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

>[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!

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 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 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

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