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?
M
ENDEL [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 Final
e. 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
The Melting-Pot Page 3
