Chapter 1

_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. The fireplace, in which a fire is burning, occupies the centre of the right wall, and by it stands an armchair on which lies another heavy mouldy Hebrew tome. The mantel holds a clock, two silver candlesticks, etc. A chiffonier stands against the back wall on the right. There are a few cheap chairs. The whole effect is a curious blend of shabbiness, Americanism, Jewishness, and music, all four being combined in the figure of MENDEL QUIXANO, who, in a black skull-cap, a seedy velvet jacket, and red carpet-slippers, is discovered standing at the open street-door. He is an elderly music master with a fine Jewish face, pathetically furrowed by misfortunes, and a short grizzled beard._

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._] _Ach Gott!_ What a life! What a life! [_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 and pretty Irish maid-of-all-work_] 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. [_He seats himself at the piano._]

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 wid clothiers and pawnbrokers and Vaudeville actors, but I niver shtruck a house where mate and butther couldn't be as paceable on the same plate as eggs and bacon--the most was that some wouldn't ate the bacon onless 'twas killed _kosher_.

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. [_She abruptly shuts the door._]

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---- [_She looks toward mantel and utters a great cry of alarm as she drops the Hebrew book on the floor._] 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? [_He indicates a chair._]

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. [_He closes the door._]

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 so was David the shepherd youth with his harp and his psalms, the sweet singer in Israel. [_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 desk_] 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! [_They both turn their heads and look at the falling 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 the Russian Pale he was a wonder-child. Poor David! He always looked forward to coming to America; he imagined I was a famous musician over here. He found me conductor in a cheap theatre--a converted beer-hall.

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 continues throughout the scene._]

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! [_He springs up._]

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 when America first stretched out her great mother-hand to _me_!

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_ my American symphony, it seems like thunder crashing through a forest full of bird songs. But next day--oh, next day! [_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! [_She half sobs._]

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 lives in Kishineff. But I will think--there are people here--I will write to you.

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. [_He looks at the clock._] _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!_ [_She rises and goes to the table and sees there are no candles, walks to the chiffonier and gets them and places them in the candlesticks, then lights the candles, muttering a ceremonial Hebrew benediction._] _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 take up his pen and write down a fresh phrase, finally puts on his hat and is just about to open the street-door when KATHLEEN enters from her bedroom fully dressed to go, and laden with a large brown paper parcel and an umbrella. He turns at the sound of her footsteps and remains at the door, holding his violin-case during the ensuing dialogue._]

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 and the children left her--went to America or heaven or other far-off places--and she was left all penniless and alone.

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 poking the fire, illumined by its red glow._]