  April, about a month later. The scene changes to Miss Revendal's sitting-room at the Settlement House on a sunny day. Simple, pretty furniture: a sofa, chairs, small table, etc. An open piano with music. Flowers and books about. Fine art reproductions on walls. The fireplace is on the left. A door on the left leads to the hall, and a door on the right to the interior. A servant enters from the left, ushering in Baron and Baroness Revendal and Quincy Davenport. The Baron is a tall, stern, grizzled man of military bearing, with a narrow, fanatical forehead and martinet manners, but otherwise of honest and distinguished appearance, with a short, well-trimmed white beard and well-cut European clothes. Although his dignity is diminished by the constant nervous suspiciousness of the Russian official, it is never lost; his nervousness, despite its comic side, being visibly the tragic shadow of his position. His English has only a touch of the foreign in accent and vocabulary and is much superior to his wife's, which comes to her through her French. The Baroness is pretty and dressed in red in the height of Paris fashion, but blazes with barbaric jewels at neck and throat and wrist. She gestures freely with her hand, which, when ungloved, glitters with heavy rings. She is much younger than the Baron and self-consciously fascinating. Her parasol, which matches her costume, suggests the sunshine without. Quincy Davenport SERVANT Miss Revendal is on the roof-garden. I'll go and tell her. [Exit, toward the hall.] BARON A marvellous people, you Americans. Gardens in the sky! QUINCY Gardens, forsooth! We plant a tub and call it Paradise. No, Baron. New York is the great stone desert. BARONESS But ze big beautiful Park vere ve drove tru? QUINCY No taste, Baroness, modern sculpture and menageries! Think of the Medici gardens at Rome. BARONESS Ah, Rome! [With an ecstatic sigh, she drops into an armchair. Then she takes out a dainty cigarette-case, pulls off her right-hand glove, exhibiting her rings, and chooses a cigarette. The Baron, seeing this, QUINCY And now, dear Baron Revendal, having brought you safely to the den of the lioness—if I may venture to call your daughter so—I must leave you to do the taming, eh? BARON You are always of the most amiable. [He strikes a match.] BARONESS Tout À fait charmant. [The Baron lights her cigarette.] QUINCY [Bows gallantly] Don't mention it. I'll just have my auto take me to the Club, and then I'll send it back for you. BARONESS Ah, zank you—zat street-car looks horreeble. [She puffs out smoke.] BARON Quite impossible. What is to prevent an anarchist sitting next to you and shooting out your brains? QUINCY We haven't much of that here—I don't mean brains. Ha! Ha! Ha! BARON But I saw desperadoes spying as we came off your yacht. QUINCY Oh, that was newspaper chaps. BARON [Shakes his head] No—they are circulating my appearance to all the gang in the States. They took snapshots. QUINCY Then you're quite safe from recognition. [He sniggers.] Didn't they ask you questions? BARON Yes, but I am a diplomat. I do not reply. QUINCY That's not very diplomatic here. Ha! Ha! BARON Diable! [He claps his hand to his hip pocket, half-producing a pistol. The Baroness looks equally anxious.] QUINCY What's up? BARON [Points to window, whispers hoarsely] Regard! A hooligan peeped in! QUINCY [Goes to window] Only some poor devil come to the Settlement. BARON [Hoarsely] But under his arm—a bomb! QUINCY [Shaking his head smilingly] A soup bowl. BARONESS Ha! Ha! Ha! QUINCY What makes you so nervous, Baron? [The Baron slips back his pistol, a little ashamed.] BARONESS Ze Intellectuals and ze Bund, zey all hate my husband because he is faizful to Christ [Crossing herself] and ze Tsar. QUINCY But the Intellectuals are in Russia. BARON They have their branches here—the refugees are the leaders—it is a diabolical network. QUINCY Well, anyhow, we're not in Russia, eh? No, no, Baron, you're quite safe. Still, you can keep my automobile as long as you like—I've plenty. BARON A thousand thanks. [Wiping his forehead.] But surely no gentleman would sit in the public car, squeezed between working-men and shop-girls, not to say Jews and Blacks. QUINCY It is done here. But we shall change all that. Already we have a few taxi-cabs. Give us time, my dear Baron, give us time. You mustn't judge us by your European standard. BARON By the European standard, Mr. Davenport, you put our hospitality to the shame. From the moment you sent your yacht for us to Odessa—— QUINCY Pray, don't ever speak of that again—you know how anxious I was to get you to New York. BARON Provided we have arrived in time! QUINCY That's all right, I keep telling you. They aren't married yet—— BARON [Grinding his teeth and shaking his fist] Those Jew-vermin—all my life I have suffered from them! QUINCY We all suffer from them. BARONESS Zey are ze pests of ze civilisation. BARON But this supreme insult Vera shall not put on the blood of the Revendals—not if I have to shoot her down with my own hand—and myself after! QUINCY No, no, Baron, that's not done here. Besides, if you shoot her down, where do I come in, eh? BARON [Puzzled] Where you come in? QUINCY Oh, Baron! Surely you have guessed that it is not merely Jew-hate, but—er—Christian love. Eh? [Laughing uneasily.] BARON You! BARONESS [Clapping her hands] Oh, charmant, charmant! But it ees a romance! BARON But you are married! BARONESS [Downcast] Ah, oui. Quel dommage, vat a peety! QUINCY You forget, Baron, we are in America. The law giveth and the law taketh away. [He sniggers.] BARONESS It ees a vonderful country! But your vife—hein?—vould she consent? QUINCY She's mad to get back on the stage—I'll run a theatre for her. It's your daughter's consent that's the real trouble—she won't see me because I lost my temper and told her to stop with her Jew. So I look to you to straighten things out. BARONESS Mais parfaitement. BARON [Frowning at her] You go too quick, Katusha. What influence have I on Vera? And you she has never even seen! To kick out the Jew-beast is one thing.... QUINCY Well, anyhow, don't shoot her—shoot the beast rather. BARON Shooting is too good for the enemies of Christ. [Crossing himself.] At Kishineff we stick the swine. QUINCY [Interested] Ah! I read about that. Did you see the massacre? BARON Which one? Give me a cigarette, Katusha. [She obeys.] We've had several Jew-massacres in Kishineff. QUINCY Have you? The papers only boomed one—four or five years ago—about Easter time, I think—— BARON Ah, yes—when the Jews insulted the procession of the Host! [Taking a light from the cigarette in his wife's mouth.] QUINCY Did they? I thought—— BARON [Sarcastically] I daresay. That's the lies they spread in the West. They have the Press in their hands, damn 'em. But you see I was on the spot. [He drops into a chair.] I had charge of the whole district. QUINCY [Startled] You! BARON Yes, and I hurried a regiment up to teach the blaspheming brutes manners—— [He puffs out a leisurely cloud.] QUINCY [Whistling] Whew!... I—I say, old chap, I mean Baron, you'd better not say that here. BARON Why not? I am proud of it. BARONESS My husband vas decorated for it—he has ze order of St. Vladimir. BARON [Proudly] Second class! Shall we allow these bigots to mock at all we hold sacred? The Jews are the deadliest enemies of our holy autocracy and of the only orthodox Church. Their Bund is behind all the Revolution. BARONESS A plague-spot muz be cut out! QUINCY Well, I'd keep it dark if I were you. Kishineff is a back number, and we don't take much stock in the new massacres. Still, we're a bit squeamish— BARON Squeamish! Don't you lynch and roast your niggers? QUINCY Not officially. Whereas your Black Hundreds—— BARON Black Hundreds! My dear Mr. Davenport, they are the white hosts of Christ [Crossing himself] and of the Tsar, who is God's vicegerent on earth. Have you not read the works of our sainted Pobiedonostzeff, Procurator of the Most Holy Synod? QUINCY Well, of course, I always felt there was another side to it, but still—— BARONESS Perhaps he has right, Alexis. Our Ambassador vonce told me ze Americans are more sentimental zan civilised. BARON Ah, let them wait till they have ten million vermin overrunning their country—we shall see how long they will be sentimental. Think of it! A burrowing swarm creeping and crawling everywhere, ugh! They ruin our peasantry with their loans and their drink shops, ruin our army with their revolutionary propaganda, ruin our professional classes by snatching all the prizes and professorships, ruin our commercial BARONESS Mon dieu! C'est vrai. Ve real Russians vould become slaves. QUINCY Then what are you going to do with them? BARON One-third will be baptized, one-third massacred, the other third emigrated here. [He strikes a match to relight his cigarette.] QUINCY [Shudderingly] Thank you, my dear Baron,—you've already sent me one Jew too many. We're going to stop all alien immigration. BARON To stop all alien—? But that is barbarous! QUINCY Well, don't let us waste our time on the Jew-problem ... our own little Jew-problem is enough, eh? Get rid of this little fiddler. Then I may have a look in. Adieu, Baron. BARON Adieu. [Holding his hand] But you are not really serious about Vera? [The Baroness makes a gesture of annoyance.] QUINCY Not serious, Baron? Why, to marry her is the only thing I have ever wanted that I couldn't get. It is torture! Baroness, I rely on your sympathy. [He kisses her hand with a pretentious foreign air.] BARONESS [In sentimental approval] Ah! l'amour! l'amour! [Exit Quincy Davenport, taking his cap in passing.] You might have given him a little encouragement, Alexis. BARON Silence, Katusha. I only tolerated the man in Europe because he was a link with Vera. BARONESS You accepted his yacht and his—— BARON If I had known his loose views on divorce—— BARONESS I am sick of your scruples. You are ze only poor official in Bessarabia. BARON Be silent! Have I not forbidden——? BARONESS [Petulantly] Forbidden! Forbidden! All your life you have served ze Tsar, and you cannot afford a single automobile. A millionaire son-in-law is just vat you owe me. BARON What I owe you? BARONESS Yes, ven I married you, I vas tinking you had a good position. I did not know you were too honest to use it. You vere not open viz me, Alexis. BARON You knew I was a Revendal. The Revendals keep their hands clean.... [With a sudden start he tiptoes noiselessly to the door leading to the hall and throws it open. Nobody is visible. He closes it shamefacedly.] BARONESS [Has shared his nervousness till the door was opened, but now bursts into mocking laughter] If you thought less about your precious safety, and more about me and Vera—— BARON Hush! You do not know Vera. You saw I was even afraid to give my name. She might have sent me away as she sent away the Tsar's plate of mutton. BARONESS The Tsar's plate of——? BARON Did I never tell you? When she was only a school-girl—at the Imperial High School—the Tsar on his annual visit tasted the food, and Vera, as the show pupil, was given the honour of finishing his Majesty's plate. BARONESS [In incredulous horror] And she sent it avay? BARON Gave it to a servant. [Awed silence.] And then you think I can impose a husband on her. No, Katusha, I have to win her love for myself, not for millionaires. BARONESS [Angry again] Alvays so affrightfully selfish! BARON I have no control over her, I tell you! [Bitterly] I never could control my womenkind. BARONESS Because you zink zey are your soldiers. Silence! Halt! Forbidden! Right Veel! March! BARON [Sullenly] I wish I did think they were my soldiers—I might try the lash. BARONESS [Springing up angrily, shakes parasol at him] You British barbarian! VERA [Outside the door leading to the interior] Yes, thank you, Miss Andrews. I know I have visitors. BARON [Ecstatically] Vera's voice! [The Baroness lowers her parasol. He looks yearningly toward the door. It opens. Enter Vera with inquiring gaze.] VERA [With a great shock of surprise] Father!! BARON Verotschka! My dearest darling!... [He makes a movement toward her, but is checked by her irresponsiveness.] Why, you've grown more beautiful than ever. VERA You in New York! BARON The Baroness wished to see America. Katusha, this is my daughter. BARONESS [In sugared sweetness] And mine, too, if she vill let me love her. VERA [Bowing coldly, but still addressing her father] But how? When? BARON We have just come and—— BARONESS [Dashing in] Zat charming young man lent us his yacht—he is adorÀhble. VERA What charming young man? BARONESS Ah, she has many, ze little coquette—ha! ha! ha! [She touches Vera playfully with her parasol.] BARON We wished to give you a pleasant surprise. VERA It is certainly a surprise. BARON [Chilled] You are not very ... daughterly. VERA Do you remember when you last saw me? You did not claim me as a daughter then. BARON [Covers his eyes with his hand] Do not recall it; it hurts too much. VERA I was in the dock. BARON It was horrible. I hated you for the devil of rebellion that had entered into your soul. But I thanked God when you escaped. VERA [Softened] I think I was more sorry for you than for myself. I hope, at least, no suspicion fell on you. BARONESS [Eagerly] But it did—an avalanche of suspicion. He is still buried under it. Vy else did they make Skovaloff Ambassador instead of him? Even now he risks everyting to see you again. Ah, mon enfant, you owe your fazer a grand reparation! VERA What reparation can I possibly make? BARON [Passionately] You can love me again, Vera. BARONESS [Stamping foot] Alexis, you are interrupting— VERA I fear, father, we have grown too estranged—our ideas are so opposite—— BARON But not now, Vera, surely not now? You are no longer [He lowers his voice and looks around] a Revolutionist? VERA Not with bombs, perhaps. I thank Heaven I was caught before I had done any practical work. But if you think I accept the order of things, you are mistaken. In Russia I fought against the autocracy—— BARON Hush! Hush! [He looks round nervously.] VERA Here I fight against the poverty. No, father, a woman who has once heard the call will always be a wild creature. BARON But [Lowering his voice] those revolutionary Russian clubs here—you are not a member? VERA I do not believe in Revolutions carried on at a safe distance. I have found my life-work in America. BARON I am enchanted, Vera, enchanted. BARONESS [Gushingly] Permit me to kiss you, belle enfant. VERA I do not know you enough yet; I will kiss my father. BARON [With a great cry of joy] Vera! [He embraces her passionately.] At last! At last! I have found my little Vera again! VERA No, father, your Vera belongs to Russia with her mother and the happy days of childhood. But for their sakes—— [She breaks down in emotion.] BARON Ah, your poor mother! BARONESS [Tartly] Alexis, I perceive I am too many! BARON No, no, Katusha. Vera will learn to love you, too. VERA [To Baroness] What does my loving you matter? I can never return to Russia. BARONESS [Pausing] But ve can come here—often—ven you are married. VERA [Surprised] When I am married? [Softly, blushing] You know? BARONESS [Smiling] Ve know zat charming young man adores ze floor your foot treads on! VERA [Blushing] You have seen David? BARON [Hoarsely] David! [He clenches his fist.] BARONESS [Half aside, as much gestured as spoken] Sh! Leave it to me. [Sweetly.] Oh, no, ve have not seen David. VERA [Looking from one to the other] Not seen—? Then what—whom are you talking about? BARONESS About zat handsome, quite adorÀhble Mr. Davenport. VERA Davenport! BARONESS Who combines ze manners of Europe viz ze millions of America! VERA [Breaks into girlish laughter] Ha! Ha! Ha! So Mr. Davenport has been talking to you! But you all seem to forget one small point—bigamy is not permitted even to millionaires. BARONESS Ah, not boz at vonce, but—— VERA And do you think I would take another woman's leavings? No, not even if she were dead. BARONESS You are insulting! VERA I beg your pardon—I wasn't even thinking of you. Father, to put an end at once to this absurd conversation, let me inform you I am already engaged. BARON [Trembling, hoarse] By name, David. VERA Yes—David Quixano. BARON A Jew! VERA How did you know? Yes, he is a Jew, a noble Jew. BARON A Jew noble! [He laughs bitterly.] VERA Yes—even as you esteem nobility—by pedigree. In Spain his ancestors were hidalgos, favourites at the Court of Ferdinand and Isabella; but in the great expulsion of 1492 they preferred exile in Poland to baptism. BARON And you, a Revendal, would mate with an unbaptized dog? VERA Dog! You call my husband a dog! BARON Husband! God in heaven—are you married already? VERA No! But not being unemployed millionaires like Mr. Davenport, we hold even our troth eternal. [Calmer] Our poverty, not your prejudice, stands in the way of our marriage. But David is a musician of genius, and some day—— BARONESS A fiddler in a beer-hall! She prefers a fiddler to a millionaire of ze first families of America! VERA [Contemptuously] First families! I told you David's family came to Poland in 1492—some months before America was discovered. BARON Christ save us! You have become a Jewess! VERA No more than David has become a Christian. We were already at one—all honest people are. Surely, father, all religions must serve the same God—since there is only one God to serve. BARONESS But ze girl is an ateist! BARON Silence, Katusha! Leave me to deal with my daughter. Oh, Vera, Verotschka, my dearest darling, I had sooner you had remained buried in Siberia than that—— [He breaks down.] VERA [Touched, sitting beside him] For you, father, I was as though buried in Siberia. Why did you come here to stab yourself afresh? BARON I wish to God I had come here earlier. I wish I had not been so nervous of Russian spies. Ah, Verotschka, if you only knew how I have pored over the newspaper pictures of you, and the reports of your life in this Settlement! VERA You asked me not to send letters. BARON I know, I know—and yet sometimes I felt as if I could risk Siberia myself to read your dear, dainty handwriting again. VERA [Still more softened] Father, if you love me so much, surely you will love David a little too—for my sake. BARON [Dazed] I—love—a Jew? Impossible. VERA [Moving away, icily] Then so is any love from me to you. You have chosen to come back into my life, and after our years of pain and separation I would gladly remember only my old childish affection. But not if you hate David. You must make your choice. BARON [Pitifully] Choice? I have no choice. Can I carry mountains? No more can I love a Jew. [He rises resolutely.] BARONESS [Who has turned away, fretting and fuming, turns back to her husband, clapping her hands] Bravo! VERA [Going to him again, coaxingly] I don't ask you to carry mountains, but to drop the mountains you carry—the mountains of prejudice. Wait till you see him. BARON I will not see him. VERA Then you will hear him—he is going to make music for all the world. You can't escape him, papasha, you with your love of music, any more than you escaped Rubinstein. BARONESS Rubinstein vas not a Jew. VERA Rubinstein was a Jewish boy-genius, just like my David. BARONESS But his parents vere baptized soon after his birth. I had it from his patroness, ze Grande Duchesse Helena Pavlovna. VERA And did the water outside change the blood within? Rubinstein was our Court pianist and was decorated by the Tsar. And you, the Tsar's servant, dare to say you could not meet a Rubinstein. BARON [Wavering] I did not say I could not meet a Rubinstein. VERA You practically said so. David will be even greater than Rubinstein. Come, father, I'll telephone for him; he is only round the corner. BARONESS [Excitedly] Ve vill not see him! VERA [Ignoring her] He shall bring his violin and play to you. There! You see, little father, you are already less frowning—now take that last wrinkle out of your forehead. [She caresses his forehead.] Never mind! David will smooth it out with his music as his Biblical ancestor smoothed that surly old Saul. BARONESS Ve vill not hear him! BARON Silence, Katusha! Oh, my little Vera, I little thought when I let you study music at Petersburg—— VERA [Smiling wheedlingly] That I should marry a musician. But you see, little father, it all ends in music after all. Now I will go and perform on the telephone, I'm not angel enough to bear one in here. [She goes toward the door of the hall, smiling happily.] BARON [With a last agonized cry of resistance] Halt! VERA [Turning, makes mock military salute] Yes, papasha. BARON [Overcome by her roguish smile] You—I—he—do you love this J—this David so much? VERA [Suddenly tragic] It would kill me to give him up. [Resuming smile] But don't let us talk of funerals on this happy day of sunshine and reunion. [She kisses her hand to him and exit toward the hall.] BARONESS [Angrily] You are in her hands as vax! BARON She is the only child I have ever had, Katusha. Her baby arms curled round my neck; in her baby sorrows her wet face nestled against little father's. [He drops on a chair, and leans his head on the table.] BARONESS [Approaching tauntingly] So you vill have a Jew son-in-law! BARON You don't know what it meant to me to feel her arms round me again. BARONESS And a hook-nosed brat to call you grandpapa, and nestle his greasy face against yours. BARON [Banging his fist on the table] Don't drive me mad! [His head drops again.] BARONESS Then drive me home—I vill not meet him.... Alexis! [She taps him on the shoulder with her parasol. He does not move.] Alexis Ivanovitch! Do you not listen!... [She stamps her foot.] Zen I go to ze hotel alone. How do you do, Herr Pappelmeister? [She extends her hand, which he takes limply.] You don't remember me? Non? [Exit servant.] Ve vere with Mr. Quincy Davenport at Wiesbaden—-ze Baroness Revendal. PAPPELMEISTER So! [He drops her hand.] BARONESS Yes, it vas ze Baron's entousiasm for you zat got you your present position. PAPPELMEISTER [Arching his eyebrows] So! BARONESS Yes—zere he is! [She turns toward the Baron.] Alexis, rouse yourself! [She taps him with her parasol.] Zis American air makes ze Baron so sleepy. BARON [Rises dazedly and bows] Charmed to meet you, Herr— BARONESS Pappelmeister! You remember ze great Pappelmeister. BARON [Waking up, becomes keen] Ah, yes, yes, charmed—why do you never bring your orchestra to Russia, Herr Pappelmeister? PAPPELMEISTER [Surprised] Russia? It never occurred to me to go to Russia—she seems so uncivilised. BARONESS [Angry] Uncivilised! Vy, ve have ze finest restaurants in ze vorld! And ze best telephones! PAPPELMEISTER So? BARONESS Yes, and the most beautiful ballets—Russia is affrightfully misunderstood. [She sweeps away in burning indignation. Pappelmeister murmurs in deprecation. Re-enter Vera from the hall. She is gay and happy.] VERA He is coming round at once—— [She utters a cry of pleased surprise.] Herr Pappelmeister! This is indeed a pleasure! BARONESS [Sotto voce to the Baron] Let us go before he comes. [The Baron ignores her, his eyes hungrily on Vera.] PAPPELMEISTER [To Vera] But I come again—you have visitors. VERA [Smiling] Only my father and—— PAPPELMEISTER [Surprised] Your fader? Ach so! [He taps his forehead.] Revendal! BARONESS [Sotto voce to the Baron] I vill not meet a Jew, I tell you. PAPPELMEISTER But you vill vant to talk to your fader, and all I vant is Mr. Quixano's address. De Irish maiden at de house says de bird is flown. VERA [Gravely] I don't know if I ought to tell you where the new nest is—— PAPPELMEISTER [Disappointed] Ach! VERA [Smiling] But I will produce the bird. PAPPELMEISTER [Looks round] You vill broduce Mr. Quixano? VERA [Merrily] By clapping my hands. [Mysteriously] I am a magician. BARON [Whose eyes have been glued on Vera] You are, indeed! I don't know how you have bewitched me. [The Baroness glares at him.] VERA Dear little father! [She crosses to him and strokes his hair.] Herr Pappelmeister, tell father about Mr. Quixano's music. PAPPELMEISTER [Shaking his head] Music cannot be talked about. VERA [Smiling] That's a nasty one for the critics. But tell father what a genius Da—Mr. Quixano is. BARONESS [Desperately intervening] Good-bye, Vera. [She thrusts out her hand, which Vera takes.] I have a headache. You muz excuse me. Herr Pappelmeister, au plaisir de vous revoir. BARON [Agitated] Let me see you to the auto—— BARONESS You could see me to ze hotel almost as quick. BARON [To Vera] I won't say good-bye, Verotschka—I shall be back. [He goes toward the hall, then turns.] You will keep your Rubinstein waiting? [Vera smiles lovingly.] BARONESS You are keeping me vaiting. [He turns quickly. Exeunt Baron and Baroness.] PAPPELMEISTER And now broduce Mr. Quixano! VERA Not so fast. What are you going to do with him? PAPPELMEISTER Put him in my orchestra! VERA [Ecstatic] Oh, you dear! [Then her tone changes to disappointment.] But he won't go into Mr. Davenport's orchestra. PAPPELMEISTER It is no more Mr. Davenport's orchestra. He fired VERA [Smiling] Your own show. PAPPELMEISTER Ja, my own band. Ven I left dat comic opera millionaire, dey all shtick to me almost to von man. VERA How nice of them! PAPPELMEISTER All egsept de Christian—he vas de von man. He shtick to de millionaire. So I lose my brincipal first violin. VERA And Mr. Quixano is to—oh, how delightful! [She claps her hands girlishly.] PAPPELMEISTER [Looks round mischievously] Ach, de magic failed. VERA [Puzzled] Eh! PAPPELMEISTER You do not broduce him. You clap de hands—but you do not broduce him. Ha! Ha! Ha! VERA [Chiming in merrily] Ha! Ha! Ha! But I said I have to know everything first. Will he get a good salary? PAPPELMEISTER Enough to keep a vife and eight children! VERA [Blushing] But he hasn't a—— PAPPELMEISTER No, but de Christian had—he get de same—I mean salary, ha! ha! ha! not children. Den he can be independent—vedder de fool-public like his American symphony or not—nicht wahr? VERA You are good to us—— [Hastily correcting herself] to Mr. Quixano. PAPPELMEISTER [Smiling] And aldough you cannot broduce him, I broduce his symphony. Was? VERA Oh, Herr Pappelmeister! You are an angel. PAPPELMEISTER Nein, nein, mein liebes Kind! I fear I haf not de correct shape for an angel. VERA [Merrily] Now I clap my hands. [She claps.] Come! [The door opens.] Behold him! [She makes a conjurer's gesture. David, bare-headed, carrying his fiddle, opens the door, and stands staring in amazement at Pappelmeister.] DAVID I thought you asked me to meet your father. PAPPELMEISTER She is a magician. She has changed us. [He waves his umbrella.] Hey presto, was? Ha! Ha! Ha! [He goes to David, and shakes hands.] Und wie geht's? I hear you've left home. DAVID Yes, but I've such a bully cabin—— PAPPELMEISTER [Alarmed] You are sailing avay? VERA [Laughing] No, no—that's only his way of describing his two-dollar-a-month garret. DAVID Yes—my state-room on the top deck! VERA [Smiling] Six foot square. DAVID But three other passengers aren't squeezed in, and it never pitches and tosses. It's heavenly. PAPPELMEISTER [Smiling] And from heaven you flew down to blay in dat beer-hall. Was? [David looks surprised.] I heard you. DAVID You! What on earth did you go there for? PAPPELMEISTER Vat on earth does one go to a beer-hall for? Ha! Ha! Ha! For vawter! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ven I hear you blay, I dink mit myself—if my blans succeed and I get Carnegie Hall for Saturday Symphony Concerts, dat boy shall be one of my first violins. Was? [He slaps David on the left shoulder.] DAVID [Overwhelmed, ecstatic, yet wincing a little at the slap on his wound.] Be one of your first—— [Remembering] Oh, but it is impossible. VERA [Alarmed] Mr. Quixano! You must not refuse. DAVID But does Herr Pappelmeister know about the wound in my shoulder? PAPPELMEISTER [Agitated] You haf been vounded? DAVID Only a legacy from Russia—but it twinges in some weathers. PAPPELMEISTER And de pain ubsets your blaying? DAVID Not so much the pain—it's all the dreadful memories— VERA [Alarmed] Don't talk of them. DAVID I must explain to Herr Pappelmeister—it wouldn't be fair. Even now [Shuddering] there comes up before me the bleeding body of my mother, the cold, fiendish face of the Russian officer, supervising the slaughter—— VERA Hush! Hush! DAVID [Hysterically] Oh, that butcher's face—there it is—hovering in the air, that narrow, fanatical forehead, that—— PAPPELMEISTER [Brings down his umbrella with a bang] Schluss! No man ever dared break down under me. My baton will beat avay all dese faces and fancies. Out with your violin! [He taps his umbrella imperiously on the table.] Keinen Mut verlieren! [David takes out his violin from its case and puts it to his shoulder, Pappelmeister keeping up a hypnotic torrent of encouraging German cries.] Also! Fertig! Anfangen! [He raises and waves his umbrella like a baton.] Von, dwo, dree, four—— DAVID [With a great sigh of relief] Thanks, thanks—they are gone already. PAPPELMEISTER Ha! Ha! Ha! You see. And ven ve blay your American symphony—— DAVID [Dazed] You will play my American symphony? VERA [Disappointed] Don't you jump for joy? DAVID [Still dazed but ecstatic] Herr Pappelmeister! [Changing back to despondency] But what certainty is there your Carnegie Hall audience would understand me? It would be the same smart set. [He drops dejectedly into a chair and lays down his violin.] PAPPELMEISTER Ach, nein. Of course, some—ve can't keep peoble out merely because dey pay for deir seats. Was? [He laughs.] DAVID It was always my dream to play it first to the new immigrants—those who have known the pain of the old world and the hope of the new. PAPPELMEISTER Try it on the dog. Was? DAVID Yes—on the dog that here will become a man! PAPPELMEISTER [Shakes his head] I fear neider dogs nor men are a musical breed. DAVID The immigrants will not understand my music with their brains or their ears, but with their hearts and their souls. VERA Well, then, why shouldn't it be done here—on our Roof-Garden? DAVID [Jumping up] A Bas-KÔl! A Bas-KÔl! VERA What are you talking? DAVID Hebrew! It means a voice from heaven. VERA Ah, but will Herr Pappelmeister consent? PAPPELMEISTER [Bowing] Who can disobey a voice from heaven?... But ven? VERA On some holiday evening.... Why not the Fourth of July? DAVID [Still more ecstatic] Another Bas-KÔl!... My American Symphony! Played to the People! Under God's sky! On Independence Day! With all the—— [Waving his hand expressively, sighs voluptuously.] That will be too perfect. PAPPELMEISTER [Smiling] Dat has to be seen. You must permit me to invite— DAVID [In horror] Not the musical critics! PAPPELMEISTER [Raising both hands with umbrella in equal horror] Gott bewahre! But I'd like to invite all de persons in New York who really undershtand music. VERA Splendid! But should we have room? PAPPELMEISTER Room? I vant four blaces. VERA [Smiling] You are severe! Mr. Davenport was right. PAPPELMEISTER [Smiling] Perhaps de oders vill be out of town. Also! [Holding out his hand to David] You come to Carnegie to-morrow at eleven. Yes? FrÄulein. [Kisses her hand.] Auf Wiedersehen! [Going] On de Roof-Garden—nicht wahr? VERA [Smiling] Wind and weather permitting. PAPPELMEISTER I haf alvays mein umbrella. Was? Ha! Ha! Ha! VERA [Murmuring] Isn't he a darling? Isn't he——? PAPPELMEISTER [Pausing suddenly] But ve never settled de salary. DAVID Salary! [He looks dazedly from one to the other.] For the honour of playing in your orchestra! PAPPELMEISTER Shylock!!... Never mind—ve settle de pound of flesh to-morrow. Lebe wohl! [Exit, the door closes.] VERA [Suddenly miserable] How selfish of you, David! DAVID Selfish, Vera? VERA Yes—not to think of your salary. It looks as if you didn't really love me. DAVID Not love you? I don't understand. VERA [Half in tears] Just when I was so happy to think that now we shall be able to marry. DAVID Shall we? Marry? On my salary as first violin? VERA Not if you don't want to. DAVID Sweetheart! Can it be true? How do you know? VERA [Smiling] I'm not a Jew. I asked. DAVID My guardian angel! [Embracing her. He sits down, she lovingly at his feet.] VERA [Looking up at him] Then you do care? DAVID What a question! VERA And you don't think wholly of your music and forget me? DAVID Why, you are behind all I write and play! VERA [With jealous passion] Behind? But I want to be before! I want you to love me first, before everything. DAVID I do put you before everything. VERA You are sure? And nothing shall part us? DAVID Not all the seven seas could part you and me. VERA And you won't grow tired of me—not even when you are world-famous——? DAVID [A shade petulant] Sweetheart, considering I should owe it all to you—— VERA [Drawing his head down to her breast] Oh, David! David! Don't be angry with poor little Vera if she doubts, if she wants to feel quite sure. You see father has talked so terribly, and after all I was brought up in the Greek Church, and we oughtn't to cause all this suffering unless—— DAVID Those who love us must suffer, and we must suffer in their suffering. It is live things, not dead metals, that are being melted in the Crucible. VERA Still, we ought to soften the suffering as much as—— DAVID Yes, but only Time can heal it. VERA [With transition to happiness] But father seems half-reconciled already! Dear little father, if only he were not so narrow about Holy Russia! DAVID If only my folks were not so narrow about Holy Judea! But the ideals of the fathers shall not be foisted on the children. Each generation must live and die for its own dream. VERA Yes, David, yes. You are the prophet of the living present. I am so happy. [She looks up wistfully.] You are happy, too? DAVID I am dazed—I cannot realise that all our troubles have melted away—it is so sudden. VERA You, David? Who always see everything in such rosy colours? Now that the whole horizon is one great splendid rose, you almost seem as if gazing out toward a blackness—— DAVID We Jews are cheerful in gloom, mistrustful in joy. It is our tragic history—— VERA But you have come to end the tragic history; to throw off the coils of the centuries. DAVID [Smiling again] Yes, yes, Vera. You bring back my sunnier self. I must be a pioneer on the lost road of happiness. To-day shall be all joy, all lyric ecstasy. [He takes up his violin.] Yes, I will make my old fiddle-strings burst with joy! [He dashes into a jubilant tarantella. After a few bars there is a knock at the door leading from the hall; their happy faces betray no sign of hearing it; then the door slightly opens, and Baron Revendal's head looks hesitatingly in. As David perceives it, his features work convulsively, his string breaks with a tragic snap, and he totters backward into Vera's arms. Hoarsely] The face! The face! VERA David—my dearest! DAVID [His eyes closed, his violin clasped mechanically] Don't be anxious—I shall be better soon—I oughtn't to have talked about it—the hallucination has never been so complete. VERA Don't speak—rest against Vera's heart—till it has passed away. [The Baron comes dazedly forward, half with a shocked sense of Vera's impropriety, half to relieve her of her burden. She motions him back.] This is the work of your Holy Russia. BARON [Harshly] What is the matter with him? [David's violin and bow drop from his grasp and fall on the table.] DAVID The voice! [He opens his eyes, stares frenziedly at the Baron, then struggles out of Vera's arms.] VERA [Trying to stop him] Dearest—— DAVID Let me go. [He moves like a sleep-walker toward the paralysed Baron, puts out his hand, and testingly touches the face.] BARON [Shuddering back] Hands off! DAVID [With a great cry] A-a-a-h! It is flesh and blood. No, it is stone—the man of stone! Monster! [He raises his hand frenziedly.] BARON [Whipping out his pistol] Back, dog! DAVID [Frozen again, surveying the pistol stonily] Ha! You want my life, too. Is the cry not yet loud enough? BARON The cry? DAVID [Mystically] Can you not hear it? The voice of the blood of my brothers crying out against you from the ground? Oh, how can you bear not to turn that pistol against yourself and execute upon yourself the justice which Russia denies you? BARON Tush! [Pocketing the pistol a little shamefacedly.] VERA Justice on himself? For what? DAVID For crimes beyond human penalty, for obscenities beyond human utterance, for—— VERA You are raving. DAVID Would to heaven I were! VERA But this is my father. DAVID Your father!... God! [He staggers.] BARON [Drawing her to him] Come, Vera, I told you—— VERA [Frantically, shrinking back] Don't touch me! BARON [Starting back in amaze] Vera! VERA [Hoarsely] Say it's not true. BARON What is not true? VERA What David said. It was the mob that massacred—you had no hand in it. BARON [Sullenly] I was there with my soldiers. DAVID [Leaning, pale, against a chair, hisses] And you looked on with that cold face of hate—while my mother—my sister— BARON [Sullenly] I could not see everything. DAVID Now and again you ordered your soldiers to fire—— VERA [In joyous relief] Ah, he did check the mob—he did tell his soldiers to fire. DAVID At any Jew who tried to defend himself. VERA Great God! [She falls on the sofa and buries her head on the cushion, moaning] Is there no pity in heaven? DAVID There was no pity on earth. BARON It was the People avenging itself, Vera. The People rose like a flood. It had centuries of spoliation to wipe out. The voice of the People is the voice of God. VERA [Moaning] But you could have stopped them. BARON I had no orders to defend the foes of Christ and [Crossing himself] the Tsar. The People—— VERA But you could have stopped them. BARON Who can stop a flood? I did my duty. A soldier's duty is not so pretty as a musician's. VERA But you could have stopped them. BARON [Losing all patience] Silence! You talk like an ignorant girl, blinded by passion. The pogrom is a holy crusade. Are we Russians the first people to crush down the Jew? No—from the dawn of history the nations have had to stamp upon him—the Egyptians, the Assyrians, the Persians, the Babylonians, the Greeks, the Romans—— 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. 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! 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 [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! 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 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. |
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