The Melting-Pot (A Tale of Russian Jewish Immigrants). Israel Zangwill
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[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]