Edith's day had been as busy as Jack1's, notwithstanding she had put aside several things that demanded her attention. She denied herself the morning attendance on the Literature Class that was raking over the eighteenth century. This week Swift was to be arraigned2. The last time when Edith was present it was Steele. The judgment3, on the whole, had been favorable, and there had been a little stir of tenderness among the bonnets4 over Thackeray's comments on the Christian5 soldier. It seemed to bring him near to them. "Poor Dick Steele!" said the essayist. Edith declared afterwards that the large woman who sat next to her, Mrs. Jerry Hollowell, whispered to her that she always thought his name was Bessemer; but this was, no doubt, a pleasantry. It was a beautiful essay, and so stimulating6! And then there was bouillon, and time to look about at the toilets. Poor Steele, it would have cheered his life to know that a century after his death so many beautiful women, so exquisitely7 dressed, would have been concerning themselves about him. The function lasted two hours. Edith made a little calculation. In five minutes she could have got from the encyclopaedia8 all the facts in the essay, and while her maid was doing her hair she could have read five times as much of Steele as the essayist read. And, somehow, she was not stimulated9, for the impression seemed to prevail that now Steele was disposed of. And she had her doubts whether literature would, after all, prove to be a permanent social distraction10. But Edith may have been too severe in her judgment. There was probably not a woman in the class that day who did not go away with the knowledge that Steele was an author, and that he lived in the eighteenth century. The hope for the country is in the diffusion11 of knowledge.
Leaving the class to take care of Swift, Edith went to the managers' meeting at the Women's Hospital, where there was much to do of very practical work, pitiful cases of women and children suffering through no fault of their own, and money more difficult to raise than sympathy. The meeting took time and thought. Dismissing her carriage, and relying on elevated and surface cars, Edith then took a turn on the East Side, in company with a dispensary physician whose daily duty called her into the worst parts of the town. She had a habit of these tours before her marriage, and, though they were discouragingly small in direct results, she gained a knowledge of city life that was of immense service in her general charity work. Jack had suggested the danger of these excursions, but she had told him that a woman was less liable to insult in the East Side than in Fifth Avenue, especially at twilight12, not because the East Side was a nice quarter of the city, but because it was accustomed to see women who minded their own business go about unattended, and the prowlers had not the habit of going there. She could even relate cases of chivalrous13 protection of "ladies" in some of the worst streets.
What Edith saw this day, open to be seen, was not so much sin as ignorance of how to live, squalor, filthy14 surroundings acquiesced15 in as the natural order, wonderful patience in suffering and deprivation16, incapacity, ill-paid labor17, the kindest spirit of sympathy and helpfulness of the poor for each other. Perhaps that which made the deepest impression on her was the fact that such conditions of living could seem natural to those in them, and that they could get so much enjoyment18 of life in situations that would have been simple misery19 to her.
The visitors were in a foreign city. The shop signs were in foreign tongues; in some streets all Hebrew. On chance news-stands were displayed newspapers in Russian, Bohemian, Arabic, Italian, Hebrew, Polish, German-none in English. The theatre bills were in Hebrew or other unreadable type. The sidewalks and the streets swarmed20 with noisy dealers21 in every sort of second-hand22 merchandise--vegetables that had seen a better day, fish in shoals. It was not easy to make one's way through the stands and push-carts and the noisy dickering buyers and sellers, who haggled23 over trifles and chaffed good-naturedly and were strictly24 intent on their own affairs. No part of the town is more crowded or more industrious25. If youth is the hope of the country, the sight was encouraging, for children were in the gutters27, on the house steps, at all the windows. The houses seemed bursting with humanity, and in nearly every room of the packed tenements28, whether the inmates29 were sick or hungry, some sort of industry was carried on. In the damp basements were junk-dealers, rag-pickers, goose-pickers. In one noisome30 cellar, off an alley31, among those sorting rags, was an old woman of eighty-two, who could reply to questions only in a jargon32, too proud to beg, clinging to life, earning a few cents a day in this foul33 occupation. But life is sweet even with poverty and rheumatism34 and eighty years. Did her dull eyes, turning inward, see the Carpathian Hills, a free girlhood in village drudgery35 and village sports, then a romance of love, children, hard work, discontent, emigration to a New World of promise? And now a cellar by day, the occupation of cutting rags for carpets, and at night a corner in a close and crowded room on a flock bed not fit for a dog. And this was a woman's life.
Picturesque36 foreign women going about with shawls over their heads and usually a bit of bright color somewhere, children at their games, hawkers loudly crying their stale wares37, the click of sewing-machines heard through a broken window, everywhere animation38, life, exchange of rough or kindly39 banter40. Was it altogether so melancholy41 as it might seem? Not everybody was hopelessly poor, for here were lawyers' signs and doctors' signs--doctors in whom the inhabitants had confidence because they charged all they could get for their services--and thriving pawnbrokers42' shops. There were parish schools also--perhaps others; and off some dark alley, in a room on the ground-floor, could be heard the strident noise of education going on in high-voiced study and recitation. Nor were amusements lacking--notices of balls, dancing this evening, and ten-cent shows in palaces of legerdemain43 and deformity.
It was a relenting day in March; patches of blue sky overhead, and the sun had some quality in its shining. The children and the caged birds at the open windows felt it-and there were notes of music here and there above the traffic and the clamor. Turning down a narrow alley, with a gutter26 in the centre, attracted by festive44 sounds, the visitors came into a small stone-paved court with a hydrant in the centre surrounded by tall tenement-houses, in the windows of which were stuffed the garments that would no longer hold together to adorn45 the person. Here an Italian girl and boy, with a guitar and violin, were recalling la bella Napoli, and a couple of pretty girls from the court were footing it as merrily as if it were the grape harvest. A woman opened a lower room door and sharply called to one of the dancing girls to come in, when Edith and the doctor appeared at the bottom of the alley, but her tone changed when she recognized the doctor, and she said, by way of apology, that she didn't like her daughter to dance before strangers. So the music and the dance went on, even little dots of girls and boys shuffling46 about in a stiff-legged fashion, with applause from all the windows, and at last a largesse47 of pennies--as many as five altogether--for the musicians. And the sun fell lovingly upon the pretty scene.
But then there were the sweaters' dens48, and the private rooms where half a dozen pale-faced tailors stitched and pressed fourteen and sometimes sixteen hours a day, stifling49 rooms, smelling of the hot goose and steaming cloth, rooms where they worked, where the cooking was done, where they ate, and late at night, when overpowered with weariness, lay down to sleep. Struggle for life everywhere, and perhaps no more discontent and heart-burning and certainly less ennui50 than in the palaces on the avenues.
The residence of Karl Mulhaus, one of the doctor's patients, was typical of the homes of the better class of poor. The apartment fronted on a small and not too cleanly court, and was in the third story. As Edith mounted the narrow and dark stairways she saw the plan of the house. Four apartments opened upon each landing, in which was the common hydrant and sink. The Mulhaus apartment consisted of a room large enough to contain a bed, a cook-stove, a bureau, a rocking-chair, and two other chairs, and it had two small windows, which would have more freely admitted the southern sun if they had been washed, and a room adjoining, dark, and nearly filled by a big bed. On the walls of the living room were hung highly colored advertising51 chromos of steamships52 and palaces of industry, and on the bureau Edith noticed two illustrated53 newspapers of the last year, a patent-medicine almanac, and a volume of Schiller. The bureau also held Mr. Mulhaus's bottles of medicine, a comb which needed a dentist, and a broken hair-brush. What gave the room, however, a cheerful aspect were some pots of plants on the window-ledges, and half a dozen canary-bird cages hung wherever there was room for them.
None of the family happened to be at home except Mr. Mulhaus, who occupied the rocking-chair, and two children, a girl of four years and a boy of eight, who were on the floor playing "store" with some blocks of wood, a few tacks54, some lumps of coal, some scraps55 of paper, and a tangle56 of twine57. In their prattle58 they spoke59, the English they had learned from their brother who was in a store.
"I feel some better today," said Mr. Mulhaus, brightening up as the visitors entered, "but the cough hangs on. It's three months since this weather that I haven't been out, but the birds are a good deal of company." He spoke in German, and with effort. He was very thin and sallow, and his large feverish60 eyes added to the pitiful look of his refined face. The doctor explained to Edith that he had been getting fair wages in a type-foundry until he had become too weak to go any longer to the shop.
It was rather hard to have to sit there all day, he explained to the doctor, but they were getting along. Mrs. Mulhaus had got a job of cleaning that day; that would be fifty cents. Ally--she was twelve--was learning to sew. That was her afternoon to go to the College Settlement. Jimmy, fourteen, had got a place in a store, and earned two dollars a week.
"And Vicky?" asked the doctor.
"Oh, Vicky," piped up the eight-year-old boy. "Vicky's up to the 'stution"--the hospital was probably the institution referred to--"ever so long now. I seen her there, me and Jim did. Such a bootifer place! 'Nd chicken!" he added. "Sis got hurt by a cart."
Vicky was seventeen, and had been in a fancy store.
"Yes," said Mulhaus, in reply to a question, "it pays pretty well raising canaries, when they turn out singers. I made fifteen dollars last year. I hain't sold much lately. Seems 's if people stopped wanting 'em such weather. I guess it 'll be better in the spring."
"No doubt it will be better for the poor fellow himself before spring," said the doctor as they made their way down the dirty stairways. "Now I'll show you one of my favorites."
They turned into a broader street, one of the busy avenues, and passing under an archway between two tall buildings, entered a court of back buildings. In the third story back lived Aunt Margaret. The room was scarcely as big as a ship's cabin, and its one window gave little light, for it opened upon a narrow well of high brick walls. In the only chair Aunt Margaret was seated close to the window. In front of her was a small work-table, with a kerosene61 lamp on it, but the side of the room towards which she looked was quite occupied by a narrow couch--ridiculously narrow, for Aunt Margaret was very stout62. There was a thin chest of drawers on the other side, and the small coal stove that stood in the centre so nearly filled the remaining space that the two visitors were one too many.
"Oh, come in, come in," said the old lady, cheerfully, when the door opened. "I'm glad to see you."
"And how goes it?" asked the doctor.
"First rate. I'm coming on, doctor. Work's been pretty slack for two weeks now, but yesterday I got work for two days. I guess it will be better now."
The work was finishing pantaloons. It used to be a good business before there was so much cutting in.
"I used to get fifteen cents a pair, then ten; now they don't pay but five. Yes, the shop furnishes the thread."
"And how many pairs can you finish in a day?" asked Edith.
"Three--three pairs, to do 'em nice--and they are very particular--if I work from six in the morning till twelve at night. I could do more, but my sight ain't what it used to be, and I've broken my specs."
"So you earn fifteen cents a day?"
"When I've the luck to get work, my lady. Sometimes there isn't any. And things cost so much. The rent is the worst."
It appeared that the rent was two dollars and a half a month. That must be paid, at any rate. Edith made a little calculation that on a flush average of ninety cents a week earned, and allowing so many cents for coal and so many cents for oil, the margin63 for bread and tea must be small for the month. She usually bought three cents' worth of tea at a time.
"It is kinder close," said the old lady, with a smile. "The worst is, my feet hurt me so I can't stir out. But the neighbors is real kind. The little boy next room goes over to the shop and fetches my pantaloons and takes 'em back. I can get along if it don't come slack again."
Sitting all day by that dim window, half the night stitching by a kerosene lamp; lying for six hours on that narrow couch! How to account for this old soul's Christian resignation and cheerfulness! "For," said the doctor, "she has seen better days; she has moved in high society; her husband, who died twenty years ago, was a policeman. What the old lady is doing is fighting for her independence. She has only one fear--the almshouse."
It was with such scenes as these in her eyes that Edith went to her dressing-room to make her toilet for the Henderson dinner.
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1
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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arraigned
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| v.告发( arraign的过去式和过去分词 )；控告；传讯；指责 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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encyclopaedia
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| n.百科全书 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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diffusion
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| n.流布；普及；散漫 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deprivation
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| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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22
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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haggled
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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26
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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32
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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40
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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pawnbrokers
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| n.当铺老板( pawnbroker的名词复数 ) | |
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43
legerdemain
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| n.戏法，诈术 | |
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44
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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46
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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47
largesse
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| n.慷慨援助，施舍 | |
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48
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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50
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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51
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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52
steamships
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| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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53
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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54
tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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56
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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58
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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59
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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60
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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61
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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