The Melting-Pot. Israel Zangwill
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]