The Melting-Pot

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The Melting-Pot Page 6

by Израэль Зангвилл


  DAVID [In pained amaze]

  Uncle!

  [Slowly] Then your hankering after the synagogue was serious after all.

  MENDEL

  It is not so much the synagogue-it is the call of our blood through immemorial generations.

  DAVID

  You say that! You who have come to the heart of the Crucible, where the roaring fires of God are fusing our race with all the others.

  MENDEL [Passionately]

  Not our race, not your race and mine.

  DAVID

  What immunity has our race?

  [Meditatively] The pride and the prejudice, the dreams and the sacrifices, the traditions and the superstitions, the fasts and the feasts, things noble and things sordid-they must all into the Crucible.

  MENDEL [With prophetic fury]

  The Jew has been tried in a thousand fires and only tempered and annealed.

  DAVID

  Fires of hate, not fires of love. That is what melts.

  MENDEL [Sneeringly]

  So I see.

  DAVID

  Your sneer is false. The love that melted me was not Vera's-it was the love America showed me-the day she gathered me to her breast.

  MENDEL [Speaking passionately and rapidly]

  Many countries have gathered us. Holland took us when we were driven from Spain-but we did not become Dutchmen. Turkey took us when Germany oppressed us, but we have not become Turks.

  DAVID

  These countries were not in the making. They were old civilisations stamped with the seal of creed. In such countries the Jew may be right to stand out. But here in this new secular Republic we must look forward--

  MENDEL [Passionately interrupting]

  We must look backwards, too.

  DAVID [Hysterically]

  To what? To Kishineff?

  [As if seeing his vision] To that butcher's face directing the slaughter? To those--?

  MENDEL [Alarmed]

  Hush! Calm yourself!

  DAVID [Struggling with himself]

  Yes, I will calm myself-but how else shall I calm myself save by forgetting all that nightmare of religions and races, save by holding out my hands with prayer and music toward the Republic of Man and the Kingdom of God! The Past I cannot mend-its evil outlines are stamped in immortal rigidity. Take away the hope that I can mend the Future, and you make me mad.

  MENDEL

  You are mad already-your dreams are mad-the Jew is hated here as everywhere-you are false to your race.

  DAVID

  I keep faith with America. I have faith America will keep faith with us.

  [He raises his hands in religious rapture toward the flag over

  the door.] Flag of our great Republic, guardian of our homes, whose stars and--

  MENDEL

  Spare me that rigmarole. Go out and marry your Gentile and be happy.

  DAVID

  You turn me out?

  MENDEL

  Would you stay and break my mother's heart? You know she would mourn for you with the rending of garments and the seven days' sitting on the floor. Go! You have cast off the God of our fathers!

  DAVID [Thundrously]

  And the God of our children-does He demand no service?

  [Quieter, coming toward his uncle and touching him

  affectionately on the shoulder.] You are right-I do need a wider world.

  [Expands his lungs.] I must go away.

  MENDEL

  Go, then-I'll hide the truth-she must never suspect-lest she mourn you as dead.

  FRAU QUIXANO [Outside, in the kitchen]

  Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

  [Both men turn toward the kitchen and listen.]

  KATHLEEN

  Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

  FRAU QUIXANO AND KATHLEEN

  Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

  MENDEL [Bitterly]

  A merry Purim!

  [The kitchen door opens and remains ajar. FRAU QUIXANO rushes

  in, carrying DAVID'S violin and bow. KATHLEEN looks in,

  grinning.]

  FRAU QUIXANO [Hilariously]

  Nu spiel noch! spiel!

  [She holds the violin and bow appealingly toward DAVID. ]

  MENDEL [Putting out a protesting hand]

  No, no, David-I couldn't bear it.

  DAVID

  But I must! You said she mustn't suspect.

  [He looks lovingly at her as he loudly utters these words, which

  are unintelligible to her.] And it may be the last time I shall ever play for her.

  [Changing to a mock merry smile as he takes the violin and bow

  from her] Gewiss, Granny!

  [He starts the same old Slavic dance.]

  FRAU QUIXANO [Childishly pleased]

  He! He! He!

  [She claps on a false grotesque nose from her pocket.]

  DAVID [Torn between laughter and tears]

  Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

  MENDEL [Shocked]

  Mutter!

  FRAU QUIXANO

  Un' du auch!

  [She claps another false nose on MENDEL, laughing in childish

  glee at the effect. Then she starts dancing to the music, and

  KATHLEEN slips in and joyously dances beside her.]

  DAVID [Joining tearfully in the laughter]

  Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

  [The curtain falls quickly. It rises again upon the picture of

  FRAU QUIXANO fallen back into a chair, exhausted with laughter,

  fanning herself with her apron, while KATHLEEN has dropped

  breathless across the arm of the armchair; DAVID is still

  playing on, and MENDEL, his false nose torn off, stands by,

  glowering. The curtain falls again and rises upon a final tableau

  of DAVID in his cloak and hat, stealing out of the door with his

  violin, casting a sad farewell glance at the old woman and at the

  home which has sheltered him.]

  Act III

  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 is in a

  smart spring suit with a motor dust-coat and cap, which last he

  lays down on the mantelpiece.

  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!<
br />
  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, produces his match-box.]

  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.

  [Sniggeringly.]

  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 th
e 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 classes by monopolising our sugar industries, our oil-fields, our timber-trade.... Why, if we gave them equal rights, our Holy Russia would be entirely run by them.

  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

 

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