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!