The Melting-Pot, Israel Zangwill [inspirational books to read .TXT] 📗

Russian nobility!

VERA [With faint smile]

I might say, noblesse oblige. But the truth is, I earn my living that way. It would do you good to slave there too!

QUINCY [Eagerly]

Would they chain us together? I'd come to-morrow.

[He moves nearer her. There is a double knock at the door.]

VERA [Relieved]

Here's Pappelmeister!

QUINCY

Bother Poppy—why is he so darned punctual?

[Enter Kathleen from the kitchen.]

VERA [Smiling]

Ah, you're still here.

KATHLEEN

And why would I not be here?

[She goes to open the door.]

PAPPELMEISTER

Mr. Quixano?

KATHLEEN

Yes, come in.

[Enter Herr Pappelmeister, a burly German figure with a leonine head, spectacles, and a mane of white hair—a figure that makes his employer look even coarser. He carries an umbrella, which he never lets go. He is at first grave and silent, which makes any burst of emotion the more striking. He and Quincy Davenport suggest a picture of "Dignity and Impudence." His English, as roughly indicated in the text, is extremely Teutonic.]

QUINCY

You're late, Poppy!

[Pappelmeister silently bows to Vera.]

VERA [Smilingly goes and offers her hand.]

Proud to meet you, Herr Pappelmeister!

QUINCY

Excuse me——

[Introducing]

Miss Revendal!—I forgot you and Poppy hadn't been introduced—curiously enough it was at Wiesbaden I picked him up too—he was conducting the opera—your folks were in my box. I don't think I ever met anyone so mad on music as the Baron. And the Baroness told me he had retired from active service in the Army because of the torture of listening to the average military band. Ha! Ha! Ha!

VERA

Yes, my father once hoped my music would comfort him.

[She smiles sadly.]

Poor father! But a soldier must bear defeat. Herr Pappelmeister, may I not give you some tea?

[She sits again at the table.]

QUINCY

Tea! Lager's more in Poppy's line.

[He chuckles.]

PAPPELMEISTER [Gravely]

Bitte. Tea.

[She pours out, he sits.]

Lemon. Four lumps.... Nun, five!... Or six!

[She hands him the cup.]

Danke.

[As he receives the cup, he utters an exclamation, for Kathleen after opening the door has lingered on, hunting around everywhere, and having finally crawled under the table has now brushed against his leg.]

VERA

What are you looking for?

KATHLEEN [Her head emerging]

My nose!

[They are all startled and amused.]

VERA

Your nose?

KATHLEEN

I forgot me nose!

QUINCY

Well, follow your nose—and you'll find it. Ha! Ha! Ha!

KATHLEEN [Pouncing on it]

Here it is!

[Picks it up near the armchair.]

OMNES

Oh!

KATHLEEN

Sure, it's gotten all dirthy.

[She takes out a handkerchief and wipes the nose carefully.]

QUINCY

But why do you want a nose like that?

KATHLEEN [Proudly]

Bekaz we're Hebrews!

QUINCY

What!

VERA

What do you mean?

KATHLEEN

It's our Carnival to-day! Purim.

[She carries her nose carefully and piously toward the kitchen.]

VERA

Oh! I see.

[Exit Kathleen.]

QUINCY [In horror]

Miss Revendal, you don't mean to say you've brought me to a Jew!

VERA

I'm afraid I have. I was thinking only of his genius, not his race. And you see, so many musicians are Jews.

QUINCY

Not my musicians. No Jew's harp in my orchestra, eh?

[He sniggers.]

I wouldn't have a Jew if he paid me.

VERA

I daresay you have some, all the same.

QUINCY

Impossible. Poppy! Are there any Jews in my orchestra?

PAPPELMEISTER [Removing the cup from his mouth and speaking with sepulchral solemnity]

Do you mean are dere any Christians?

QUINCY [In horror]

Gee-rusalem! Perhaps you're a Jew!

PAPPELMEISTER [Gravely]

I haf not de honour. But, if you brefer, I will gut out from my brogrammes all de Chewish composers. Was?

QUINCY

Why, of course. Fire 'em out, every mother's son of 'em.

PAPPELMEISTER [Unsmiling]

Also—no more comic operas!

QUINCY

What!!!

PAPPELMEISTER

Dey write all de comic operas!

QUINCY

Brute!

[Pappelmeister's chuckle is heard gurgling in his cup. Re-enter Mendel from kitchen.]

MENDEL [To Vera]

I'm so sorry—I can't get him to come in—he's terrible shy.

QUINCY

Won't face the music, eh?

[He sniggers.]

VERA

Did you tell him I was here?

MENDEL

Of course.

VERA [Disappointed]

Oh!

MENDEL

But I've persuaded him to let me show his MS.

VERA [With forced satisfaction]

Oh, well, that's all we want.

[Mendel goes to the desk, opens it, and gets the MS. and offers it to Quincy Davenport.]

QUINCY

Not for me—Poppy!

[Mendel offers it to Pappelmeister, who takes it solemnly.]

MENDEL [Anxiously to Pappelmeister]

Of course you must remember his youth and his lack of musical education——

PAPPELMEISTER

Bitte, das Pult!

[Mendel moves David's music-stand from the corner to the centre of the room. Pappelmeister puts MS. on it.]

So!

[All eyes centre on him eagerly, Mendel standing uneasily, the others sitting. Pappelmeister polishes his glasses with irritating elaborateness and weary "achs," then reads in absolute silence. A pause.]

QUINCY [Bored by the silence]

But won't you play it to us?

PAPPELMEISTER

Blay it? Am I an orchestra? I blay it in my brain.

[He goes on reading, his brow gets wrinkled. He ruffles his hair unconsciously. All watch him anxiously—he turns the page.]

So!

VERA [Anxiously]

You don't seem to like it!

PAPPELMEISTER

I do not comprehend it.

MENDEL

I knew it was crazy—it is supposed to be about America or a Crucible or something. And of course there are heaps of mistakes.

VERA

That is why I am suggesting to Mr. Davenport to send him to Germany.

QUINCY

I'll send as many Jews as you like to Germany. Ha! Ha! Ha!

PAPPELMEISTER [Absorbed, turning pages]

Ach!—ach!—So!

QUINCY

I'd even lend my own yacht to take 'em back. Ha! Ha! Ha!

VERA

Sh! We're disturbing Herr Pappelmeister.

QUINCY

Oh, Poppy's all right.

PAPPELMEISTER [Sublimely unconscious]

Ach so—so—SO! Das ist etwas neues!

[His umbrella begins to beat time, moving more and more vigorously, till at last he is conducting elaborately, stretching out his left palm for pianissimo passages, and raising it vigorously for forte, with every now and then an exclamation.]

Wunderschön!... pianissimo!—now the flutes! Clarinets! Ach, ergötzlich ... bassoons and drums!... Fortissimo!... Kolossal! Kolossal!

[Conducting in a fury of enthusiasm.]

VERA [Clapping her hands]

Bravo! Bravo! I'm so excited!

QUINCY [Yawning]

Then it isn't bad, Poppy?

PAPPELMEISTER [Not listening, never ceasing to conduct]

Und de harp solo ... ach, reizend! ... Second violins——!

QUINCY

But Poppy! We can't be here all day.

PAPPELMEISTER [Not listening, continuing pantomime action]

Sh! Sh! Piano.

QUINCY [Outraged]

Sh to me!

[Rises.]

VERA

He doesn't know it's you.

QUINCY

But look here, Poppy——

[He seizes the wildly-moving umbrella. Blank stare of Pappelmeister gradually returning to consciousness.]

PAPPELMEISTER

Was giebt's...?

QUINCY

We've had enough.

PAPPELMEISTER [Indignant]

Enough? Enough? Of such a beaudiful symphony?

QUINCY

It may be beautiful to you, but to us it's damn dull. See here, Poppy, if you're satisfied that the young fellow has sufficient talent to be sent to study in Germany——

PAPPELMEISTER

In Germany! Germany has nodings to teach him, he has to teach Germany.

VERA

Bravo!

[She springs up.]

MENDEL

I always said he was a genius!

QUINCY

Well, at that rate you could put this stuff of his in one of my programmes. Sinfonia Americana, eh?

VERA

Oh, that is good of you.

PAPPELMEISTER

I should be broud to indroduce it to de vorld.

VERA

And will it be played in that wonderful marble music-room overlooking the Hudson?

QUINCY

Sure. Before five hundred of the smartest folk in America.

MENDEL

Oh, thank you, thank you. That will mean fame!

QUINCY

And dollars. Don't forget the dollars.

MENDEL

I'll run and tell him.

[He hastens into the kitchen, Pappelmeister is re-absorbed in the MS., but no longer conducting.]

QUINCY

You see, I'll help even a Jew for your sake.

VERA

Hush!

[Indicating Pappelmeister.]

QUINCY

Oh, Poppy's in the moon.

VERA

You must help him for his own sake, for art's sake.

QUINCY

And why not for heart's sake—for my sake?

[He comes nearer.]

VERA [Crossing to Pappelmeister]

Herr Pappelmeister! When do you think you can produce it?

PAPPELMEISTER

Wunderbar!...

[Becoming half-conscious of Vera]

Four lumps....

[Waking up]

Bitte?

VERA

How soon can you produce it?

PAPPELMEISTER

How soon can he finish it?

VERA

Isn't it finished?

PAPPELMEISTER

I see von Finale scratched out and anoder not quite completed. But anyhow, ve couldn't broduce it before Saturday fortnight.

QUINCY

Saturday fortnight! Not time to get my crowd.

PAPPELMEISTER

Den ve say Saturday dree veeks. Yes?

QUINCY

Yes. Stop a minute! Did you say Saturday? That's my comic opera night! You thief!

PAPPELMEISTER

Somedings must be sagrificed.

MENDEL [Outside]

But you must come, David.

[The kitchen door opens, and Mendel drags in the boyishly shrinking David. Pappelmeister thumps with his umbrella, Vera claps her hands, Quincy Davenport produces his eyeglass and surveys David curiously.]

VERA

Oh, Mr. Quixano, I am so glad! Mr. Davenport is going to produce your symphony in his wonderful music-room.

QUINCY

Yes, young man, I'm going to give you the smartest audience in America. And if Poppy is right, you're just going to rake in the dollars. America wants a composer.

PAPPELMEISTER [Raises hands emphatically.]

Ach Gott, ja!

VERA [To David]

Why don't you speak? You're not angry with me for interfering——?

DAVID

I can never be grateful enough to you——

VERA

Oh, not to me. It is to Mr. Davenport you——

DAVID

And I can never be grateful enough to Herr Pappelmeister. It is an honour even to meet him.

[Bows.]

PAPPELMEISTER [Choking with emotion, goes and pats him on the back.]

Mein braver Junge!

VERA [Anxiously]

But it is Mr. Davenport——

DAVID

Before I accept Mr. Davenport's kindness, I must know to whom I am indebted—and if Mr. Davenport is the man who——

QUINCY

Who travelled with you to New York? Ha! Ha! Ha! No, I'm only the junior.

DAVID

Oh, I know, sir, you don't make the money you spend.

QUINCY

Eh?

VERA [Anxiously]

He means he knows you're not in business.

DAVID

Yes, sir; but is it true you are in pleasure?

QUINCY [Puzzled]

I beg your pardon?

DAVID

Are all the stories the papers print about you true?

QUINCY

All the stories. That's a tall order. Ha! Ha! Ha!

DAVID

Well, anyhow, is it true that——?

VERA

Mr. Quixano! What are you driving at?

QUINCY

Oh, it's rather fun to hear what the masses read about me. Fire ahead. Is what true?

DAVID

That you were married in a balloon?

QUINCY

Ho! Ha! Ha! That's true enough. Marriage in high life, they said, didn't they? Ha! Ha! Ha!

DAVID

And is it true you live in America only two months in the year, and then only to entertain Europeans who wander to these wild parts?

QUINCY

Lucky for you, young man. You'll have an Italian prince and a British duke to hear your scribblings.

DAVID

And the palace where they will hear my scribblings—is it true that——?

VERA [Who has been on pins and needles]

Mr. Quixano, what possible——?

DAVID [Entreatingly holds up a hand.]

Miss Revendal!

[To Quincy Davenport]

Is this palace the same whose grounds were turned into Venetian canals where the guests ate in gondolas—gondolas that were draped with the most wonderful trailing silks in imitation of the Venetian nobility in the great water fêtes?

QUINCY [Turns to Vera]

Ah, Miss Revendal—what a pity you refused that invitation! It was