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.]
VERA
Then prepare him for three visitors.
MENDEL
Three?
VERA
You see Mr. Davenport himself is no judge of music.
QUINCY [Jumps up]
I beg your pardon.
VERA
In manuscript.
QUINCY
Ah
, of course not. Music should be heard, not seen-like that jolly jig. Is that your David?
MENDEL
Oh, you mustn't judge him by that. He's just fooling.
QUINCY
Oh, he'd better not fool with Poppy. Poppy's awful severe.
MENDEL
Poppy?
QUINCY
Pappelmeister-my private orchestra conductor.
MENDEL
Is it your orchestra Pappelmeister conducts?
QUINCY
Well, I pay the piper-and the drummer too!
[He chuckles.]
MENDEL [Sadly]
I wanted to play in it, but he turned me down.
QUINCY
I told you he was awful severe.
[To VERA] He only allows me comic opera once a week. My wife calls him the Bismarck of the baton.
MENDEL [Reverently]
A great conductor!
QUINCY
Would he have a twenty-thousand-dollar job with me if he wasn't? Not that he'd get half that in the open market-only I have to stick it on to keep him for my guests exclusively.
[Looks at watch.] But he ought to be here, confound him. A conductor should keep time, eh, Miss Revendal?
[He sniggers.]
MENDEL
I'll bring David. Won't you help yourselves to tea?
[To VERA] You see there's lemon for you-as in Russia.
[Exit to kitchen-a moment afterwards the merry music stops in
the middle of a bar.]
VERA
Thank you.
[Taking a cup.] Do you like lemon, Mr. Davenport?
QUINCY [Flirtatiously]
That depends. The last I had was in Russia itself-from the fair hands of your mother, the Baroness.
VERA [Pained]
Please don't say my mother, my mother is dead.
QUINCY [Fatuously misunderstanding]
Oh, you have no call to be ashamed of your step-mother-she's a stunning creature; all the points of a tip-top Russian aristocrat, or Quincy Davenport's no judge of breed! Doesn't speak English like your father-but then the Baron is a wonder.
VERA [Takes up teapot]
Father once hoped to be British Ambassador-that's why I had an English governess. But you never told me you met him in Russia.
QUINCY
Surely! When I gave you all those love messages--
VERA [Pouring tea quickly]
You said you met him at Wiesbaden.
QUINCY
Yes, but we grew such pals I motored him and the Baroness back to St. Petersburg. Jolly country, Russia-they know how to live.
VERA [Coldly]
I saw more of those who know how to die.... Milk and sugar?
QUINCY [Sentimentally]
Oh, Miss Revendal! Have you forgotten?
VERA [Politely snubbing]
How should I remember?
QUINCY
You don't remember our first meeting? At the Settlement Bazaar? When I paid you a hundred dollars for every piece of sugar you put in?
VERA
Did you? Then I hope you drank syrup.
QUINCY
Ugh! I hate sugar-I sacrificed myself.
VERA
To the Settlement? How heroic of you!
QUINCY
No, not to the Settlement. To you!
VERA
Then I'll only put milk in.
QUINCY
I hate milk. But from you--
VERA
Then we must fall back on the lemon.
QUINCY
I loathe lemon. But from--
VERA
Then you shall have your tea neat.
QUINCY
I detest tea, and here it would be particularly cheap and nasty. But--
VERA
Then you shall have a cake!
[She offers plate.]
QUINCY [Taking one]
Would they be eatable?
[Tasting it.] Humph! Not bad.
[Sentimentally] A little cake was all you would eat the only time you came to one of my private concerts. Don't you remember? We went down to supper together.
VERA [Taking his tea for herself and putting in lemon]
I shall always remember the delicious music Herr Pappelmeister gave us.
QUINCY
How unkind of you!
VERA
Unkind?
[She sips the tea and puts down the cup.] To be grateful for the music?
QUINCY
You know what I mean-to forget me!
[He tries to take her hand.]
VERA [Rising]
Aren't you forgetting yourself?
QUINCY
You mean because I'm married to that patched-and-painted creature? She's hankering for the stage again, the old witch.
VERA
Hush! Marriages with comic opera stars are not usually domestic idylls.
QUINCY
I fell a victim to my love of music.
VERA [Murmurs, smiling]
Music!
QUINCY
And I hadn't yet met the right breed-the true blue blood of Europe. I'll get a divorce.
[Approaching her] Vera!
VERA [Retreating]
You will make me sorry I came to you.
QUINCY
No, don't say that-promised the Baron I'd always do all I could for--
VERA
You promised? You dared discuss my affairs?
QUINCY
It was your father began it. When he found I knew you, he almost wept with emotion. He asked a hundred questions about your life in America.
VERA
His life and mine are for ever separate. He is a Reactionary, I a Radical.
QUINCY
But he loves you dreadfully-he can't understand why you should go slaving away summer and winter in a Settlement-you a member of the Russian nobility!
VERA [With faint smile]
I might say, noblesse oblige. But the truth is, I earn my living that way. It would do you good to slave there too!
QUINCY [Eagerly]
Would they chain us together? I'd come to-morrow.
[He moves nearer her. There is a double knock at the door. ]
VERA [Relieved]
Here's Pappelmeister!
QUINCY
Bother Poppy-why is he so darned punctual?
[Enter KATHLEEN from the kitchen.]
VERA [Smiling]
Ah, you're still here.
KATHLEEN
And why would I not be here?
[She goes to open the door.]
PAPPELMEISTER
Mr. Quixano?
KATHLEEN
Yes, come in.
[Enter HERR PAPPELMEISTER, a burly German figure with a leonine
head, spectacles, and a mane of white hair-a figure that makes
his employer look even coarser. He carries an umbrella, which he
never lets go. He is at first grave and silent, which makes any
burst of emotion the more striking. He and QUINCY DAVENPORT
suggest a picture of "Dignity and Impudence." His English, as
roughly indicated in the text, is extremely Teutonic.]
QUINCY
You're late, Poppy!
[PAPPELMEISTER silently bows to VERA.]
VERA [Smilingly goes and offers her hand.]
Proud to meet you, Herr Pappelmeister!
QUINCY
Excuse me--
[Introducing] Miss Revendal!-I forgot you and Poppy hadn't been introduced-curiously enough it was at Wiesbaden I picked him up too-he was conducting the opera-your folks were in my box. I don't think I ever met anyone so mad on music as the Baron. And the Baroness told me he had retired from active service in the Army because of the torture of listening to the average military band. Ha! Ha! Ha!
VERA
Yes, my father once hoped my music would comfort him.
[She smiles sadly.] Poor father! But a soldier mu
st bear defeat. Herr Pappelmeister, may I not give you some tea?
[She sits again at the table.]
QUINCY
Tea! Lager's more in Poppy's line.
[He chuckles.]
PAPPELMEISTER [Gravely]
Bitte. Tea.
[She pours out, he sits.] Lemon. Four lumps.... Nun, five!... Or six!
[She hands him the cup.] Danke.
[As he receives the cup, he utters an exclamation, for KATHLEEN
after opening the door has lingered on, hunting around
everywhere, and having finally crawled under the table has now
brushed against his leg.]
VERA
What are you looking for?
KATHLEEN [Her head emerging]
My nose!
[They are all startled and amused.]
VERA
Your nose?
KATHLEEN
I forgot me nose!
QUINCY
Well, follow your nose-and you'll find it. Ha! Ha! Ha!
KATHLEEN [Pouncing on it]
Here it is!
[Picks it up near the armchair.]
OMNES
Oh!
KATHLEEN
Sure, it's gotten all dirthy.
[She takes out a handkerchief and wipes the nose carefully. ]
QUINCY
But why do you want a nose like that?
KATHLEEN [Proudly]
Bekaz we're Hebrews!
QUINCY
What!
VERA
What do you mean?
KATHLEEN
It's our Carnival to-day! Purim.
[She carries her nose carefully and piously toward the
kitchen.]
VERA
Oh! I see.
[Exit KATHLEEN.]
QUINCY [In horror]
Miss Revendal, you don't mean to say you've brought me to a Jew!
VERA
I'm afraid I have. I was thinking only of his genius, not his race. And you see, so many musicians are Jews.
QUINCY
Not my musicians. No Jew's harp in my orchestra, eh?
[He sniggers.] I wouldn't have a Jew if he paid me.
VERA
I daresay you have some, all the same.
QUINCY
Impossible. Poppy! Are there any Jews in my orchestra?
PAPPELMEISTER [Removing the cup from his mouth and speaking with
sepulchral solemnity] Do you mean are dere any Christians?
QUINCY [In horror]
Gee-rusalem! Perhaps you're a Jew!
PAPPELMEISTER [Gravely]
I haf not de honour. But, if you brefer, I will gut out from my brogrammes all de Chewish composers. Was?
QUINCY
Why, of course. Fire 'em out, every mother's son of 'em.
PAPPELMEISTER [Unsmiling]
Also-no more comic operas!
QUINCY
What!!!
PAPPELMEISTER
Dey write all de comic operas!
QUINCY
Brute!
[PAPPELMEISTER'S chuckle is heard gurgling in his cup. Re-enter
The Melting-Pot Page 4
