Within the Gates E-Book

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

• Herausgeber: Elizabeth Stuart Phelps
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

“O Paradise! O Paradise! The world is growing old. Who would not see that heavenly land, Where love is never cold?”

Leseprobe

UUID: dcb85aea-e3cc-11e6-aad0-0f7870795abd

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Table of contents

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

SCENE IV.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

SCENE IV.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Doctor Esmerald Thorne, a city physician.Helen Thorne, his wife.Laddie, their child. (Between four and five years of age.)Mrs. Fayth, a patient of the Doctor’s, and a friend of Mrs. Thorne’s, an invalid.Doctor Gazell, a hospital physician not in harmony with Dr. Thorne.Dr. Carver, a young surgeon.Maggie, a maid.A Priest, Nurses, Patients, Servants, People in the Street, Spirits, the Angel Azrael.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A library in a city house. A dining-room opens beyond a portière. The dinner-table is set. The library is furnished in red leather and dark wood. Books run to the ceiling. The carpet is indeterminate in tone. The heavy curtains are of a rich, dark crimson. A window is to be seen. The library is littered a little with the signs of feminine occupation. At one of the tables sits Mrs. Thorne. She is a young and beautiful woman, of stately presence and modest, high-bred manner. She is well-dressed—but not over-dressed—in a tea-gown such as a lady might wear in her own home when guests are not expected. The dress is cream-white; it falls open over a crimson skirt. The lamps are shaded with lace of red or of white. One with a white shade is on the table by which she sits. Her sewing materials are lying about, among books and magazines half-cut. She tries to sew upon a little boy’s lace collar, but throws her work down restlessly. Her face wears a troubled expression.(She rises and crosses the room nervously; goes to the window, and stands between the long lace curtains, looking out. She consults her watch; speaks.)Mrs. Thorne. It is not so very late! Hardly past six o’clock yet. What can be the matter with me? I must not become a worrier. A doctor’s wife can never afford to be that.EnterMaggie.Maggie. Shall I serve dinner, ma’am?Mrs. Thorne. The Doctor has not come, Maggie. We must wait—Jane will be careful not to burn the soup.(Rises and looks again restlessly out of the window; calls:)Maggie!Maggie. Ma’am?Mrs. Thorne. When you went up to light the Doctor’s candles, how did Laddie seem? Did Molly say?Maggie. Just the same, she said. He does seem sort of miser’ble.[ExitMaggie.Mrs. Thorne. (takes up a magazine and tries, in vain, to read; sighs, and lays it down; takes up the little lace collar and tries to sew; lays that down; rises). I’ll run up again and look at the child for myself.EnterMaggie.Maggie. Mrs. Fayth, ma’am.EnterMrs. Fayth (pale, sweet-faced, delicate, with the languorous step of the half-cured invalid. She is in carriage dress, with a long, dove-colored opera cape—rich, but plain in design. She throws off the cape at once).[ExitMaggie.Mrs. Thorne (warmly embracing her friend). Why, Mary Fayth!You?At this time of night!Mrs. Fayth. Yes. I—Mary Fayth—isn’t it wonderful? I haven’t been out after sundown before for six years.... Is the Doctor in?Mrs. Thorne. He hasn’t come yet. I am waiting for him. We never can tell.Mrs. Fayth. Doesn’t the dinner get cold?Mrs. Thorne. The dinner is subject to chronic bronchitis and acute pneumonia.Mrs. Fayth. (laughs merrily). Acute pneu-mo-nia is good.... You were always clever.Mrs. Thorne. But I don’t fret. A doctor’s wife can never do that.... Give me your cape, dear. You’ll wait for him.Mrs. Fayth. I did want to surprise him. He would be so pleased. My husband calls me Doctor Thorne’s miracle. But never mind. I can’t wait for him. I’m on my way to the Hospital Fair.... Think of that! I’m to be let stay till half-past eight o’clock. Fred is to meet me there, and we’re to dine at the café with the crowd and see the tableaux.... Think of it!—like common, vulgar, healthy people. Isn’t it wonderful? To be half alive! I have been half dead so long! Kiss me, Helen.Mrs. Thorne. (anxiously). I hope you won’t pay for it to-morrow, dear. (Kisses her affectionately.)Mrs. Fayth (cheerily). Oh, I expect to be flat to-morrow. But it’s worth it—to go somewhere with one’s husband ... after six years. I’m going to the Fifteen Cent Museum next—when I get a little farther along—some big, noisy, healthy, shabby place. Fred has promised to take me. He dotes on the gorillas.... Well, I only ran in. The horses are getting cold. I must go. Give my love to the Doctor—Helen! I’m going to church when I get well. I want to hear theTe Deum.... It’s a good while since I did that. They won’t let me. They put it off till the last. Fred said I must begin with the Hospital Fair and work up through the gorillas to re-li-gious dis-si-pa-tion. The Doctor says I’m to get well in a sci-en-ti-fic manner; on the Law of Ev-o-lution. Poor dear Doctor! He doesn’t care about theTe Deum.—Helen, I wish your husband believed. He is so good—so kind. He ought to be a re-li-gious man.Mrs. Thorne (sadly, with almost imperceptible bitterness). He is a doctor.Mrs. Fayth. He is so great, you see. He is almighty to so many miserable people.... I can understand that. His mind stops there. He is so strong, so powerful; he works the miracles himself.Mrs. Thorne. My husband has no time to study these questions, Mary. All his life is given up to science, you know. I thought—when we were first married—I could influence him in these ways. But a doctor’s wife learns better than that.Mrs. Fayth. What he needs is to be half-dead. Then he wouldhaveto believe. He is too much alive, poor Doctor.... It is such a joy to be alive, Helen! I thought I must run in and tell you.Mrs. Thorne (smiling affectionately). I’ll tell him to be sure and see you to-morrow. You’ll need it.Mrs. Fayth. Well, Fred can tel-e-phone. I dare say I shall be sick enough. Good-by, dear—Helen? What ailsyou? You don’t look right to-night.Mrs. Thorne (arousing). Laddie doesn’t seem well at all. I can’t make Esmerald believe that anything ails him. But that’s the way, you know.... I am not allowed to be anxious. The mother of a doctor’s child can never be that.Mrs. Fayth (with quick sympathy). Oh, I am so sorry! I know just how you feel—Mrs. Thorne. You never had a child, Mary.Mrs. Fayth. But sick people understand everything. Oh, we know!Mrs. Thorne. Yes. I suppose you have so much time to think.Mrs. Fayth. We have so much time to feel. (Rises to leave.)(Mrs. Thorneputs the opera cape over her friend’s shoulders.)Mrs. Fayth (abruptly). Helen, I was thinking to-day about Cleo. I don’t often.Mrs. Thorne (pityingly). Poor girl! I do, very often. She must have led a cruel life with her husband. And she was so young when he died! She really hated him—I think as much after he was dead as when he was alive.Mrs. Fayth. She did not hate yours.Mrs. Thorne (gravely). She was a patient. I have nothing to say.Mrs. Fayth. But of course she hardly made a secret of it, that she loved the Doctor—half wrongly, half rightly.Mrs. Thorne. Like the woman she was—half fiend, half angel—Mrs. Fayth (interrupting). There are people who still talk about her; they are equally divided whether she died of love or morphine. It is said she had the opium habit. It is three years ago to-day that she killed herself.Mrs. Thorne. I had forgotten.... Poor Cleo!Mrs. Fayth. I’ve been thinking about her all day—I don’t know why. She never liked me very well—perhaps because Ididn’tlove the Doctor; and so he could do so much more for me. You know how those things go.... And you never gave her the satisfaction of one hour’s jealousy?Mrs. Thorne (peacefully). How could I? I never had the materials.... But, as you say, these things are complicated. We never know where the end of the skein is.Mrs. Fayth. I will send over to-morrow and see how Laddie is. Good-night—good-night.Mrs. Thorne (kisses her warmly). I wish you would stay—I wish you need not go. Don’t go! Mary—don’t go![ExitMrs. Fayth (slowly, with a sweet,mysterious smile).(Mrs. Thornerelapses into her anxious attitude and manner. Moves to the window, and looks out again, between the curtains. While she stands there with her back to the door, suddenly and noisily striding in.)EnterDr. Thorne.Dr. Thorne (at once). Isn’t dinner ready?Mrs. Thorne (turning delightedly). Oh! At last!Dr. Thorne. Well. You might have met me, then.Mrs. Thorne. Why, I have been watching for you—and listening—till I’m half blind and deaf. I have been to the window—Dr. Thorne. Don’t complain. I hate a complaining woman.Mrs. Thorne (has advanced towards him, and impulsively put up her arms! Drops them at this and turns sadly). I did not know I was complaining, Esmerald.Dr. Thorne. Most people don’t know when they are disagreeable. (He does not offer to kiss her; pulls off his overcoat nervously.) Isn’t dinner ready? I am starved out.(Maggieis seen in the dining-room hastily serving dinner.)Mrs. Thorne (ringing). Maggie had orders to put it on as soon as she heard your wheels.... Yes. There! You poor, hungry fellow!EnterMaggie.Maggie. Dinner is served, Mrs. Thorne.Dr. Thorne. I must run up and change my coat, first—no, I won’t. I haven’t time. I am driven to death. Come along, Helen. (Strides out before her; then recalls himself from his discourtesy, and steps back.Dr. Thorneis a tall, well-built, handsome man, of distinguished bearing, but with a slight limp; his face is disfigured by a frown, as he looks at his wife. He repeats) I am driven to death! I haven’t time to call my soul my own.Mrs. Thorne (archly). I thought you hadn’t any soul, dear. Or I thought you thought you hadn’t.Dr. Thorne (crossly). Soul? Rubbish! It is more than I can do to manage bodies. Soul? Stuff! What have you got for dinner?(They seat themselves at the table.)Mrs. Thorne. You poor boy! You poor, tired, hungry fellow! I hope the dinner will please you? (Timidly.)Dr. Thorne (testily). Really, I hadn’t time to come at all. I’ve got to go again in ten minutes. But I supposed you would worry if I didn’t show myself. It’s a foolish waste of time. I wish I hadn’t come.Mrs. Thorne (speaking in a low, controlled, articulate voice). You need not. On my account.You need never come again.Dr. Thorne (irritably). It is easier to come than to know you sit here making yourself miserable because I don’t.Mrs. Thorne (gently). Have I ever fretted you about coming, Esmerald? I did not know it.Dr. Thorne. It would be easier if you did fret. I’d rather you’d say a thing than look it. Any man would.... This soup is burned!Mrs. Thorne. Too bad! I gave special orders to Jane—that is really too bad. Let me send it away.Dr. Thorne (excitedly). No, I’ve got to get down something. Bring on the rest—if there is anything fit to eat. I’m due at the Hospital in twenty-two minutes. Gazell is behaving like the devil. If I’m not to handle him, nobody can. The whole staff is afraid of him—everybody but me. We sha’n’t get the new ward built these two years if he carries the day to-night. I’ve got a consultation at Decker’s. The old lady is dying. It’s no use dragging a tired man out there; I can’t do her any good. But they will have it. I’m at the beck and call of every whim. I wish I’d had time to change my boots! My feet are wet. My head aches horribly. I had an enormous office—sixty people; forty here—twenty down-town—besides my calls. I’ve seen eighty sick people to-day. I was a fool to agree to that noon office hour.—I’ve lost ten thousand dollars in this panic. Brake telephoned me to get down to Stock Street to save what I could. I couldn’t get off.... I lost a patient this morning—that little girl at the Harrohart’s. She was a poor little scrofulous thing, but they are terribly cut up about it.—I wish you’d had a good, clear soup. I hate these opaque things.Mrs. Thorne. But last time we had consommé, you said—Dr. Thorne. I said! I said! Who cares what hesays?Mrs. Thorne (in a low voice). That seems to be quite true.Dr. Thorne. What did you say? Do speak louder. I hate to hear women mumble their words.—I hope you have some roast beef; better than the last. You mustn’t let Parsnip cheat you. Quail? There’s no nourishment in quail for a man in my state— (Pushes away his plate crossly.) Well, I suppose I’ve got to eat something. I was a fool not to dine at the club.—The gas leaks. Can’t you have it attended to? Pudding? No. I see enough of spoon food in sick rooms. I might have eaten a good, hearty pie.Mrs. Thorne. But the last pie we had, you said—Dr. Thorne (again). I said! I said! What does it signify what a mansays? How many times must I say that? Hurry up the coffee. I must swallow it, and go. I’ve got more than ten men could do.Mrs. Thorne (gently, but with perceptible dignity). It seems to be more than one woman can do—Dr. Thorne. What’s that? Do speak so I can hear you.—If you’re going to speak at all.Mrs. Thorne. I said it seems to be more than one woman can do to rest you.Dr. Thorne (carelessly). Do ring for a decent cup of coffee. I can’t drink this.Mrs. Thorne. Esmerald—Dr. Thorne (crossly). Oh, what? I can’t stop to talk. There! I’ve burned my tongue now. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s going to a consultation with a burned tongue.Mrs. Thorne (tenderly). How tired you are, Esmerald! It even gets into your poor foot.—You limp more to-night. I was only going to say that I am sorry. I can’tletyou go without saying that.Dr. Thorne (rising, and walking irritably through the rooms). I can’t see that that helps it any. I am so tired I don’t want to be touched. (Mrs. Thorne brings his overcoat. He repulses her.) Never mind my coat. I’ll put it on myself. Tell Joe—No. I left the horse standing; I don’t want Joe. I suppose Donna is uneasy by this time. She won’t stand at night—She’s got to.I’ll get that whim out of her.—Now don’t look that way! The horse is safe enough.Mrs. Thorne. I haven’t bothered you about the horse, have I? But I don’t feel—quite—easy. She is such a nervous creature, and so—Dr. Thorne (imperiously). Don’t you suppose I know how to drive? You’re always having opinions of your own against mine. There! I must be off.—Where’s the boy, Helen? Where’s Laddie?Mrs. Thorne (gently). Laddie isn’t just right, somehow, Esmerald. I hated to bother you, for you never think it’s anything. Molly is with him. I’ve been a little troubled about him. He has cried all the afternoon.Dr. Thorne. He cries because you coddle him! It is all nonsense, Helen. Nothing ails the child. I won’t encourage this sort of thing. I’ll see him when I come home. I can’t possibly wait—I am driven to death—for every little whim. (Rushes towards the door, but pauses, irresolute.) I suppose I shall have to go up—if you’ve got this fixed idea in your head. I’ll take a look at him on the way out.Mrs. Thorne (more gently; without reproach, but regarding him steadily). Good-by, Esmerald.Dr. Thorne. Oh, bother!—I can’t stop for fooling, now.Mrs. Thorne (with sudden change of manner, breaks down, and hides her f [...]