As she greeted him the lady rather perfunctorily remarked:
"And so you are a dreamer of the Ghetto?"
"No, Madam," Keidansky answered somewhat brusquely; "I am a sad reality."
"A sad reality? Why so?" Smilingly, pityingly, she queried.
"Oh, the reasons are not far to seek, not easy to find, and hard to relate," he said demurely. "Besides, why augment the soporific tendency? We have just listened to a lecture. The monstrous evil of government still exists. The tremendous task of its abolition is still before us."
"Yes, I know; but tell me, please."
"Well, then, if I must speak of myself—and I like nothing better—I will tell you." He cast down his eyes and spoke quickly, as quickly as he could think of the right words, which he was trying to find with evident effort. "A dreamer disillusionized, a great might-have-been become small, a would-be victor vanquished, a social reformer forced by society to reform, a herald of a new dawn lost in the night, a rebel rejected by the rabble, a savior of society without even the ghost of a chance to become a martyr, a visionary grown wise, an enthusiast at last awakened to things as they are, an idealist knocked out by cold, hard facts—don't you think it's a sad reality? I—we—wanted to do so many things and—
"I wanted to change the world, and the world has changed me so that I am beyond recognition. That's a little and belittling way the world has with all who wish to save it. We—my comrades and I—wanted to transform this earth into a Heaven, and we came near going to—the other place. Pardon me, madam, but some of the fellows actually went there, one sent me his regards the other day. He is at court now, working for the king of the ward—assistant chief wire-puller, or something. Good salary; hardly any work to do. Better than Socialism, he says, under which system he would, at least, have to perform a few hours' work a day. But there was a time when he would walk six miles—he had to walk then—to hear a denunciation of the present political parties and the evil powers that be. Now he would talk six miles to win a single vote for them. The others who have gone have not fared so badly as he: they have not grown so wise, have remained poor, and, more or less—honest. But as to the things that might have been. There were great books to be written, which were abandoned because—oh, well, it is so much bother to deal with publishers. There was a powerful educational movement to be started in the Ghetto, which has also been relinquished for the manifold blessings of ignorance.
"Why, I wanted to solve the social problem, and now I do not even see my way clear to do that. You see, we all came here with a smattering of Socialistic ideas and Utopian ideals. We brought them over from Russia—the land of the knave and the home of the slave—and we wanted to see them realized in this country, where the gigantic development of industry and the trusts were illustrating the beautiful possibilities of Socialism. That idea appealed to us Jews, at least, above all others. And we set ourselves with great zeal to the task of its promulgation. The common ownership of all the means of production and distribution of wealth, every member of society contributing to the work of the nation; those who do not work, neither shall they eat, etc.—we had everything down fine—too fine. If we were asked, who shall do the dirty work under Socialism, we answered, the bosses of the present political machines.