DAVID To think that the same great torch of liberty which threw its light across all the broad seas and lands into my little garret in Russia, is shining also for all those other weeping millions of Europe, shining wherever men hunger and are oppressed---- MENDEL [_Soothingly_] Yes, yes, David. [_Laying hand on his shoulder_] Now sit down and---- DAVID [_Unheeding_] Shining over the starving villages of Italy and Ireland, over the swarming stony cities of Poland and Galicia, over the ruined farms of Roumania, over the shambles of Russia---- MENDEL [_Pleadingly_] David! DAVID Oh, Miss Revendal, when I look at our Statue of Liberty, I just seem to hear the voice of America crying: "Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest--rest----" [_He is now almost sobbing._] MENDEL Don't talk any more--you know it is bad for you. DAVID But Miss Revendal asked--and I want to explain to her what America means to me. MENDEL You can explain it in your American symphony. VERA [_Eagerly--to DAVID_] You compose? DAVID [_Embarrassed_] Oh, uncle, why did you talk of--? Uncle always--my music is so thin and tinkling. When I am _writing_ my American symphony, it seems like thunder crashing through a forest full of bird songs. But next day--oh, next day! [_He laughs dolefully and turns away._] VERA So your music finds inspiration in America? DAVID Yes--in the seething of the Crucible. VERA The Crucible? I don't understand! DAVID Not understand! You, the Spirit of the Settlement! [_He rises and crosses to her and leans over the table, facing her._] Not understand that America is God's Crucible, the great Melting-Pot where all the races of Europe are melting and re-forming! Here you stand, good folk, think I, when I see them at Ellis Island, here you stand [_Graphically illustrating it on the table_] in your fifty groups, with your fifty languages and histories, and your fifty blood hatreds and rivalries. But you won't be long like that, brothers, for these are the fires of God you've come to--these are the fires of God. A fig for your feuds and vendettas! Germans and Frenchmen, Irishmen and Englishmen, Jews and Russians--into the Crucible with you all! God is making the American. MENDEL I should have thought the American was made already--eighty millions of him. DAVID Eighty millions! [_He smiles toward VERA in good-humoured derision._] Eighty millions! Over a continent! Why, that cockleshell of a Britain has forty millions! No, uncle, the real American has not yet arrived. He is only in the Crucible, I tell you--he will be the fusion of all races, perhaps the coming superman. Ah, what a glorious Finale for my symphony--if I can only write it. VERA But you have written some of it already! May I not see it?