[_A sombre, darkly furnished room in a Balkan palace. There are wooden
panels and heavy gold hangings; also a window, left, a door, right, and
large double doors, centre. At the left there is a table on which is a
lamp with a dull gold shade. Nearby are an armchair, a footrest and a
smaller chair. At the right there is a small table with two chairs.
Against the walls are several quaint high-backed chairs and a curious
medieval stove. As the curtain rises_, D’OR _is in the armchair asleep.
He wears a dark dressing gown with deep gold borders and embroidery. He
still has his gold rings. The window at the left is open and from the
outside come the plaintive notes of a shepherd’s pipe. The light is that
of early evening._ EDITH PACKARD, _dressed as a nurse, enters at the
right. She feels_ D’OR’S _pulse and tiptoes noiselessly about. She
places fresh golden flowers in a vase on the smaller table, then lights
the lamp at the larger table and turns the flame low. After tidying the
room a bit, she takes another look at_ D’OR, _feels his forehead lightly
and goes off, right. The shepherd’s pipe is silenced. There is a sudden
flash of lightning at the open window and the distant rumble of
thunder._]
D’OR. [_In his sleep._] Not Death! Not Death! I’ve bought off Death for
a time! Not yet! [_He awakes with a start._] Miss Packard! I’ve been
dreaming horribly again! [_He looks about anxiously._] Miss Packard! Has
Dr. Mirsky arrived? [_Listens for reply._] They take my money, yet
they’re not here when I need them most. [_He experiences a convulsive
spasm and is unable to articulate_ MISS PACKARD’S _name, though he makes
a painful effort to do so. He rises heavily from his chair and staggers
to the bell rope near the door, right. He manages to pull it and falls
in a faint over the chair standing near. Lightning and distant thunder._
EDITH _rushes in and rubs his wrists. He revives and she succeeds in
getting him to the table, right._]
D’OR. [_Bewildered._] Where am I? Yes—I remember—I called—
EDITH. You were sleeping peacefully when I left the room a moment ago!
D’OR. Not peacefully! I never sleep peacefully.
EDITH. Do you feel any better?
D’OR. Worse—much worse! How long did I sleep?
EDITH. Over three hours. It is past six o’clock.
D’OR. Evening already! Another day gone! [_Lightning._ EDITH _starts to
close the window. It thunders as she looks out._]
EDITH. Oh! M. D’Or, a terrible storm is approaching! The whole valley is
filled with black clouds! [_Lightning._]
D’OR. Close that window quickly! I cannot bear lightning. [_She closes
it amid thunder._] Another storm! I shall lie awake all night!
[_Groans._] Hasn’t Dr. Mirsky arrived?
EDITH. No, he has not come. Perhaps the storm will prevent his getting
here to-night.
D’OR. I _must_ see the doctor—he must come to-night! He takes my money;
he should be at my beck and call. I need him now—I may die before
morning. Is there no one at the palace whom you can send to the village?
[_Heavy thunder._]
EDITH. Cyril is downstairs.
D’OR. The gardener’s son? I’ll not send the boy on such a night as this.
Perhaps Mirsky will get here after all.
EDITH. He should come.
D’OR. I pay him well enough, eh? I pay you well, Miss Packard? I pay
everybody well. I may be feeble, but I still have my gold. It serves me
yet! [_Thunder._]
EDITH. Do you care for something to eat?
D’OR. No, I have no appetite. I am an unhappy creature. Turn up the
lamp, Miss Packard—it is too gloomy. I can scarcely see. [_She turns up
the lamp._ D’OR _notices the flowers_.] Why are those wilted flowers on
the table?
EDITH. They do seem wilted—yet they were quite fresh when I brought them
in a few minutes ago. [_Thunder._] Perhaps the storm—
D’OR. Nonsense! A storm cannot affect cut flowers! They must have been
dying when you brought them in. [_Raises their drooping heads._] Dying!
Dying—their golden beauty waning—a few hours more and all will be over!
[_Groans._] I must see Mirsky! I feel wretched to-night. Look down the
road, Miss Packard, and see if there are any signs of the doctor’s
carriage. He would not come on foot to-night. [EDITH _opens the window.
Lightning and a wild blast of wind._ D’OR _covers his eyes and groans_.]
EDITH. [_Peering out._] It is too dark to see far—but the road seems
quite deserted. [_Thunder._]
D’OR. Quick! Close the window! [EDITH _does so_.] Even Mirsky fails me
when I need him most. He shall hear from me to-morrow—[_A pause._] if I
am still alive. Have you had your dinner?
EDITH. No, but there’s no hurry—I do not wish to leave you alone.
D’OR. Get your dinner by all means. You are young and healthy—you can
enjoy it. Send up Cyril to keep me company; I like the boy.
EDITH. Very well. Is there nothing else I can do for you?
D’OR. [_More softly._] Nothing, Miss Packard. You are very kind to me.
Are you satisfied in this Balkan wilderness? Am I paying you enough for
coming to this desolate region?
EDITH. Don’t say such things. I am a nurse—it is my duty to serve you.
Besides, you have been very generous to me.
D’OR. Thank you. Run along now—and don’t forget to send up Cyril. [_She
goes off, centre._ D’OR _looks nervously about him, holds his hand over
his heart, then draws himself slowly up and goes to the window to peer
out. Seeing nothing he opens it. A furious downpour of rain is heard,
then a flash of lightning half-blinds him. He closes the window with a
loud bang._] No hope of Mirsky to-night. Even my money won’t bring him
out on such a night as this. [_He walks slowly to the armchair._] If he
does not come, I shall be dead before sunrise!
CYRIL. [_Putting in his head, centre._] May I come in, M. D’Or?
D’OR. [_Brightening._] Cyril! By all means! Come in, my boy! [_He
resumes his seat._]
CYRIL. Miss Packard said you wouldn’t be angry.
D’OR. I am very glad to see you. What have you been doing all day?
CYRIL. I have been exploring along the other side of the river. I left
the palace this morning at five o’clock and joined some boys in the
village. We tramped for several miles along the river, then crossed the
bridge at Arak and went into the woods.
D’OR. It must have been delightful. You started at five o’clock?
CYRIL. Yes, it was still dark. I saw the sun rise from the Hadderberg.
By dinner time we were over ten miles beyond Arak.
D’OR. How did you get home so quickly?
CYRIL. Oh! we saw the storm coming—at first it was a little speck of
black cloud floating far off in the sky beyond the mountain range. We
hurried through the woods and reached home a half-hour ago.
D’OR. You must have had a glorious tramp. Did you do any hunting?
CYRIL. Oh no! The season has not opened yet—we shall go hunting later
on. M. D’Or, did you ever take such trips when you were a boy?
[_Rumbling thunder._]
D’OR. No, I never had such sport. I didn’t live near the mountains and
the forests.
CYRIL. [_Sits on the foot rest at_ D’OR’S _feet_.] How do the boys in
your country spend their time?
D’OR. The most sensible spend their time in learning how to make money.
CYRIL. Do they need much money when they grow up?
D’OR. Nearly all of them think they need more than they have.
CYRIL. What do they buy with their money?
D’OR. Whatever they think they want. What would you buy if you had
twenty florins?
CYRIL. A pair of hunting boots and a new knife. [_He pulls out his
knife._] Not a cheap knife, like this one—but one with six silver bands
on the handle.
D’OR. Why six bands?
CYRIL. Because my friend Boris has one with five bands and his knife is
the finest in the village.
D’OR. Ah! I see! And what would you buy if you had fifty florins?
CYRIL. Fifty florins! [_After a pause._] I wouldn’t buy anything. I’d
save until I had a hundred.
D’OR. [_Interested._] And then—
CYRIL. Then I would buy a handsome rifle such as I saw in a shop window
in Buda-Pesth. Were you ever in Buda-Pesth?
D’OR. Yes, Cyril. I’ve seen those fine shops. Now, isn’t it pleasant to
think that you can go into such a shop with a pocket full of money and
pick out anything you want?
CYRIL. Yes—it’s like a fairy-tale.
D’OR. [_Drily._] Well, that’s why the boys in my country learn how to
make money!
CYRIL. [_With enthusiasm._] And when they have it, they go to the shops
and buy what they wanted?
D’OR. No; by that time they have usually lost interest in what they
wanted—and then they desire something which they cannot buy.
CYRIL. Then it isn’t much fun after all?
D’OR. [_Stroking_ CYRIL’S _hair_.] No, it isn’t much fun. You have
something better than money, Cyril. You have youth and health—be careful
how you spend them. You wouldn’t sell them at any price, would you?
CYRIL. How can one sell youth, M. D’Or?
D’OR. By doing foolish things and by wasting the precious hours of early
manhood—that is how one sells youth. I want you to realize how very rich
you are, even if you haven’t enough money to buy that new rifle. [_The
noise of carriage wheels is heard._] Do you hear a carriage? Can it be
Dr. Mirsky, after all?
CYRIL. [_Opens the window._] Yes, it is the doctor—and another man with
him in a long white robe—a strange-looking man!
D’OR. You see very well in the dark, Cyril!
CYRIL. I have good eyes; father calls them forester’s eyes.
D’OR. Is it still raining?
CYRIL. [_Puts out his hand._] A little, but the worst is over. The
clouds are breaking.
D’OR. I am glad of it; you may leave the window open. [_Enter_ MIRSKY
_at centre_.]
MIRSKY. Good evening, M. D’Or! I’m a bit late to-night on account of
this cursed storm—I never experienced such weather before. The road to
the palace is a veritable river! At every turn a fresh torrent bursts
over it. How do you feel?
D’OR. Fairly well since Cyril has been keeping me company, but I felt
miserable before—I feared you would not come.
MIRSKY. Not come for such a patron as M. D’Or! My dear sir, I would have
come if it had been necessary to swim to the palace!
CYRIL. [_Laughing._] People don’t swim up hills, Dr. Mirsky.
MIRSKY. No, and well-behaved boys don’t make impertinent remarks to
their elders.
D’OR. Cyril tells me you had a companion in your carriage.
MIRSKY. Yes—the queerest fellow I’ve ever come across. I picked him up
on the road just beyond the village. He had sought shelter under a tree
but I saw he would be drenched if he remained there long enough—to say
nothing of the danger from lightning. He’s a sort of oriental sage—calls
himself Ramanand. I expect to take him back to the village when I leave
and have a chat with him to-night.
D’OR. I am interested in your find! Can’t we have him up here?
MIRSKY. I turned him over to Miss Packard—I believe he is drying out at
the kitchen fire. Cyril, run along and fetch up the philosopher.
CYRIL. [_Meekly._] Very well, doctor. I hope you will forgive me for my
impertinence just now—
MIRSKY. [_Clapping his shoulder._] Impertinence, my boy? It was the
truth. As you say, people do _not_ swim up hill. [CYRIL _laughs and runs
off, centre_. MIRSKY _turns to_ D’OR.] Well, how is my patient? [_Feels
his pulse._] Still feverish and unsettled—appetite poor—all out of
sorts, eh?
D’OR. Doctor, I feel like a man whose life is ebbing away. I had a
horrible seizure this evening. It’s all up with me. I’ve been burning
the candle at both ends all my life. I have crowded more experience into
my forty years than properly belongs there—that’s all!
MIRSKY. My dear M. D’Or, you talk like a man who is preparing for
another world, yet you are paying me handsomely to keep you here. One
can hardly regard such remarks as complimentary—
D’OR. True enough, doctor, but there’s no power of resistance left in
me. I’ve been fighting Death for some time and now I have only one real
weapon left—
MIRSKY. [_Surprised._] One weapon?
D’OR. Yes, my money! Youth and health are gone, and I have long since
turned my back upon my few friends—but my money is still my faithful
slave. It has provided me this airy retreat in the Balkans, it has
brought me such a devoted nurse as Miss Packard, such a skilful
physician as yourself—
MIRSKY. Come, come—I’m not so sordid! A true physician thinks first of
the professional obligation.
D’OR. But a successful doctor does not give up a lucrative practice in
Buda-Pesth to bury himself in the mountains with a solitary patient
unless the latter pays handsomely, eh?
MIRSKY. It is true that you are giving me many times what I could earn
by my practice, but why do you constantly remind me of it?
D’OR. I don’t want to offend you, doctor—but I like to feel that my
money is still helping me to keep Death at bay. I have gone through life
believing that wealth is power and I want to think so yet. Don’t you
share that belief?
MIRSKY. Frankly, I do. I have even coined a new beatitude—blessed is the
rich man, since he can have what he wants!
D’OR. [_Gravely._] Not always—I have found that out. I want health,
vigor, an interest in life.
MIRSKY. Your money would obtain any of these if you gave it a fair
chance. You are sated, that is all—
D’OR. It is worse than that. I’m worn out—done for!
MIRSKY. M. D’Or, you are absolutely wrong. I cannot comprehend your
passive yielding to this chronic invalidism. You harm not only yourself,
but me likewise—professionally, I mean. I shall be quite frank with you.
My reputation is at stake. All Buda-Pesth knows that I am treating the
rich M. D’Or. If I restore you to health, my fortune is assured! I shall
no longer be the promising Dr. Mirsky in his shabby carriage—I shall
become the famous Dr. Mirsky in his automobile. Do you realize what it
means to me?
D’OR. So you wish me to get well for _your_ sake?
MIRSKY. Certainly, if you have no reasons of your own. I pretend to no
philanthropy in the matter. You are paying me lavishly, M. D’Or—give me
a chance to earn the money.
D’OR. [_Shaking his head._] You’ve taken a bad case, doctor—I’m sorry
for you. You’ll have your money and the automobile in any event. Of
course, you expect to find greater happiness in becoming more prominent
in your profession?
MIRSKY. Yes, both happiness and reputation. I look upon it as a
recompense for my early years of struggle.
D’OR. You had to make your own way?
MIRSKY. My father was a poor village shoemaker; my mother eked out his
income by what she could earn at washing and sewing. I was the youngest
of five children.
D’OR. And the others?
MIRSKY. They were all sacrificed for my sake. They are hard-working men
and women to-day. My parents died before I achieved independence in my
profession. I should like to help my brothers and sisters, but they
refuse my aid.
D’OR. Perhaps you don’t offer them enough.
MIRSKY. M. D’Or, they have pride! They feel that an unfair advantage was
given to me—and they are right!
D’OR. I fail to see it. This was clearly a case of one rising from the
depths, or none at all. If they have pride, they should take pride in
you.
MIRSKY. It has made a permanent breach between us, I fear.
D’OR. And they will feel even more bitter when you return to Buda-Pesth
and ride about in your new automobile?
MIRSKY. [_Gloomily._] Yes, I have been thinking of that. If I could only
drive them from my mind!
D’OR. Yet you look forward to happiness! Is there no way of making
wealth obedient to our desires?
CYRIL. [_Putting in his head at central door as before._] May I bring in
Mr. Ramanand?
D’OR. Certainly—I shall be glad to see him. [CYRIL _throws the door open
and_ RAMANAND _enters in stately fashion, garbed in an oriental robe_.]
MIRSKY. Ah! Ramanand, quite dry now? I want to present you to M. D’Or,
the tenant of this palace and my worthy patron. He has heard of our
meeting on the road.
RAMANAND. [_With a profound bow, speaks in a deep, rich voice._] My
salutations and greetings, monsieur. I am indebted to you for your
hospitality.
D’OR. Won’t you be seated? [RAMANAND _takes a seat, right_, CYRIL _sits
on the foot rest_.] I trust they made you comfortable downstairs. Didn’t
you suffer in the storm?
RAMANAND. A slight wetting—no more. I am accustomed to rough weather. I
travel constantly on foot. It is no hardship for such as I.
MIRSKY. Are you familiar with this country?
RAMANAND. No. I am on my way to the West, to study the civilization of
other lands. I have read of them and their manners; I now seek to know
them by actual experience.
D’OR. You have doubtless traveled far enough to find things different?
RAMANAND. Yes, I already feel the mark of the West in your customs. In
the East, all things are deliberate and, whether right or wrong, rest
upon traditions handed down from the remotest ages. Here you strive for
things that are new and you are ever ready to forget the old.
D’OR. But why do you follow such a roving life? Is there any profit in
it? Will you be better off when you have completed your travels?
RAMANAND. There is much profit in it—I shall enrich my mind with golden
thought—
D’OR. But does it enrich your purse with golden coin—that’s more to the
point!
RAMANAND. Money! It is a delusion!
MIRSKY. A delusion?
RAMANAND. [_Placidly._] Yes. Has it ever proved otherwise?
D’OR. Why, it brings power, the thing best worth having in life.
RAMANAND. It brings mostly care and sorrow.
MIRSKY. Did you ever hear such a philosophy?
D’OR. [_To_ CYRIL.] Cyril, you recall speaking to me this evening of a
new rifle?
CYRIL. Yes, M. D’Or.
D’OR. We shall send to Buda-Pesth to-morrow for that rifle and when it
arrives it is yours.
CYRIL. [_Leaping up in pleasure and kissing_ D’OR’S _hand_.] Oh! dear M.
D’Or, you are like a good magician in the story-books!
D’OR. [_To_ RAMANAND.] And the agency of such happiness as this you call
a delusion! Where’s your care and sorrow?
RAMANAND. [_Smiling._] You are a ready man with your proof. No one can
deny the momentary exaltation that follows a gift or a favor, nor do I
believe that gratitude is a forgotten virtue. But look about you, and
note what a curse wealth has brought upon humanity.
MIRSKY. I should not care to entertain the philosophy of the East.
RAMANAND. Mine is not the philosophy of the East. We also have the
worship of gold among us and its devotees lead the same blind lives in
its pursuit as your own people. The views I express are my own.
D’OR. Then you really believe that the poor man is the happiest man?
RAMANAND. Yes, if he is not possessed by the lust for gold.
MIRSKY. And the rich man is the unhappiest man?
RAMANAND. Yes, if he is the slave of his own wealth.
D’OR. Rail against wealth if you will—I maintain that poverty has
nothing to recommend it.
RAMANAND. [_Reflectively._] I too sought material wealth as a young man
and I gained nothing but care; for many years I have cherished poverty
and my days are crowned with peace. I ask no better test of my
philosophy.
MIRSKY. If you are satisfied, you have reached a state of mind that
neither M. D’Or nor I shall ever experience. [EDITH _enters, centre_;
MIRSKY _and_ RAMANAND _rise_.]
EDITH. Pardon me—I have come to tell Cyril that his father is ready to
take him back to the lodge.
CYRIL. [_Leaping up and running to the window._] Oh! it is clearing up
beautifully—the moon will rise soon. I suppose I’ll have to go. [_He
shakes hands._] Good night, Dr. Mirsky. [_He stands abashed before_
RAMANAND.] Good night, Mr. Ramanand.
RAMANAND. [_Stroking_ CYRIL’S _hair as if invoking a blessing on the
boy_.] Good night, Cyril.
CYRIL. Good night, M. D’Or. Shall I pray that you should get better?
D’OR. [_Surprised._] Should you pray—why—yes, if you care to.
CYRIL. You won’t forget about the new rifle?
D’OR. What has the rifle to do with your prayer?
CYRIL. I think I could pray better if I knew I was sure to get it.
[RAMANAND _shakes his head_.]
D’OR. Very well, Cyril, just pray your very best for me. Good night.
CYRIL. Good night, Miss Packard. Why don’t you make M. D’Or get better?
That’s what nurses are for.
MIRSKY. The young rascal will be censuring me next for not having M.
D’Or in perfect physical condition. Run along.
CYRIL. [_Laughing._] Good night, everybody. [_He goes off hastily._]
EDITH. [_To_ D’OR.] It is time for your medicine.
MIRSKY. One moment, Miss Packard. We shall discontinue that medicine; I
am not satisfied with our patient’s response. We shall adopt a new
course—no drugs at all for the next few days.
D’OR. I am heartily glad of it. I get far more benefit from your talk,
doctor, than from your medicines. Our little discussion to-night has
made me forget myself for the time. By the way, let us see how Miss
Packard feels about the matter. She will be an unprejudiced judge.
MIRSKY. One whose opinion will be worth having. [RAMANAND _bows
politely_.]
D’OR. We were trying to decide among ourselves whether wealth is a
blessing or a curse. Do you believe it brings power?
EDITH. Yes, unquestionably.
MIRSKY. Does it bring happiness?
EDITH. Certainly. Why shouldn’t it bring happiness?
RAMANAND. Does it bring sorrow and misery?
EDITH. Far too often, I fear.
D’OR. Are all three of us right in our contentions? Wealth seems to be
rather fickle, Miss Packard, according to your view.
EDITH. It appears a very simple matter to me. The unattainable always
seems attractive; what we possess is apt to pall after a time. Wealth
does not usually bring power, nor happiness, nor sorrow until its
possessor has taken some initiative in the matter. The owner of the
wealth must in a large measure determine its influence on his career.
D’OR. If you possessed great wealth, would you test its power to secure
for you the things that you might deem most desirable—social position,
for instance?
EDITH. I think not. I should prefer to expend it in a quest of
happiness, but it would be a happiness that came from service—from using
the wealth to bring sunshine and peace into other lives. Perhaps as a
nurse I have come to think differently than many other women—
MIRSKY. More self-sacrificing, I am sure.
RAMANAND. Does Miss Packard believe in the philosophy of service—that
our lives can be counted most successful when we make ourselves most
useful to our fellow men?
EDITH. Assuredly. Service seems to me the ideal of a well-ordered life.
I can imagine no finer life than that of my honored country-woman, Miss
Eleanor Richmond—
D’OR. [_Springing up._] Eleanor Richmond!
RAMANAND. A noble woman, indeed, a goddess of charity. I met her in
Bombay last year.
MIRSKY. I have heard of her—she organized a relief committee for the
India famine—
EDITH. Yes, and is devoted heart and soul to the great cause.
D’OR. Eleanor Richmond—in India! [_To_ EDITH.] You know her?
EDITH. Very well. I have been with her at different times for several
years. I was a member of her party that went into the fever district.
D’OR. She—has not married?
RAMANAND. Such a woman needs no family of her own. All mankind is her
family!
D’OR. How strange that you should know her. I always passed over the
accounts of India famines in the papers—such unpleasant reading, such
harrowing details.
MIRSKY. Think of the heroism of a woman who will plunge into the midst
of such misery and desolation!
RAMANAND. There are parts of India where Miss Richmond is worshiped as a
saint!
EDITH. She deserves it. I know of no one who has made such a splendid
use of wealth as she has done. She has been an inspiration to me at
times when I felt weak and discouraged. [_Moonlight shines in at the
window._]
MIRSKY. The moon has risen; what a glorious light it sheds into this
room. We must be going, M. D’Or, if we are to reach the village before
midnight. We shall have a well-lighted road, at all events. [_He goes to
the window._ D’OR _is staring into space_.]
EDITH. I shall have the carriage sent around to the door. [_She goes
off, centre._]
RAMANAND. Monsieur, I am deeply indebted to you and to the good doctor
for the shelter you have afforded me, and for your tokens of good will.
D’OR. [_Recovering himself._] And to-morrow you continue your westward
march—in search of truth?
RAMANAND. In search of truth, M. D’Or. There is the most precious wealth
that the earth affords. It will be a long and difficult quest.
D’OR. I have been searching for truth for many years and in many lands;
to-night I believe I have stumbled upon it by chance. A few hours ago I
was wondering what new bribe I might offer Death to postpone for a time
the final settling of my account. Now I yearn for a chance to redeem my
past follies, to add a new and more creditable chapter to my career. You
have done me much good to-night, doctor! I feel better and happier at
this moment than I have been for many years!
MIRSKY. Not too fast! Don’t be in too much of a hurry to deprive me of
so profitable a patient.
D’OR. Have no fear, doctor—you shall have no occasion to regret the cure
that you wrought here to-night.
MIRSKY. You are indeed a changed man—I am glad to see it. Good night, M.
D’Or.
RAMANAND. [_To_ D’OR.] Good night, monsieur. [_He bows._]
D’OR. Good night! A pleasant ride back to the village! [_They go out,
centre._ D’OR _examines the wilted flowers and laughs softly. He then
goes over to the window and stands in the moonlight. He calls to the
others below._] Good night! Good night! [_The sound of carriage wheels
is heard._ EDITH _comes in, centre, and looks at_ D’OR _a few moments
before speaking_.]
EDITH. You may catch cold at the window—
D’OR. [_Turning._] Miss Packard! I did not hear you enter.
EDITH. You are feeling much better?
D’OR. I am a new man to-night. Pray tell me, do you know if Eleanor
Richmond is in India now?
EDITH. She is on her way to India. She wrote me from London that she
would be at Port Said in a fortnight.
D’OR. Port Said! You have a letter from her?
EDITH. Yes. Do you know her?
D’OR. We were very good friends—many years ago, over in America. It
seems so long ago—almost like another existence.
EDITH. Would you like to see her letter? It tells of her plans for the
coming year.
D’OR. You are very kind—
EDITH. I shall fetch the letter; I am sure it will interest you. [_She
goes off, right._]
D’OR. [_In meditation._] Fifteen years! It seems like a lifetime! A
lifetime of hideous nightmare and delusion. Fifteen years! [_He paces
the room._ EDITH _returns_.]
EDITH. Here is Miss Richmond’s letter.
D’OR. [_Takes the letter to the light and tries to read. His hand
trembles. He speaks in an uncertain voice._] Won’t you read it for me?
EDITH. [_Reading._] ‘I am now in London with my secretary, Mr. Hanson,
making final preparations for another year’s work in the Orient. Mr.
Hanson’s wife and I have been buying great quantities of supplies to be
shipped to the East. She is a most helpful woman—just another like’—[_A
pause._]
D’OR. [_Softly._] ‘Like yourself.’
EDITH. [_Embarrassed, continues._] ‘From all reports the distress is
even greater than before and we shall have to labor harder than ever to
relieve the miseries of those unfortunate people. How my heart bleeds
for them! I have found many good friends who have contributed generously
to our fund, but the need is so great that we can never bring adequate
relief. We can assist a little here and there, and instil new courage in
those who are partly able to help themselves, but there is much that we
can never hope to undertake. I wonder that I ever had the hardihood to
attempt this work. Now it has become my mission in life and it means
everything to me. We shall be at Port Said on the 25th, and shall spend
two or three days there. I wish you could arrange to rejoin me this
year. I recall our days of labor among the poor in New York and in
Chicago. You were so very’—Oh! M. D’Or, won’t you read the rest?
D’OR. [_Taking the letter._] Too modest to sound your own praises? _[He
reads in silence._] Very true, Miss Packard, what she says of you is
indeed true. No wonder she wants you with her again. [_He reads._] ‘The
work is a consecration—it has made life very sweet to me’—[_As he goes
on_, EDITH _silently steals from the room by the centre door_.] ‘What a
pleasure it is to bring the light of joy and gratitude into the eyes of
others. In my devotion to their welfare I have tried to forget an early
sorrow of my own’— [_He pauses, overcome with emotion. He looks up and
sees that he is alone. His hand trembles as he holds the letter near the
lamp._] ‘I hope we may soon meet again—time alone can tell.’ Time alone
can tell! How that phrase brings back that last evening together in the
garden—the legend on the sun-dial—‘Time will reveal all things.’—[_He
rises and stands by the window, glancing over the letter in the
moonlight._] ‘I have tried to forget an early sorrow of my own’—_Tried_
to forget! Eleanor! [_He gazes at the letter as the curtain slowly
falls._]
EPILOG
[_A parlor in the Hotel Orient, Port Said, furnished as a writing-room
for the guests. There is at the right a table with pens, ink, magazines,
railway guides and folders. At the left a table with writing materials,
blotters, etc. Each table is flanked by two chairs. There are also
several comfortable armchairs and a revolving case with time-tables and
other hotel literature. From the room a wide central entrance leads
through glass doors to a porch with posted placards. There are exits
right and left and a window on the left beside the door. The sun shines
brightly through this window and also illumines the prospect from the
porch. As the curtain rises_, MR. MATHEWS _enters at the centre and
casts a critical eye over the room. He puts the papers, etc., into order
at both tables and throws several soiled sheets into a wastebasket under
the table on the right._ MR. HANSON _enters with a large bundle of
letters and goes to the opposite table_.]
MATHEWS. Good morning, Mr. Hanson. I hope you slept well.
HANSON. Thank you, Mr. Mathews. My first night in Africa was one of
undisturbed repose. What a lovely morning! Is such weather common in
Egypt?
MATHEWS. It is during the season. We often have fine weather at this
time of the year.
HANSON. Your hotel seems quite crowded.
MATHEWS. It filled up yesterday after the arrival of your steamer. Most
of our guests are tourists who are on their way to Cairo and the
Pyramids.
HANSON. Have you seen Miss Richmond this morning?
MATHEWS. Yes, she is now at breakfast. What a charming lady she is!
HANSON. One of Heaven’s good angels, I should say. My wife and I have
been associated with her for two years in her American charities and in
this India relief work. Her soul is wrapped up in it. You should see how
people respond to her appeal for aid. [_He reads the mail as he talks.]_
One contribution after another. Our fellow-passengers on the ship raised
a fund of one hundred pounds.
MATHEWS. That reminds me to give you this check on behalf of the
management. [_He takes a check from his wallet._] We desire to show our
interest in the cause.
HANSON. Thank you very much. I am certain your kindness will gratify
Miss Richmond. [_He reads a letter with an enclosure._] Here’s a curious
one! From the English missionary at Kermeh—‘ten pounds from our mission
for the India relief fund.’ Where is Kermeh?
MATHEWS. It is far up the Nile—at the Third Cataract. That’s the sort of
coöperation that counts; it shows that Miss Richmond’s noble work is
known in the remotest regions. [_He takes out his check book and
writes._] Mr. Hanson, I wish you would add this personal contribution to
that of the management. I want to help a little.
HANSON. You are indeed generous. I wish the world could realize the
nature of the task that Miss Richmond has undertaken—the feeding of
impoverished thousands is but a small part of it. There are schools and
hospitals to be provided—an effort is being made to raise the whole
country to a better standard of living. The fever must be stamped
out—[_Reads._] Twenty pounds—fifty pounds—Heaven bless them all. [_He
takes up a telegram._] A dispatch from Paris. [_As he reads it, the
paper trembles in his hand. He starts up with a cry._]
MATHEWS. What is the matter?
HANSON. [_Excitedly._] The matter! It’s too wonderful to be true. I
doubt whether I’m awake! It can’t be possible—yet here it is, black on
white. It’s like a voice from Heaven answering Miss Richmond’s prayer.
[_Hands over the telegram._] Read it, Mr. Mathews.
MATHEWS. [_Reads._] ‘The Messrs. Blaustein have the honor to inform Miss
Richmond that securities amounting to ten million pounds’—
HANSON. [_Wildly._] It does say ten million? I’m not dreaming?
MATHEWS. You’re wide awake—it’s ten million. I’m not familiar with the
sum, but I know what the figures look like. [_He resumes reading._]
‘Securities amounting to ten million pounds have been deposited with
them to form a permanent fund known as the Eleanor Richmond Fund, the
income thereof to be expended in the interests of Miss Richmond’s great
charities throughout the world. Provision is made that one hundred
thousand pounds shall be immediately available for Miss Richmond’s
relief work in India. The Messrs. Blaustein regret that they are not at
liberty to mention the name of the donor, who prefers to remain
anonymous because he wishes only one name to be associated with the
fund—that of Miss Richmond herself.’ Did you ever hear anything like
that before in your life, Mr. Hanson?
HANSON. [_Almost delirious._] Has there ever been anything like it
before? It is stupendous! How can such a gift be kept secret! How can
any human being give away ten million pounds without public recognition?
Can you realize what burdens it will lift from Miss Richmond’s mind? She
can now proceed safely with many noble enterprises which she has long
hoped to carry out when funds were available. How she will rejoice at
this wonderful answer to her prayers!
MATHEWS. [_Gravely._] By the way, Mr. Hanson, be careful in giving her
the information. Good news may cause as severe a shock as bad news. Tell
her gradually—
HANSON. You’re right. It’s a wonder it didn’t knock me over—I haven’t
had my breakfast yet. I don’t believe a doctor would recommend hearing
such news on an empty stomach. [_Enter_ ROBERT DORR _at the centre. He
wears a plain sack suit and no jewelry of any sort. He seems alert and
vigorous._ HANSON _continues to read the mail_.]
DORR. Good morning, Mr. Mathews.
MATHEWS. Good morning, Mr. Dorr. You are an early riser—the porter told
me you went out at five o’clock for a stroll about the harbor.
DORR. I am enjoying the best of health. You must have observed the
improvement in the four days that I have been here. The climate of Egypt
is wonderful—bracing, invigorating!
MATHEWS. [_Drily._] Yes, just now—but wait till next summer!
DORR. I haven’t time to wait. I’ll take your word for it.
MATHEWS. By the way, Mr. Dorr, you ought to know Mr. Hanson, secretary
to Miss Richmond. Mr. Hanson, Mr. Dorr. You are both Americans—
DORR. The best of reasons for our knowing each other, Mr. Hanson. I have
heard of Miss Richmond’s splendid services for India. You have doubtless
taken part in that work?
HANSON. Yes. Mrs. Hanson and I have been associated with Miss Richmond
for several years. It has been a pleasure to help even a little in the
great cause, but I’ve never been so happy as this morning. What do you
think has happened?
DORR. I’m sure I never could guess.
HANSON. A noble hearted soul has established a fund of ten million
pounds to carry on Miss Richmond’s work.
DORR. Ten millions! Who is your Crœsus?
HANSON. That’s the most remarkable part of it. He is as modest as he is
magnanimous—he prefers to remain unknown.
DORR. What does Miss Richmond say?
MATHEWS. She doesn’t know it yet. The dispatch arrived from Paris this
morning.
HANSON. It will be the happiest day of her life, I am sure.
DORR. How long do you remain at Port Said?
HANSON. Our steamer leaves day after to-morrow at ten. That reminds me,
I must send off a note at once to the steamship office. You will pardon
me? [_He goes to the table, left, and writes._]
MATHEWS. [_Beside the table._] Just look at that mail, Mr.
Dorr—contributions coming in from all quarters. There are many hundred
pounds in all, and yet how small that seems beside those ten millions!
How would you like to be able to give such a donation?
DORR. [_Uncomfortably._] I—I think it would be very pleasant—I think I’d
rather like it!
MATHEWS. I should say so! A man with such generous impulses should not
hide his light—
DORR. [_Interrupting._] Pardon me, Mr. Mathews, have you a Bradshaw
handy?
MATHEWS. [_Indicating to the table, right._] You will find one on that
table. [_He crosses._] Here it is. [DORR _follows and takes a seat with
his back to the others_. MATHEWS _turns to the back as if to go out and
meets_ ELEANOR RICHMOND. _He comes front with her._ DORR _pretends to be
reading his Bradshaw_.]
ELEANOR. Good morning, Mr. Mathews. It’s a full year since I was here.
How have you been?
MATHEWS. Very well. I need not ask—
ELEANOR. [_Smiling._] Always well and busy. Perhaps I should say always
well because I’m busy. What a lovely sunny morning. You seem to furnish
such beautiful weather whenever I come to your hotel.
MATHEWS. I hope you will enjoy your stay here, Miss Richmond.
ELEANOR. I always do. I’m sorry it must be such a short stay, but you
know—India is calling and I’m needed there. [_To_ HANSON.] Good morning,
Hanson—have you breakfasted?
HANSON. Not yet, Miss Richmond—I’ve been looking over the mail. The fact
is, I’m not at all hungry—
ELEANOR. You’re not getting ill, I hope? You seem strangely excited
about something. Is the fever prevalent now, Mr. Mathews?
MATHEWS. No, indeed. I don’t think anything serious is the matter with
Mr. Hanson. He is simply suffering from a slight shock.
ELEANOR. A shock! Why, what has happened?
HANSON. You see I was reading the mail—it’s a goodly batch of letters.
Nearly all of them contain donations, both large and small—I was simply
overcome by their generosity. Here is one from the English mission at
Kermeh in the upper Nile valley. Mr. Mathews has given me a check on
behalf of the management of the hotel and a personal contribution as
well.
ELEANOR. [_Gratefully._] Thank you for your aid. It is an inspiration to
find people everywhere so anxious to help! [_She has taken a seat at the
table, left, her back to_ DORR. HANSON _is seated at her side and_
MATHEWS _is standing_.]
HANSON. [_Slowly and seriously._] Miss Richmond, you know that now and
then there is an unusually large donation announced in the mail. [_She
nods expectantly as she looks over the letters._] That happened this
morning. [_A pause._] It is the most splendid gift that your cause has
ever received. [_She drops the letters and looks eagerly at_ HANSON.]
This is a trust fund, the interest of which is to be applied to your
work. Do not be startled at the sum—it is very great. You remember last
year the Earl of Shropshire gave—
ELEANOR. Ten thousand pounds—a munificent sum! And you say this is even
more?
HANSON. [_Deliberately._] Conceive the Earl of Shropshire’s gift
multiplied ten fold—a hundred fold—a thousand fold!
ELEANOR. [_Rising from her seat._] Hanson, what do you mean?
HANSON. [_Rising._] Miss Richmond, the amount is ten million pounds. [_A
pause. She looks from_ HANSON _to_ MATHEWS. HANSON _gives her the
dispatch. Tense silence as_ ELEANOR _reads it_. DORR _trembles, but does
not look around. The paper shakes in_ ELEANOR’S _hand_.]
ELEANOR. [_Faintly._] Ten million pounds—a permanent fund—one hundred
thousand pounds immediately available! [_She sinks into her chair._] Can
this be true? It is like the realization of a fairy-dream. Hanson, I
_must_ know the donor of this enormous fund—
HANSON. The dispatch says he prefers to remain anonymous.
ELEANOR. I must know. His name may be kept secret if he so desires, but
I must see that man and thank him from the bottom of my heart for the
good that he is doing. His bounty will reap a perpetual harvest—he must
see for himself what his unparalleled generosity will accomplish.
HANSON. Shall I write to the Blausteins at Paris, asking that the
donor’s name be communicated to you?
ELEANOR. No—I shall let you have a telegram for them. I want to know
before I leave Port Said. What a wonderful day this is! You knew of it,
Mr. Mathews?
MATHEWS. Mr. Hanson told me just before you came in. Let me say in all
sincerity, it is the kind of support that your noble work has merited
all along.
ELEANOR. It makes me happy past all understanding. We can achieve real
results now—not temporary relief, but permanent progress. Won’t you get
your breakfast, Hanson? I am forgetting all about you. No wonder you
seemed so excited. I shall telegraph to the Blausteins at once. [_She
reaches for a telegram pad and writes._]
HANSON. Very well. [_He gathers up the mail, leaving the dispatch from
the Blausteins in_ ELEANOR’S _possession_.] Mr. Mathews, won’t you
deposit these remittances in your safe for the present? [DORR _at his
table writes out a check_.]
MATHEWS. Certainly. Can I be of further service, Miss Richmond?
ELEANOR. Not now, but I shall call upon you later. Let me thank you once
more for your kindness! I must get off this dispatch at once.
MATHEWS. Let me know when I can serve you in any way. [_He goes off,
centre, with_ HANSON. ELEANOR, _when alone at the table, reads the
dispatch again, clasps it to her breast and looks upward in
thankfulness. Trying to compose her own telegram, she once more reads
the other and weeps softly as she does._ DORR _rises and turns towards
her. She is trying to compose herself to write, but cannot._]
DORR. [_Advancing._] Pardon me, Miss Richmond—I should like to
contribute a trifle to your fund. [_He hands her the check._]
ELEANOR. How good of—[_Looks intently at him._] why—I—[_In a whisper._]
Bobbie Dorr!
DORR. Yes.
ELEANOR. Bobbie Dorr—in Egypt! Oh! what a surprise! Were you sitting
over there reading that Bradshaw? I took you for an ill-mannered
tourist!
DORR. And you recognized me at once—after fifteen years.
ELEANOR. Is it as long as that? Then you must not mention the fact
again. You’ve grown broader and heavier, Bobbie—you look more sensible,
too!
DORR. And you’re just the same charming Eleanor that you were in the old
Lenox days.
ELEANOR. The idea of your saying such a thing! I just remarked that you
seemed more sensible—now I am inclined to doubt it. What have you been
doing all these years?
DORR. Wandering over the face of Europe and learning many things. I fear
you have never forgiven me for the unceremonious way I cleared out after
that dance of Aunt Martha’s. I sailed from New York a few hours after
that—that last evening we spent together.
ELEANOR. I have never forgotten that evening, Bobbie. You seemed like a
man possessed of some evil spirit. You remember how you raved about the
power of wealth—
DORR. I meant it then. My money is practically all gone now.
ELEANOR. You have run through that great fortune of your grandfather’s?
You have spent it all?
DORR. All but a very little—I couldn’t give you much of a contribution—
ELEANOR. [_Looking at the check._] How thoughtless of me! Here I have
been holding your check all this time without even glancing at it. One
thousand pounds! Generous as ever, Bobbie!
DORR. I’m sorry it isn’t more—
ELEANOR. [_Examining the signature._] What’s this? What a strange way of
spelling your name!
DORR. I’ve been known as M. D’Or ever since I left America—it was simply
a fancy of mine. Now that I’m through with my money, I shall be plain
Bobbie Dorr hereafter.
ELEANOR. It certainly sounds better, Bobbie—more like old times. Do you
know, I always felt that we should meet again and that you would tell me
truly whether or not wealth can buy power—
DORR. It cannot, Eleanor, I admit that. I spent my money foolishly for
the most part—that is, until recently, when I acquired more common
sense—but I’m glad I’m done with it. Now I’m going to ask you a favor.
ELEANOR. What is it, Bobbie?
DORR. Won’t you take me along to India?
ELEANOR. Take you along to India! Why, this is no pleasure excursion. It
means work—the hardest kind of work.
DORR. [_Dejectedly._] I know I don’t amount to much, but I thought I
might serve as a second or third assistant secretary. [_Brightening._] I
was watching your secretary this morning. When the mail comes in I might
open the envelopes and hand them over to Mr. Hanson.
ELEANOR. And what then?
DORR. Well, I suppose I’d have to look out of the window until the next
mail arrived. But, Eleanor, I’m serious about this—I’m no longer the
frivolous youngster I was at Lenox.
ELEANOR. We’ve both seen a good bit of life since then, Bobbie. I became
interested in charitable work, and my labors at home and in India have
been crowned with great success. Did you hear us speak before of the
wonderful good fortune that has just befallen us—the income of ten
million pounds to be annually devoted to our cause? Isn’t it marvelous!
I was just about to write in order to learn the name of the donor.
DORR. I shouldn’t ask the Blausteins about him—they won’t tell you
anyway.
ELEANOR. How did you know it was the Blausteins? I didn’t mention their
name.
DORR. Why, I—that is, Mr. Hanson happened to mention it to Mr. Mathews
before you came in.
ELEANOR. And knowing that, you were willing to sit there in that
cold-blooded manner reading your Bradshaw?
DORR. I didn’t want to take you by surprise. I wanted to give you a
chance to hear what Mr. Hanson had to say before I forced my unworthy
self on your attention.
ELEANOR. What Mr. Hanson had to say? It seems to me that you show very
little enthusiasm over this wonderful endowment. I must discover the
donor; won’t you help me?
DORR. I don’t see why you bother about him. He’s probably some eccentric
old fellow—he must be a queer chap to turn over such a sum to a Board of
Trustees—
ELEANOR. Board of Trustees—[_Reading the dispatch._] The dispatch says
nothing about a Board of Trustees!
DORR. Doesn’t it? Well, you see, they usually do such things in that
way. I inferred from what Mr. Hanson said to Mr. Mathews—
ELEANOR. [_Alert._] Bother Mr. Hanson and Mr. Mathews. [_Coming
closer._] Bobbie Dorr, tell me the truth. You left us fifteen years ago
to prove that wealth was power.
DORR. I know I made myself ridiculous. I believed then that humanity
could be bought and sold like merchandise over a counter. For a time I
succeeded after a fashion. I know better now. I confess my defeat.
ELEANOR. [_Watching him._] What did you do with that large fortune,
Bobbie?
DORR. [_Evasively._] It’s all gone—no use crying over spilled milk. I’m
rather poor now, and glad of it. There’s just enough left to provide for
my wants. All the rest is gone. Why do you look at me so strangely? It’s
all spent—that is, I got rid of it—I had no further use for it—I—gave it
away—I—
ELEANOR. Bobbie! It was you!!
DORR. Eleanor, a few moments ago you remarked to Mr. Hanson that you
wanted the donor of that fund to see what good it would accomplish. Now
I—I’m willing to confess—provided you take me along to India.
ELEANOR. You have triumphed, after all! Wealth is power!
DORR. Only when such a noble soul as yours dispenses it. [_He takes her
hand._] Give me a chance, Eleanor! May I go along to India?
ELEANOR. Yes. [_She picks up her half-finished dispatch to the
Blausteins and smilingly they look at it as the curtain falls._]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Early Reviews of
English Poets
EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
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