The Melting-Pot
Page 2
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. Musi
c-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, s
ea-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.