Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
WORKS OF ISRAEL ZANGWILL
THE MELTING-POT
THE AMERICAN JEWISH BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK
1921
THE MELTING-POT
COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1914,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Printed by
THE LORD BALTIMORE PRESS
Baltimore, Md.
TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT
IN RESPECTFUL RECOGNITION OF HIS STRENUOUS STRUGGLE AGAINST THE
FORCES THAT THREATEN TO SHIPWRECK THE GREAT REPUBLIC WHICH
CARRIES MANKIND AND ITS FORTUNES, THIS PLAY IS, BY HIS KIND
PERMISSION, CORDIALLY DEDICATED
_The rights of performing or publishing this play in any country
or language are strictly reserved by the author._
THE CAST
[As first produced at the Columbia Theatre, Washington, on the fifth of
October 1908]
David Quixano WALKER WHITESIDE
Mendel Quixano HENRY BERGMAN
Baron Revendal JOHN BLAIR
Quincy Davenport, Jr. GRANT STEWART
Herr Pappelmeister HENRY VOGEL
Vera Revendal CHRYSTAL HERNE
Baroness Revendal LEONORA VON OTTINGER
Frau Quixano LOUISE MULDENER
Kathleen O'Reilly MOLLIE REVEL
Settlement Servant ANNIE HARRIS
Produced by HUGH FORD
[As first produced by the Play Actors at the Court Theatre, London on
the twenty-fifth of January 1914]
David Quixano HAROLD CHAPIN
Mendel Quixano HUGH TABBERER
Baron Revendal H. LAWRENCE LEYTON
Quincy Davenport, Jr. P. PERCEVAL CLARK
Herr Pappelmeister CLIFTON ALDERSON
Vera Revendal PHYLLIS RELPH
Baroness Revendal GILLIAN SCAIFE
Frau Quixano INEZ BENSUSAN
Kathleen O'Reilly E. NOLAN O'CONNOR
Settlement Servant RUTH PARROTT
Produced by NORMAN PAGE
Act I
_The scene is laid in the living-room of the small home of the
QUIXANOS in the Richmond or non-Jewish borough of New York, about
five o'clock of a February afternoon. At centre back is a double
street-door giving on a columned veranda in the Colonial style.
Nailed on the right-hand door-post gleams a_ Mezuzah, _a tiny
metal case, containing a Biblical passage. On the right of the
door is a small hat-stand holding MENDEL'S overcoat, umbrella,
etc. There are two windows, one on either side of the door, and
three exits, one down-stage on the left leading to the stairs and
family bedrooms, and two on the right, the upper leading to
KATHLEEN'S bedroom and the lower to the kitchen. Over the street
door is pinned the Stars-and-Stripes. On the left wall, in the
upper corner of which is a music-stand, are bookshelves of large
mouldering Hebrew books, and over them is hung a_ Mizrach, _or
Hebrew picture, to show it is the East Wall. Other pictures round
the room include Wagner, Columbus, Lincoln, and "Jews at the
Wailing place." Down-stage, about a yard from the left wall,
stands DAVID'S roll-desk, open and displaying a medley of music,
a quill pen, etc. On the wall behind the desk hangs a book-rack
with brightly bound English books. A grand piano stands at left
centre back, holding a pile of music and one huge Hebrew tome.
There is a table in the middle of the room covered with a red
cloth and a litter of objects, music, and newspapers. The
fireplace, in which a fire is burning, occupies the centre of the
right wall, and by it stands an armchair on which lies another
heavy mouldy Hebrew tome. The mantel holds a clock, two silver
candlesticks, etc. A chiffonier stands against the back wall on
the right. There are a few cheap chairs. The whole effect is a
curious blend of shabbiness, Americanism, Jewishness, and music,
all four being combined in the figure of MENDEL QUIXANO, who, in
a black skull-cap, a seedy velvet jacket, and red
carpet-slippers, is discovered standing at the open street-door.
He is an elderly music master with a fine Jewish face,
pathetically furrowed by misfortunes, and a short grizzled
beard._
MENDEL
Good-bye, Johnny!... And don't forget to practise your scales.
[_Shutting door, shivers._]
Ugh! It'll snow again, I guess.
[_He yawns, heaves a great sigh of relief, walks toward the
table, and perceives a music-roll._]
The chump! He's forgotten his music!
[_He picks it up and runs toward the window on the left,
muttering furiously_]
Brainless, earless, thumb-fingered Gentile!
[_Throwing open the window_]
Here, Johnny! You can't practise your scales if you leave 'em here!
[_He throws out the music-roll and shivers again at the cold as
he shuts the window._]
Ugh! And I must go out to that miserable dancing class to scrape the
rent together.
[_He goes to the fire and warms his hands._]
_Ach Gott!_ What a life! What a life!
[_He drops dejectedly into the armchair. Finding himself sitting
uncomfortably on the big book, he half rises and pushes it to the
side of the seat. After an instant an irate Irish voice is heard
from behind the kitchen door._]
KATHLEEN [_Without_]
Divil take the butther! I wouldn't put up with ye, not for a hundred
dollars a week.
MENDEL [_Raising himself to listen, heaves great sigh_]
_Ach!_ Mother and Kathleen again!
KATHLEEN [_Still louder_]
Pots and pans and plates and knives! Sure 'tis enough to make a saint
chrazy.
FRAU QUIXANO [_Equally loudly from kitchen_]
_Wos schreist du? Gott in Himmel, dieses Amerika!_
KATHLEEN [_Opening door of kitchen toward the end of FRAU QUIXANO'S
speech, but turning back, with her hand visible on the door_]
What's that ye're afther jabberin' about America? If ye don't like God's
own counthry, sure ye can go back to your own Jerusalem, so ye can.
MENDEL
One's very servants are anti-Semites.
KATHLEEN [_Bangs her door as she enters excitedly, carrying a folded
white table-cloth. She is a young and pretty Irish
maid-of-all-work_]
Bad luck to me, if iver I take sarvice again with haythen Jews.
[_She perceives MENDEL huddled up in the armchair, gives a little
scream, and drops the cloth._]
Och, I thought ye was out!
MENDEL [_Rising_]
And so you dared to be rude to my mother.
KATHLEEN [_Angrily, as she picks up the cloth_]
She said I put mate on a butther-plate.
MENDEL
Well, you know that's against her religion.
KATHLEEN
But I didn't do nothing of the soort. I ounly put butther on a
mate-plate.
MENDEL
That's just as bad. What the Bible forbids----
KATHLEEN [_Lays the cloth on a chair and vigorously clears off the
litter of things on the table._]
Sure, the Pope himself couldn't remimber it all. Why don't ye have a
sinsible religion?
MENDEL
You are impertinent. Attend to your work.
[_He seats himself at the piano._]
KATHLEEN
And isn't it laying the Sabbath cloth I am?
[_She bangs down articles from the table into their right
places._]
MENDEL
Don't answer me back.
[_He begins to play softly._]
KATHLEEN
Faith, I must answer _somebody_ back--and sorra a word of English _she_
understands. I might as well talk to a tree.
MENDEL
You are not paid to talk, but to work.
[_Playing on softly._]
KATHLEEN
And who _can_ work wid an ould woman nagglin' and grizzlin' and faultin'
me?
[_She removes the red table-cloth._]
Mate-plates, butther-plates, _kosher_, _trepha_, sure I've smashed up
folks' crockery and they makin' less fuss ouver it.
MENDEL [_Stops playing._]
Breaking crockery is one thing, and breaking a religion another. Didn't
you tell me when I engaged you that you had lived in other Jewish
families?
KATHLEEN [_Angrily_]
And is it a liar ye'd make me out now? I've lived wid clothiers and
pawnbrokers and Vaudeville actors, but I niver shtruck a house where
mate and butther couldn't be as paceable on the same plate as eggs and
bacon--the most was that some wouldn't ate the bacon onless 'twas killed
_kosher_.
MENDEL [_Tickled_]
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
KATHLEEN [_Furious, pauses with the white table-cloth half on._]
And who's ye laughin' at? I give ye a week's notice. I won't be the joke
of Jews, no, begorra, that I won't.
[_She pulls the cloth on viciously._]
MENDEL [_Sobered, rising from the piano_]
Don't talk nonsense, Kathleen. Nobody is making a joke of you. Have a
little patience--you'll soon learn our ways.
KATHLEEN [_More mildly_]
Whose ways, yours or the ould lady's or Mr. David's? To-night being yer
Sabbath, _you'll_ be blowing out yer bedroom candle, though ye won't
light it; Mr. David'll light his and blow it out too; and the misthress
won't even touch the candleshtick. There's three religions in this
house, not wan.
MENDEL [_Coughs uneasily._]
Hem! Well, you learn the mistress's ways--that will be enough.
KATHLEEN [_Going to mantelpiece_]
But what way can I understand her jabberin' and jibberin'?--I'm not a
monkey!
[_She takes up a silver candlestick._]
Why doesn't she talk English like a Christian?
MENDEL [_Irritated_]
If you are going on like that, perhaps you had better _not_ remain here.
KATHLEEN [_Blazing up, forgetting to take the second candlestick_]
And who's axin' ye to remain here? Faith, I'll quit off this blissid
minit!
MENDEL [_Taken aback_]
No, you can't do that.
KATHLEEN
And why can't I? Ye can keep yer dirthy wages.
[_She dumps down the candlestick violently on the table, and exit
hysterically into her bedroom._]
MENDEL [_Sighing heavily_]
She might have put on the other candlestick.
[_He goes to mantel and takes it. A rat-tat-tat at street-door._]
Who can that be?
[_Running to KATHLEEN'S door, holding candlestick forgetfully
low._]
Kathleen! There's a visitor!
KATHLEEN [_Angrily from within_]
I'm not here!
MENDEL
So long as you're in this house, you must do your work.
[_KATHLEEN'S head emerges sulkily._]
KATHLEEN
I tould ye I was lavin' at wanst. Let you open the door yerself.
MENDEL
I'm not dressed to receive visitors--it may be a new pupil.
[_He goes toward staircase, automatically carrying off the
candlestick which KATHLEEN has not caught sight of. Exit on the
left._]
KATHLEEN [_Moving toward the street-door_]
The divil fly away wid me if ivir from this 'our I set foot again among
haythen furriners----
[_She throws open the door angrily and then the outer door. VERA
REVENDAL, a beautiful girl in furs and muff, with a touch of the
exotic in her appearance, steps into the little vestibule._]
VERA
Is Mr. Quixano at home?
KATHLEEN [_Sulkily_]
Which Mr. Quixano?
VERA [_Surprised_]
Are there two Mr. Quixanos?
KATHLEEN [_Tartly_]
Didn't I say there was?
VERA
Then I want the one who plays.
KATHLEEN
There isn't a one who plays.
VERA
Oh, surely!
KATHLEEN
Ye're wrong entirely. They both plays.
VERA [_Smiling_]
Oh, dear! And I suppose they both play the violin.
KATHLEEN
Ye're wrong again. One plays the piano--ounly the young ginthleman plays
the fiddle--Mr. David!
VERA [_Eagerly_]
Ah, Mr. David--that's the one I want to see.
KATHLEEN
He's out.
[_She abruptly shuts the door._]
VERA [_Stopping its closing_]
Don't shut the door!
KATHLEEN [_Snappily_]
More chanst of seeing him out there than in here!
VERA
But I want to leave a message.
KATHLEEN
Then why don't ye come inside? It's freezin' me to the bone.
[_She sneezes._]
Atchoo!
VERA
I'm sorry.
[_She comes in and closes the door_]
Will you please say Miss Revendal called from the Settlement, and we are
anxiously awaiting his answer to the letter asking him to play for us
on----
KATHLEEN
What way will I be tellin' him all that? I'm not here.
VERA
Eh?
KATHLEEN
I'm lavin'--just as soon as I've me thrunk packed.
VERA
Then I must _write_ the message--can I write at this desk?
KATHLEEN
If the ould woman don't come in and shpy you.
VERA
What old woman?
KATHLEEN
Ould Mr. Quixano's mother--she wears a black wig, she's that houly.
VERA [_Bewildered_]
What?... But why should she mind my writing?
KATHLEEN
Look at the clock.
[_VERA looks at the clock, more puzzled than ever._]
If ye're not quick, it'll be _Shabbos_.
VERA
Be what?
KATHLEEN [_Holds up hands of horror_]
Ye don't know what _Shabbos_ is! A Jewess not know her own Sunday!
VERA [_Outraged_]
I, a Jewess! How dare you?
KATHLEEN [_Flustered_]
Axin' your pardon, miss, but ye looked a bit furrin and I----
VERA [_Frozen_]
I am a Russian.
[_Slowly and dazedly_]
Do I understand that Mr. Quixano is a Jew?
KATHLEEN
Two Jews, miss. Both of 'em.
VERA
Oh, but it is impossible.
[_Dazedly to herself_]
He had such charming manners.
[_Aloud again_]
You seem to think everybody Jewish. Are you sure Mr. Quixano is not
Spanish?--the name sounds Spanish.
KATHLEEN
Shpanish!
[_She picks up the old Hebrew book on the armchair._]
Look at the ould lady's book. Is that Shpanish?
[_She points to the Mizrach._]
And that houly picture the ould lady says her pater-noster to! Is that
Shpanish? And that houly table-cloth with the houly silver candle----
[_Cry of sudden astonishment_]
Why, I've ounly put----
[_She looks toward mantel and utters a great cry of alarm as she
drops the Hebrew book on the floor._]
Why, where's the other candleshtick! Mother in hivin, they'll say I
shtole the candleshtick!
[_Perceiving that VERA is dazedly moving toward door_]
Beggin' your pardon, miss----
[_She is about to move a chair toward the desk._]
VERA
Thank you, I've changed my mind.
KATHLEEN
That's more than I'll do.
VERA [_Hand on door_]
Don't say I called at all.
KATHLEEN
Plaze yerself. What name did ye say?
[_MENDEL enters hastily from his bedroom, completely
transmogrified, minus the skull-cap, with a Prince Albert coat,
and boots instead of slippers, so that his appearance is
gentlemanly. KATHLEEN begins to search quietly and
unostentatiously in the table-drawers, the chiffonier, etc.,
etc., for the candlestick._
MENDEL
I am sorry if I have kept you waiting----
[_He rubs his hands importantly._]
You see I have so many pupils already. Won't you sit down?
[_He indicates a chair._]
VERA [_Flushing, embarrassed, releasing her hold of the door handle_]
Thank you--I--I--I didn't come about pianoforte lessons.
MENDEL [_Sighing in disappointment_]
_Ach!_
VERA
In fact I--er--it wasn't you I wanted at all--I was just going.
MENDEL [_Politely_]
Perhaps I can direct you to the house you are looking for.
VERA
Thank you, I won't trouble you.
[_She turns toward the door again._]
MENDEL
Allow me!
[_He opens the door for her._]
VERA [_Hesitating, struck by his manners, struggling with her
anti-Jewish prejudice_]
It--it--was your son I wanted.
MENDEL [_His face lighting up_]
You mean my nephew, David. Yes, _he_ gives violin lessons.
[_He closes the door._]
VERA
Oh, is he your nephew?
MENDEL
I am sorry he is out--he, too, has so many pupils, though at the moment
he is only at the Crippled Children's Home--playing to them.
VERA
How lovely of him!
[_Touched and deciding to conquer her prejudice_]
But that's just what _I_ came about--I mean we'd like him to play again
at our Settlement. Please ask him why he hasn't answered Miss Andrews's
letter.
MENDEL [_Astonished_]
He hasn't answered your letter?
VERA
Oh, I'm not Miss Andrews; I'm only her assistant.
MENDEL
I see--Kathleen, whatever are you doing under the table?
[_KATHLEEN, in her hunting around for the candlestick, is now
stooping and lifting up the table-cloth._]
KATHLEEN
Sure the fiend's after witching away the candleshtick.
MENDEL [_Embarrassed_]
The candlestick? Oh--I--I think you'll find it in my bedroom.
KATHLEEN
Wisha, now!
[_She goes into his bedroom._]
MENDEL [_Turning apologetically to VERA_]
I beg your pardon, Miss Andrews, I mean Miss--er----
VERA
Revendal.
MENDEL [_Slightly more interested_]
Revendal? Then you must be the Miss Revendal David told me about!
VERA [_Blushing_]
Why, he has only seen me once--the time he played at our Roof-Garden
Concert.
MENDEL
Yes, but he was so impressed by the way you handled those new
immigrants--the Spirit of the Settlement, he called you.
VERA [_Modestly_]
Ah, no--Miss Andrews is that. And you will tell him to answer her letter
at once, won't you, because there's only a week now to our Concert.
[_A gust of wind shakes the windows. She smiles._]
Naturally it will _not_ be on the Roof Garden.
MENDEL [_Half to himself_]
Fancy David not saying a word about it to me! Are you sure the letter
was mailed?
VERA
I mailed it myself--a week ago. And even in New York----
[_She smiles. Re-enter KATHLEEN with the recovered candlestick._]
KATHLEEN
Bedad, ye're as great a shleep-walker as Mr. David!
[_She places the candlestick on the table and moves toward her
bedroom._]
MENDEL
Kathleen!
KATHLEEN [_Pursuing her walk without turning_]
I'm not here!
MENDEL
Did you take in a letter for Mr. David about a week ago?
[_Smiling at MISS REVENDAL_]
He doesn't get many, you see.
KATHLEEN [_Turning_]
A letter? Sure, I took in ounly a postcard from Miss Johnson, an' that
ounly sayin'----
VERA
And you don't remember a letter--a large letter--last Saturday--with the
seal of our Settlement?
KATHLEEN
Last Saturday wid a seal, is it? Sure, how could I forgit it?
MENDEL
Then you _did_ take it in?
KATHLEEN
Ye're wrong entirely. 'Twas the misthress took it in.
MENDEL [_To VERA_]
I am sorry the boy has been so rude.
KATHLEEN
But the misthress didn't give it him at wanst--she hid it away bekaz it
was _Shabbos_.
MENDEL
Oh, dear--and she has forgotten to give it to him. Excuse me.
[_He makes a hurried exit to the kitchen._]
KATHLEEN
And excuse _me_--I've me thrunk to pack.
[_She goes toward her bedroom, pauses at the door._]
And ye'll witness I don't pack the candleshtick.
[_Emphatic exit._]
VERA [_Still dazed_]
A Jew! That wonderful boy a Jew!... But then so was David the shepherd
youth with his harp and his psalms, the sweet singer in Israel.
[_She surveys the room and its contents with interest. The
windows rattle once or twice in the rising wind. The light gets
gradually less. She picks up the huge Hebrew tome on the piano
and puts it down with a slight smile as if overwhelmed by the
weight of alien antiquity. Then she goes over to the desk and
picks up the printed music._]
Mendelssohn's Concerto, Tartini's Sonata in G Minor, Bach's Chaconne...
[_She looks up at the book-rack._]
"History of the American Commonwealth," "Cyclopædia of History,"
"History of the Jews"--he seems very fond of history. Ah, there's
Shelley and Tennyson.
[_With surprise_]
Nietzsche next to the Bible? No Russian books apparently----
[_Re-enter MENDEL triumphantly with a large sealed letter._]
MENDEL
Here it is! As it came on Saturday, my mother was afraid David would
open it!
VERA [_Smiling_]
But what _can_ you do with a letter except open it? Any more than with
an oyster?
MENDEL [_Smiling as he puts the letter on DAVID'S desk_]
To a pious Jew letters and oysters are alike forbidden--at least letters
may not be opened on our day of rest.
VERA
I'm sure I couldn't rest till I'd opened mine.
[_Enter from the kitchen FRAU QUIXANO, defending herself with
excited gesticulation. She is an old lady with a black wig, but
her appearance is dignified, venerable even, in no way comic. She
speaks Yiddish exclusively, that being largely the language of
the Russian Pale._]
FRAU QUIXANO
_Obber ich hob gesogt zu Kathleen_----
MENDEL [_Turning and going to her_]
Yes, yes, mother, that's all right now.
FRAU QUIXANO [_In horror, perceiving her Hebrew book on the floor, where
KATHLEEN has dropped it_]
_Mein Buch!_
[_She picks it up and kisses it piously._]
MENDEL [_Presses her into her fireside chair_]
_Ruhig, ruhig, Mutter!_
[_To VERA_]
She understands barely a word of English--she won't disturb us.
VERA
Oh, but I must be going--I was so long finding the house, and look! it
has begun to snow!
[_They both turn their heads and look at the falling snow._]
MENDEL
All the more reason to wait for David--it may leave off. He can't be
long now. Do sit down.
[_He offers a chair._]
FRAU QUIXANO [_Looking round suspiciously_]
_Wos will die Shikseh?_
VERA
What does your mother say?
MENDEL [_Half-smiling_]
Oh, only asking what your heathen ladyship desires.
VERA
Tell her I hope she is well.
MENDEL
_Das Fräulein hofft dass es geht gut_----
FRAU QUIXANO [_Shrugging her shoulders in despairing astonishment_]
_Gut? Un' wie soll es gut gehen--in Amerika!_
[_She takes out her spectacles, and begins slowly polishing and
adjusting them._]
VERA [_Smiling_]
I understood that last word.
MENDEL
She asks how can anything possibly go well in America!
VERA
Ah, she doesn't like America.
MENDEL [_Half-smiling_]
Her favourite exclamation is "_A Klog zu Columbessen!_"
VERA
What does that mean?
MENDEL
Cursed be Columbus!
VERA [_Laughingly_]
Poor Columbus! I suppose she's just come over.
MENDEL
Oh, no, it must be ten years since I sent for her.
VERA
Really! But your nephew was born here?
MENDEL
No, he's Russian too. But please sit down, you had better get his answer
at once.
[_VERA sits._]
VERA
I suppose _you_ taught him music.
MENDEL
I? I can't play the violin. He is self-taught. In the Russian Pale he
was a wonder-child. Poor David! He always looked forward to coming to
America; he imagined I was a famous musician over here. He found me
conductor in a cheap theatre--a converted beer-hall.
VERA
Was he very disappointed?
MENDEL
Disappointed? He was enchanted! He is crazy about America.
VERA [_Smiling_]
Ah, _he_ doesn't curse Columbus.
MENDEL
My mother came with her life behind her: David with his life before him.
Poor boy!
VERA
Why do you say poor boy?
MENDEL
What is there before him here but a terrible struggle for life? If he
doesn't curse Columbus, he'll curse fate. Music-lessons and dance-halls,
beer-halls and weddings--every hope and ambition will be ground out of
him, and he will die obscure and unknown.
[_His head sinks on his breast, FRAU QUIXANO is heard faintly
sobbing over her book. The sobbing continues throughout the
scene._]
VERA [_Half rising_]
You have made your mother cry.
MENDEL
Oh, no--she understood nothing. She always cries on the eve of the
Sabbath.
VERA [_Mystified, sinking back into her chair_]
Always cries? Why?
MENDEL [_Embarrassed_]
Oh, well, a Christian wouldn't understand----
VERA
Yes I could--do tell me!
MENDEL
She knows that in this great grinding America, David and I must go out
to earn our bread on Sabbath as on week-days. She never says a word to
us, but her heart is full of tears.
VERA
Poor old woman. It was wrong of us to ask your nephew to play at the
Settlement for nothing.
MENDEL [_Rising fiercely_]
If you offer him a fee, he shall not play. Did you think I was begging
of you?
VERA
I beg your pardon----
[_She smiles._]
There, _I_ am begging of _you_. Sit down, please.
MENDEL [_Walking away to piano_]
I ought not to have burdened you with our troubles--you are too young.
VERA [_Pathetically_]
I young? If you only knew how old I am!
MENDEL
You?
VERA
I left my youth in Russia--eternities ago.
MENDEL
You know our Russia!
[_He goes over to her and sits down._]
VERA
Can't you see I'm a Russian, too?
[_With a faint tremulous smile_]
I might even have been a Siberian had I stayed. But I escaped from my
gaolers.
MENDEL
You were a Revolutionist!
VERA
Who can live in Russia and not be? So you see trouble and I are not such
strangers.
MENDEL
Who would have thought it to look at you? Siberia, gaolers, revolutions!
[_Rising_]
What terrible things life holds!
VERA
Yes, even in free America.
[_FRAU QUIXANO'S sobbing grows slightly louder._]
MENDEL
That Settlement work must be full of tragedies.
VERA
Sometimes one sees nothing but the tragedy of things.
[_Looking toward the window_]
The snow is getting thicker. How pitilessly it falls--like fate.
MENDEL [_Following her gaze_]
Yes, icy and inexorable.
[_The faint sobbing of FRAU QUIXANO over her book, which has been
heard throughout the scene as a sort of musical accompaniment,
has combined to work it up to a mood of intense sadness,
intensified by the growing dusk, so that as the two now gaze at
the falling snow, the atmosphere seems overbrooded with
melancholy. There is a moment or two without dialogue, given over
to the sobbing of FRAU QUIXANO, the roar of the wind shaking the
windows, the quick falling of the snow. Suddenly a happy voice
singing "My Country 'tis of Thee" is heard from without._]
FRAU QUIXANO [_Pricking up her ears, joyously_]
_Do ist Dovidel!_
MENDEL
That's David!
[_He springs up._]
VERA [_Murmurs in relief_]
Ah!
[_The whole atmosphere is changed to one of joyous expectation,
DAVID is seen and heard passing the left window, still singing
the national hymn, but it breaks off abruptly as he throws open
the door and appears on the threshold, a buoyant snow-covered
figure in a cloak and a broad-brimmed hat, carrying a violin
case. He is a sunny, handsome youth of the finest Russo-Jewish
type. He speaks with a slight German accent._]
DAVID
Isn't it a beautiful world, uncle?
[_He closes the inner door._]
Snow, the divine white snow----
[_Perceiving the visitor with amaze_]
Miss Revendal here!
[_He removes his hat and looks at her with boyish reverence and
wonder._]
VERA [_Smiling_]
Don't look so surprised--I haven't fallen from heaven like the snow.
Take off your wet things.
DAVID
Oh, it's nothing; it's dry snow.
[_He lays down his violin case and brushes off the snow from his
cloak, which MENDEL takes from him and hangs on the rack, all
without interrupting the dialogue._]
If I had only known you were waiting----
VERA
I am glad you didn't--I wouldn't have had those poor little cripples
cheated out of a moment of your music.
DAVID
Uncle has told you? Ah, it was bully! You should have seen the cripples
waltzing with their crutches!
[_He has moved toward the old woman, and while he holds one hand
to the blaze now pats her cheek with the other in greeting, to
which she responds with a loving smile ere she settles
contentedly to slumber over her book._]
_Es war grossartig_, Granny. Even the paralysed danced.
MENDEL
Don't exaggerate, David.
DAVID
Exaggerate, uncle! Why, if they hadn't the use of their legs, their arms
danced on the counterpane; if their arms couldn't dance, their hands
danced from the wrist; and if their hands couldn't dance, they danced
with their fingers; and if their fingers couldn't dance, their heads
danced; and if their heads were paralysed, why, their eyes danced--God
never curses so utterly but you've _something_ left to dance with!
[_He moves toward his desk._]
VERA [_Infected with his gaiety_]
You'll tell us next the beds danced.
DAVID
So they did--they shook their legs like mad!
VERA
Oh, why wasn't I there?
[_His eyes meet hers at the thought of her presence._]
DAVID
Dear little cripples, I felt as if I could play them all straight again
with the love and joy jumping out of this old fiddle.
[_He lays his hand caressingly on the violin._]
MENDEL [_Gloomily_]
But in reality you left them as crooked as ever.
DAVID
No, I didn't.
[_He caresses the back of his uncle's head in affectionate
rebuke._]
I couldn't play their bones straight, but I played their brains
straight. And hunch-_brains_ are worse than hunch-_backs_....
[_Suddenly perceiving his letter on the desk_]
A letter for _me_!
[_He takes it with boyish eagerness, then hesitates to open it._]
VERA [_Smiling_]
Oh, you may open it!
DAVID [_Wistfully_]
May I?
VERA [_Smiling_]
Yes, and quick--or it'll be _Shabbos_!
[_DAVID looks up at her in wonder._]
MENDEL [_Smiling_]
You read your letter!
DAVID [_Opens it eagerly, then smiles broadly with pleasure._]
Oh, Miss Revendal! Isn't that great! To play again at your Settlement. I
_am_ getting famous.
VERA
But we can't offer you a fee.
MENDEL [_Quickly sotto voce to VERA_]
Thank you!
DAVID
A fee! I'd pay a fee to see all those happy immigrants you gather
together--Dutchmen and Greeks, Poles and Norwegians, Welsh and
Armenians. If you only had Jews, it would be as good as going to Ellis
Island.
VERA [_Smiling_]
What a strange taste! Who on earth wants to go to Ellis Island?
DAVID
Oh, I love going to Ellis Island to watch the ships coming in from
Europe, and to think that all those weary, sea-tossed wanderers are
feeling what _I_ felt when America first stretched out her great
mother-hand to _me_!
VERA [_Softly_]
Were you very happy?
DAVID
It was heaven. You must remember that all my life I had heard of
America--everybody in our town had friends there or was going there or
got money orders from there. The earliest game I played at was selling
off my toy furniture and setting up in America. All my life America was
waiting, beckoning, shining--the place where God would wipe away tears
from off all faces.
[_He ends in a half-sob._]
MENDEL [_Rises, as in terror_]
Now, now, David, don't get excited.
[_Approaches him._]
DAVID
To think that the same great torch of liberty which threw its light
across all the broad seas and lands into my little garret in Russia, is
shining also for all those other weeping millions of Europe, shining
wherever men hunger and are oppressed----
MENDEL [_Soothingly_]
Yes, yes, David.
[_Laying hand on his shoulder_]
Now sit down and----
DAVID [_Unheeding_]
Shining over the starving villages of Italy and Ireland, over the
swarming stony cities of Poland and Galicia, over the ruined farms of
Roumania, over the shambles of Russia----
MENDEL [_Pleadingly_]
David!
DAVID
Oh, Miss Revendal, when I look at our Statue of Liberty, I just seem to
hear the voice of America crying: "Come unto me all ye that labour and
are heavy laden and I will give you rest--rest----"
[_He is now almost sobbing._]
MENDEL
Don't talk any more--you know it is bad for you.
DAVID
But Miss Revendal asked--and I want to explain to her what America means
to me.
MENDEL
You can explain it in your American symphony.
VERA [_Eagerly--to DAVID_]
You compose?
DAVID [_Embarrassed_]
Oh, uncle, why did you talk of--? Uncle always--my music is so thin and
tinkling. When I am _writing_ my American symphony, it seems like
thunder crashing through a forest full of bird songs. But next day--oh,
next day!
[_He laughs dolefully and turns away._]
VERA
So your music finds inspiration in America?
DAVID
Yes--in the seething of the Crucible.
VERA
The Crucible? I don't understand!
DAVID
Not understand! You, the Spirit of the Settlement!
[_He rises and crosses to her and leans over the table, facing
her._]
Not understand that America is God's Crucible, the great Melting-Pot
where all the races of Europe are melting and re-forming! Here you
stand, good folk, think I, when I see them at Ellis Island, here you
stand
[_Graphically illustrating it on the table_]
in your fifty groups, with your fifty languages and histories, and your
fifty blood hatreds and rivalries. But you won't be long like that,
brothers, for these are the fires of God you've come to--these are the
fires of God. A fig for your feuds and vendettas! Germans and Frenchmen,
Irishmen and Englishmen, Jews and Russians--into the Crucible with you
all! God is making the American.
MENDEL
I should have thought the American was made already--eighty millions of
him.
DAVID
Eighty millions!
[_He smiles toward VERA in good-humoured derision._]
Eighty millions! Over a continent! Why, that cockleshell of a Britain
has forty millions! No, uncle, the real American has not yet arrived. He
is only in the Crucible, I tell you--he will be the fusion of all races,
perhaps the coming superman. Ah, what a glorious Finale for my
symphony--if I can only write it.
VERA
But you have written some of it already! May I not see it?
DAVID [_Relapsing into boyish shyness_]
No, if you please, don't ask----
[_He moves over to his desk and nervously shuts it down and turns
the keys of drawers as though protecting his MS._]
VERA
Won't you give a bit of it at our Concert?
DAVID
Oh, it needs an orchestra.
VERA
But you at the violin and I at the piano----
MENDEL
You didn't tell me you played, Miss Revendal!
VERA
I told you less commonplace things.
DAVID
Miss Revendal plays quite like a professional.
VERA [_Smiling_]
I don't feel so complimented as you expect. You see I did have a
professional training.
MENDEL [_Smiling_]
And I thought you came to _me_ for lessons!
[_DAVID laughs._]
VERA [_Smiling_]
No, I went to Petersburg----
DAVID [_Dazed_]
To Petersburg----?
VERA [_Smiling_]
Naturally. To the Conservatoire. There wasn't much music to be had at
Kishineff, a town where----
DAVID
Kishineff!
[_He begins to tremble._]
VERA [_Still smiling_]
My birthplace.
MENDEL [_Coming toward him, protectingly_]
Calm yourself, David.
DAVID
Yes, yes--so you are a Russian!
[_He shudders violently, staggers._]
VERA [_Alarmed_]
You are ill!
DAVID
It is nothing, I--not much music at Kishineff! No, only the
Death-March!... Mother! Father! Ah--cowards, murderers! And you!
[_He shakes his fist at the air._]
You, looking on with your cold butcher's face! O God! O God!
[_He bursts into hysterical sobs and runs, shamefacedly, through
the door to his room._]
VERA [_Wildly_]
What have I said? What have I done?
MENDEL
Oh, I was afraid of this, I was afraid of this.
FRAU QUIXANO [_Who has fallen asleep over her book, wakes as if with a
sense of the horror and gazes dazedly around, adding to the
thrillingness of the moment_]
_Dovidel! Wu is' Dovidel! Mir dacht sach_----
MENDEL [_Pressing her back to her slumbers_]
_Du träumst, Mutter! Schlaf!_
[_She sinks back to sleep._]
VERA [_In hoarse whisper_]
His father and mother were massacred?
MENDEL [_In same tense tone_]
Before his eyes--father, mother, sisters, down to the youngest babe,
whose skull was battered in by a hooligan's heel.
VERA
How did _he_ escape?
MENDEL
He was shot in the shoulder, and fell unconscious. As he wasn't a girl,
the hooligans left him for dead and hurried to fresh sport.
VERA
Terrible! Terrible!
[_Almost in tears._]
MENDEL [_Shrugging shoulders, hopelessly_]
It is only Jewish history!... David belongs to the species of _pogrom_
orphan--they arrive in the States by almost every ship.
VERA
Poor boy! Poor boy! And he looked so happy!
[_She half sobs._]
MENDEL
So he is, most of the time--a sunbeam took human shape when he was born.
But naturally that dreadful scene left a scar on his brain, as the
bullet left a scar on his shoulder, and he is always liable to see red
when Kishineff is mentioned.
VERA
I will never mention my miserable birthplace to him again.
MENDEL
But you see every few months the newspapers tell us of another _pogrom_,
and then he screams out against what he calls that butcher's face, so
that I tremble for his reason. I tremble even when I see him writing
that crazy music about America, for it only means he is brooding over
the difference between America and Russia.
VERA
But perhaps--perhaps--all the terrible memory will pass peacefully away
in his music.
MENDEL
There will always be the scar on his shoulder to remind him--whenever
the wound twinges, it brings up these terrible faces and visions.
VERA
Is it on his right shoulder?
MENDEL
No--on his left. For a violinist that is even worse.
VERA
Ah, of course--the weight and the fingering.
[_Subconsciously placing and fingering an imaginary violin._]
MENDEL
That is why I fear so for his future--he will never be strong enough for
the feats of bravura that the public demands.
VERA
The wild beasts! I feel more ashamed of my country than ever. But
there's his symphony.
MENDEL
And who will look at that amateurish stuff? He knows so little of
harmony and counterpoint--he breaks all the rules. I've tried to give
him a few pointers--but he ought to have gone to Germany.
VERA
Perhaps it's not too late.
MENDEL [_Passionately_]
Ah, if you and your friends could help him! See--I'm begging after all.
But it's not for myself.
VERA
My father loves music. Perhaps _he_--but no! he lives in Kishineff. But
I will think--there are people here--I will write to you.
MENDEL [_Fervently_]
Thank you! Thank you!
VERA
Now you must go to him. Good-bye. Tell him I count upon him for the
Concert.
MENDEL
How good you are!
[_He follows her to the street-door._]
VERA [_At door_]
Say good-bye for me to your mother--she seems asleep.
MENDEL [_Opening outer door_]
I am sorry it is snowing so.
VERA
We Russians are used to it.
[_Smiling, at exit_]
Good-bye--let us hope your David will turn out a Rubinstein.
MENDEL [_Closing the doors softly_]
I never thought a Russian Christian could be so human.
[_He looks at the clock._]
_Gott in Himmel_--my dancing class!
[_He hurries into the overcoat hanging on the hat-rack. Re-enter
DAVID, having composed himself, but still somewhat dazed._]
DAVID
She is gone? Oh, but I have driven her away by my craziness. Is she very
angry?
MENDEL
Quite the contrary--she expects you at the Concert, and what is more----
DAVID [_Ecstatically_]
And she understood! She understood my Crucible of God! Oh, uncle, you
don't know what it means to me to have somebody who understands me. Even
you have never understood----
MENDEL [_Wounded_]
Nonsense! How can Miss Revendal understand you better than your own
uncle?
DAVID [_Mystically exalted_]
I can't explain--I feel it.
MENDEL
Of course she's interested in your music, thank Heaven. But what true
understanding can there be between a Russian Jew and a Russian
Christian?
DAVID
What understanding? Aren't we both Americans?
MENDEL
Well, I haven't time to discuss it now.
[_He winds his muffler round his throat._]
DAVID
Why, where are you going?
MENDEL [_Ironically_]
Where _should_ I be going--in the snow--on the eve of the Sabbath?
Suppose we say to synagogue!
DAVID
Oh, uncle--how you always seem to hanker after those old things!
MENDEL [_Tartly_]
Nonsense!
[_He takes his umbrella from the stand._]
I don't like to see our people going to pieces, that's all.
DAVID
Then why did you come to America? Why didn't you work for a Jewish land?
You're not even a Zionist.
MENDEL
I can't argue now. There's a pack of giggling schoolgirls waiting to
waltz.
DAVID
The fresh romping young things! Think of their happiness! I should love
to play for them.
MENDEL [_Sarcastically_]
I can see you are yourself again.
[_He opens the street-door--turns back._]
What about your own lesson? Can't we go together?
DAVID
I must first write down what is singing in my soul--oh, uncle, it seems
as if I knew suddenly what was wanting in my music!
MENDEL [_Drily_]
Well, don't forget what is wanting in the house! The rent isn't paid
yet.
[_Exit through street-door. As he goes out, he touches and kisses
the_ Mezuzah _on the door-post, with a subconsciously
antagonistic revival of religious impulse. DAVID opens his desk,
takes out a pile of musical manuscript, sprawls over his chair
and, humming to himself, scribbles feverishly with the quill.
After a few moments FRAU QUIXANO yawns, wakes, and stretches
herself. Then she looks at the clock._]
FRAU QUIXANO
_Shabbos!_
[_She rises and goes to the table and sees there are no candles,
walks to the chiffonier and gets them and places them in the
candlesticks, then lights the candles, muttering a ceremonial
Hebrew benediction._]
_Boruch atto haddoshem ellôheinu melech hoôlam assher kiddishonu
bemitzvôsov vettzivonu lehadlik neir shel shabbos._
[_She pulls down the blinds of the two windows, then she goes to
the rapt composer and touches him, remindingly, on the shoulder.
He does not move, but continues writing._]
_Dovidel!_
[_He looks up dazedly. She points to the candles._]
_Shabbos!_
[_A sweet smile comes over his face, he throws the quill
resignedly away and submits his head to her hands and her
muttered Hebrew blessing._]
_Yesimcho elôhim ke-efrayim vechimnasseh--yevorechecho haddoshem
veyishmerecho, yoer hadoshem ponov eilecho vechunecho, yisso hadoshem
ponov eilecho veyosem lecho sholôm._
[_Then she goes toward the kitchen. As she turns at the door, he
is again writing. She shakes her finger at him, repeating_]
_Gut Shabbos!_
DAVID
_Gut Shabbos!_
[_Puts down the pen and smiles after her till the door closes,
then with a deep sigh takes his cape from the peg and his
violin-case, pauses, still humming, to take up his pen and write
down a fresh phrase, finally puts on his hat and is just about to
open the street-door when KATHLEEN enters from her bedroom fully
dressed to go, and laden with a large brown paper parcel and an
umbrella. He turns at the sound of her footsteps and remains at
the door, holding his violin-case during the ensuing dialogue._]
DAVID
You're not going out this bitter weather?
KATHLEEN [_Sharply fending him off with her umbrella_]
And who's to shtay me?
DAVID
Oh, but you mustn't--_I'll_ do your errand--what is it?
KATHLEEN [_Indignantly_]
Errand, is it, indeed! I'm not here!
DAVID
Not here?
KATHLEEN
I'm lavin', they'll come for me thrunk--and ye'll witness I don't take
the candleshtick.
DAVID
But who's sending you away?
KATHLEEN
It's sending meself away I am--yer houly grandmother has me disthroyed
intirely.
DAVID
Why, what has the poor old la----?
KATHLEEN
I don't be saltin' the mate and I do be mixin' the crockery and----!
DAVID [_Gently_]
I know, I know--but, Kathleen, remember she was brought up to these
things from childhood. And her father was a Rabbi.
KATHLEEN
What's that? A priest?
DAVID
A sort of priest. In Russia he was a great man. Her husband, too, was a
mighty scholar, and to give him time to study the holy books she had to
do chores all day for him and the children.
KATHLEEN
Oh, those priests!
DAVID [_Smiling_]
No, _he_ wasn't a priest. But he took sick and died and the children
left her--went to America or heaven or other far-off places--and she was
left all penniless and alone.
KATHLEEN
Poor ould lady.
DAVID
Not so old yet, for she was married at fifteen.
KATHLEEN
Poor young crathur!
DAVID
But she was still the good angel of the congregation--sat up with the
sick and watched over the dead.
KATHLEEN
Saints alive! And not scared?
DAVID
No, nothing scared her--except me. I got a broken-down fiddle and used
to play it even on _Shabbos_--I was very naughty. But she was so lovely
to me. I still remember the heavenly taste of a piece of _Motso_ she
gave me dipped in raisin wine! Passover cake, you know.
KATHLEEN [_Proudly_]
Oh, I know _Motso_.
DAVID [_Smacks his lips, repeats_]
Heavenly!
KATHLEEN
Sure, I must tashte it.
DAVID [_Shaking his head, mysteriously_]
Only little boys get that tashte.
KATHLEEN
That's quare.
DAVID [_Smiling_]
Very quare. And then one day my uncle sent the old lady a ticket to come
to America. But it is not so happy for her here because you see my uncle
has to be near his theatre and can't live in the Jewish quarter, and so
nobody understands her, and she sits all the livelong day alone--alone
with her book and her religion and her memories----
KATHLEEN [_Breaking down_]
Oh, Mr. David!
DAVID
And now all this long, cold, snowy evening she'll sit by the fire alone,
thinking of her dead, and the fire will sink lower and lower, and she
won't be able to touch it, because it's the holy Sabbath, and there'll
be no kind Kathleen to brighten up the grey ashes, and then at last, sad
and shivering, she'll creep up to her room without a candlestick, and
there in the dark and the cold----
KATHLEEN [_Hysterically bursting into tears, dropping her parcel, and
untying her bonnet-strings_]
Oh, Mr. David, I won't mix the crockery, I won't----
DAVID [_Heartily_]
Of course you won't. Good night.
[_He slips out hurriedly through the street-door as KATHLEEN
throws off her bonnet, and the curtain falls quickly. As it rises
again, she is seen strenuously poking the fire, illumined by its
red glow._]