  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. 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.] [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 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. 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 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. 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—— 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? 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. 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 [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 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! 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 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 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! 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 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 [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! 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 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. 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! 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 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 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 |
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