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The Melting-Pot

Page 9

by Израэль Зангвилл

DAVID

  Yes, it is true. Even Christianity did not invent hatred. But not till Holy Church arose were we burnt at the stake, and not till Holy Russia arose were our babes torn limb from limb. Oh, it is too much! Delivered from Egypt four thousand years ago, to be slaves to the Russian Pharaoh to-day.

  [He falls as if kneeling on a chair, and, leans his head on the

  rail.] O God, shall we always be broken on the wheel of history? How long, O Lord, how long?

  BARON [Savagely]

  Till you are all stamped out, ground into your dirt.

  [Tenderly] Look up, little Vera! You saw how papasha loves you-how he was ready to hold out his hand-and how this cur tried to bite it. Be calm-tell him a daughter of Russia cannot mate with dirt.

  VERA

  Father, I will be calm. I will speak without passion or blindness. I will tell David the truth. I was never absolutely sure of my love for him-perhaps that was why I doubted his love for me-often after our enchanted moments there would come a nameless uneasiness, some vague instinct, relic of the long centuries of Jew-loathing, some strange shrinking from his Christless creed--

  BARON [With an exultant cry]

  Ah! She is a Revendal.

  VERA

  But now--

  [She rises and walks firmly toward DAVID] now, David, I come to you, and I say in the words of Ruth, thy people shall be my people and thy God my God!

  [She stretches out her hands to DAVID.]

  BARON

  You shameless--!

  [He stops as he perceives DAVID remains impassive.]

  VERA [With agonised cry]

  David!

  DAVID [In low, icy tones]

  You cannot come to me. There is a river of blood between us.

  VERA

  Were it seven seas, our love must cross them.

  DAVID

  Easy words to you. You never saw that red flood bearing the mangled breasts of women and the spattered brains of babes and sucklings. Oh!

  [He covers his eyes with his hands. The BARON turns away in

  gloomy impotence. At last DAVID begins to speak quietly, almost

  dreamily.] It was your Easter, and the air was full of holy bells and the streets of holy processions-priests in black and girls in white and waving palms and crucifixes, and everybody exchanging Easter eggs and kissing one another three times on the mouth in token of peace and goodwill, and even the Jew-boy felt the spirit of love brooding over the earth, though he did not then know that this Christ, whom holy chants proclaimed re-risen, was born in the form of a brother Jew. And what added to the peace and holy joy was that our own Passover was shining before us. My mother had already made the raisin wine, and my greedy little brother Solomon had sipped it on the sly that very morning. We were all at home-all except my father-he was away in the little Synagogue at which he was cantor. Ah, such a voice he had-a voice of tears and thunder-when he prayed it was like a wounded soul beating at the gates of Heaven-but he sang even more beautifully in the ritual of home, and how we were looking forward to his hymns at the Passover table--

  [He breaks down. The BARON has gradually turned round under the

  spell of DAVID'S story and now listens hypnotised.] I was playing my cracked little fiddle. Little Miriam was making her doll dance to it. Ah, that decrepit old china doll-the only one the poor child had ever had-I can see it now-one eye, no nose, half an arm. We were all laughing to see it caper to my music.... My father flies in through the door, desperately clasping to his breast the Holy Scroll. We cry out to him to explain, and then we see that in that beloved mouth of song there is no longer a tongue-only blood. He tries to bar the door-a mob breaks in-we dash out through the back into the street. There are the soldiers-and the Face--

  [VERA'S eyes involuntarily seek the face of her father, who

  shrinks away as their eyes meet.]

  VERA [In a low sob]

  O God!

  DAVID

  When I came to myself, with a curious aching in my left shoulder, I saw lying beside me a strange shapeless Something....

  [DAVID points weirdly to the floor, and VERA, hunched forwards,

  gazes stonily at it, as if seeing the horror.] By the crimson doll in what seemed a hand I knew it must be little Miriam. The doll was a dream of beauty and perfection beside the mutilated mass which was all that remained of my sister, of my mother, of greedy little Solomon-Oh! You Christians can only see that rosy splendour on the horizon of happiness. And the Jew didn't see rosily enough for you, ha! ha! ha! the Jew who gropes in one great crimson mist.

  [He breaks down in spasmodic, ironic, long-drawn, terrible

  laughter.]

  VERA [Trying vainly to tranquillise him]

  Hush, David! Your laughter hurts more than tears. Let Vera comfort you.

  [She kneels by his chair, tries to put her arms round him. ]

  DAVID [Shuddering]

  Take them away! Don't you feel the cold dead pushing between us?

  VERA [Unfaltering, moving his face toward her lips]

  Kiss me!

  DAVID

  I should feel the blood on my lips.

  VERA

  My love shall wipe it out.

  DAVID

  Love! Christian love!

  [He unwinds her clinging arms; she sinks prostrate on the floor

  as he rises.] For this I gave up my people-darkened the home that sheltered me-there was always a still, small voice at my heart calling me back, but I heeded nothing-only the voice of the butcher's daughter.

  [Brokenly] Let me go home, let me go home.

  [He looks lingeringly at VERA'S prostrate form, but overcoming

  the instinct to touch and comfort her, begins tottering with

  uncertain pauses toward the door leading to the hall.]

  BARON [Extending his arms in relief and longing]

  And here is your home, Vera!

  [He raises her gradually from the floor; she is dazed, but

  suddenly she becomes conscious of whose arms she is in, and

  utters a cry of repulsion.]

  VERA

  Those arms reeking from that crimson river!

  [She falls back.]

  BARON [Sullenly]

  Don't echo that babble. You came to these arms often enough when they were fresh from the battlefield.

  VERA

  But not from the shambles! You heard what he called you. Not soldier-butcher! Oh, I dared to dream of happiness after my nightmare of Siberia, but you-you--

  [She breaks down for the first time in hysterical sobs. ]

  BARON [Brokenly]

  Vera! Little Vera! Don't cry! You stab me!

  VERA

  You thought you were ordering your soldiers to fire at the Jews, but it was my heart they pierced.

  [She sobs on.]

  BARON

  ... And my own.... But we will comfort each other. I will go to the Tsar myself-with my forehead to the earth-to beg for your pardon!... Come, put your wet face to little father's....

  VERA [Violently pushing his face away]

  I hate you! I curse the day I was born your daughter!

  [She staggers toward the door leading to the interior. At the

  same moment DAVID, who has reached the door leading to the hall,

  now feeling subconsciously that VERA is going and that his last

  reason for lingering on is removed, turns the door-handle. The

  click attracts the BARON'S attention, he veers round.]

  BARON [To DAVID]

  Halt!

  [DAVID turns mechanically. VERA drifts out through her door,

  leaving the two men face to face. The BARON beckons to DAVID, who

  as if hypnotised moves nearer. The BARON whips out his pistol,

  slowly crosses to DAVID, who stands as if awaiting his fate. The

  BARON hands the pistol to DAVID.] You were right!

  [He steps back swiftly with a touch of stern heroism into the

 
attitude of the culprit at a military execution, awaiting the

  bullet.] Shoot me!

  DAVID [Takes the pistol mechanically, looks long and pensively at it as

  with a sense of its irrelevance. Gradually his arm droops and lets

  the pistol fall on the table, and there his hand touches a string

  of his violin, which yields a little note. Thus reminded of it, he

  picks up the violin, and as his fingers draw out the broken string

  he murmurs] I must get a new string.

  [He resumes his dragging march toward the door, repeating

  maunderingly] I must get a new string.

  [The curtain falls.]

  Act IV

  Saturday, July 4, evening. The Roof-Garden of the Settlement

  House, showing a beautiful, far-stretching panorama of New York,

  with its irregular sky-buildings on the left, and the harbour

  with its Statue of Liberty on the right. Everything is wet and

  gleaming after rain. Parapet at the back. Elevator on the right.

  Entrance from the stairs on the left. In the sky hang heavy

  clouds through which thin, golden lines of sunset are just

  beginning to labour. DAVID is discovered on a bench, hugging his

  violin-case to his breast, gazing moodily at the sky. A muffled

  sound of applause comes up from below and continues with varying

  intensity through the early part of the scene. Through it comes

  the noise of the elevator ascending. MENDEL steps out and hurries

  forward.

  MENDEL

  Come down, David! Don't you hear them shouting for you?

  [He passes his hand over the wet bench.] Good heavens! You will get rheumatic fever!

  DAVID

  Why have you followed me?

  MENDEL

  Get up-everything is still damp.

  DAVID [Rising, gloomily]

  Yes, there's a damper over everything.

  MENDEL

  Nonsense-the rain hasn't damped your triumph in the least. In fact, the more delicate effects wouldn't have gone so well in the open air. Listen!

  DAVID

  Let them shout. Who told you I was up here?

  MENDEL

  Miss Revendal, of course.

  DAVID [Agitated]

  Miss Revendal? How should she know?

  MENDEL [Sullenly]

  She seems to understand your crazy ways.

  DAVID [Passing his hand over his eyes]

  Ah, you never understood me, uncle.... How did she look? Was she pale?

  MENDEL

  Never mind about Miss Revendal. Pappelmeister wants you-the people insist on seeing you. Nobody can quiet them.

  DAVID

  They saw me all through the symphony in my place in the orchestra.

  MENDEL

  They didn't know you were the composer as well as the first violin. Now Miss Revendal has told them.

  [Louder applause.] There! Eleven minutes it has gone on-like for an office-seeker. You must come and show yourself.

  DAVID

  I won't-I'm not an office-seeker. Leave me to my misery.

  MENDEL

  Your misery? With all this glory and greatness opening before you? Wait till you're my age--

  [Shouts of "QUIXANO!"] You hear! What is to be done with them?

  DAVID

  Send somebody on the platform to remind them this is the interval for refreshments!

  MENDEL

  Don't be cynical. You know your dearest wish was to melt these simple souls with your music. And now--

  DAVID

  Now I have only made my own stony.

  MENDEL

  You are right. You are stone all over-ever since you came back home to us. Turned into a pillar of salt, mother says-like Lot's wife.

  DAVID

  That was the punishment for looking backward. Ah, uncle, there's more sense in that old Bible than the Rabbis suspect. Perhaps that is the secret of our people's paralysis-we are always looking backward.

  [He drops hopelessly into an iron garden-chair behind him. ]

  MENDEL [Stopping him before he touches the seat]

  Take care-it's sopping wet. You don't look backward enough.

  [He takes out his handkerchief and begins drying the chair. ]

  DAVID [Faintly smiling]

  I thought you wanted the salt to melt.

  MENDEL

  It is melting a little if you can smile. Do you know, David, I haven't seen you smile since that Purim afternoon?

  DAVID

  You haven't worn a false nose since, uncle.

  [He laughs bitterly.] Ha! Ha! Ha! Fancy masquerading in America because twenty-five centuries ago the Jews escaped a pogrom in Persia. Two thousand five hundred years ago! Aren't we uncanny?

  [He drops into the wiped chair.]

  MENDEL [Angrily]

  Better you should leave us altogether than mock at us. I thought it was your Jewish heart that drove you back home to us; but if you are still hankering after Miss Revendal--

  DAVID [Pained]

  Uncle!

  MENDEL

  I'd rather see you marry her than go about like this. You couldn't make the house any gloomier.

  DAVID

  Go back to the concert, please. They have quieted down.

  MENDEL [Hesitating]

  And you?

  DAVID

  Oh, I'm not playing in the popular after-pieces. Pappelmeister guessed I'd be broken up with the stress of my own symphony-he has violins enough.

  MENDEL

  Then you don't want to carry this about.

  [Taking the violin from DAVID'S arms.]

  DAVID [Clinging to it]

  Don't rob me of my music-it's all I have.

  MENDEL

  You'll spoil it in the wet. I'll take it home.

  DAVID

  No--

  [He suddenly catches sight of two figures entering from the

  left-FRAU QUIXANO and KATHLEEN clad in their best, and wearing

  tiny American flags in honour of Independence Day. KATHLEEN

  escorts the old lady, with the air of a guardian angel, on her

  slow, tottering course toward DAVID. FRAU QUIXANO is puffing and

  panting after the many stairs. DAVID jumps up in surprise,

  releases the violin-case to MENDEL.] They at my symphony!

  MENDEL

  Mother would come-even though, being Shabbos, she had to walk.

  DAVID

  But wasn't she shocked at my playing on the Sabbath?

  MENDEL

  No-that's the curious part of it. She said that even as a boy you played your fiddle on Shabbos, and that if the Lord has stood it all these years, He must consider you an exception.

  DAVID

  You see! She's more sensible than you thought. I daresay whatever I were to do she'd consider me an exception.

  MENDEL [In sullen acquiescence]

  I suppose geniuses are.

  KATHLEEN [Reaching them; panting with admiration and breathlessness]

  Oh, Mr. David! it was like midnight mass! But the misthress was ashleep.

  DAVID

  Asleep!

  [Laughs half-merrily, half-sadly.] Ha! Ha! Ha!

  FRAU QUIXANO [Panting and laughing in response]

  He! He! He! Dovidel lacht widder. He! He! He!

  [She touches his arm affectionately, but feeling his wet coat,

  utters a cry of horror.] Du bist nass!

  DAVID

  Es ist gor nicht, Granny-my clothes are thick.

  [She fusses over him, wiping him down with her gloved hand. ]

  MENDEL

  But what brought you up here, Kathleen?

  KATHLEEN

  Sure, not the elevator. The misthress said 'twould be breaking the Shabbos to ride up in it.

  DAVID [Uneasily]

  But did--did Miss Revendal send you up?r />
  KATHLEEN

  And who else should be axin' the misthress if she wasn't proud of Mr. David? Faith, she's a sweet lady.

  MENDEL [Impatiently]

  Don't chatter, Kathleen.

  KATHLEEN

  But, Mr. Quixano--!

  DAVID [Sweetly]

  Please take your mistress down again-don't let her walk.

  KATHLEEN

  But Shabbos isn't out yet!

  MENDEL

  Chattering again!

  DAVID [Gently]

  There's no harm, Kathleen, in going down in the elevator.

  KATHLEEN

  Troth, I'll egshplain to her that droppin' down isn't ridin'.

  DAVID [Smiling]

  Yes, tell her dropping down is natural-not work, like flying up.

  [Kathleen begins to move toward the stairs, explaining to FRAU

  QUIXANO.] And, Kathleen! You'll get her some refreshments.

  KATHLEEN [Turns, glaring]

  Refrishments, is it? Give her refrishments where they mix the mate with the butther plates! Oh, Mr. David!

  [She moves off toward the stairs in reproachful sorrow. ]

  MENDEL [Smiling]

  I'll get her some coffee.

  DAVID [Smiling]

  Yes, that'll keep her awake. Besides, Pappelmeister was so sure the people wouldn't understand me, he's relaxing them on Gounod and Rossini.

  MENDEL

  Pappelmeister's idea of relaxation! I should have given them comic opera.

  [With sudden call to KATHLEEN, who with her mistress is at the

  wrong exit.] Kathleen! The elevator's this side!

  KATHLEEN [Turning]

  What way can that be, when I came up this side?

  MENDEL

  You chatter too much.

  [FRAU QUIXANO, not understanding, exit.] Come this way. Can't you see the elevator?

  KATHLEEN [Perceives FRAU QUIXANO has gone, calls after her in

  Irish-sounding Yiddish] Wu geht Ihr, bedad?...

  [Impatiently] Houly Moses, komm' zurick!

  [Exit anxiously, re-enter with FRAU QUIXANO.] Begorra, we Jews never know our way.

  [MENDEL, carrying the violin, escorts his mother and KATHLEEN to

  the elevator. When they are near it, it stops with a thud, and

  PAPPELMEISTER springs out, his umbrella up, meeting them face to

  face. He looks happy and beaming over DAVID'S triumph.]

  PAPPELMEISTER [In loud, joyous voice]

  Nun, Frau Quixano, was sagen Sie? Vat you tink of your David?

  FRAU QUIXANO

  Dovid? Er ist meshuggah.

  [She taps her forehead.]

 

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