Chapter 2

NAUM,

One, two, three.

DANCING-MASTER.

That's the way, that's the way, monsieur Naum. Please, more neatly! More neatly, please! One, two, three.

He plays. Anathema walks over to Sarah cautiously and says in a low voice, yet loud enough to be heard by David:

ANATHEMA.

Madam Leizer, does it not seem to you that Naum is rather tired? This dancing-master knows no mercy.

DAVID.

Turning around.

Yes, it is enough. Sarah, you are willing to torture the boy.

SARAH.

Confusedly.

What have I to do with it, David? Don't I see that he is tired, but he wants to dance? Naum, Naum!

DAVID.

Enough, Naum! Take a rest.

NAUM.

Out of breath.

I want to dance.

Stops and stamps his foot hysterically.

Why am I not allowed to dance? Or do you all want me to die soon?

SARAH.

You will live yet, Naum. You will live yet.

NAUM.

Almost crying.

Why don't they allow me to dance? I want to dance. I have looked for credit long enough, I want to amuse myself. Am I an old man to be in bed and cough there? Cough! Cough!

He coughs and cries simultaneously. Anathema whispers something to the dancing-master, who expresses compassion, nods his head, and prepares to go.

DANCING-MASTER.

Until to-morrow, monsieur Naum. I am afraid that our lesson was a little too long.

NAUM.

To-morrow—don't fail to come to-morrow. Do you hear? I want to dance.

The dancing-master goes out, bowing. Naum follows him.

NAUM.

To-morrow, without fail. Do you hear? Without fail.

They go out.

ANATHEMA.

What are you thinking of, David? Allow me to be not only your private secretary—although I am proud of this honor—but also your friend. Since the time when you received the money you are oppressed by a dark sorrow, and it pains me to look at you.

DAVID.

What is there that I should rejoice over, Nullius?

SARAH.

And Rosa? Do not sin against God, David! Do not our eyes rest upon her beauty and youth? Before even the silent moon dared not look at her, one star dared not whisper about her to any other star,—while now she is riding about in a carriage, and everybody looks at her, and horsemen gallop after her. Just think of it, Nullius, horsemen gallop after her!

DAVID.

And Naum?

SARAH.

What about Naum? He has long been ill, you know it, and death upon a soft bed is not worse than death upon the pavement. And perhaps he will live yet, he will live yet (cries.) David, Abraham Khessin and Sonka's girl are waiting for you in the yard.

DAVID.

Morosely.

What do they want, money? Sarah, give them a few pennies and let them go.

SARAH.

In the end they will draw out all the money we have, Nullius. I have given to Khessin twice already. He is like sand,—no matter how much water you pour into it, it is always dry and greedy.

DAVID.

Nonsense! we have too much money, Sarah. But it pains me to look at the people, Nullius. Since the time when you brought us this fortune—

ANATHEMA.

Which you earned by your sufferings, Leizer.

DAVID.

Since that time, the people have changed so much for the worse. You like to have the people bow to you very low, Nullius? I do not like it—human beings are not dogs that they should crawl on their bellies. And you like to have the people tell you, Nullius, that you are the wisest, the most magnanimous, the best of all living beings—whereas you are only an ordinary old Jew, like many another Jew. I do not like it, Nullius,—for the sons of the God of truth and mercy it is unbecoming to lie, even while dying of the cruelties of truth.

ANATHEMA.

Thoughtfully.

Riches are a terrible power, Leizer. No one asks you where your money came from; they see your might and they worship it.

DAVID.

Might? And Naum? And I, Nullius? Can I buy for all the money even a single day of health and life?

ANATHEMA.

You look considerably fresher now.

DAVID.

Smiling gloomily.

Yes? Should I, perhaps, also engage a dancing-master? What do you advise me, Nullius?

SARAH.

Don't forget Rosa, father. Is it not a great sin against God to hide the beauty of the face? It is given as a joy and a pleasure to the eyes; God Himself reveals His beauty in a beautiful face, and did we not lift our hands against God Himself when we stained our Rosa's face with coal and soot, when we made her terrible and sorrowful to look upon?

DAVID.

Beauty is withering. Everything is dying, Sarah.

SARAH.

But the lily also withers, and the narcissus dies, the petals of the yellow rose fall apart—would you, David, trample all flowers under foot and heap abuse upon the yellow rose? Do not doubt, David,—the God of righteousness has given you riches—will you who were so firm in misfortune that you did not blaspheme God even once—will you grow weak in your happiness?

ANATHEMA.

You are perfectly right, madam Leizer. Rosa has so many suitors that all she needs is to choose.

DAVID.

Rising angrily.

I will not give Rosa to any of them.

SARAH.

Why not, David?

DAVID.

I will not give Rosa to any of them. They are like dogs that want to eat out of the golden bowl—I will drive the dogs away.

Enter Rosa. She is dressed richly, but simply. She is somewhat pale and fatigued, but very beautiful. She tries to speak and to move gracefully, but at times she forgets herself and becomes rude and vociferous. She feds tormented by this. Rosa is accompanied by two horsemen. The older man is very pale and he frowns angrily. Naum clings to Rosa, as though seeking protection in her youth, strength, and beauty, and he walks faintly after her.

DAVID.

In a rather loud voice.

Sarah, here are the suitors.

SARAH.

Waving her hand.

Oh, be silent, David.

ROSA.

Kissing her mother carelessly.

How tired I am, mamma. Good afternoon, father.

SARAH.

Take care of yourself, Rosochka; you mustn't study so much.

To the older of the two cavaliers.

Please tell her that she mustn't work so hard—what does she need to work for now?

YOUNG RIDER.

In a low voice.

People should pray before your daughter, madam Leizer. Soon a temple will be erected in her honor.

OLDER RIDER.

Smiling.

And near the temple, a cemetery. Madam Leizer, there are always cemeteries near the temples.

ROSA.

Good-by. I am tired. If you are disengaged, come in to-morrow morning—I may go out with you again.

OLDER RIDER.

Shrugging his shoulders.

Disengaged? Oh, yes, of course, we are entirely free.

Harshly.

Good-by.

YOUNG RIDER.

With a sigh.

Good-by.

They go out.

SARAH.

Uneasily.

Rosochka, I think you have offended him. Why did you do it?

ROSA.

That doesn't matter, mamma.

ANATHEMA.

To David.

These are not suitors, David.

David laughs morosely. Anathema runs over to Rosa and offers her his arm. He leads her, half-dancing, merrily whistling the same tune that the organ had played.

ANATHEMA.

Oh, Rosa, were it not for my age (whistles) and not for my illness (whistles), I would be the first to ask your hand.

ROSA.

Laughing haughtily.

Better illness than death.

DAVID.

You are a very gay man, Nullius.

ANATHEMA.

Whistling.

The absence of wealth and, then, a clear conscience, David, a clear conscience. I have nothing to do, so I walk arm in arm with Rosa. You spoke of death, Rosa?

ROSA.

Yes.

ANATHEMA.

Stopping.

You are indeed beautiful, Rosa.

Thoughtfully.

And what if.... If.... But no; duty above all. Listen to me, Rosa: don't give yourself away to any one less than a prince, even though the prince of darkness.

NAUM.

Rosochka, why did you go away from me? I feel cold when you do not hold my hand. Hold my hand, Rosochka.

ROSA.

Hesitating.

But I must go to change my dress, Naum.

NAUM.

I will accompany you as far as your room. You know, I danced again to-day and danced very well. I am not so short of breath now any longer.

With a feeling of adoration and slight envy.

How beautiful you are, Rosochka!

SARAH.

Wait, Rosochka, I will comb your hair myself. Will you allow me?

ROSA.

You do it very badly, mamma; you kiss it more than you comb it—my hair gets entangled from your kisses.

DAVID.

Is that how you answer your mother, Rosa?

ROSA.

Stopping.

Why do you despise my beauty, father?

DAVID.

Before, I used to love your beauty, Rosa.

SARAH.

With indignation.

What did you say, David?

DAVID.

Yes, Sarah. I love the pearl when it is on the bottom of the sea; but after it is taken out of the sea, it becomes blood—and then I do not like pearls, Sarah.

ROSA.

Why do you despise my beauty, father? Do you know what another girl in my place would have done? She would have lost her mind and would have whirled about on earth like a dog that swallowed a pin. But what am I doing? I am studying, father. I am studying by day and night, father.

In great agitation.

I don't know anything. I don't know how to speak, I don't even know how to walk—I stoop, I stoop as I walk.

SARAH.

That isn't true, Rosa.

ROSA.

Agitated.

Here I have forgotten myself for a while, and I am shouting, I am croaking hoarsely, like a crow that has caught cold. I want to be beautiful—that's what I was born for. You laugh? It is in vain. Do you know that your daughter will be a duchess, a princess? I want to add a scepter to my crown!

ANATHEMA.

Oho!

All three go out. David jumps from his seat angrily and paces the room quickly.

DAVID.

What a comedy, Nullius! Yesterday she begged Heaven for a herring, and to-day a crown is not enough for her. To-morrow she will take the throne away from Satan and will sit upon it, Nullius, and she will sit firmly! What a comedy!

Anathema has changed the expression of his face; he is stern and morose.

ANATHEMA.

No, David Leizer, it is a tragedy.

DAVID.

'Tis a comedy, Nullius, a comedy. Don't you hear the laughter of Satan in all this?

Pointing at the door.

You saw a corpse dancing—I see it every morning.

ANATHEMA.

Is Naum so dangerously ill?

DAVID.

Dangerously ill? Three physicians, three serious gentlemen, examined him yesterday and told me quietly that in a month from now Naum will die, that he is already more than half a corpse. And every morning I see in this white marble parlor a corpse jumping to the tune of music—is it not a dream, Nullius? Is it not the laughter of Satan?

ANATHEMA.

And what did they say about your health, David?

DAVID.

I did not ask them. I don't want them to tell me. You may also jump to the tune of music, David. How would you like it, Nullius: two corpses dancing in a white marble hall?

He laughs bitterly.

ANATHEMA.

You frighten me, my friend. What is going on within your soul?

DAVID.

Do not touch my soul, Nullius—there is horror in it!

Clasps his head.

Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do? I am alone in the whole world.

ANATHEMA.

What ails you, David? Calm yourself.

DAVID.

Stopping before Anathema, horror-stricken.

Death, Nullius, death! You have brought us death. Was I not mute before the face of Death? Did I not wait for it as for a friend? But here you have brought us riches—and I want to dance. I want to dance, yet death clutches at my heart; I want to eat, for hunger has entered my very bones,—but my old stomach refuses to accept any food; I want to laugh, but my face is sobbing, my eyes are weeping, and my soul is crying with mortal fear. Hunger has crept into my bones, and poison is already in my blood—there is no salvation for me; Death has overtaken me.

ANATHEMA.

Significantly.

The poor are waiting for you, David.

DAVID.

What matters it?

ANATHEMA.

The poor are waiting for you, David.

DAVID.

The poor are always waiting.

ANATHEMA.

Sternly.

Now I see that you are really lost, David. God has forsaken you.

David stops and looks at him, surprised and angry. Anathema, with head thrown back haughtily, meets his look calmly and sternly. Silence.

DAVID.

You say this to me, Nullius?

ANATHEMA.

Yes, I say this to you, David Leizer. Beware, David Leizer, you are in Satan's hands.

DAVID.

Terrified.

Nullius, my friend, you frighten me. What have I done to deserve your anger and these cruel, terrible words of yours? You have always treated me and my children so kindly.... Your hair is just as grey as mine, in your face I have long observed a hidden grief, and—I respect you, Nullius! Why are you silent? A terrible fire is burning in your eyes.—Who are you, Nullius? But you are silent.—No, no, do not lower your eyes, I am even more terrified when they are lowered, for then upon your brow appear fiery letters of some vague—of some terrible—fatal truth.

ANATHEMA.

Tenderly.

David!

DAVID.

Joyously.

You have started to speak, Nullius.

ANATHEMA.

Be silent and listen to me. From madness I will bring you back to wisdom, from death to life.

DAVID.

I am silent and I am listening.

ANATHEMA.

Your madness consists of this, David Leizer,—you have sought for God all your life, and when God came to you, you said: "I do not know You." Your death consists of this, David Leizer,—blinded by misfortunes, like a horse that is turning around in the darkness, you failed to notice the people and you remained in their midst alone, with your illness and your riches. There in the yard Life is waiting for you—and you, blind man, you close the door against it. Dance, David, dance,— Death has lifted the bow and is waiting for you. Be more graceful, David Leizer, more graceful; round out your steps more neatly!

DAVID.

What do you want of me?

ANATHEMA.

Return to God that which God has given to you.

DAVID.

Darkly.

Has God given me anything?

ANATHEMA.

Every rouble in your pocket is a knife which you thrust into the heart of the hungry. Distribute your fortune to the poor, give bread to the hungry, and you will conquer Death.

DAVID.

No one gave a crust of bread to David when he was hungry. By satisfying their hunger, will I still the hunger that is in my bones?

ANATHEMA.

In them your own hunger will be stilled.

DAVID.

Shall I get back my health and my strength?

ANATHEMA.

In them you will be strong.

DAVID.

Shall I drive out death, already in my blood, which is as thin as water, which is already in my veins, that have become hard like dried-up cords? Shall I recover life?

ANATHEMA.

By their life you will prolong your life. Now you have but one heart, David,—but then you will have a million hearts.

DAVID.

But I shall die!

ANATHEMA.

No, you will be immortal!

David retreats in horror.

DAVID.

Your lips have uttered a terrible word. Who are you that you dare promise immortality? Are not life and death in the hand of God?

ANATHEMA.

God said: Reestablish life through life.

DAVID.

But people are wicked and vicious, and the hungry one is nearer to God than the well-fed.

ANATHEMA.

Remember Hannah and Benjamin....

DAVID.

Be silent!

ANATHEMA.

Remember Raphael and little Moishe....

DAVID.

Grief-stricken.

Be silent, be silent!

ANATHEMA.

Remember your little birds who died upon the cold branches of winter—

David cries Utterly.

ANATHEMA.

When the lark sings in the blue sky, will you say to it: "Be silent, little bird, God does not need your song"—And will you not give a kernel to it when it is hungry? And will you not cover it upon your breast when it is cold, that it may feel warm and save its voice for Spring? Who are you, then, unfortunate man, who has no pity on birds and who turns children out into the storm? Remember how your little Moishe died. Remember, David, and say: "The people are vicious, wicked, and unworthy of my kindness!"

David bends his knees as under a heavy weight and lifts his hands, as though warding off from his head a blow from the sky. He speaks hoarsely.

DAVID.

Adenoi! Adenoi!

Anathema, with arms folded on his breast, looks at him in silence.

DAVID.

Mercy! Mercy!

ANATHEMA.

Quickly.

David, the poor are waiting for you. They will go away soon.

DAVID.

No, no!

ANATHEMA.

The poor are always waiting, but they grow tired of waiting and they go away.

DAVID.

They will not go away from me. Oh, Nullius, Nullius!... Oh, wise Nullius! Oh, foolish Nullius! Is it possible that you did not understand that I have long been waiting for the poor and that their voice is in my ears and in my heart? When wheels are riding along a dust-covered road, on which rain had just fallen, they think as they turn and leave a trace: Here we are making a road. But the road was there before, Nullius, the road was there before!

Gayly.

Call the poor over to me.

ANATHEMA.

Consider, David, whom you are calling.

Darkly.

Do not deceive me, David.

DAVID

I have never deceived any one, Nullius.

Resolutely and majestically.

You spoke and I was silent, and I listened; now be silent and listen to me: I have given my soul not to man but to God, and His power is over me. And I command you: Call my wife Sarah over here, and my children Naum and Rosa, and all the people in my household, whoever they may be.

ANATHEMA.

Obediently.

I shall call them.

DAVID.

And call the poor who are waiting for me in the yard. And when you go out on the street, see whether there are any poor people waiting for me, and if you see them, call them also. For my lips are burning with their thirst, their hunger torments my body with insatiable hunger, and I am hastening to announce to the people my last, unchangeable will. Go!

ANATHEMA.

Obediently.

Your will is upon me.

Anathema goes to the door. Silence.

DAVID.

The spirit of God has come over me. Adenoi. Adenoi.... Who was the terrible one that spoke through the voice of old Nullius, when he spoke about my little children who died? Only an arrow out of the bow of the Omniscient strikes the very heart with such good aim. My little birds.... Verily, You have saved me upon the edge of the abyss, and You have torn my spirit away from the clutches of the Devil. He who looks straight at the sun may grow blind, but with the lapse of time the light may come back to the revived eyes; but he who looks into darkness grows blind forever. My little birds....

Suddenly he laughs softly and joyously, and he whispers.

I myself shall bring them bread and milk, I shall hide myself behind the bed-curtain that they should not see me—children are so tender and easily frightened and they are afraid of unfamiliar people; and I have such a terrible beard. (Laughs.) I shall hide myself behind the bed-curtain and will watch how the children are eating. They need so little; they eat a little crust of bread and they have enough; they drink a cup of milk and they know no thirst any longer. Then they sing—But how strange! does not the night pass away when the sun comes? do not the waves, at the end of the storm, lie down calmly and quietly like lambs resting in the pasture? Whence came the alarm, the slight confusion, and the fear? Shades of unknown woes are passing over my soul and soaring noiselessly over my thoughts. Ah, if I remained poor, if I remained unknown, under the shade of the fence where the refuse is cast away! You have lifted me to the peak of the mountain and You show my old, sorrowful face to the world. But such is Your will. You will command—and the lamb will become a lion; You will command—and the furious lion will stretch out her powerful breasts to her little ones; You will command—and David Leizer, who has grown white in shade, will fearlessly rise to the sun. Adenoi! Adenoi!

Sarah, Naum, and Rosa enter, alarmed.

SARAH.

David, what is it you have called us for? And why was your Nullius so strict when he told us of your command? We have not sinned against you, and if we have sinned, investigate it, but do not look at us so sternly.

ROSA.

May I sit down?

DAVID.

Be silent and wait. All those whom I have called are not here yet. Be seated, Rosa, if you are tired, but when the time comes, rise. You, too, may sit down, Naum.

The servants enter irresolutely; a lackey, resembling an English Minister; a chamber-maid; a cook; a gardener; a dish-washer, and others. They move about in confusion. Soon about fifteen or twenty poor people enter, in groups. Among them are: Abraham Khessin, an old man; Sonka's girl; Joseph Kritsky, Sarah Lepke, and several other Jews and Jewesses. But there are also Greeks, and Little Russians, and Russians and other paupers whose nationality has been lost in rags and filth; two drunkards. Purikes, Ivan Bezkrainy, and the Organ-grinder, with the same outworn instrument, are also here. But Anathema is still away.

DAVID.

Please, please. Come in more boldly, don't stop at the threshold,—others are coming behind you. But it would be well if you wiped your feet first; this rich house is not mine, and I must return it as clean as when I took it.

KHESSIN.

We have not yet learned how to walk on rugs, and we have not yet any patent leather shoes, as your son Naum has. How do you do, David Leizer? Peace be upon your house.

DAVID.

Peace unto you, too, Abraham. But why do you call me David Leizer, when you used to call me simply David before?

KHESSIN.

You are now such a mighty man, David Leizer. Yes, I used to call you merely David before, but here I was waiting for you in the yard, and the longer I waited, the longer your name grew, Mr. David Leizer.

DAVID.

You are right, Abraham: when the sun sets, the shadows become longer, and when a man becomes smaller, his name grows longer. But wait another while, Abraham.

LACKEY.

To drunkard.

You better move away from me.

DRUNKARD.

Keep quiet, fool! You are a servant here, while we are the guests.

LACKEY.

Ruffian! You aren't in a car here, that you spit on the floor.

DRUNKARD.

Mr. Leizer, a certain man, who looked like an old devil, caught me by the collar and said: "David Leizer, who received an inheritance, is calling you." I asked him, "What for?" So he answered: "David wants to make you his heir," and he began to laugh. And now that I came here, your servant is chasing me away.

DAVID.

Smiling.

Nullius is a gay man and he never misses an opportunity for jesting. But you are my guest, and I ask you to wait.

SARAH.

After some hesitancy.

Well, how is your business getting along, Ivan? You have fewer competitors now.

BEZKRAINY.

It's bad, Sarah; we have no customers.

PURIKES.

Like an echo.

No customers.

SARAH.

Compassionately.

Ai—Ai—Ai! It's bad, if there are no customers.

ROSA.

Don't speak, mamma. Do you want, perhaps, to smear my face again with soot?

Pushing several paupers into the door, Anathema enters, apparently fatigued.

ANATHEMA.

Well, David, meanwhile receive these. Your millions frighten the poor, and nobody wanted to follow me, thinking that some deception is hidden here.

DRUNKARD.

This is the man who caught me by the collar.

ANATHEMA.

Ah, is that you? How do you do? How do you do?

DAVID.

Thank you, Nullius. Now take ink and paper and sit down near me, by the table; bring me my old counting-board.... As everything I am about to say is very important, I ask you to write it correctly and to make no errors—we shall give an account of every word before God. I ask you all to rise and listen attentively, striving to understand the great words which I am about to utter.

Sternly.

Rise, Rosa.

SARAH.

God, have mercy on us! What are you going to do, David?

DAVID.

Be silent, Sarah. You will come with me.

ANATHEMA.

Ready.

All listen, standing.

DAVID.

Solemnly.

Upon the death of my brother, Moses Leizer, I received an inheritance (on the counting-board) of two million dollars.

ANATHEMA.

Nervously, lifting four fingers.

Which means four million roubles.

DAVID.

Sternly.

Do not interrupt me, Nullius. Yes, it does mean four million roubles. And now, submitting to the voice of my conscience and the command of God, and also in memory of my children, Hannah, Benjamin, Raphael, and Moses, who died of hunger and disease in their childhood....

He lowers his head and weeps bitterly. Sarah also cries bitterly.

SARAH.

Oh, my little Moishe! David, David, our little Moishe is dead.

DAVID.

Wiping his eyes with a large red handkerchief.

Be silent, Sarah. What was I going to say to them, Nullius?... Well, write, Nullius, write. I know.

Firmly.

I have resolved, in accordance with the command of God, who is Truth and Mercy, to distribute all my possessions to the poor. Am I speaking properly, Nullius?

ANATHEMA.

I hear God in your words.

At first no one believes David; but soon joyous doubts and unexpected fear come over them. As though in sleep the people repeat: "Four millions, four millions!" and they hide their faces with their hands. The Organ-grinder comes forward.

ORGAN-GRINDER.

Morosely.

Will you buy me a new organ, David?

ANATHEMA.

Hush, musician! Back!

ORGAN-GRINDER.

Retreating.

I want also a new monkey.

DAVID.

Let your hearts rejoice, O unfortunate people, and with a smile on your lips answer the mercy of Heaven. Go from here to the city, like heralds of happiness,—go through all its streets and squares, and shout everywhere: "David Leizer, the old Jew, who is to die soon, received an inheritance and now distributes it among the poor." And if you will see a man weeping, and a child whose face is bloodless and whose eyes are dim, and a woman whose breasts are shrunken like those of an old goat,—tell them also: "Go, David is calling you." Do I speak properly, Nullius?

ANATHEMA.

Yes, yes. But have you called all those who should be called?

DAVID.

And if you should see an intoxicated man slumbering amidst his vomitings, wake him and tell him: "Go, David is calling you." And if you should see a thief thrashed in the market-place by those he had robbed, call him also, with words of kindness, yet firm enough to be regarded as a command: "Go, David is calling you." And if you should see people who in their misery have become irritated and furious and who are beating one another with sticks and bits of brick, announce to them also in words of peace: "Go, David is calling you." And if you should see a bashful man, who while walking in the wide street lowers his eyes before the eyes of others, but who stares greedily when no one looks at him, tell him also in a low voice, without offending his pride: "Are you not looking for David? Go, he has long been waiting for you." And if in the evening, when the Devil sows the seeds of night over the earth, you should see a woman, hideously painted, just as the heathen paint the bodies of their dead, and who stares boldly, for she has lost all shame, and who lifts her shoulders, for fear of a blow, tell her also: "Go, David is calling you." Do I speak properly, Nullius?

ANATHEMA.

Yes, David. But have you called all who should be called?

DAVID.

And whatever form of aversion or fear poverty may assume, and in whatever colors misery may paint itself, and by whatever words suffering may fence itself around, rouse with a loud call those who are fatigued, in words of life return life to those who are dying! Do not trust the silence and the darkness if they obstruct your way like a wall: Shout more loudly into the silence and the darkness, for there dwells unspeakable horror.

ANATHEMA.

That's right, David, that's right! I see how your spirit climbs to the peak of the mountain and how you knock loudly at the iron gates of eternity: Open! I love you, David, I kiss your hand, David,—like a dog I am ready to crawl before you and to obey your commandments. Call, David, call! Rise, O earth! North and South, East and West, I command you, by the will of David, my master, answer the call of him who calls you, and stop at his feet like four oceans of tears. Call, David, call!

DAVID.

Lifting his hands.

North and South....

ANATHEMA.

East and West....

DAVID.

David is calling you all.

ANATHEMA.

David is calling you all.

Confusion, tears, laughter,—for all believe him now. Anathema kisses David's hand, springing about delightedly. He drags the Organ-grinder by the collar to the center.

ANATHEMA.

Look, David, here's a musician!

Laughs and shakes the Organ-grinder.

So you don't want your old music, eh? You need a new monkey, eh? Perhaps you will ask for a powder that destroys the fleas? Ask; we shall give you everything.

DAVID.

Be quiet, Nullius, be quiet. We must work. You are an expert at counting, Nullius, are you not?

ANATHEMA.

I? Oh, Rabbi David! I am myself Numbers, I am myself—Measures and Weights.

DAVID.

Be seated, then; write and count. But there is one more thing, my dear children: I am an old Jew, who can divide a piece of garlic into ten portions. I know not only the need of man, but I saw also how a roach was starving—yes,—I saw also how small children died of hunger....

Lowers his head and heaves a deep sigh.

Therefore do not deceive me, and remember that there is a number and a measure for everything. And where ten copecks are needed, do not ask for twenty, and where one measure of grain is needed, do not ask for two, for what is superfluous for one is always essential to another. Like brothers having one mother whose breasts are full but are quickly exhausted, do not abuse one another, and do not offend the generous but careful mother.... You may begin. Nullius, is everything ready?

ANATHEMA.

You may begin. I am waiting, David.

DAVID.

Stand in line, then, I beg you. I have not received the money yet; it is still in America, but I shall write down exactly how much each one of you is to get according to his need.

SARAH.

David, David, what are you doing with us? Look at Rosa, look at poor Naum.

Naum is dumfounded—he wants to say something, but is unable; he clutches the air with outstretched fingers. A little distance away from him, alone in her youth, strength, and beauty, amidst all these poor people, with emaciated faces and flat breasts, stands Rosa, who looks at her father defiantly.

ROSA.

Are we less your children than these who have been picked up in the street? And are we not brother and sister to those who died?

DAVID.

Rosa is right, mother,—everybody will get the proper share.

ROSA.

Yes? But do you know, father, what is the proper share for everybody?

She laughs bitterly and wants to go away.

DAVID.

Gently and sadly.

Stay here, Rosa!

ROSA.

I have nothing to do here. I have heard you call everybody.... Oh, you called very loudly! ... But did you call the beautiful? I have nothing to do here.

Goes out.

SARAH.

Rising irresolutely.

Rosochka!...

DAVID.

As gently as before, with a smile.

Stay here, mother. Where will you go? You will come with me.

Naum makes a few steps after Rosa, then he returns and sits down near Sarah.

DAVID.

Ready, Nullius? Come over, then, honorable man, you who stand first in the line.

KHESSIN.

Advancing.

Here I am, David.

DAVID.

What is your name?

KHESSIN.

My name is Abraham Khessin.... But have you forgotten my name? You and I played together when we were children.

DAVID.

Hush! It is necessary for the sake of maintaining order, Abraham. Write the name clearly, Nullius. This is the first who waited for me and upon whom the will of my God has manifested itself.

ANATHEMA.

Writes carefully.

Number one.... I'll rule the paper later, David. Number one: Abraham Khessin....

NAUM.

In a low voice.

Mamma, I will not dance any more.

The same dust-covered road, with the bent posts and the old, deserted sentinel-box; the same little shops. The sun is burning as mercilessly as when Anathema first appeared there.

A large number of poor people are gathered there to welcome David Leizer, who had distributed his fortune among the poor. The air is rent by shouting, motion, and merry bustling. Purikes, Bezkrainy, and Sonka, happy now, and proud of their shops, are doing a brisk business in soda-water and candies. Sarah Leizer is sitting as before near her little shop, dressed neatly but poorly.

A solemn welcome is arranged for David and Anathema, who had gone to the seashore. All the little shops, even the posts and the deserted sentinel-box, are decorated with parti-colored rags and with branches of trees; on the right side of the road, upon the scorched grass, an orchestra is preparing to meet David—several Jews with various instruments, among which there are: a good violin, cymbals, a broken brass trumpet, and even a drum, slightly broken. The members of the orchestra are scolding one another criticizing each other's instruments.

There are a number of children in the crowd. Also, little babes in arms. Abraham Khessin and those who were in line when David started to distribute his money are there; a little distance away from the crowd stands the stern organ-grinder, with his organ.

YOUNG JEW.

Blowing his crushed trumpet.

But why does it play only on one side? Such a good trumpet.

VIOLINIST.

Agitated.

What do you want to do with me? How can you welcome David Leizer with such a trumpet? You might as well have brought along a cat and pulled her by the tail, and think that David would call you his son?

YOUNG JEW.

Obstinately.

It's a good trumpet. My father played it when he was in the army, and everybody was thankful to him.

VIOLINIST.

Your father played it, but who sat upon it? Why is it so crushed? How can you welcome David Leizer with such a crushed trumpet?

YOUNG JEW.

With tears.

It's a very good trumpet.

VIOLINIST.

To a clean-shaven old man.

Is that your drum? Tell me, do you seriously believe that this is a drum? Have you ever seen another drum with a hole big enough for a dog to crawl through?

KHESSIN.

Don't get excited, Leibke. You are a very talented man, and your music will be fine, and David Leizer will be greatly moved by it.

VIOLINIST.

But I can't bear it. You are a very honorable man, Abraham Khessin, you have lived long in the world, but have you ever seen such a big hole in a drum?

KHESSIN.

No, Leibke, I haven't seen such a big hole, but that is not at all important. David Leizer was a multimillionaire, he had twenty million roubles, but he is unspoiled and humble, and your love will afford him joy. Does the soul need a drum to be able to express its love? I see here people who have neither drums nor trumpets, and who weep for happiness—their tears are noiseless like the dew.—Rise higher, Leibke, rise a little higher to the sky, and you will not hear any drums there, but therefore you will hear the tears falling.

OLD MAN.

You mustn't quarrel and darken the days of bright happiness,—that would be disagreeable to David.

A Wanderer is listening to their conversation; his face is stern and swarthy. His hair and his clothes are covered with dust. He is guarded in his movements, but his eyes, lustreless, stare ahead fixedly, like open windows at night.

WANDERER.

He has brought peace and happiness on earth, and the whole world knows of him already. I have come from distant places, where the people are different from you, and where the customs are different from yours, and only in their suffering and their misery they are your brethren. And there they know already about David Leizer, who distributes bread and happiness, and they bless his name.

KHESSIN.

Do you hear, Sarah?

Wiping his eyes.

It is of your husband they are speaking, of David Leizer.

SARAH.

I hear, Abraham, I hear everything. But I hear no longer the voice of Naum who died; I hear no longer the voice of Rosa. Old man, you have wandered much over the world, and you know even the people that do not resemble us,—have you not met on the road a beautiful girl, the most beautiful of all girls on earth?

BEZKRAINY.

She had a daughter, Rosa, a beautiful girl, she ran away from home because she would not give up her share to the poor. Did she take much money along with her, Sarah?

SARAH.

Can there be such a thing as too much money for Rosa? You may as well say that there are too many diamonds in the Czar's crown and too many rays in the sun.

WANDERER.

No, I have not seen your daughter: I am traveling along the highways, and there you can see neither the rich nor the beautiful.

SARAH.

But perhaps you have seen people gathered, talking enthusiastically about a certain beautiful girl? That is my daughter, old man.

WANDERER.

No, I have not seen such people. But I have seen other people gathered, speaking about David Leizer, who is distributing bread and happiness. Is it true that your David has healed a woman who was suffering from an incurable disease and was already dying?

KHESSIN.

Smiling.

No, that is not true.

WANDERER.

Is it true that David restored sight to a man who was blind from the day of his birth?

KHESSIN.

Shaking his head.

No, that is not true. Some one has been deceiving the people who do not resemble us. Only God can perform miracles—David Leizer is only a kind-hearted and worthy man, such as all men who have not forgotten God should be.

PURIKES.

It is not true, Abraham Khessin. David is not an ordinary man, and he possesses a superhuman power. I know it.

The crowd that surrounded them is eagerly listening to Purikes.

PURIKES.

I saw with my own eyes, how the one we regarded as a customer came upon the deserted, sunny road, but he was not a customer. I saw with my own eyes how he touched David with his hand, and David started to speak so terribly that I could not listen to him. Do you remember it, Ivan?

BEZKRAINY.

That's true. David is not an ordinary man.

SONKA.

Does an ordinary man throw money at people, like stones at a dog? Does an ordinary man go to weep over the grave of another's child, whom he did not bring forth, whom he did not fondle, and whom he did not bury when death came?

WOMAN.

With child in her arms.

David is not an ordinary man. Who ever saw an ordinary man who was more a mother to a child than his own mother? Who hides behind the bed-curtain and watches how other people's children are eating, and who weeps for joy at the sight of them? Of whom even the tiniest children are not afraid, and they play with his venerable beard as with the beard of their grandfather? Did not the stupid little Rubin tear out a tuft of grey hair from David Leizer's venerable beard? Did David grow angry? Did he cry out for pain, did he stamp his feet? No, he began to laugh as if overcome with happiness, and he cried as though for joy.

DRUNKARD.

David is not an ordinary man. He is a queer fellow. I said to him: "Why do you give me money? It is true, I am barefooted and unwashed, but do not think that I will buy boots and soap for the money you give me. I'll spend it on drink in the nearest dram-shop." That's what I had to tell him, for although I am a drunkard, I am an honest man. And the queer David answered me jestingly, like a good-natured lunatic: "Semyon, if it pleases you to drink, please drink,—I have not come to teach the people but to bring them joy."

OLD JEW.

There are many teachers, but there is none to bring them joy. May God bless David who brings joy to mankind.

BEZKRAINY.

To the drunkard.

So you didn't buy any boots, did you?

DRUNKARD.

No, I am an honest man.

VIOLINIST.

In despair.

Well, tell me all, you who have any conscience: Is this the kind of music that should greet him who brings joy to mankind? I am ashamed that I have gotten together such a poor orchestra, and I would rather die than disgrace myself before David.

SARAH.

To the organ-grinder.

Will you also play? You have such a fine organ now that even angels might dance to your music.

ORGAN-GRINDER.

I will.

SARAH.

But why have you no monkey?

ORGAN-GRINDER.

I couldn't find a good monkey. All the monkeys I have seen are either old, or mean, or altogether untalented, and are even unable to catch fleas. The fleas have already destroyed one of my monkeys, and I don't want another monkey destroyed that way. A monkey needs talent, just like a man,—it isn't enough to have a tail, even to be a monkey.

The wanderer is questioning Khessin in a low voice.

WANDERER.

Tell me the truth, Jew: I was sent here by my people, and I walked many miles on my old legs, under the mercilessly scorching sun, for the purpose of learning the truth. Who is this David who brings joy to mankind. Let it be as you say that he does not heal the sick....

KHESSIN.

It is a sin and an offence against God to think that a human being can heal.

WANDERER.

Be it so. But is it not true that Leizer wants to build an enormous palace of white stone and blue glass and gather together all the poor of the world there?

KHESSIN.

In embarrassment.

I do not know. Is it possible to build such a large palace?

WANDERER.

With conviction.

It is possible. Is it true that he wants to take away the power from the rich and bestow it upon the poor? (In a whisper.) And to take the power from those who rule, the might from those who are in command, and distribute it among all the people on earth, giving an equal share to each of them?

KHESSIN.

I do not know

Timidly.

You frighten me, old man.

WANDERER.

Looking around cautiously.

And is it true that he has already sent heralds to the black people that they, too, shall prepare themselves to accept the new kingdom, for he wants to bestow the power equally upon the black as upon the white, giving to each one according to his desire.

(In a mysterious whisper.)

In accordance with justice.

On the road appears David Leizer, walking slowly; in his right hand, a staff; Anathema is holding his left arm reverently. There is agitation and confusion among the waiting crowd: the musicians rush for their instruments; the women pick up their children quickly. They shout: "He's coming! He's coming!" They call: "Moishe, Petya, Sarah!"

WANDERER.

And is it true....

KHESSIN.

Ask him. Here he is coming.

Noticing the crowd, Anathema stops David, who is absorbed in thought, and he points triumphantly to the people. Thus they stand for some time: David with his grey head thrown back, and Anathema clinging close to him. Anathema whispers something in David's ear and keeps on pointing with his left hand. Leibke, bustling about desperately, gets his orchestra together and they begin to play a lively wild tune which is as discordant as the fluttering parti-colored rags. Shouting, laughter, the children are rushing forward, some one is crying; many people are outstretching their hands prayerfully to David. Then David moves forward amidst this chaos of lively sounds. The crowd makes room for him to pass; many throw branches and twigs on the ground and spread their clothes before him; women tear of their head-dress and throw it at his feet on the dusty road. Thus he walks over to Sarah, who rises and welcomes him together with the other women. The music stops. But David is silent. Confusion.

KHESSIN.

Why are you silent, David? The people you have made happy are greeting you and spreading their clothing before you on the ground, for their love is great and their hearts cannot comprise all their joy. Say a word to them—they are waiting.

David remains standing, with lowered eyes; with both hands he is leaning on his staff; his face is stern and serious. Anathema looks at him, over his shoulder, with alarm.

ANATHEMA.

They are waiting for you, David. Say unto them a word of joy and calm their love.

David is silent.

WOMAN.

Why are you silent, David? You frighten us. Are you not the David who brings joy to mankind?

ANATHEMA.

Impatiently.

Speak, David. Their agitated ears are waiting for a word of joy and by your silence, which is like the dumbness of the rock, you crush their soul to the earth. Speak!

DAVID.

Lifting his eyes and surveying the crowd sternly.

Wherefore these honors and the noise of voices, and the music which plays so loudly? To whom do you render honors worthy of a prince or of one who has performed a great deed? Is it before me, before a poor old man who must die soon, that you spread out your clothes upon the ground? What have I done to deserve your delight and exultation, to force tears of senseless joy from your eyes? I gave you money and bread—but that was the money of the Uppermost, it came from Him and went back to Him through you. The only thing I have done was not to hide the money like a thief, I did not become a plunderer, like those who have forgotten God. Do I speak properly, Nullius?

ANATHEMA.

No, David, no. Your speech is not worthy of a wise man and it does not come forth from the lips of a humble man.

OLD MAN.

Bread without love is like grass without salt,—the stomach may be filled, but it leaves a bad taste in the mouth, and a bitter recollection.

DAVID.

Have I forgotten anything, Nullius? Remind me, my friend: I am old and my eyesight is poor, but do I not see musicians there, Nullius? Tell me! Do I not see flags as red as the tongues of crows over my head? Tell me, Nullius.

ANATHEMA.

You have forgotten the people, David. You do not see the children, David Leizer.

DAVID.

The children?

The women, weeping, hold out their children to David.

VOICES.

"Bless my son, David!" ... "Touch my little girl with your hand, David." "Bless." ... "Touch her with your hand." ...

DAVID.

Raising his hands heavenward.

Oh, Hannah, oh, Benjamin, oh, Raphael, and my little Moishe!...

Looks down, outstretching his arms to the children.

DAVID.

Oh, my little birds who died on the naked branches of the winter!... Oh, children, my children, little children, tiny children!... Well, Nullius, am I not weeping? Am I not weeping, Nullius? Well, let everybody weep. Let the musicians play, Nullius—I understand everything now. Oh, children, little children, I gave you all, I gave you my old heart, I gave you my sorrow and my joy—Did I not give them all my soul, Nullius?

Crying and laughing through tears.

You have again wrenched my soul from the jaws of sin, Nullius. On the day of rejoicing I appeared mournful before the people, on the day of the people's exultation I did not raise my eyes to Heaven, but lowered them to the ground,—bad old man that I am. Whom did I want to deceive with my insincerity? Do I not live by day and night in raptures of joy, and do I not draw love and happiness with full hands? Why have I feigned sadness?... I do not know your name, woman; give me your child, the one that is laughing when everybody is crying, because he alone is sensible.

Smiling through tears.

Back to Index Next