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]

[As first produced by the Play Actors at the Court Theatre, London on the twenty-fifth of January 1914]

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.]

Act II

The same scene on an afternoon a month later. David is discovered at his desk, scribbling music in a fever of enthusiasm. Mendel, dressed in his best, is playing softly on the piano, watching David. After an instant or two of indecision, he puts down the piano-lid with a bang and rises decisively.

MENDEL

David!

DAVID [Putting up his left hand]

Please, please——

[He writes feverishly.]

MENDEL

But I want to talk to you seriously—at once.

DAVID

I'm just re-writing the Finale. Oh, such a splendid inspiration!

[He writes on.]

MENDEL [Shrugs his shoulders and reseats himself at piano. He plays a bar or two. Looks at watch impatiently. Resolutely]

David, I've got wonderful news for you. Miss Revendal is bringing somebody to see you, and we have hopes of getting you sent to Germany to study composition.

[David does not reply, but writes rapidly on.]

Why, he hasn't heard a word!

[He shouts.]

David!

DAVID [Writing on]

I can't, uncle. I must put it down while that glorious impression is fresh.

MENDEL

What impression? You only went to the People's Alliance.

DAVID

Yes, and there I saw the Jewish children—a thousand of 'em—saluting the Flag.

[He writes on.]

MENDEL

Well, what of that?

DAVID

What of that?

[He throws down his quill and jumps up.]

But just fancy it, uncle. The Stars and Stripes unfurled, and a thousand childish voices, piping and foreign, fresh from the lands of oppression, hailing its fluttering folds. I cried like a baby.

MENDEL

I'm afraid you are one.

DAVID

Ah, but if you had heard them—"Flag of our Great Republic"—the words have gone singing at my heart ever since—

[He turns to the flag over the door.]

"Flag of our Great Republic, guardian of our homes, whose stars and stripes stand for Bravery, Purity, Truth, and Union, we salute thee. We, the natives of distant lands, who find

[Half-sobbing]

rest under thy folds, do pledge our hearts, our lives, our sacred honour to love and protect thee, our Country, and the liberty of the American people for ever."

[He ends almost hysterically.]

MENDEL [Soothingly]

Quite right. But you needn't get so excited over it.

DAVID

Not when one hears the roaring of the fires of God? Not when one sees the souls melting in the Crucible? Uncle, all those little Jews will grow up Americans!

MENDEL [Putting a pacifying hand on his shoulder and forcing him into a chair]

Sit down. I want to talk to you about your affairs.

DAVID [Sitting]

My affairs! But I've been talking about them all the time!

MENDEL

Nonsense, David.

[He sits beside him.]

Don't you think it's time you got into a wider world?

DAVID

Eh? This planet's wide enough for me.

MENDEL

Do be serious. You don't want to live all your life in this room.

DAVID [Looks round]

What's the matter with this room? It's princely.

MENDEL [Raising his hands in horror]

Princely!

DAVID

Imperial. Remember when I first saw it—after pigging a week in the rocking steerage, swinging in a berth as wide as my fiddle-case, hung near the cooking-engines; imagine the hot rancid smell of the food, the oil of the machinery, the odours of all that close-packed, sea-sick——

MENDEL [Putting his hand over David's mouth]

Don't! You make me ill! How could you ever bear it?

DAVID [Smiling]

I was quite happy—I only had to fancy I'd been shipwrecked, and that after clinging to a plank five days without food or water on the great lonely Atlantic, my frozen, sodden form had been picked up by this great safe steamer and given this delightful dry berth, regular meals, and the spectacle of all these friendly faces.... Do you know who was on board that boat? Quincy Davenport.

MENDEL

The lord of corn and oil?

DAVID [Smiling]

Yes, even we wretches in the steerage felt safe to think the lord was up above, we believed the company would never dare drown him. But could even Quincy Davenport command a cabin like this?

[Waving his arm round the room.]

Why, uncle, we have a cabin worth a thousand dollars—a thousand dollars a week—and what's more, it doesn't wobble!

[He plants his feet voluptuously upon the floor.]

MENDEL

Come, come, David, I asked you to be serious. Surely, some day you'd like your music produced?

DAVID [Jumps up]

Wouldn't it be glorious? To hear it all actually coming out of violins and 'cellos, drums and trumpets.

MENDEL

And you'd like it to go all over the world?

DAVID

All over the world and all down the ages.

MENDEL

But don't you see that unless you go and study seriously in Germany——?

[Enter Kathleen from kitchen, carrying a furnished tea-tray with ear-shaped cakes, bread and butter, etc., and wearing a grotesque false nose. Mendel cries out in amaze.]

Kathleen!

DAVID [Roaring with boyish laughter]

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

KATHLEEN [Standing still with her tray]

Sure, what's the matter?

DAVID

Look in the glass!

KATHLEEN [Going to the mantel]

Houly Moses!

[She drops the tray, which Mendel catches, and snatches off the nose.]

Och, I forgot to take it off—'twas the misthress gave it me—I put it on to cheer her up.

DAVID

Is she so miserable, then?

KATHLEEN

Terrible low, Mr. David, to-day being Purim.

MENDEL

Purim! Is to-day Purim?

[Gives her the tea-tray back. Kathleen, to take it, drops her nose and forgets to pick it up.]

DAVID

But Purim is a merry time, Kathleen, like your Carnival. Haven't you read the book of Esther—how the Jews of Persia escaped massacre?

KATHLEEN

That's what the misthress is so miserable about. Ye don't keep the Carnival. There's noses for both of ye in the kitchen—didn't I go with her to Hester Street to buy 'em?—but ye don't be axin' for 'em. And to see your noses layin' around so solemn and neglected, faith, it nearly makes me chry meself.

MENDEL [Bitterly to himself]

Who can remember about Purim in America?

DAVID [Half-smiling]

Poor granny, tell her to come in and I'll play her Purim jig.

MENDEL [Hastily]

No, no, David, not here—the visitors!

DAVID

Visitors? What visitors?

MENDEL [Impatiently]

That's just what I've been trying to explain.

DAVID

Well, I can play in the kitchen.

[He takes his violin. Exit to kitchen. Mendel sighs and shrugs his shoulders hopelessly at the boy's perversity, then fingers the cups and saucers.]

MENDEL [Anxiously]

Is that the best tea-set?

KATHLEEN

Can't you see it's the Passover set!

[Ruefully]

And shpiled intirely it'll be now for our Passover.... And the misthress thought the visitors might like to thry some of her Purim cakes.

[Indicates ear-shaped cakes on tray.]

MENDEL [Bitterly]

Purim cakes!

[He turns his back on her and stares moodily out of the window.]

KATHLEEN [Mutters contemptuously]

Call yerself a Jew and you forgettin' to keep Purim!

[She is going back to the kitchen when a merry Slavic dance breaks out, softened by the door; her feet unconsciously get more and more into dance step, and at last she jigs out. As she opens and passes through the door, the music sounds louder.]

FRAU QUIXANO [Heard from kitchen]

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Kathleen!!

[Mendel's feet, too, begin to take the swing of the music, and his feet dance as he stares out of the window. Suddenly the hoot of an automobile is heard, followed by the rattling up of the car.]

MENDEL

Ah, she has brought somebody swell!

[He throws open the doors and goes out eagerly to meet the visitors. The dance music goes on softly throughout the scene.]

QUINCY DAVENPORT [Outside]

Oh, thank you—I leave the coats in the car.

[Enter an instant later Quincy Davenport and Vera Revendal, Mendel in the rear. Vera is dressed much as before, but with a motor veil, which she takes off during the scene. Davenport is a dude, aping the air of a European sporting clubman. Aged about thirty-five and well set-up, he wears an orchid and an intermittent eyeglass, and gives the impression of a coarse-fibred and patronisingly facetious but not bad-hearted man, spoiled by prosperity.]

MENDEL

Won't you be seated?

VERA

First let me introduce my friend, who is good enough to interest himself in your nephew—Mr. Quincy Davenport.

MENDEL [Struck of a heap]

Mr. Quincy Davenport! How strange!

VERA

What is strange?

MENDEL

David just mentioned Mr. Davenport's name—said they travelled to New York on the same boat.

QUINCY

Impossible! Always travel on my own yacht. Slow but select. Must have been another man of the same name—my dad. Ha! Ha! Ha!

MENDEL

Ah, of course. I thought you were too young.

QUINCY

My dad, Miss Revendal, is one of those antiquated Americans who are always in a hurry!

VERA

He burns coal and you burn time.

QUINCY

Precisely! Ha! Ha! Ha!

MENDEL

Won't you sit down—I'll go and prepare David.

VERA [Sitting]

You've not prepared him yet?

MENDEL

I've tried to more than once—but I never really got to——

[He smiles]

to Germany.

[Quincy sits.]