Carola

In one of the London streets lying along the riverside there was, some years ago, a small shop, perhaps the smallest shop in London, for the tenant of it, when standing in the centre, could touch each wail with his outstretched hand. Over the narrow doorway, which with a window two feet wide filled up the whole frontage, was painted the name Matthias Levi; and in the window-sill and up each side of the window-frame were ranged old boots and shoes of every size, which old Matthias Levi had mended and patched, and was in this way offering for sale.

Small as the shop was, there was plenty of room within for a cobbler's stall, and there the old Jew was always at work, from time to time lifting up his bended head to take a kindly glance at the people passing along the pavement, or at the great waggons blocking up the narrow street. He was never seen without an old cap of brown seal-skin, in shape like a turban, which came down low on his high and narrow forehead, almost touching the shaggy grey eyebrows hanging over his deep-set eyes. All his teeth were gone, and his mouth fell in, but there was a placid smile resting upon it which had something of the charm of childhood. If a customer came in his wrinkled face beamed with pleasure; and he was as earnest in seeking out the best pair of mended shoes to fit his feet as if those feet were his own. Not a few children went into that little shop barefoot, and came out shod without Matthias being a penny the richer.

In one corner of his dark den a spiral iron staircase, no broader than a ladder, ascended to the room overhead. This was larger than the shop, for it extended over an archway, which led down between two warehouses to the riverside. It was the old Jew's living-room and bedchamber in one, and was but scantily furnished. In the corner of it opposite to the spiral staircase stood a ladder, with a trap-door at the top of it, leading to a garret above. This garret, which had no other way of entrance than through the Jew's shop and dwelling-place, was rented by him to such tenants as were willing to put up with this inconvenience. The three rooms were taken out of an old and dingy warehouse with a rotten-looking landing-stage on the river-bank, which had once probably been a busy spot, but which had now fallen into hands that did but little trade, and only kept the place in auth repair as prevented it tumbling into ruins.

The attic was still larger than old Matthias. Levi's dwelling-place, for it ran back towards the river, and had a low broad window looking out upon it. Half the panes were broken and stuffed up with old rags, very much obscuring the light as it struggled to reach the dark corners which were made by the tilted angles of the roof. In one of these, almost on the floor, was a low bedstead with a torn and dirty quilt covering it. The furniture was still more scanty than in the room below, for there was but one chair, one table, and one old box, and a shelf against the wall holding a little crockery and a tin saucepan, whilst a half-full sack of coals and a bundle of chips stood near the trap-door on a spot closely grimed with coal-dust. With the exception of this corner, which was plainly in a hopeless condition, the floor was tolerably clean, and such glass as was left in the window-frame was fairly bright.

There were two persons living in this garret: a woman nearly eighty and a girl not yet eighteen.

The girl had never known a time when she had not been left to herself. Her father died before her birth, and her mother had followed him before the child had memory to recollect her; the only trace of her existence was that she had called her baby Carola, probably because she had seen some barge with that name sailing past the window. The old woman, Carola's grandmother, had never quitted the garret where she lived since the child had been old enough to send out on errands, and this had come to pass at a very early age, for her wants were as simple as the furniture of her room. All she asked of life was a crust of bread and half a bottle of gin a day. As long as Carola could remember, these requirements had been duly met. Every other day the crooked, shining fingers of the old woman fumbled into a mysterious pocket among her rags, and produced the price of a bottle of gin and a loaf of bread. The loaf was chiefly for the girl, but the gin was altogether for the old woman. When these errands were done Carola was free to do as she liked, and go where she pleased.

It was an active out-of-door life, full of change and stir; in and out of the gin-palaces, with their crowds of drunken men and women, and-up and down the riverside, among cursing and swearing riverside dwellers. Nothing escaped Carola's quick eyes and ears; and every day was full of new interest to her. Of any place in the world beyond the two or three streets near her home she knew nothing, or that any other kind of life could be lived but that of the rough people around her. Her existence was, on the whole, like that of some wild creature; eating when she was hungry if she could get the food, and sleeping when she was tired if she could find a. corner to curl herself up in. At all times she thrust her little figure into every crowd, and stood in the front rank at every street sight. "Carol", as she was called, was a favourite everywhere, and continued to grow in favour. She never entered a gin-shop without having a dram pressed upon her; and the lads who rowed their boats fearlessly amid the confusion of steamers and barges on the river were always willing to take "Carol" with them. She knew all the evil from which most girls are guarded, and but little of the good in which most girls are cradled.

But, however ragged little Carola might be, her feet were always warmly shod, and however neglected by all else, old Matthias Levi did his best to guard her from harm. His heart was, in fact, bound up in her. She was as the apple of his eye, though in the frosty reserve which old age had gathered around him he was bound as in fetters of iron, and could neither talk much to her, nor was able to draw out the child's chatter. But as she passed in and out, ascending and descending his iron staircase, she was constantly under his eye, and often exchanged a few words with him. As Carola grew older and her grandmother more infirm, the discharge of the Sabbath duties fell to her. She was not more than eight years old when she began to light the lamp and kindle the fire for him on a Sabbath eve, when his law forbade him to touch them himself. And as she grew old enough he taught her, with some little austerity of manner, softened by a generous supply of sugar-plums, the Ten Commandments.

"They're good laws," he said, "and it 'ud be good for you to keep them, Carol; though you're not one of my people, my dear."

But as Carola went to and fro about the street, mixing with the lowest of the people, she found that not one of these laws was ever thought of. Yet there was something in the sound of the solemn words which stirred the depths of her childish heart. Every night she stood with her hands behind her in front of the old man, who laid aside his awl and needle to listen, whilst she repeated them in a clear, sweet, serious voice, before going up the ladder which led to her grandmother's garret.

For the only restraint in Carola's life was that of the necessity of coming home at nine o'clock, when Matthias Levi shut up his shop, and fastened the door with a heavy iron bar, as if all his shoes were made of gold. As the only access to the garret lay through his premises, Carola could not stay out later in the streets. Till the very last moment she would linger among her companions, loath to return to the dismal attic which was her only home; but when the clocks struck nine she had to flee, and rush, breathless with her running, into the dark little shop. How good this restraint was for her she did not know till many years had gone by.

Once a week the old Jew underwent a strange and solemn change in Carola's eyes. This was on a Friday evening, when he exchanged his seal-skin cap for a hat of a peculiar shape, and drew about his shoulders his white-and-blue prayer-robe, which his father had brought with him from Poland. She could hear him saying words she could not understand, as she peeped down at him from her trap-door in the ceiling of his room, and watched until the long prayers were ended, and the old man laid aside his Sabbath dress, and sat down in his old familiar guise.

"What do you do that for?" asked Carola one Friday evening, after an unusually long, prayer, as she crept half-way down the ladder, ready to retreat quickly if the strange old man was angry.

"They're good words as the wise men of my people have taught us to say," he replied.

"I used to know partly what they meant, but I've forgotten what it is, now I'm old. But they are pleasing to Him," he added with a mysterious gesture, as he lifted up his hand and pointed through the window to the small portion of the sky visible through it.

"Would they do me any good?" inquired the child.

"They're good words for man," answered Matthias with a grave dignity, "but woman no call to say them; and you're not one of our women. No, they'd do you no good, my dear, if I could teach them to you."

"Women that aren't Jews, does He like them?" asked Carola, pointing up to the sky.

"P'raps He do, p'raps He do," he replied in a caressing tone. "He loves the Jews, and has chosen them out of all people; but I think He'd love a little girl like you if you keep them ten laws I've taught you."

"Is it good to lie in bed all day, and drink gin?" she inquired shrewdly.

"There's nought against it in them laws," he said; "and it don"t make much difference to folks that are only English, and not Jews as well. But you take care, Carol, and keep all these laws, and p'raps you'll be reckoned as a Jew when the great judgment comes. I don"t know much about it, my dear, for I was not one of the wise men, and they never asked me to read in the Synagogue; but there's no harm done by keeping His laws."

Matthias had never said so much, or spoken so earnestly to her before; and Carola climbed back to the garret, and lay down beside her drunken old grandmother, firmly resolved to keep all those laws which Matthias had taught her. By dint of listening with all her might every Sabbath eve to the half-audible prayers mumbled by the old Jew, she caught up a few Hebrew words, which she used to repeat in a low whisper, standing at the garret window, and looking up steadfastly to the quiet sky which hung above the busy river.