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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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