LONDON BRIDGE--WHY NOT?--EVERY HEART HAS ITS BITTERS--WICKED BOYS--GIVE
ME MY BOOK--A FRIGHT
So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot by the
booth where I had stood on the former occasion. The booth, however, was
empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall was to be seen. I looked
over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was now, as before, rolling
beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity. As I gazed upon the eddies
of the whirlpool, I thought within myself how soon human life would
become extinct there; a plunge, a convulsive flounder, and all would be
over. When I last stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse--a
fascination; I had resisted it--I did not plunge into it. At present I
felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the impulse was of a different
kind; it proceeded from a loathing of life. I looked wistfully at the
eddies--what had I to live for?--what, indeed! I thought of Brandt and
Struensee, and Yeoman Patch--should I yield to the impulse--why not? My
eyes were fixed on the eddies. All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I
saw heads in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly; eyes turned up
to heaven with hopeless horror; was that water or--? Where was the
impulse now? I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked no more upon it--I
looked forward, far down the stream in the far distance. Ha! what is
that? I thought I saw a kind of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving
groves, a rustic home; but in the far distance--I stared--I stared--a
Fata Morgana--it was gone. . . .
I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the bridge, where
I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I then passed over to the
other side with an intention of returning home; just half-way over the
bridge, in a booth immediately opposite to the one in which I had
formerly beheld her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled up
behind her stall.
'Well, mother,' said I, 'how are you?' The old woman lifted her head
with a startled look.
'Don't you know me?' said I.
'Yes, I think I do. Ah, yes,' said she, as her features beamed with
recollection. 'I know you, dear; you are the young lad that gave me the
tanner. Well, child, got anything to sell?'
'Nothing at all,' said I.
'Bad luck?'
'Yes,' said I, 'bad enough, and ill usage.'
'Ah, I suppose they caught ye; well, child, never mind, better luck next
time; I am glad to see you.'
'Thank you,' said I, sitting down on the stone bench; 'I thought you had
left the bridge--why have you changed your side?'
The old woman shook.
'What is the matter with you,' said I; 'are you ill?'
'No, child, no; only--'
'Only what? Any bad news of your son?'
'No, child, no; nothing about my son. Only low, child--every heart has
its bitters.'
'That's true,' said I; 'well, I don't want to know your sorrows; come,
where's the book?'
The apple-woman shook more violently than before, bent herself down, and
drew her cloak more closely about her than before. 'Book, child, what
book?'
'Why, blessed Mary, to be sure.'
'Oh, that; I ha'n't got it, child--I have lost it, have left it at home.'
'Lost it,' said I; 'left it at home--what do you mean? Come, let me have
it.'
'I ha'n't got it, child.'
'I believe you have got it under your cloak.'
'Don't tell any one, dear; don't--don't,' and the apple-woman burst into
tears.
'What's the matter with you?' said I, staring at her.
'You want to take my book from me?'
'Not I, I care nothing about it; keep it, if you like, only tell me
what's the matter?'
'Why, all about that book.'
'The book?'
'Yes, they wanted to take it from me.'
'Who did?'
'Why, some wicked boys. I'll tell you all about it. Eight or ten days
ago, I sat behind my stall, reading my book; all of a sudden I felt it
snatched from my hand, up I started, and see three rascals of boys
grinning at me; one of them held the book in his hand. "What book is
this?" said he, grinning at it. "What do you want with my book?" said I,
clutching at it over my stall; "give me my book." "What do you want a
book for?" said he, holding it back; "I have a good mind to fling it into
the Thames." "Give me my book," I shrieked; and, snatching at it, I fell
over my stall, and all my fruit was scattered about. Off ran the
boys--off ran the rascal with my book. Oh dear, I thought I should have
died; up I got, however, and ran after them as well as I could; I thought
of my fruit, but I thought more of my book. I left my fruit and ran
after my book. "My book! my book!" I shrieked, "murder! theft! robbery!"
I was near being crushed under the wheels of a cart; but I didn't care--I
followed the rascals. "Stop them! stop them!" I ran nearly as fast as
they--they couldn't run very fast on account of the crowd. At last some
one stopped the rascal, whereupon he turned round, and flinging the book
at me, it fell into the mud; well, I picked it up and kissed it, all
muddy as it was. "Has he robbed you?" said the man. "Robbed me, indeed;
why he had got my book." "Oh, your book," said the man, and laughed, and
let the rascal go. Ah, he might laugh, but--'
'Well, go on.'
'My heart beats so. Well, I went back to my booth and picked up my stall
and my fruits, what I could find of them. I couldn't keep my stall for
two days I got such a fright, and when I got round I couldn't bide the
booth where the thing had happened, so I came over to the other side.
Oh, the rascals, if I could but see them hanged.'
'For what?'
'Why, for stealing my book.'
'I thought you didn't dislike stealing,--that you were ready to buy
things--there was your son, you know--'
'Yes, to be sure.'
'He took things.'
'To be sure he did.'
'But you don't like a thing of yours to be taken.'
'No, that's quite a different thing; what's stealing handkerchiefs, and
that kind of thing, to do with taking my book? there's a wide
difference--don't you see?'
'Yes, I see.'
'Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I'm glad you do. Would you like
to look at the book?'
'Well, I think I should.'
'Honour bright?' said the apple-woman, looking me in the eyes.
'Honour bright,' said I, looking the apple-woman in the eyes.
'Well then, dear, here it is,' said she, taking it from under her cloak;
'read it as long as you like, only get a little farther into the
booth--Don't sit so near the edge--you might--'
I went deep into the booth, and the apple-woman, bringing her chair
round, almost confronted me. I commenced reading the book, and was soon
engrossed by it; hours passed away, once or twice I lifted up my eyes,
the apple-woman was still confronting me: at last my eyes began to ache,
whereupon I returned the book to the apple-woman, and, giving her another
tanner, walked away.