So you don't want your old music, eh? You need a new monkey, eh?
Perhaps you will ask for a powder that destroys the fleas? Ask; we
shall give you everything.
DAVID.
Be quiet, Nullius, be quiet. We must work. You are an expert at
counting, Nullius, are you not?
ANATHEMA.
I? Oh, Rabbi David! I am myself Numbers, I am myself--Measures and
Weights.
DAVID.
Be seated, then; write and count. But there is one more thing, my dear
children: I am an old Jew, who can divide a piece of garlic into ten
portions. I know not only the need of man, but I saw also how a roach
was starving--yes,--I saw also how small children died of hunger....
_Lowers his head and heaves a deep sigh._
Therefore do not deceive me, and remember that there is a number and a
measure for everything. And where ten copecks are needed, do not ask
for twenty, and where one measure of grain is needed, do not ask for
two, for what is superfluous for one is always essential to another.
Like brothers having one mother whose breasts are full but are quickly
exhausted, do not abuse one another, and do not offend the generous but
careful mother.... You may begin. Nullius, is everything ready?
ANATHEMA.
You may begin. I am waiting, David.
DAVID.
Stand in line, then, I beg you. I have not received the money yet; it
is still in America, but I shall write down exactly how much each one
of you is to get according to his need.
SARAH.
David, David, what are you doing with us? Look at Rosa, look at poor
Naum.
_Naum is dumfounded--he wants to say something, but
is unable; he clutches the air with outstretched
fingers. A little distance away from him, alone in
her youth, strength, and beauty, amidst all these
poor people, with emaciated faces and flat breasts,
stands Rosa, who looks at her father defiantly._
ROSA.
Are we less your children than these who have been picked up in the
street? And are we not brother and sister to those who died?
DAVID.
Rosa is right, mother,--everybody will get the proper share.
ROSA.
Yes? But do you know, father, what is the proper share for everybody?
_She laughs bitterly and wants to go away._
DAVID.
_Gently and sadly._
Stay here, Rosa!
ROSA.
I have nothing to do here. I have heard you call everybody.... Oh, you
called very loudly! ... But did you call the beautiful? I have nothing
to do here.
_Goes out._
SARAH.
_Rising irresolutely._
Rosochka!...
DAVID.
_As gently as before, with a smile._
Stay here, mother. Where will you go? You will come with me.
_Naum makes a few steps after Rosa, then he returns
and sits down near Sarah._
DAVID.
Ready, Nullius? Come over, then, honorable man, you who stand first in
the line.
KHESSIN.
_Advancing._
Here I am, David.
DAVID.
What is your name?
KHESSIN.
My name is Abraham Khessin.... But have you forgotten my name? You and
I played together when we were children.
DAVID.
Hush! It is necessary for the sake of maintaining order, Abraham. Write
the name clearly, Nullius. This is the first who waited for me and upon
whom the will of my God has manifested itself.
ANATHEMA.
_Writes carefully._
Number one.... I'll rule the paper later, David. Number one: Abraham
Khessin....
NAUM.
_In a low voice._
Mamma, I will not dance any more.
CURTAIN.
ACT THREE
_The same dust-covered road, with the bent posts and the old, deserted
sentinel-box; the same little shops. The sun is burning as mercilessly
as when Anathema first appeared there._
_A large number of poor people are gathered there to welcome David
Leizer, who had distributed his fortune among the poor. The air is
rent by shouting, motion, and merry bustling. Purikes, Bezkrainy, and
Sonka, happy now, and proud of their shops, are doing a brisk business
in soda-water and candies. Sarah Leizer is sitting as before near her
little shop, dressed neatly but poorly._
_A solemn welcome is arranged for David and Anathema, who had gone to
the seashore. All the little shops, even the posts and the deserted
sentinel-box, are decorated with parti-colored rags and with branches
of trees; on the right side of the road, upon the scorched grass,
an orchestra is preparing to meet David--several Jews with various
instruments, among which there are: a good violin, cymbals, a broken
brass trumpet, and even a drum, slightly broken. The members of
the orchestra are scolding one another criticizing each other's
instruments._
_There are a number of children in the crowd. Also, little babes in
arms. Abraham Khessin and those who were in line when David started to
distribute his money are there; a little distance away from the crowd
stands the stern organ-grinder, with his organ._
YOUNG JEW.
_Blowing his crushed trumpet._
But why does it play only on one side? Such a good trumpet.
VIOLINIST.
_Agitated._
What do you want to do with me? How can you welcome David Leizer with
such a trumpet? You might as well have brought along a cat and pulled
her by the tail, and think that David would call you his son?
YOUNG JEW.
_Obstinately._
It's a good trumpet. My father played it when he was in the army, and
everybody was thankful to him.
VIOLINIST.
Your father played it, but who sat upon it? Why is it so crushed? How
can you welcome David Leizer with such a crushed trumpet?
YOUNG JEW.
_With tears._
It's a very good trumpet.
VIOLINIST.
_To a clean-shaven old man._
Is that your drum? Tell me, do you seriously believe that this is a
drum? Have you ever seen another drum with a hole big enough for a dog
to crawl through?
KHESSIN.
Don't get excited, Leibke. You are a very talented man, and your music
will be fine, and David Leizer will be greatly moved by it.
VIOLINIST.
But I can't bear it. You are a very honorable man, Abraham Khessin, you
have lived long in the world, but have you ever seen such a big hole in
a drum?
KHESSIN.
No, Leibke, I haven't seen such a big hole, but that is not at all
important. David Leizer was a multimillionaire, he had twenty million
roubles, but he is unspoiled and humble, and your love will afford
him joy. Does the soul need a drum to be able to express its love?
I see here people who have neither drums nor trumpets, and who weep
for happiness--their tears are noiseless like the dew.--Rise higher,
Leibke, rise a little higher to the sky, and you will not hear any
drums there, but therefore you will hear the tears falling.
OLD MAN.
You mustn't quarrel and darken the days of bright happiness,--that
would be disagreeable to David.
_A Wanderer is listening to their conversation;
his face is stern and swarthy. His hair and his
clothes are covered with dust. He is guarded in his
movements, but his eyes, lustreless, stare ahead
fixedly, like open windows at night._
WANDERER.
He has brought peace and happiness on earth, and the whole world knows
of him already. I have come from distant places, where the people are
different from you, and where the customs are different from yours, and
only in their suffering and their misery they are your brethren. And
there they know already about David Leizer, who distributes bread and
happiness, and they bless his name.
KHESSIN.
Do you hear, Sarah?
_Wiping his eyes._
It is of your husband they are speaking, of David Leizer.
SARAH.
I hear, Abraham, I hear everything. But I hear no longer the voice of
Naum who died; I hear no longer the voice of Rosa. Old man, you have
wandered much over the world, and you know even the people that do not
resemble us,--have you not met on the road a beautiful girl, the most
beautiful of all girls on earth?
BEZKRAINY.
She had a daughter, Rosa, a beautiful girl, she ran away from home
because she would not give up her share to the poor. Did she take much
money along with her, Sarah?
SARAH.
Can there be such a thing as too much money for Rosa? You may as well
say that there are too many diamonds in the Czar's crown and too many
rays in the sun.
WANDERER.
No, I have not seen your daughter: I am traveling along the highways,
and there you can see neither the rich nor the beautiful.
SARAH.
But perhaps you have seen people gathered, talking enthusiastically
about a certain beautiful girl? That is my daughter, old man.
WANDERER.
No, I have not seen such people. But I have seen other people gathered,
speaking about David Leizer, who is distributing bread and happiness.
Is it true that your David has healed a woman who was suffering from an
incurable disease and was already dying?
KHESSIN.
_Smiling._
No, that is not true.
WANDERER.
Is it true that David restored sight to a man who was blind from the
day of his birth?
KHESSIN.
_Shaking his head._
No, that is not true. Some one has been deceiving the people who do
not resemble us. Only God can perform miracles--David Leizer is only a
kind-hearted and worthy man, such as all men who have not forgotten God
should be.
PURIKES.
It is not true, Abraham Khessin. David is not an ordinary man, and he
possesses a superhuman power. I know it.
_The crowd that surrounded them is eagerly
listening to Purikes._
PURIKES.
I saw with my own eyes, how the one we regarded as a customer came upon
the deserted, sunny road, but he was not a customer. I saw with my own
eyes how he touched David with his hand, and David started to speak so
terribly that I could not listen to him. Do you remember it, Ivan?
BEZKRAINY.
That's true. David is not an ordinary man.
SONKA.
Does an ordinary man throw money at people, like stones at a dog? Does
an ordinary man go to weep over the grave of another's child, whom he
did not bring forth, whom he did not fondle, and whom he did not bury
when death came?
WOMAN.
_With child in her arms._
David is not an ordinary man. Who ever saw an ordinary man who was
more a mother to a child than his own mother? Who hides behind the
bed-curtain and watches how other people's children are eating, and who
weeps for joy at the sight of them? Of whom even the tiniest children
are not afraid, and they play with his venerable beard as with the
beard of their grandfather? Did not the stupid little Rubin tear out a
tuft of grey hair from David Leizer's venerable beard? Did David grow
angry? Did he cry out for pain, did he stamp his feet? No, he began to
laugh as if overcome with happiness, and he cried as though for joy.
DRUNKARD.
David is not an ordinary man. He is a queer fellow. I said to him:
"Why do you give me money? It is true, I am barefooted and unwashed,
but do not think that I will buy boots and soap for the money you give
me. I'll spend it on drink in the nearest dram-shop." That's what I
had to tell him, for although I am a drunkard, I am an honest man. And
the queer David answered me jestingly, like a good-natured lunatic:
"Semyon, if it pleases you to drink, please drink,--I have not come to
teach the people but to bring them joy."
OLD JEW.
There are many teachers, but there is none to bring them joy. May God
bless David who brings joy to mankind.
BEZKRAINY.
_To the drunkard._
So you didn't buy any boots, did you?
DRUNKARD.
No, I am an honest man.
VIOLINIST.
_In despair._
Well, tell me all, you who have any conscience: Is this the kind of
music that should greet him who brings joy to mankind? I am ashamed
that I have gotten together such a poor orchestra, and I would rather
die than disgrace myself before David.
SARAH.
_To the organ-grinder._
Will you also play? You have such a fine organ now that even angels
might dance to your music.
ORGAN-GRINDER.
I will.
SARAH.
But why have you no monkey?
ORGAN-GRINDER.
I couldn't find a good monkey. All the monkeys I have seen are either
old, or mean, or altogether untalented, and are even unable to catch
fleas. The fleas have already destroyed one of my monkeys, and I don't
want another monkey destroyed that way. A monkey needs talent, just
like a man,--it isn't enough to have a tail, even to be a monkey.
_The wanderer is questioning Khessin in a low
voice._
WANDERER.
Tell me the truth, Jew: I was sent here by my people, and I walked
many miles on my old legs, under the mercilessly scorching sun, for
the purpose of learning the truth. Who is this David who brings joy to
mankind. Let it be as you say that he does not heal the sick....
KHESSIN.
It is a sin and an offence against God to think that a human being can
heal.
WANDERER.
Be it so. But is it not true that Leizer wants to build an enormous
palace of white stone and blue glass and gather together all the poor
of the world there?
KHESSIN.
_In embarrassment._
I do not know. Is it possible to build such a large palace?
WANDERER.
_With conviction._
It is possible. Is it true that he wants to take away the power from
the rich and bestow it upon the poor? (_In a whisper._) And to take the
power from those who rule, the might from those who are in command,
and distribute it among all the people on earth, giving an equal share
to each of them?
KHESSIN.
I do not know
_Timidly._
You frighten me, old man.
WANDERER.
_Looking around cautiously._
And is it true that he has already sent heralds to the black people
that they, too, shall prepare themselves to accept the new kingdom, for
he wants to bestow the power equally upon the black as upon the white,
giving to each one according to his desire.
(_In a mysterious whisper._)
In accordance with justice.
_On the road appears David Leizer, walking slowly;
in his right hand, a staff; Anathema is holding
his left arm reverently. There is agitation and
confusion among the waiting crowd: the musicians
rush for their instruments; the women pick up their
children quickly. They shout: "He's coming! He's
coming!" They call: "Moishe, Petya, Sarah!"_
WANDERER.
And is it true....
KHESSIN.
Ask him. Here he is coming.
_Noticing the crowd, Anathema stops David, who is
absorbed in thought, and he points triumphantly
to the people. Thus they stand for some time:
David with his grey head thrown back, and Anathema
clinging close to him. Anathema whispers something
in David's ear and keeps on pointing with his left
hand. Leibke, bustling about desperately, gets
his orchestra together and they begin to play a
lively wild tune which is as discordant as the
fluttering parti-colored rags. Shouting, laughter,
the children are rushing forward, some one is
crying; many people are outstretching their hands
prayerfully to David. Then David moves forward
amidst this chaos of lively sounds. The crowd makes
room for him to pass; many throw branches and twigs
on the ground and spread their clothes before him;
women tear of their head-dress and throw it at
his feet on the dusty road. Thus he walks over to
Sarah, who rises and welcomes him together with the
other women. The music stops. But David is silent.
Confusion._
KHESSIN.
Why are you silent, David? The people you have made happy are greeting
you and spreading their clothing before you on the ground, for their
love is great and their hearts cannot comprise all their joy. Say a
word to them--they are waiting.
_David remains standing, with lowered eyes; with
both hands he is leaning on his staff; his face is
stern and serious. Anathema looks at him, over his
shoulder, with alarm._
ANATHEMA.
They are waiting for you, David. Say unto them a word of joy and calm
their love.
_David is silent._
WOMAN.
Why are you silent, David? You frighten us. Are you not the David who
brings joy to mankind?
ANATHEMA.
_Impatiently._
Speak, David. Their agitated ears are waiting for a word of joy and by
your silence, which is like the dumbness of the rock, you crush their
soul to the earth. Speak!
DAVID.
_Lifting his eyes and surveying the crowd sternly._
Wherefore these honors and the noise of voices, and the music which
plays so loudly? To whom do you render honors worthy of a prince or of
one who has performed a great deed? Is it before me, before a poor old
man who must die soon, that you spread out your clothes upon the ground?
What have I done to deserve your delight and exultation, to force tears
of senseless joy from your eyes? I gave you money and bread--but that
was the money of the Uppermost, it came from Him and went back to Him
through you. The only thing I have done was not to hide the money like
a thief, I did not become a plunderer, like those who have forgotten
God. Do I speak properly, Nullius?
ANATHEMA.
No, David, no. Your speech is not worthy of a wise man and it does not
come forth from the lips of a humble man.
OLD MAN.
Bread without love is like grass without salt,--the stomach may
be filled, but it leaves a bad taste in the mouth, and a bitter
recollection.
DAVID.
Have I forgotten anything, Nullius? Remind me, my friend: I am old and
my eyesight is poor, but do I not see musicians there, Nullius? Tell
me! Do I not see flags as red as the tongues of crows over my head?
Tell me, Nullius.
ANATHEMA.
You have forgotten the people, David. You do not see the children,
David Leizer.
DAVID.
The children?
_The women, weeping, hold out their children to
David._
VOICES.
"Bless my son, David!" ... "Touch my little girl with your hand,
David." "Bless." ... "Touch her with your hand." ...
DAVID.
_Raising his hands heavenward._
Oh, Hannah, oh, Benjamin, oh, Raphael, and my little Moishe!...
_Looks down, outstretching his arms to the
children._
DAVID.
Oh, my little birds who died on the naked branches of the winter!...
Oh, children, my children, little children, tiny children!...
Well, Nullius, am I not weeping? Am I not weeping, Nullius? Well,
let everybody weep. Let the musicians play, Nullius--I understand
everything now. Oh, children, little children, I gave you all, I gave
you my old heart, I gave you my sorrow and my joy--Did I not give them
all my soul, Nullius?
_Crying and laughing through tears._
You have again wrenched my soul from the jaws of sin, Nullius. On the
day of rejoicing I appeared mournful before the people, on the day of
the people's exultation I did not raise my eyes to Heaven, but lowered
them to the ground,--bad old man that I am. Whom did I want to deceive
with my insincerity? Do I not live by day and night in raptures of
joy, and do I not draw love and happiness with full hands? Why have I
feigned sadness?... I do not know your name, woman; give me your child,
the one that is laughing when everybody is crying, because he alone is
sensible.
_Smiling through tears._
Or are you perhaps afraid that I will steal it like a gypsy?
_The woman kneels and holds out her child._
WOMAN.
Take it, David! Everything belongs to you,--we and our children.
SECOND WOMAN.
Take mine, too, David!
THIRD WOMAN.
Mine, mine!
DAVID.
_Takes the child and presses it to his breast,
covering it with his grey beard._
Hush!... It's my beard! Oh, what a terrible beard! But never fear, my
little one, press to me more closely and laugh--you are the wisest of
all. Sarah, my wife, come over here.
SARAH.
_Weeping._
I am here.
DAVID.
Let us step aside for a while. Woman, I will return the child to you,
I will only hold it for a while.... Come, Sarah, let us step aside.
Before you I am not ashamed to cry, be they tears of sorrow or tears
of joy.
_They step aside and cry softly. Only their
stooping backs are seen, and David's red
handkerchief with which he wipes his eyes, and the
tear-stained face of the child._
VOICES.
Hush! hush! They are crying. Don't disturb their crying. Hush! hush!
_Anathema, on tiptoe, whispers: "Hush, hush!" Then
he goes over to the musicians and speaks to them in
a low voice, conducting with his hand. Little by
little the noise grows louder. Bezkrainy, Purikes,
and Sonka are waiting, holding filled glasses in
their hands._
DAVID.
_Returns and wipes his eyes with his kerchief._
Here is your child, woman. We don't like him at all, do we, Sarah?
SARAH.
_Weeping._
We have no children any longer, David.
DAVID.
_Smiling._
No, no, Sarah! But are not all the children in the world our children?
He has no children who has three, six, or even twelve, but not he who
knows not their number.
SONKA.
Drink a glass of soda-water, honorable David Leizer--it is your water.
PURIKES.
Drink a glass of mine, David,--this will bring me customers.
BEZKRAINY.
Drink a glass of noblemen's cider, David. Now it is real noblemen's
cider. I can say it frankly; with your money everything is becoming
real.
SARAH.
_Through tears._
I have always told you that your cider was bad, Ivan. And now, when it
is real cider, you do not offer it to me.
BEZKRAINY.
Oh, Sarah....
DAVID.
She is jesting, Ivan. Thank you, but I cannot drink so much,--I will
taste everybody's. It's very, very good water, Sonka. You have
discovered the secret and you will soon grow rich.
SONKA.
I put a little more soda into the water, David.
WANDERER.
_To Anathema, in a law voice._
Is it true--you are a close friend of David Leizer's, and you can tell
it to me--is it true that he wants to build--
ANATHEMA.
Why so loud? Let us step aside.
_They speak in a whisper. Anathema shakes his head
negatively. He is truthful. He smiles and pats the
old man on the shoulder. The old man evidently does
not believe him. Then Anathema gradually leads the
musicians away, also the Organ-grinder and the
people beyond the stone pillars. Only the sound of
their voices, their exclamations, their laughter
are heard. A few remain and speak with David
reverently._
KHESSIN.
Is it true, David, that you and Sarah are going to Jerusalem, to the
Holy City, of which we can only dream?
DAVID.
Yes, it is true, Abraham. Although I am stronger now and I feel no
longer any pain in my chest--
KHESSIN.
But that is a miracle, David!
DAVID.
Joy restores health, Abraham, and the serving of God strengthens a man.
But after all, Sarah and I cannot live much longer, and we should like
to rest our eyes upon the wonderful beauty of God's land. But why do
you address me as a stranger, old friend? Have you not yet forgiven me?
KHESSIN.
_Frightened._
Oh, do not say that, David! If you were to tell me: Call me "thou" or
kill yourself, I would rather kill myself, but would not say "thou" to
you. You are not an ordinary man, David.
DAVID.
I am not an ordinary man. I am a happy man. But where is the gay man
Nullius? I don't see him. I suppose he is preparing some prank or
another--I know him. There is a man who does not darken the face of the
earth with gloom, Abraham, who is never averse to laughter, which is to
life like dew upon grass, and which sparkles in many colors in the rays
of the sun. Of course he is playing his pranks; do you hear?
_Music is playing beyond the pillars; the organ,
together with the orchestra, is playing the
same tune it had played before. The sounds are
discordant, somewhat wild, but strangely gay.
Together with the music the crowd appears in a
solemn procession. At the head of the procession,
side by side with the Organ-grinder, walks
Anathema, as if dancing. He carries the organ on a
strap and turns the handle with one hand, keeping
time with the other hand, whistling shrilly, and
casting glances on all sides and skyward. The
musicians and the poor, now gay, follow him.
On passing David, Anathema bends his head toward him
and keeps on playing and whistling. David, smiling,
nods his head and adjusts his grey, long beard. The
procession disappears._
SARAH.
_With emotion._
What beautiful music! How fine, how solemn, David! David, is all this
for you?
DAVID.
For us, Sarah.
SARAH.
What am I? I can only love our children. But you, but you--
_With certain fear._
You are not an ordinary man, David.
DAVID.
_Smiling._
So, so.... Well, what am I, then,--a governor?
Or, perhaps, a general?
SARAH.
Do not make light of this, David. You are not an ordinary man.
_The Wanderer, who stood near by all the time and
saw the solemn procession, now listens to Sarah's
words and nods his head. Anathema, gay, somewhat
out of breath, appears._
ANATHEMA.
How was it, David? I think it was not bad. They marched very
well--better than I expected. Only that stupid trumpet.
_Dancing, he passes David again, whistling. Then he
bursts into laughter._
DAVID.
_Good-naturedly._
Yes, Nullius. The music was very good. I never before heard such fine
music. I thank you, Nullius,--you have afforded great pleasure to the
people by your gayety.
ANATHEMA.
_To the Wanderer._
Did you like it, old man?
WANDERER.
I liked it fairly well. But what will happen when all the nations on
earth will bend at the feet of David Leizer?
ANATHEMA.
_Astonished._
What is he saying, Nullius?
ANATHEMA.
Oh, David, it is very touching: the people are in love with you, even
as a bride is in love with the bridegroom. This wonderful man, who has
come thousands of miles--
WANDERER.
More.
ANATHEMA.