I do not know whether the Hebrew quarter, when I began to make my calls
there, seemed any worse than the American quarter or not. But I noticed
presently a curious subjective effect in myself, which I offer for the
reader’s speculation.
There is something in a very little experience of such places that
blunts the perception, so that they do not seem so dreadful as they
are; and I should feel as if I were exaggerating if I recorded my
first impression of their loathsomeness. I soon came to look upon the
conditions as normal, not for me, indeed, or for the kind of people I
mostly consort with, but for the inmates of the dens and lairs about
me. Perhaps this was partly their fault; they were uncomplaining, if
not patient, in circumstances where I believe a single week’s sojourn,
with no more hope of a better lot than they could have, would make
anarchists of the best people in the city. Perhaps the poor people
themselves are not so thoroughly persuaded that there is anything
very unjust in their fate, as the compassionate think. They at least
do not know the better fortune of others, and they have the habit of
passively enduring their own. I found them usually cheerful in the
Hebrew quarter, and they had so much courage as enabled them to keep
themselves noticeably clean in an environment where I am afraid their
betters would scarcely have had heart to wash their faces and comb
their hair. There was even a decent tidiness in their dress, which
I did not find very ragged, though it often seemed unseasonable and
insufficient. But here again, as in many other phases of life, I was
struck by men’s heroic superiority to their fate, if their fate is
hard; and I felt anew that if prosperous and comfortable people were
as good in proportion to their fortune as these people were they would
be as the angels of light, which, I am afraid they now but faintly
resemble.
One of the places we visited was a court somewhat like that we had
already seen in the American quarter, but rather smaller and with
more the effect of a pit, since the walls around it were so much
higher. There was the same row of closets at one side and the hydrant
next them, but here the hydrant was bound up in rags to keep it from
freezing, apparently, and the wretched place was by no means so
foul under foot. To be sure, there was no stable to contribute its
filth, but we learned that a suitable stench was not wanting from
a bakery in one of the basements, which a man in good clothes and
a large watch-chain told us rose from it in suffocating fumes at a
certain hour, when the baker was doing some unimaginable thing to
the bread. This man seemed to be the employer of labor in one of the
rooms above, and he said that when the smell began they could hardly
breathe. He caught promptly at the notion of the Board of Health,
and I dare say that the baker will be duly abated. None of the other
people complained, but that was perhaps because they had only their
Yiddish to complain in, and knew that it would be wasted on us. They
seemed neither curious nor suspicious concerning us; they let us go
everywhere, as if they had no thought of hindering us. One of the
tenements we entered had just been vacated; but there was a little
girl of ten there, with some much smaller children, amusing them in the
empty space. Through a public-spirited boy, who had taken charge of us
from the beginning and had a justly humorous sense of the situation, we
learned that this little maid was not the sister but the servant of the
others, for even in these low levels society makes its distinctions.
I dare say that the servant was not suffered to eat with the others
when they had anything to eat, and that when they had nothing her
inferiority was somehow brought home to her. She may have been made
to wait and famish after the others had hungered some time. She was a
cheerful and friendly creature and her small brood were kept tidy like
herself.
The basement under this vacant tenement we found inhabited, and though
it was a most preposterous place for people to live, it was not as
dirty as one would think. To be sure, it was not very light and all
the dirt may not have been visible. One of the smiling women who were
there made their excuses, “Poor people; cannot keep very nice,” and
laughed as if she had said a good thing. There was nothing in the room
but a table and a few chairs and a stove, without fire, but they were
all contentedly there together in the dark, which hardly let them see
one another’s faces. My companion struck a match and held it to the
cavernous mouth of an inner cellar half as large as the room we were
in, where it winked and paled so soon that I had only a glimpse of the
bed, with the rounded heap of bedding on it; but out of this hole, as
if she had been a rat, scared from it by the light, a young girl came,
rubbing her eyes and vaguely smiling, and vanished up-stairs somewhere.