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?