---- A Victorian
Christmas Tale ----
from the journal of Ravindra Bhalerao
LATE IN THE EVENING when the night has cast its shadow and the town begins to put out its lights, when the mist from the river stalks along the streets shrouding the lamps in a dusky, orange glow, on such an evening as this no one would care to stir from the warmth of his home unless he was hooded and muffed, unless he had good reason to stir out. On such a cold evening were seen an old man and his girl making their way to the town market. They had good reason to stir out ; leaving their dismal home behind, they strolled on looking forward to an evening filled with amusement—that was something which did not come their way often. Passersby looked at the pair curiously—for they were a curious pair indeed: the old man with the cap bending in comic fashion over his stick, starting at almost every sound that fell on his ears, his step unsure and faltering. Yet he had eyes that shone under the city lights; he was guided along by the little maiden bounding alongside, a bunch of daisies in one hand, eagerly exclaiming at every new sight that came along her way.
They were here to watch the busy throngs of Christmas
shoppers; for it was Christmas eve today, and all the merry folks with even
merrier faces seemed to have poured into the street today with their capacious
bags and pockets jangling with coins, and hearts set on the candles and the
toys, the cakes and the pies, the presents and the roast goose, the holly and
the mistletoe. The very air seemed laden with the spirit of cheer and festivity,
of mirth and gaiety.
“Have you ever known of a Santa who hugs and greets
visitors?” asked old Muddlestone of the girl by his side as they trudged along.
Little Gerda—for that was her name—looked up at her
grandpa wonderingly. “A Santa who greets people? Then he must be an enormously
big Santa!” she exclaimed with glee throwing up her hands apart.
“Umphh—yes—yes. And he is known to give away presents
too, dearie,” Muddlestone said cheerily, clasping the girl’s hand more firmly
than ever.
The very thought of a Santa giving away presents warmed
their hearts. What a great difference, such a stark contrast between the warmth
and cheer of the marketplace and the dismal one-room tenement known as ‘home’
where they lived. For the old man lived all by himself in a dingy room at the
back of a warehouse on Warren Street. His room was sparsely furnished: a chair
that needed mending, a bed falling apart and musty with age, a fireplace that
rarely if ever blazed with a log in it; hunger, cold that pierced through to
the marrows, a constant longing for common necessaries had made their home with
him. But of late, things had brightened up a bit when his granddaughter, a
little maiden of eight, made homeless when her father eloped with a lady of his
fancy, had joined him in his dreary home.
With the little mite beside him, old Muddlestone felt his
spirits wonderfully revive; he was no longer a lone soul living in misery,
groping for his way in a city where no one seemed to care. And thus the old man
and the child clung to each other, each drawing succour from the other. The
man, charmed by the girl’s playful babble nearly forgot his rheumatism, his
cares; the girl, now no longer an orphan with no one to care, found the
grandfather a most patient and agreeable friend; on her grandpa’s knee she
would find all the safety, all the love she needed in the world.
And yet for all this, they remained poor; in the eyes of
the world, poor, yes; the man and the child. The arrival of the girl was
promptly noticed by Mrs Hudson, the landlady, and being of a practical bent of
mind she seized the opportunity and decided to usefully employ the girl; thus
little Gerda, pale and perpetually starved and dressed in the scantiest
clothing found a place in Mrs Hudson’s bakery. And there she worked from
morning to night, amidst trays of dough, amid scents of breads and buns, amid
the shrieks and cries of the forbidding woman she had come to accept with an
air of resigned silence and despair. For the scantiest of wages she labored on
till night came when she would return to the little room; then all was quiet,
as she sobbed out her troubles on the trembling old man’s breast; it was
comfort at last, comfort and warmth and relief amid the frost and cold; an
uncertain comfort that gave way to drowsiness, followed by troubled sleep. Oh,
how he wished he could bring a spot of warmth, some cheer to the unhappy little
girl ! The very mice that scurried along the floor at night seemed to share the
misery of the two, for they would make their way into the tattered blanket that
covered the girl, seeking shelter from the howling wind that found its way in
through the shutters, and gently nip at her feet before settling down for a
night’s warmth and rest.
But none of this troubled the wandering pair as they
moved under the city lights today. And thus, although it was bitterly cold, and
the wind swept through the streets setting up a low sorrowful moan, the man and
the girl strolled on, delighting in the sights and sounds and smells of the festive
season, seemingly content with the transient comfort afforded by this evening’s
excursion.
They stood now before the florist who had a collection of
flowers of considerable variety of the most unbelievable magnificence.
“Celandines and dahlias for the pretty young miss!” came
a merry voice from behind a wooden box. The florist had set up her tables on
the pavement itself for everyone to see, and she waved and gesticulated using
the most pronounced endearments at everyone passing that way. Little Gerda
smiled back at the old woman with snowy hair, with old Muddlestone looking
equally pleased—it was not very often that someone complimented his girl so
handsomely. He greeted the lady warmly, and with a shrug of his shoulders made
as if to leave, but the old woman, quick to see things, plucked a daffodil and
with one quick movement pinned the flower to Gerda’s hair.
“Ah, that should set you up for the evening, miss!” cried
the old lady, laughing, before turning away to attend to a pair who had turned
up at her stall. Gerda and her grandfather now found themselves amidst the most
dazzling show of lights. The marketplace was wonderfully warm; so cheerful. The
pavement, now wet with a shower, shone with a thousand glittering reflections.
Tramcars and carriages laden with people rumbled past; while throngs of
shoppers, gaily dressed, moved around, men in top-hats swinging canes peering
at shop windows followed by their children, and women in sweeping skirts,
eyeing, choosing, coaxing their men, each one looking for something that would
go on to make this festive season more memorable, or perhaps at least as
memorable as the last one.
Proceeding
in this way, Muddlestone and the girl had barely moved a distance of about a
furlong when they suddenly became aware of the sound of raucous laughter
issuing from amid the jostling crowd. The source of this disturbance was soon
apparent; for leaning against the balustrade of a stone staircase leading to
the upper storey of a building were four idle youths. Muddlestone peering
through his glasses soon became aware that he had become the centre of
attention of these uncouth idlers, who having no better way of spending the
evening, had occupied a place next to a shop window adjoining a staircase,
finding humour in nearly everything from women’s clacking heels to unbuttoned
men’s coats flying apart in the wind.
Above the hum
of the throngs came the sound of loud wisecracks interspersed with savage
laughter. One of the boys wearing a cap turned up sideways revealing generous locks
of red hair, stepped forward and curtseyed to the old man with the girl:
“Not a
penny in his pocket, and what does he hope to get for the li’l lady today?” he
said twirling himself about his feet as he finished.
“Hold your
tongue, Mort,” yelled out another, “that’s no way to speak to an old gent ; ha!”
Muddlestone
who had halted on the pavement felt a surge of anger rising within. Street
corner loungers were common enough, but it was most unusual to find a group of
revellers targeting an old man and his girl.
The boys
seemed determined; they looked around gaily, exchanged glances, nodded to each
other in agreement, and broke into uproarious laughter. Muddlestone halted in
the middle of the path studying the boys with narrowed eyes, his glance moving
from one figure to the next. The boy with red hair now drew a coin from his
pocket and flourished it in mock generosity. Beside him were his two
accomplices having the time of their life, while a third one with a red scarf
around his neck seemed to be taken up with some grave concern of his own and
stared on with a glum countenance.
“Begone,
you foul villains! You are only fit for the sewers of this city!” cried
Muddlestone brandishing his stick in vain. Had he been quick witted, he would
have simply moved on, but here he stood, adamant and unmoving, while little
Gerda, sensing that these new acquaintances showed no inclination toward
friendliness, clenched her tiny fists and wildly thrashed about in an effort to
ward off the unruly revellers.
How long
such a confrontation might have lasted at another time, one cannot say; but
today was the night before Christmas; the market place was flooded with
shoppers. Presently, a tramcar hooted, and halting by the roadside, disgorged a
fair quantity of passengers in lace and high heels. The maidens, some young,
plump and melting, others not so young, carrying fancily wrought bags and
glancing around coquettishly, began to disperse; some came up straight to the
spot where Gerda and her grandfather stood, gazing up with round, wondering
eyes at the novelties that beckoned from behind the glass. Such capital fare
was not to be missed; the youths soon lost interest in the penniless old man
they had singled out for their attentions, and Muddlestone and the little
damsel moved on ahead with the crowds unhindered.
The
incident was soon forgotten; it did not leave behind any lasting impression,
for street ruffians were a common enough thing in busy markets. It did however
serve to make the old man painfully aware that his most prominent asset was, as
always, a pocket perpetually devoid of cash. As he walked along the cobbled
stone street he began to question the wisdom of bringing the girl along to the
Christmas bazaar. The girl was pale, nearly starved; that such a thing as a Christmas
present would ever come her way was a remote possibility for her, as remote as
reaching out for the stars. To treat a girl such as this to the tempting aromas
of the confectionery store would be nothing less than criminal. Muddlestone
thus sought to bypass the large display he saw ahead showcasing an exotic range
of Christmas cakes lighted with innumerable candles that seemed to exude a
quality of radiant warmth and sweetness at the same time. Instead, the pair
took a side road setting their sights on Reddaway’s, the fashionable toy store
a few blocks away.
There were
Santas with ruddy cheeks and red caps in nearly every store, giving away gifts
to bright eyed children. He had not a penny in his pocket, but what of it? If
you can’t own a thing, you can nonetheless rejoice seeing it at a
distance—aren’t Christmas fireworks a joy to behold when seen from a far way
off? The old man bent over to see his girl as they labored along; little Gerda
bounded along exclaiming at the colourful sights that came their way, full of
smiles, and brimful with glee. He felt a warmth of happiness seeing the girl
rejoice in her own quaint way.
The avenue
now grew more crowded than ever; busybodies elbowed their way to take a peek at
store windows; some stood at street corners in groups engaged in lofty
conversation; others drifted along, each on a mission of his own. Gerda and her
grandfather now found themselves in front of a large store set in a two-storey
building. Children could be seen scurrying up the entrance, mothers going up
the stately flight of steps, wicker baskets in hand, a pandemonium of excited
cries coming from all around. High up above, in letters carved out of wood, the
name of the store declared to the world that if there ever was a place for
Christmas shopping, this was it : REDDAWAY’S DEPARTMENTAL.
The old
man and the girl ascended the flight of steps. Reddaway’s truly lived up to its
reputation; it was nothing short of paradise, for behind the massive glass pane
of this famed center was spread the most splendid collection of toys the girl
had ever set her eyes upon. Here in one corner was an oval of rail track, a
tiny toy train whizzing around in circles going past a pasteboard station,
trees, and a pond with ducks afloat. The train soon came to a halt and Gerda
wondered if it would ever start again when a shopman stepped in from behind the
pane, picked up the toy and giving a few turns with a key, set it into motion again. Next to the
train was a toy castle, again made of pasteboard, fairies ascending the long
flight of steps leading to the entrance. In one corner Gerda found three large
teddy bears ready to be cuddled, beside which was a large pendulum clock with
fancy decoration in gold, and several lamps of vintage design, all new and
sparkling under the blazing gas lamps.
“Look
Grandpa!” cried Gerda turning around, full of joy, pointing a finger at a lamp
with a large glass globe supported within a delicate framework of flourishes
and flowers. “Isn’t that the kind of lamp you have in Mrs Hudson’s parlour? And
how pretty!” The old man stumbled towards the glass, but before he could stoop
to examine the article, two women stepped in accompanied by a man and a little
girl, and forthwith embarked on a lively discourse concerning the relative
merits of the various lamps displayed.
Her view
obscured by the people who had occupied a place before the showcase, Gerda had
to content herself watching the group; but presently she saw something that
made her eye light up with a sparkle. For the girl among the group, a little
mite no older than our Gerda herself, held in her arms a doll of the most
exquisite workmanship. Gerda stepped closer and watched the girl spellbound.
From over the shoulder of the little girl who stood facing the glass, there
peeped back two large smiling eyes with dark lashes; her cheeks pink with
rouge, seemed supple enough to admit of a dimple; she had a profusion of golden
hair which fell around her neck in tiny curls; and she wore a skirt of the
finest muslin that fell around her delicate ankles in waves.
The doll
was all a bundle of prettiness; she stared longingly at the little girl in the
tattered frock at the back as though she would much prefer to be cuddled in those
grubby, soot laden arms. Gerda stood in a trance watching the doll, while old
Muddlestone stood at the back blinking in confusion, when the girl, as though
sensing that she was being watched, turned around momentarily. Her eyes met
Gerda’s and lit up, and for a brief instant there passed between the two a
feeling of kinship, of something common that, given the opportunity, would
blossom into comradeship. Emboldened by this gesture, little Gerda stepped
forward and with utter gratitude held the doll the girl so magnanimously held
out. She stroked the doll on her hair, kissed her, and began uttering
endearments, much to the owner’s delight, when she was called to a rude halt by
a gruff feminine voice:
“How dare
you fondle my girl’s doll, you wretched girl !”
It was the
girl’s mother who had spoken and hearing this, the others at the shop window
had turned. Poor Gerda now found herself looking up at two stout women, the
very picture of extravagance, opulence and high society, glaring down at her
with hostile eyes and undisguised contempt, while the man looking over the
urchin girl and her aged companion seemed to size up the situation in one
sweeping glance.
“Now give
me that doll at once!” cried the first lady, and with one brisk movement she
snatched the toy from Gerda’s grasp, holding it up to close scrutiny.
“Good
heavens!” she gasped, “Oh Martha, what has become of this babe! It’s covered
with dirt all over—not a fit thing for our Susie to play with anymore. It’s all
a heap of ruins!”
“Susie,
who ever asked you to share your doll with a beggar?” cried the other lady, all
aghast on seeing the disfiguring marks that the toy now bore. “You have done a
most abominable thing. Back home you are never known to share your things with
Tom. What ever has come over you? No more playthings for you this Christmas!”
she threatened shaking a finger.
The two
girls stood with open mouths, bewildered. Muddlestone now stepped in hoping to
intervene but was brusquely thrust aside by the man who escorted the ladies:
“And who
be you, old boy, that you come here poking your nose in our affair?” the man
barked.
“I—I—am
the girl’s . . .”
“Whoever
you are, you can see what a fine mess your girl has made. Why do you lounge
around in this place if you can’t afford a doll for your girl?”
Muddlestone
glanced through his glasses and found himself looking at a face nearly drawn
into a snarl. Everything seemed to be going wrong today. First it was at the
street square, and now at the toy store. If this was what Christmas shopping
was going to be like he would rather not take his girl out on such an
expedition again.
“Well, old
boy,” came the woman’s gruff voice again, “I don’t see any point in you
standing here and staring at the floor. Don’t you have a place to go?” Then
turning to the gentleman who stood next she exclaimed in a tone or irritation:
“Oh Ralph, what are we to do now? Our whole evening’s spoiled …”
The old
man’s countenance fell; he looked away wearily as though thinking of something
to say. Finding no words, he began to turn away; taking his girl by the hand, he
muttered a barely audible apology, and began to move down the steps leading out
of the store.
And thus
Gerda and her grandpa found themselves on the market street once again. The
gusts of wind were more boisterous than ever, candles in shop windows
flickered, women drew their cloaks tightly around themselves as they hurried
about. Muddlestone did not give much thought to what he saw around him. He
would take the road leading out of the bazaar. On he trudged leaning on his
stick, his gaze cast down, his girl beside him. Occasionally he looked up. The fog,
more dense than ever, drifted in, making the festive lights spread into an
irradiation that seemed all pervasive, a kind of ghostly orange glow making
everything seem distant and remote. The throngs of shoppers who bustled about
appeared as mere phantoms moving around alleyways, eagerly looking for that
elusive thing called happiness, and never seeming to be able to grasp at it. What shall it profit a man if he gain the
whole world … No, he would not
profit an ounce; riches are mere humbug; for no matter what these bright eyed
folks would get for themselves to cheer themselves this season, how much of it
would last through the year, through the next?
Muddlestone
trudged on with the girl. For his part, he would remain content with his
portion : a damp cellar at the back of a warehouse for a home, the shrill cries
of Mrs Hudson that rang down the hallway, his worn out clothes through which
the wind whistled uninvited, and, of course—how could he forget this—little
Gerda herself, his greatest possession in the world. He glanced at his girl;
little Gerda trotted by his side quietly. Occasionally she looked up to find a
Christmas tree behind a pane of glass with lights shining from it. She spoke
not a word.
The shops
now grew sparse, the lights dim, the crowd a mere trickle of people. They had
nearly reached the end of the street when a tap on his shoulder roused the man from his
thoughts. The wandering pair halted in their tracks and turned around to find
themselves looking at a young man. The youth’s face appeared in silhouette ;
far away in the distance a tramcar’s beam highlighted tufts of hair blown about
in the wind; in his hand the youth held a mysterious bundle. The boy spoke with
an urgency of tone:
“Mister, I
thought you might like to have this for the girl.”
Muddlestone
did not know what to make of the young intruder. The first thought that struck
him was that the boy wished to return something that was his very own; but it
was clear this could not possibly be so as he had set out on this evening
sojourn with nothing more than an empty pocket.
The tram
had drawn near and rumbled past; in the blazing light Muddlestone beheld a
young face with freckles, worn out breeches, and a red scarf around the neck.
It was a familiar face—ah, yes, it could be none other than one of the young
rascals they had come across at the street square earlier that evening.
Muddlestone
felt a surge of fear as he beheld the young man, and quickly turned to leave,
but the youth was quick; he stepped ahead and pinioned him against a column of
granite.
“Look
here, I mean no harm,” said the boy. “I thought you might like this for the
little girl …”
The old
man and the girl peered at the object the youth held out. Under the feeble
streetlamp they could see he was holding a large wooden doll dressed in muslin,
her large dancing eyes set in a solemn pink face.
The boy
stepped closer. “I was there at Reddaway’s when it all happened,” he spoke
looking at the old man earnestly. “Such a great shame, but never mind what
occurred. Here is the doll for the girl, if you wish! I found it lying by the
roadside . . .”
Muddlestone
now felt anger rising within his breast. An hour ago this was the young man who
with his gang of revellers was making trouble for decent folks on the eve of
Christmas, and now the rogue thinks he could wipe out his hideous past by
acting the generous uncle!
“Away with
you!” cried old Muddlestone, brandishing his stick, half stumbling, thoroughly
disgusted with being cornered by a street hoodlum. “What think ye of me? Shall
I pick up a castaway toy after my girl has been slighted? Away with you, you
and your kind! Am I a man of no honour? The impertinence!”
The boy showed
no signs of turning away but held on in patience. For a moment he glanced at
Gerda; the little maiden had set her eyes on the doll, her lips parted in
longing. He turned to the old man: “Look mister, many a street urchin would die
to own a castaway doll from Reddaway’s. This wooden girl is as good as new.
Just think of your girl. As for honour—” the boy now looked Muddlestone up and
down as he spoke, “….you look as if you could do with a change of clothes. Are
you certain that cap you’re wearing is your own?”
Muddlestone
looking at the boy could find a trace of softness creep into his heart for the
stripling that stood before him holding out the doll. He had seen human nature
at its best; he had seen human nature at its worst; he had long believed that
not everyone who professes to be good is entirely free of vanity. Now as he
stood observing the youth, he marvelled; here was clear evidence that even
amongst the most degraded and fallen among the human race could be found buried
beneath the debris a glowing ember of goodwill and benevolence.
A distant
clock chimed seven. Muddlestone looked at the ruddy face of the boy, then at
the doll. Large glass eyes shone back at him in a fixed stare, imploringly. He
had spoken of honour, but it had been only in principle. In actual fact, wasn’t
he dependent largely on charity for his subsistence? Why, the very frock little
Gerda wore today was a castoff piece that earlier belonged to Mrs Hudson’s
daughter, his coat a gift from the friendly baker down the street. He thought
of the dreary little room he would shortly return to, the cold stew that
awaited them for dinner, the shutters of the cellar rattling with the chill
winds that blew without, casting a chill, dank, deathlike spell on the night.
Oh, what would he not give to bring a bit of warmth and sunshine to the little
pale faced girl !
Muddlestone
made up his mind. They stood at a corner where the crowd was thin; away in
front stretched the cobbled street as far as the eye could see, the lamps
receding steadily until the farthest one was lost in the mists of the night.
The old man grabbed the doll giving it to the little girl to hold under her
arm. Then, muttering a hasty “thank ye, son” he hobbled away with the girl
along the dimly lit street.
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