowd was so great that she could not, after all, get near enough to see the fire: the mob was as long as a whole street of people, and she was not much higher than my knee. What was the consequence? She felt the heat; and saw the sparks flying overhead; she caught a glimpse, once or twice, of a jet of water as it flew, and of the curl of steam in which it was thrown back from the burning rafters; and once, only once, she heard a crash, and then, while the flames shot up so high that she could see real fire—think of that!—she heard a great groan, a long "A-a-h!"—in fact a sound I cannot print—from the thousands of men and women that were there. Then the crowd swayed backwards and forwards, and Bella said, "Oh, please don't scrouge!" and she felt, at the roots of her hair, almost as she had felt in the morning at the church door, when she heard the organ blow, and the children sing.
Now I have consulted a Critic, who writes in the papers, and he tells me that according to the Laws of Art, I must not describe the fire, because Bella did not see it. The thing she really did see was a fire-engine, but everybody knows what a fire-engine is like—it is just as if the thing that makes a train go had got loose at a railway-station, and run wild in the street, with men to ride it as if it was a horse. Oh, how it came tearing along!
"Ah-ah-ah!" cried the crowd, and cheered the firemen, and made way for the engine, and some of them said—'
"It's the Prince of Wales—hoo-ray!"
"Hoo-ray!" said Bella.
If there was one excitement which Bella desired more than another, it was to behold the Prince of Wales, and the Princess of Wales, to whom she was particularly partial, having seen their picture, arm-in-arm, going to be married, presented gratis to the subscribers to the Young Ladies' Companion, which was regularly taken in by the girl at the beer-shop Bella knew best. It is so hard to know what people do see, and what they do not see, that I will not declare whether Bella did or did not set eyes on the Prince, supposing him to have been on that fire-engine—why should we want to be sure of everything, like bankers—and lawyers—and our clergyman? But, before retiring to rest for the night, Bella stated that she had seen the Prince and Princess of Wales on a fire-engine. When I mentioned this to a friend who is a Philosopher, he said it was a myth; though our clergyman maintained it was a story, only he didn't say story exactly. Now, when I told these things to my little daughter, she smiled with all her huge antelope brown eyes, and, lifting her hand to let it fall with a droop of apology, said—
"But, oh, papa, she had had such an Exciting Day!"