THE CITY
How long it was before the performance concluded I do not know, as I
was in so distressed and confused a state of mind. All I can remember
is that I was thrown headlong into a small box, among a number of dirty
old wooden dolls dressed in rags and bits of cloth of all colors. Here
I lay a few minutes, till a shrill, squeaking voice, that came through
somebody’s nose, cried out ‘Hurray!’ and then down tumbled Mr. Punch
himself into the box, right across me, and the lid of the box was
instantly shut down and there we all lay squeezed together in the dark.
I soon began to feel wretchedly uncomfortable--it was so close and hot,
and I also had a very bad headache, owing to something that pressed
hard upon my head. When the box was next opened I found it was Mr.
Punch’s high-crowned wooden hat that had hurt me, in consequence of one
of its hard corners pressing against the back of my head.
The master of the show now began to take some of us out for a morning’s
performance, and to arrange the dolls upon a board in the order in
which he should want them to make their appearance. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘I
want the infant’ (meaning Punch’s child), ‘I want the infant--where is
Punch’s young one?’ Then taking me up--‘Ah, what is this?’ said he,
‘How did this creature come here? Why somehow, she has got here in the
place of the infant. She must have popped in by mistake, during the
noise in the street with that great barking dog. Well, she’s too big
for me, and she’s much too good to throw away, so I had better sell
her.’
He had scarcely uttered these words when the sound of ‘Clo’! clo’!
clo’!’ met our ears, and the master of the show immediately issued
from underneath his curtain, with me in his hand, and beckoned the
Jew clothesman to come to him. He proposed to sell me; and, after
half an hour’s bargaining, during which so many words were exchanged
that my patience was quite worn out, and I did not care what became
of me, the Jew carried me away in his bag. I felt myself quite as
disagreeably situated as when squeezed among the family of Mr. Punch,
for my companions in the bag appeared to be two old waistcoats, with
hard metal buttons pressing against my left cheek, an old hat, three
pairs of old shoes, seven pairs of slippers, a humming-top, a teetotum,
a snuffer-tray, a coat that seemed greasy, a tin pot, some old gold
lace, a bundle of rags, seven bones, two rabbit skins, a stuffed
parrot, the head of a rocking horse, a tin box and canister, a cow’s
horn, a pound of yellow soap, a woollen night-cap, five pairs of
worsted stockings, a parcel of tobacco, and half a roast goose. I was
sadly afraid that the brass buttons and the edges of the tin box and
canister, the snuffer-tray, or the head of the rocking horse, or the
beak of the stuffed parrot, would destroy the beautiful complexion Mr.
Johnson had given me, when fortunately the very same idea occurred to
the cautious mind of the wise old Jew, who suddenly put his hand into
the bag, and thrusting my head and shoulders into a worsted stocking,
he rolled the rest of me tightly in the coat, and then crammed me into
the old hat, with my legs upwards. One of my hands, however, happened
accidentally to be left free; and in cramming me into the hat, which
fitted very tight, this hand went through a split in the edge of the
crown. I should not have thought much of this circumstance, but that I
presently discovered the hat to have a strong scent of otto of rose,
and then I suddenly recollected that this must be the very hat into
which I had fallen at the opera. My first acquaintance with the hat
having been in the most fashionable place in London, this was a strange
place of meeting for both of us.
In the evening, when the Jew arrived at his lodgings, and had eaten his
supper of fried soles and German sausage, with a bunch of white turnip
radishes, he emptied the whole contents of his bag out on the floor,
and bent over us from his chair, for some minutes, with a face of great
satisfaction. He had collected all this bag-full in one day. ‘Yes,’
said he, taking me up from all the rest, ‘yes, this is the best part
of my day’s work.’ I was beginning to feel pleased at this compliment,
when the Jew added, ‘This is a beautiful wooden doll, but her gold
bracelet is the thing for me!’ So I saw it was not I, but my gold
bracelet that pleased his fancy.
He took me to a little table; and there, with a pair of pincers, he
took off my bracelet; and, in its place, he fastened a stupid piece of
tin, upon which, with the point of a broken fork, he scratched, ‘Maria
Poppet.’ I could have cried bitterly at the change, but I was able to
restrain myself.
I felt that I should not remain long with the old Jew, because he
would soon sell me. The very next day he actually did sell me, and my
purchaser was an Italian organ-boy.
This boy had been used to carrying a monkey about on the top of his
organ, who sat there in a red jacket and soldier’s cap, and made faces,
while the boy’s little sister went round to collect halfpence in a
tambourine. This poor little monkey had caught a very bad cold, by
being out in the rain one night, and had died; and the Italian boy
had come to the Jew, to know if he would buy it to stuff for a glass
case. The old Jew considered a long while, and then said he could give
no money for the poor little pug, but he would give him something that
would be better for him, because it would help him to make money. So
saying, he offered me to the boy, in exchange for the monkey. The
Italian boy hesitated at first; he said he wanted a little money. But
his sister exclaiming, ‘Oh, do, brother, let us have the doll!’ he
consented; and fitting on me the red jacket, he stuck me upon the top
of the organ, and off we went into the street, to the tune of ‘I’d be a
butterfly!’ which he immediately began to play.
We went through many streets, playing various tunes by the way, and
getting many pennies and halfpennies, until we arrived at Guildhall,
when Brigitta (that was the little girl’s name) said she wanted to
run in and show me two very large dolls indeed, called Gog and Magog.
‘So do,’ said her brother (whose name was Marco), ‘and while you go
I’ll play the tune I think Gog and Magog would like best;’ and he
immediately began once more to play ‘I’d be a butterfly!’
[Illustration: Off We Went to the Tune of “I’d be a Butterfly.”]
We ran in and saw the great ugly things. Oh, they were such great
dolls! and it was such a large room! Out ran Brigitta again, and we
went to the Mansion-house and played ‘Sweet home,’--in the middle of
which a fat gentleman, who had just come out of a pastry-cook’s, put a
slice of plum-cake into Brigitta’s tambourine. We then went and played
‘Cherry ripe’ in front of the Monument, but we did not play long, as
Brigitta got frightened; it looked so high she was afraid it would
tumble down and spoil Dolly. We next went and played in front of the
London tavern, in Bishopsgate Street; but there happened to be a great
‘public dinner’ going on, so one of the waiters told us to go away, as
there was an alderman just then making a ‘speech,’ and we disturbed
him; so we walked slowly away, playing, ‘They’re all nodding.’
We now went to St. Paul’s churchyard and played the ‘Old Hundredth
Psalm,’ and ‘God save the Queen,’ and ‘Cherry ripe.’ I never saw
anything before or since that looked so great to me as St. Paul’s, for
although there was a most beautiful doll-shop within sight, I could not
help looking all the time at the great building.
After this, as we had made one shilling and sevenpence in the course of
the day, we went home to Marco’s lodgings. He had a little room behind
the back kitchen of a cobbler’s house in the neighborhood of London
bridge. Brigitta placed me on a straw mattress up in one corner, and
then took out two plates and a mug without a handle from a cupboard in
the wall, and Marco then laid upon the plate several things to eat,
which he had bought on their way home, among which I saw something
that looked very much like an ounce of sugar candy, besides the piece
of plum-cake that had been put into Brigitta’s tambourine. They were
very merry over their supper. Then Marco, who was very tired from
having carried the organ about all day, fell fast asleep, and Brigitta
presently took out from a little bundle several pieces of bright
scarlet and green stuff, and, in the neatest manner possible, began to
make me a very pretty dress, just like the one she had on herself. I
was very glad of this, for I did not at all like being dressed like the
monkey. She was a very pretty little girl of about nine years of age,
with a dark brown complexion and red lips, and large black eyes, and
long, black, glossy, curling hair.
I passed several weeks with this merry little mamma, who was always
laughing, or chattering, or playing the tambourine and collecting
halfpence in it, or dancing me about, except when I sat upon the organ
in the place of the monkey. I saw a great deal of London by this
means, but more particularly of the City, as far as from Temple Bar
to the Thames Tunnel, because Marco knew a great many houses where
there were children who liked to hear the organ, and he and his sister
generally visited each house about once a week.
[Illustration]