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Title: Monsieur D'Or
A dramatic fantasy
Author: John Louis Haney
Release date: January 24, 2026 [eBook #77765]
Language: English
Original publication: Philadelphia: The Egerton Press, 1910
Credits: Richard Tonsing, Charlene Taylor, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONSIEUR D'OR ***
MONSIEUR D’OR
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
=A BIBLIOGRAPHY OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.= With portrait. Edition
limited to three hundred copies, printed from type, and a large paper
edition of thirty copies.
Regular Edition $ 4.00 _net._
Large Paper Edition 10.00 _net._
=EARLY REVIEWS OF ENGLISH POETS.= With Introduction and Notes.
Regular Edition $1.20 _net._
Library Edition 2.00 _net._
=THE NAME OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.= A Study in Orthography.
Regular Edition $1.00 _net._
MONSIEUR D’OR
A DRAMATIC FANTASY
BY
JOHN LOUIS HANEY
[Illustration: A black laurel wreath encircling a central torch with a
flame, tied at the base with a ribbon bow.]
PHILADELPHIA
THE EGERTON PRESS
1910
This edition is limited to two hundred and fifty copies printed from
type and numbered.
No. ——
Copyright, 1910
By JOHN LOUIS HANEY
All rights, including presentation and translation, are reserved.
Application concerning public performances should be made to
The Egerton Press, 934 North Eleventh Street, Philadelphia.
PRESS OF
THE NEW ERA PRINTING COMPANY
LANCASTER, PA.
TO
=My Parents=
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammered, and rolled;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold,
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled;
Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold;
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Good or bad a thousand fold!
—Thomas Hood
THE CHARACTERS
The Prolog
ROBERT DORR
SIDNEY HASTINGS
JACK NORGATE
BILLY FANSHAWE
PERCY MIDDLETON
HAROLD WESTBROOK
Mrs. SARA KEENE
ELEANOR RICHMOND, her niece
MARIAN WINTHROP
MARGARET THURBER
ROSE LOWELL
GERTRUDE PASTON
Scene I
MONSIEUR D’OR
RAOUL LEHMANN
FRÉDÉRIC LEHMANN, his brother
M. BERTINE, their secretary
M. ALBERT
M. LORRAINE
ADRIENNE COURTEAUX
CÉLESTE BERGÈRE
M. FRÉMIET
Scene II
MONSIEUR D’OR
ADOLPHE LEMAIRE
JEAN MOREAU
HENRI VAUX
HÉLÈNE VAUX, his daughter
Mme. CYPRIENNE DACIER
Mme. LUCETTE CLARY
BAPTISTE, a servant
Scene III
MONSIEUR D’OR
SIR MORTIMER MUIRHEAD
Mr. GILBERT, his secretary
BARON GRAEFFLINGEN
Herr LOBEN, his secretary
MARQUIS PALLOT
COUNT ANDRIEV
CLAIRE LASALLE, a stenographer
Scene IV
MONSIEUR D’OR
Dr. MIRSKY
RAMANAND, an Oriental
CYRIL, a boy
EDITH PACKARD, a nurse
Epilog
ROBERT DORR
Mr. MATHEWS
ELEANOR RICHMOND
Mr. HANSON, her secretary
The forty characters may be distributed among thirteen players. See note
on page 10.
THE PROLOG
A terrace adjoining the Dorr Villa at Lenox.
SCENE I
The office of Lehmann Frères, St. Gallen.
SCENE II
The music room of the Chateau D’Or, near Versailles.
SCENE III
A private parlor in the Hotel Royal, Interlaken.
SCENE IV
A chamber in a Balkan palace.
THE EPILOG
A parlor in the Hotel Orient, Port Said.
Fifteen years elapse between the Prolog and the Epilog.
NOTE
The forty characters may be distributed among thirteen players as
follows:
Prol. Sc. I Sc. II Sc. III Sc. IV Epil.
DORR D’OR D’OR D’OR D’OR DORR
WESTBROOK R. LEHMANN LEMAIRE MUIRHEAD RAMANAND
HASTINGS F. LEHMANN MOREAU GILBERT MIRSKY HANSON
FANSHAWE BERTINE LOBEN MATHEWS
NORGATE ALBERT BAPTISTE PALLOT
MIDDLETON FRÉMIET ANDRIEV
LORRAINE VAUX GRAEFFLINGEN
MRS. KEENE
ELEANOR ADRIENNE HÉLÈNE CLAIRE EDITH ELEANOR
MARIAN CÉLESTE
MARGARET CYPRIENNE
GERTRUDE LUCETTE
ROSE CYRIL
MONSIEUR D’OR
THE PROLOG
[_A handsome terrace adjoining the ball room of the Dorr Villa. Wide
marble steps in the rear lead to a higher tesselated walk with marble
balustrades. As it is night there is only a dim vista of the beautiful
gardens beyond. On the right there is a similar approach by marble steps
to the higher level. The ball room is reached by steps on the left. Its
glass doors and deep windows are draped with exquisite lace curtains.
Palms and other exotic plants are placed appropriately about the
terrace; large, gaudy Japanese lanterns are strung overhead at various
points. At each side of the terrace there is, in front of a bank of
potted plants, a large marble bench provided with silk cushions. The
orchestra in the ball room is playing a delightful Viennese waltz as the
curtain rises. During the earlier part of the scene recurrent noise of
laughter and chatter is heard from the dancers and their shadows are
reflected on the curtains of the room. As the various couples emerge
from the ball room or enter from the rear they engage in mutual
conversation as they promenade without regard for the others. The
characters all suggest superabundant wealth and a marked air of
flippancy in the consciousness of their social preeminence. A few
moments after the rising of the curtain_ SIDNEY HASTINGS _and_ MARIAN
WINTHROP _enter from the ball room_.]
MARIAN. So the court granted her the custody of the children?
SIDNEY. And he is forbidden to marry again during her life time.
MARIAN. She gets alimony, of course?
SIDNEY. Fifty thousand a year.
MARIAN. Poor Mabel! She’ll spend that in three months. I really believe
the dear girl will have to make up with him or find some one else who is
willing to take her with the youngsters. There’s three of them, you
know, Sid—and large families are not fashionable now. She’ll never
manage to scrape along on fifty thousand. Why, he used to give her that
in jewels every year!
SIDNEY. I believe you’re right, Marian. It seems a bit hard, doesn’t it?
MARIAN. Mabel would have done better if she had gone to Reno. They’re
specialists out there, you know—they would have given her a square deal.
[_They pass up the steps at the right and return slowly by the upper
walk to the ball room. Meanwhile_ BILLY FANSHAWE _and_ MARGARET THURBER
_enter direct from the ball room_.]
BILLY. Yes, the whole story is in the New York papers this evening. Shot
himself through the mouth and didn’t live a minute. I felt sorry for the
poor devil! Did you know him?
MARGARET. I knew his wife—she was Susie Caxton—one of the Amherst
Caxtons. Lucky there’s no children. Why did he do it, Billy?
BILLY. I suppose he couldn’t stand the pace his particular Amherst
Caxton was setting for him. He was only a bank clerk, you know, and
trying to keep up with people who spent as much in a week as he earned
in a year.
MARGARET. I thought he had an important position at the bank.
BILLY. My dear Margaret, how innocent you are! His position was
important enough, but they didn’t pay him more than they had to. He
tried the stock-market to help him out and before he knew it he was
juggling the deposit slips like a professional crook. The warrant was
out for his arrest and he knew it. That’s why he turned the gun upon
himself.
MARGARET. Poor little Susie! She gave up Charlie Decker, who is worth at
least ten millions, to marry that man. I suppose we’ve seen the last of
her. [_During the latter part of the conversation_ PERCY MIDDLETON _and_
ROSE LOWELL _have entered from the ball room and have walked across the
back of the stage, so that they now pass_ BILLY _and_ MARGARET _at the
right and proceed along the front while the other two sit on the bench
at the right side and converse_.]
ROSE. You shouldn’t associate with that woman, Percy—she’s a notorious
character.
PERCY. She’s not so bad. You girls are simply jealous. Besides, there’s
always a lot of reporters and johnnies hanging around her dressing-room.
There’s no chance to get really intimate. She seems to think a lot of
me, though—you ought to hear her call me ‘mon cher Pairsee’—she’s not
strong on English, you know.
ROSE. I don’t know.
PERCY. Well, that’s why I’m telling you. The other night I said to her,
‘Natalie, your tongue can’t speak English, but your eyes can speak every
language there is in the world.’ [BILLY _and_ MARGARET _rise from the
bench and return to the ball room by the upper walk_.]
ROSE. That was rather neatly put, Percy.
PERCY. [_Flattered._] Wasn’t it? The reporters wanted to write it up for
the papers, but I called them off. Natalie doesn’t like notoriety. She’s
not such a bad one, Rose, when you get to know her. Of course, she likes
a bird and a bottle after the show and she gets a bit lively at times,
but she doesn’t lose her self-control. She’s a thoroughbred. She’s not
like that Margaret Thurber we passed just now. At the Decker dance last
week that girl just stowed away champagne till she fell off her chair.
Now Natalie would know better than that; she’s—
ROSE. See here, I don’t want to hear any more about that vulgar chorus
girl—
PERCY. Oh! you’re just jealous—like the rest of them. Maybe Natalie
wouldn’t get a fit if she saw me out here in the dark with you. I
believe she’d scratch your eyes out. She’s a spunky little filly—she’s a
real thoroughbred. You’ve got to treat her right. [_As they pass off
right to the garden_, JACK NORGATE _and_ GERTRUDE PASTON _stroll along
the rear terrace from the left and come down by the central steps_.]
GERTRUDE. There’s Rose Lowell with that silly Percy Middleton. I don’t
see how she can tolerate the fellow.
JACK. That’s no enigma. He’s worth three or four millions, whereas the
Lowells are not rich.
GERTRUDE. It’s cruel of you, dear, to say that. Rose isn’t the sort of
girl to marry for money.
JACK. Why, Gertie, she must marry for money, whether it’s cruel or not
to say so. I’m sorry there’s nothing more promising than Percy on her
matrimonial horizon. Shall we sit down a while? [_They take seats on the
bench at the right._]
GERTRUDE. He’s a disgusting creature, Jack. I wish the Dorrs wouldn’t
invite him to their affairs.
JACK. Have you heard of his escapade with Mrs. Vansant?
GERTRUDE. Ah! that impudent Vansant woman! What has she been doing to
Percy?
JACK. They gave her charge of a booth at the charity bazaar and when
trade grew slack she announced that she would auction off a dozen kisses
among the men. Just then Percy came along and bid fifty dollars for the
entire dozen. That silenced the rest and she had to accept Percy’s bid.
He promptly paid the money, took one kiss, and notified her that he
reserved the rest for future delivery.
GERTRUDE. What did Mrs. Vansant say to that?
JACK. Oh! she was game! She told Percy that she was ready whenever he
was. I presume he will collect those kisses one at a time whenever he
can make himself sufficiently conspicuous in doing it.
GERTRUDE. How disgusting! Buying and selling kisses!
JACK. You’re right, dearest! Kisses were not meant to be sold. [_He
looks around towards the ball room to make sure that they are alone,
then kisses her passionately. Meanwhile_ PERCY _and_ ROSE _have
re-entered from the right just in time for the tender scene. It is too
late to retreat, so they tiptoe awkwardly and hurriedly across the back
of the terrace to the ball room._]
GERTRUDE. [_Freeing herself._] How imprudent, Jack. Somebody might have
seen us.
JACK. Now don’t scold me, Gertie. I made sure that we were alone;
besides, I don’t often get a chance—
GERTRUDE. [_Curtly._] Won’t you take me back to the ball room? [_They
rise and walk towards the left._]
JACK. You’re not angry, I hope? We were talking of kisses, dear, and I
simply couldn’t help it.
GERTRUDE. We were talking of Percy Middleton’s buying the kisses of that
odious grass-widow.
JACK. I’ll admit that I did wrong, and I’m very, very sorry. Does that
satisfy you? [_After a pause._] Now let’s kiss and make up.
GERTRUDE. [_Smiling._] Another kiss! Jack, you’re incorrigible. [_She
kisses him tenderly._] You dear boy! Will it always be like this?
JACK. [_Taking her in his arms._] Always—forever—and so on for eternity.
We shall be all in all to each other and the rest of the world will be
as nothing to us. Just you and I—we two alone—
GERTRUDE. Dear Jack! I am so happy! [_They enter the ball room. From the
rear_ HAROLD WESTBROOK _and_ ELEANOR RICHMOND _come slowly down the
central steps; her demeanor is serious, his is somewhat depressed. They
seat themselves on the bench at the left side._]
ELEANOR. How soon do you leave?
HAROLD. In a few days. The ranch is a large one and I’m needed out
there. I had no intention of asking you so soon, Eleanor—I’m afraid
fortune has been against me, but it was my last chance to see you
alone—I had to speak!
ELEANOR. [_With sympathy._] I am heartily sorry it cannot be otherwise,
but our decisions in the real crises of life seem often not to rest with
ourselves.
HAROLD. Have you no hope to offer me? No chance that some day you may be
willing to join me in the West, to work out our destinies together in
the great world beyond the plains?
ELEANOR. No, I feel sure it can never be—but I hope we shall remain good
friends. I want to hear from you, Harold, and I shall pray for your
happiness in your new home. I shall always remember that you have paid
me the sincerest tribute that a true man can offer a woman. You have put
a consecrated seal upon our friendship. No matter what our lot may be in
the days to come, we must never forget this night.
HAROLD. Heaven knows, I shall never forget it. There is consolation in
the thought that you are not going entirely out of my life. Your
kindness has brought a soothing calm over my great grief. I have no
right to ask if there is another to whom you have given your heart, but
Heaven has indeed blessed that man.
ELEANOR. Heaven has blessed every man and every woman who has known true
love. If our human frailty is such that we can never comprehend the full
measure of that blessing, we should at least be thankful for whatever
glimpse of the divine vision is granted us.
HAROLD. You know best, Eleanor—your soul speaks with a clearer insight
than mine. I shall abide by your decision—and I shall worship you till
the end.
ELEANOR. Don’t say that, Harold—you will meet some one else—
HAROLD. [_Softly, but with conviction._] No, there will never be any one
else. [_They sit in silence for a few moments. The music stops._ HAROLD
_takes her hand and kisses it reverently. They rise and walk silently
into the ball room._ BILLY FANSHAWE, JACK NORGATE _and_ SIDNEY HASTINGS
_stroll in leisurely at the centre from the terrace behind the ball
room_.]
JACK. [_Looking after them._] Harold Westbrook has been very attentive
to Miss Richmond all evening.
BILLY. He’s wasting his time in that campaign. I’ll back Bobbie Dorr for
any amount to win her against the field. [SIDNEY _looks after the
retreating figures and says nothing_.] What do you think of it, Sid?
SIDNEY. Miss Richmond is altogether too fine a girl for Bobbie
Dorr—that’s my thought. [_He offers a cigarette to_ JACK, _who accepts,
then to_ BILLY.] Smoke, Billy?
BILLY. No thanks! I came out for some fresh air. Besides, smoking spoils
my appetite. I’m going to make another raid on the collation pretty
soon. It’s excellent stuff. I’ve had a couple of lobster cutlets, some
sweet breads and two of the nicest soft crabs I ever ate. The Dorrs
certainly know how to do things.
SIDNEY. [_Bitterly._] Who wouldn’t know how to do things with the income
of forty-odd millions at one’s disposal?
BILLY. Forty-odd millions! [_Whistles._] Forty-odd! Why, I’d be
satisfied with the odd! [_Explaining._] It might be seven or nine, you
know. [_In a lower voice._] I say, is that correct? Is it as much as
that?
JACK. I don’t believe that old man Dorr gathered so much out of his
Nevada mines. Of course, he piled up a lot of money, but—
SIDNEY. I grant you, there were no forty millions in his silver mines,
but you are evidently not aware of his other interests that paid him
enormously though his name was never associated with them. You may
remember that no inventory was filed by the executors—but Simpson, who
was chief counsel for the estate, told me a few things.
BILLY. [_Curiously._] What did he say, Sid?
SIDNEY. He mentioned substantial shareholdings in the Kimberley diamond
fields, in the Swiss lace and embroidery industries, in breakfast foods,
railroads, waterpower companies, automobile factories, tobacco, oil,
sugar. [_Savagely._] I declare that when Simpson got through with his
catalogue of Dorr’s interests I felt convinced that there was hardly a
human creature in civilization who didn’t pay tribute in some form to
that old octopus.
JACK. [_Looking reflectively at his cigarette._] And even the tobacco we
are smoking! Rather lucky we know the Dorrs, eh? We can get back some of
our tribute when we gather here as their guests.
BILLY. Bobbie Dorr and his aunt are certainly making the income on the
forty-odd millions circulate with startling vivacity. I’m willing to
help them. Won’t you boys come in and get another bite of something to
eat?
JACK. No, thanks.
SIDNEY. We’ll finish our cigarettes first.
BILLY. Pity you fellows smoke so much—it spoils your appetite. Well, I’m
off for another lobster cutlet and a sweetbread or two—[_He goes toward
left._] and I shall certainly have another of those delicious soft
crabs. [_Exit left._]
SIDNEY. I envy a man who can enjoy material existence as Billy does.
Why, he’s a personified stomach. I believe he’d sell his soul for a
salad!
JACK. [_Laughing._] Not much! Billy would make a better deal than that.
He would demand at least a well-selected dinner with appropriate
wines—then he might feel satisfied that he had made a real bargain.
SIDNEY. He’s a sterling good fellow just the same—I’m glad to number him
among my friends. I need a cheerful spirit like Billy about me
occasionally—I am apt to grow bitter when I let my thoughts dwell on
such men as Bobbie Dorr.
JACK. I don’t see why you should feel that way about Bobbie. Of course,
he’s a child of fortune. With his good looks, his wealth, and his fair
allotment of brains he is bound to play a conspicuous part in our social
life.
SIDNEY. You know, Jack, I’m fond of growling at times and just now I’m
not above criticizing a man who is virtually my host. There’s something
I don’t like about Bobbie Dorr. I don’t envy him his great wealth nor
his social triumphs, but that insufferable air of presumption I cannot
tolerate. What was his grandfather when he started for the West half a
century ago?
JACK. Nobody in particular, I suppose.
SIDNEY. Josiah Dorr was a strong, keen-witted Yankee with no capital
except his good health and his persistent optimism. He knocked about for
a good many years before he made that lucky strike in Nevada.
JACK. And then he married and lived unhappily ever after.
SIDNEY. Not at all! Dorr married while he was still poor and with his
usual luck chose a wife who was just the right sort for him—a woman of
no pretensions, but of sound common sense; and their married life was
happy enough until the children grew up.
JACK. Bobbie’s father and his aunt Martha?
SIDNEY. Exactly. The lamented Josiah, Jr., and [_Pointing toward the
ball room._] our charming hostess. Simpson told me that young Josiah was
for many years a thorn in the flesh of his parents. He seemed to
progress from one escapade to another till he crowned his list of
indiscretions by marrying a third-rate actress whose pretty face was her
only recommendation for public attention.
JACK. I didn’t know that Bobbie’s mother was an actress.
SIDNEY. Neither did the public, though she tried hard enough to make
them think so. Of course, she gave up the stage when she became Mrs.
Josiah, Jr. She probably expected to try her histrionic talent in
melting the heart of the stern parent—but old Dorr didn’t give her a
chance. He never laid eyes on her!
JACK. Not even after Bobbie was born? That frequently makes a
difference!
SIDNEY. Old Dorr saw nothing of Bobbie till both Josiah, Jr. and his
actress-wife were dead. Then Aunt Martha took charge of Bobbie and the
boy grew up under her care. After that nothing was too good for the hope
of the family. They took him to Lausanne for his education, gave him a
thoroughly cosmopolitan training, topped off with a few semesters at
Heidelberg. He speaks four languages—but I don’t believe he has been
accused of enriching the world’s store of thought in any of them. Behold
to-night the finished product, capering in yonder ball room! When he
reaches his twenty-fifth birthday a few weeks hence he will be the happy
possessor of some forty millions.
JACK. A fellow has little excuse for being anything but the most decent
sort of chap under such conditions. Fate has been unusually kind to
Bobbie Dorr.
SIDNEY. He’s no silly offspring of superabundant wealth—Bobbie’s a
capital fellow in many respects, but I can’t quite overlook his
patronizing air, his superb confidence in the power of his riches. That
sort of thing is pardonable in a man who has created the wealth, who has
wrested it from the unyielding earth by the sweat of his brow or has won
it by the exercise of his superior wit, but it takes little genius to
inherit another man’s money.
JACK. Here he comes, Sid; we’re in for a quick change of subject.
[_Louder._] In my opinion, these gardens are among the most attractive
at Lenox. There’s that fine row of Lombardy poplars—[ROBERT DORR _enters
from the ball room. His evening attire is beyond criticism save for the
fact that he wears large gold studs in his shirt, a heavy gold fob and
several conspicuously large rings._]
DORR. Would anybody believe it? A room full of charming girls, and you
two solemn philosophers out here in the dark discussing the Lombardy
poplars. Can you find nothing better to talk about?
SIDNEY. I’m sure we’re both booked for every dance on the list. It’s a
breath of fresh air we’re after now.
DORR. Meanwhile the ladies are commenting upon your ungallant
disappearance; but you cannot elude them long. Billy Fanshawe is
bringing out a small party to view the lower gardens. Perhaps such a
trip would appeal to you?
JACK. It’s a lark! I wonder how they ever got Billy away from the
lobster cutlets and the soft crabs. [_Enter_ BILLY _left, followed by_
MRS. KEENE, MARIAN, GERTRUDE, MARGARET _and_ ROSE.]
BILLY. [_Officiously, from the top step._] All in line for a personally
conducted tour around the celebrated Dorr gardens. The small and select
party will be carefully chaperoned by Mrs. Keene and will be under the
immediate direction of Mr. William Fanshawe, the well-known cicerone,
who will explain all points of interest.
JACK. Bully, old man! You’re as impressive as the prospectus of a Cook’s
tour.
MRS. KEENE. Come on, girls. [_They descend to the terrace._] Why, Mr.
Norgate and Mr. Hastings! I have been wondering what had become of you.
SIDNEY. We just stepped out to admire the garden and we now crave
permission to join your small and select party.
MARIAN. I think they’re horrid in coming out here to smoke and then to
pretend they were admiring the garden. I move that we refuse them
permission to join our party. All in favor say ‘aye.’
THE GIRLS. [_In chorus._] Aye!
MARIAN. It is carried. Mr. Hastings and Mr. Norgate are not permitted to
join us.
SIDNEY. Pardon me, Miss Winthrop, you are not parliamentary. You put
your own motion—you even forgot to wait till some one seconded it.
MARIAN. What was the use? I knew they were all in favor of it.
SIDNEY. You ought to be in Congress—they need girls like you. But
seriously, do you mean to say we may not join you?
GERTRUDE. Yes, and it serves you right, too!
BILLY. Hold on! I want to amend that resolution. If you girls don’t
mind, I should like to have Jack Norgate along. He knows the names of
the trees and shrubs better than I do.
MARGARET. What! better than the well-known cicerone?
BILLY. I regret to say he does. In fact, I might make a mess of it
without him.
MARIAN. Shall we relent, Mrs. Keene?
MRS. KEENE. I suppose so, though you are adding to my responsibilities
as chaperone. [BILLY _mounts the marble railing and detaches one of the
Japanese lanterns_.]
ROSE. But only Mr. Norgate—not Mr. Hastings. He has been too sarcastic.
SIDNEY. Ladies, I am overwhelmed with the sense of my shortcomings. I
spare you the need of further deliberation by admitting that I am
unworthy of your company.
GERTRUDE. How pathetic! I believe he’s glad we don’t want him!
MARGARET. Mr. Dorr, won’t you join us?
DORR. Thank you—I think I shall try to entertain Mr. Hastings during
your absence.
MARIAN. He ought to be left by himself.
DORR. I should hate to leave him in such bad company. I want to try
moral suasion on him.
BILLY. I hope he survives. [_Holds up the lantern._] Ladies, are you
ready?
MRS. KEENE. We shall surely need more light. It must be very dark at the
foot of the garden.
BILLY. One’s enough. Besides, if we had more, you might get confused and
follow some other lantern instead of mine.
DORR. Don’t forget to show the ladies the sun-dial.
ROSE. Oh! a sun-dial! Isn’t that romantic!
SIDNEY. Especially at this time of night.
DORR. It’s a quaint old dial that was brought over from Italy many years
ago.
BILLY. [_Whispers to_ DORR.] By the way, Bobbie, what does that Italian
motto on the sun-dial mean? I always forget it.
DORR. ‘Time will reveal all things.’
BILLY. Thanks. That helps me over one difficulty at least. Come on,
ladies. We’re now under way! [_He heads the procession off right,
followed by_ MRS. KEENE _and the girls. The latter speak almost
simultaneously as they leave._]
MARIAN. _Au revoir!_ I hope you’ll enjoy that moral suasion, Mr.
Hastings!
ROSE. Don’t spare him, Mr. Dorr!
GERTRUDE. I hope you will profit by it, Mr. Hastings!
MARGARET. You are too self-sacrificing, Mr. Dorr! [_They go off._]
SIDNEY. [_Laughing._] In such charming creatures as these rests most of
our happiness in life. I suppose I ought to be in a penitent mood—they
will all be ready to forgive me when I dance with them later on. [_He
offers_ DORR _a cigarette_.] Smoke, Dorr?
DORR. [_Takes cigarette._] Thanks. [_After a pause._] Do you know,
Hastings, the women seem to be more or less afraid of you? I’ve noticed
it many times.
SIDNEY. The sex has evidently little respect for my cynical philosophy.
It’s a pleasure to toss a choice morsel of flippancy at them and watch
them gasp.
DORR. [_Reflectively._] They’re a life-long study for the keenest man.
How splendidly they play their parts! Every woman’s an actress at heart.
[_Pointing to the garden._] There is a group of apparently ingenuous,
simple-hearted young creatures alive to the pleasure of the moment and
intent upon enjoying existence—yet I’ll wager that in each feminine mind
there are deep-laid schemes beyond your detection or mine.
SIDNEY. We men are at a disadvantage because we have no adequate weapon
to match theirs—and the laws of common courtesy render us helpless
before their cleverly concealed advances. To make matters worse, each
fair antagonist plans her campaign in her own individual manner—woe to
the presumptuous man who tries to generalize their methods. No two of
them will act precisely alike in effecting their ends.
DORR. They’re all alike in one thing, Hastings.
SIDNEY. What’s that?
DORR. Their respect for wealth! They may be as individual as you please;
but exhibit your pile of gold—the talisman that puts the luxurious gowns
upon their backs and the gleaming jewels about their persons—and you’ll
find them all ready to purr like a lot of kittens over a bowl of warm
milk!
SIDNEY. See here, Dorr, I thought I was a bit of a cynic myself, but I
never quite believed that. You don’t mean to say that a woman cannot
rise above a cringing regard for mere material wealth?
DORR. I mean just that; no woman—and no man either, for that matter. It
was long before our time that a famous statesman declared that every man
had his price—and I don’t believe he had any intention of ignoring woman
when he said it.
SIDNEY. [_Seriously._] Well, if you really feel that way about it, I
must insist that you are far more in need of moral suasion than I am. We
two are very different, Dorr, in one respect.
DORR. Yes?
SIDNEY. If you will pardon my saying so, I flash an occasional cynicism
upon the ladies that puts them on their guard and marks me as a person
to be treated with caution. You retain their good opinion by an outward
show of courtesy and deference, yet in your heart you entertain
sentiments that make it impossible for you to respect a single human
creature.
DORR. We’re quite different in another respect, Hastings. You light upon
a thing of this sort and brood over it until it spoils your good nature.
I take it for granted that we are all corruptible and that none can
stand the absolute tests of integrity, but I don’t worry about it. This
is a good enough world if one has the power to command its good things.
When it comes to testing the power of its talisman [_He draws a few gold
coins from his pocket and jingles them._] I must affirm that those who
have tried its virtues are, after all, the best judges of its merits.
[SIDNEY _tosses away his cigarette with a gesture of disgust_.] What’s
the matter?
SIDNEY. The tobacco was beginning to taste bad; I have smoked enough,
anyhow. [_He rises and gazes down into the garden._ DORR _hesitates for
a moment, then crosses to him._]
DORR. Evidently you find my views very shocking. Somehow I expected you
to agree with me.
SIDNEY. I presume I am like most of my kind—when I find a man more
cynical than myself I conclude that it is time to reform my philosophy
of life. [_After a pause._] Bobbie Dorr, when you say that you believe
all men and women bow to the power of wealth, do you make no
reservations—no exceptions?
DORR. I make no exceptions—not even myself! If I were a poor man, I
should be as corruptible as the rest. There are no exceptions!
SIDNEY. [_Slowly._] Not even such a girl as—Eleanor Richmond?
DORR. [_Annoyed._] Why should you mention Miss Richmond in this
connection?
SIDNEY. Pardon me—because I believe that you care more about her than
you do about most girls. I know you admire her; I don’t hesitate to say
that I regard her as the embodiment of all that is lovable in woman. I
wondered whether you were willing to class her with the rest of your
mercenary herd—that is all.
DORR. [_With constraint._] Miss Richmond has always enjoyed all the
luxuries that wealth can supply. Where gold has nothing to offer it
cannot be expected to corrupt. I should prefer to discuss this question
in the abstract without considering its bearing upon Miss Richmond, or
upon any one else, for that matter. [_Shrieks are heard from the
garden._ SIDNEY _crosses to the right_.]
SIDNEY. Something has happened to Mrs. Keene’s party!
DORR. [_Peering off right._] They are coming up the path. Their lantern
is extinguished! Billy’s personally conducted tour seems to have ended
in a fizzle.
SIDNEY. [_Looking towards the left._] Those shrieks were evidently heard
in the ball room. Miss Richmond is coming out. [ELEANOR _enters with an
alarmed look. Dorr crosses to her._]
ELEANOR. What is it, Bobbie? I thought I heard some one crying from the
garden.
DORR. You undoubtedly did. Billy Fanshawe has been trying to guide Mrs.
Keene and a party of the girls about the place and he has evidently come
to grief. We shall know in a moment.
ELEANOR. You don’t suppose that anything serious has happened?
SIDNEY. It’s hardly likely—Jack Norgate is with them. [_Confused voices
and exclamations off right, drawing nearer._]
DORR. [_Looking off._] This way! Watch out for that step! [_Another
shriek and exclamations. The girls tumble in hastily in couples.
Finally_ BILLY _and_ JACK _supporting_ MRS. KEENE _between them_.]
ELEANOR. Why, what has happened? [_The girls assist each other in
smoothing their ruffled hair and gowns. The men escort_ MRS. KEENE _to
the right bench, where she gasps for breath_.]
MARIAN. Billy Fanshawe was showing us around the garden—and everything
was so beautiful! We had just reached the sun-dial and Billy raised his
lantern to read the curious Italian inscription when a sudden gust of
wind blew out the light—
GERTRUDE. And we were left in the dark—it was pitch dark, and the boys
had no matches!
MRS. KEENE. [_Dramatically._] There was no sudden gust of wind! Mr.
Norgate deliberately blew out the light. I never experienced anything so
outrageous!
JACK. My dear Mrs. Keene—I must protest. I was simply leaning over
Billy’s shoulder to see the inscription. I was just about to read off
the Italian words when I suddenly found myself in total darkness.
SIDNEY. Perhaps your Italian pronunciation put out the light.
MRS. KEENE. [_Severely._] Sidney Hastings, this is no matter for
jesting. The worst is yet to come! [_The girls look at each other with
assumed surprise._]
ROSE. What do you mean?
MRS. KEENE. I mean that after that light went out the behavior of those
young men was disgraceful. There was hugging and kissing all about me!
MARGARET. Oh! Mrs. Keene! How can you say such a thing? Of course, we
all uttered exclamations of surprise.
MRS. KEENE. You certainly did—and several of you young ladies also said
‘stop’! [_The girls look at one another._]
BILLY. [_Slowly._] I suppose Jack and I are disgraced forever, Mrs.
Keene, if you’re going to believe that about us. I say it’s unkind.
MRS. KEENE. [_Witheringly._] There is just one thing I’d like to find
out.
JACK. [_Innocently._] What is it?
MRS. KEENE. Which of you two young men put his arm around _my_ waist—by
mistake, of course! [JACK _and_ BILLY _look foolishly at each other. The
rest chuckle wherever_ MRS. KEENE _cannot see them_.]
MARIAN. [_To the rescue._] I believe I put my arm around your waist—I
was very much frightened.
MRS. KEENE. [_With sarcasm._] I dare say you girls were so much
frightened that you all had your arms about each other’s waists; and our
two gallant escorts—I suppose they will also insist that they embraced
each other for mutual protection.
DORR. I think you might make some allowance, Mrs. Keene. The boys were
probably doing their best to keep the party close together.
MRS. KEENE. The party was close enough, I assure you. I’m glad it’s all
over. No more garden trips for me in the dark, especially when there are
irresponsible young men in the party. [_She rises and crosses to the
left._] You girls had better come inside—the dancing will go on in a few
moments.
ROSE. I’m so sorry about the sun-dial. I scarcely had a look at it—I was
so anxious to see it.
GERTRUDE. We couldn’t even read the Italian motto. What was it, Billy?
BILLY. The exact Italian words have slipped my memory, but they
meant—let me see—they meant—
ELEANOR. ‘Time will reveal all things.’ [_Soft waltz music begins in the
ball room._]
MRS. KEENE. A very good motto, Mr. Fanshawe. Perhaps some day time will
reveal how that light went out! Come, girls, the music has begun. [_They
enter the ball room in groups_, DORR _and_ ELEANOR _in the rear. They
detach themselves from the rest._]
DORR. [_Softly._] The next dance is mine, Eleanor. Shall we not stay out
here for a few moments?
ELEANOR. Yes, if you wish. [_He leads her to the bench at the right._]
DORR. I have been eager all evening to have a few words with you apart
from that restless whirl inside—just we two alone, with our little
secret!
ELEANOR. You silly boy! Be careful you don’t betray us. [_Looks toward
the garden._] How delightful it is out here in the open! There _is_ a
slight breeze. Bobbie, do you believe Aunt Sara was right in declaring
that the boys put out that light?
DORR. Certainly. You heard Gertrude Paston say the boys had no matches
to re-light the lantern. Well, Jack was out here smoking with Hastings
before he joined your aunt’s party.
ELEANOR. Of course, Gertrude and Jack are rather fond of each other—
DORR. I don’t blame him for not finding his matches.
ELEANOR. You know I didn’t mean that—I don’t believe Jack would do such
a thing! You wouldn’t, Bobbie?
DORR. Not in their bungling fashion, perhaps—but there’s no telling what
a fellow wouldn’t do for a few golden moments with a girl he cared for.
I grant that if there’s a bevy of girls about, he may possibly hug the
wrong one—he may even embrace the chaperone, eh? [_He laughs softly._]
ELEANOR. Don’t say such things, Bobbie. You shouldn’t talk so
flippantly.
DORR. It’s true, isn’t it? In spite of their apparent protests, there
wasn’t one in that party who regretted the little episode at the
sun-dial—except your aunt, of course, and she protested mainly on behalf
of outraged social decorum. One can hardly help being flippant about
such women!
ELEANOR. Bobbie!
DORR. I know—she’s your aunt—that’s the best I can say for her; she
doesn’t deserve the honor. But after all, why should we bother about
these people? We can be happy out here—with our secret. The time will be
short enough. Who has the next dance?
ELEANOR. [_Looking at the card._] Harold Westbrook.
DORR. He won’t be long in claiming you. I can’t help feeling decidedly
jealous when I see some one else swinging you about the floor. [_He
takes her hand._] But soon I shall make them all envious forever—soon
our little secret will no longer be our own. Within two months my
grandfather’s fortune passes into my hands, and then—
ELEANOR. Then you will be a very wealthy man, Bobbie, but your fortune
will carry serious responsibilities with it. You can find better things
to do than trying to make the other boys envious of you.
DORR. They must be envious when they learn that you are mine, when they
see you resplendent as a queen, dazzling from head to foot; they’ll no
longer sneer at my wealth—they will realize what it has achieved for me!
ELEANOR. [_Withdrawing her hand._] What your wealth has achieved for
you! You believe that your grandfather’s money makes a difference?
DORR. Why not? If I were a poor man, I wouldn’t ask a girl I loved to
share my poverty and thus spoil her own chance of happiness; but if I
can give my wife everything that heart can desire, why shouldn’t it make
a difference?
ELEANOR. [_Reflectively._] There is one great happiness that is denied
to the rich girl—the happiness that comes to the self-sacrificing wife
who helps her husband in his struggle with the world, who stands at his
side offering aid and encouragement until together they forge their way
upward to the heights of success—a success that both can cherish as a
result of mutual effort.
DORR. That’s all mere story-book sentimentality. Let a poor husband and
his self-sacrificing wife start out together in a life of poverty, and
ten to one he’s ashamed of her when he has made his fortune—if he ever
does. The newspapers are full of such instances. Don’t cast a romantic
glamor over a state of affairs that would be extremely unpleasant in
real life. You wouldn’t be the sort of girl for such a career!
ELEANOR. [_With spirit._] A true woman finds her happiness with the man
she loves, whether rich or poor; she does not find it in a mere riot of
gold!
DORR. But the gold helps! The gold makes life pleasant—it gives us what
we desire. [_She turns away._] Why, Eleanor, you’re not going to let
this spoil things? Remember our secret!
ELEANOR. Bobbie—[_A pause._] We can no longer—
DORR. You’re not going to throw me over for a mere difference of
opinion? We have our lives before us and everything to live for—
ELEANOR. Yes, we have everything—except spiritual kinship. I’m sorry,
Bobbie—heartily sorry, but I’m also thankful I found that out in time.
[_The music ceases._]
DORR. The dance is over! Westbrook will be here in a moment to claim
you. Will you let it end in this way?
ELEANOR. [_Rising._] I cannot hope that you will understand how
distressed I am, but I want to say just one thing, Bobbie—to-night seems
to mark a turning point in our lives. I trust it is for the best.
Whatever happens hereafter, I want you to remember the motto on your old
Italian sun-dial—
DORR. [_Mechanically._] ‘Time will reveal all things.’
ELEANOR. Yes. We shall both grow older and perhaps we shall see with a
clearer vision than now. I shall not forget—[HAROLD _enters hastily from
the ball room_.]
HAROLD. Ah, Miss Richmond, you are here. The next dance is mine, I
believe?
ELEANOR. [_Taking his arm._] Yes, Mr. Westbrook. Are you coming in,
Bobbie?
DORR. Not now. [_As they pass up the steps left, he deliberately lights
a cigarette._] ‘Time will reveal all things.’—I hope it will; then we’ll
see if I’m not right. [_Taking a few gold coins from his pocket he
tosses them in his palm._] Now, my golden friends, you, at least, will
be true to me! I shall rely upon you to show her—her and all the rest of
them your wonderful power! [_He looks toward the ball room as the dance
music resumes and the curtain descends._]
SCENE I
[_The office of Lehmann Frères in their factory at St. Gallen. It is
furnished in a manner appropriate to a prosperous business concern. In
the centre is a large rectangular table with several chairs. At the left
is a low flat desk with papers, telephone and chair. Close to the wall
behind the desk is a telephone switchboard for communicating with
various parts of the works. At the right there is a modern office-desk,
richly furnished, with a hatrack nearby. In the centre back is a large
leather covered davenport above which hangs a portrait of the late M.
Lehmann senior, the father of Lehmann Frères and the honored founder of
the establishment. Elsewhere on the walls hang framed views of the plant
and other appropriate pictures. There are exits right and left to inner
offices, likewise two exits in the rear, the right exit leading to the
street and provided with a glass-door, the left exit leading to the
shops. Whenever the left exit is opened the heavy whirr of machinery is
heard within. As the curtain rises_, BERTINE _is seen at the flat desk,
left, signing papers. A few moments later the telephone bell rings._
BERTINE _answers the telephone at his desk_.]
BERTINE. Hello!... Yes... M. Raoul Lehmann is out at present.... This is
his secretary, M. Bertine.... Yes.... He should be here shortly....
No.... M. Frédéric Lehmann has an important conference on hand in this
office at three o’clock.... No.... Impossible!... No!... No!!... Very
well.... Good-by. [_He hangs up the receiver and resumes work at his
papers._ RAOUL LEHMANN _enters at the rear right entrance with hat, cane
and gloves, which he places on the rack near his desk at the right_.]
BERTINE. Good afternoon, M. Lehmann. I have just had a telephone call
from a reporter of _Le Journal_ asking for an interview with you or your
brother.
RAOUL. Ah! So the newspapers have learned of our trouble with our
operatives. I presume they wish to send a representative to the
conference?
BERTINE. Yes. I took the liberty of informing the reporter that it was
impossible.
RAOUL. Very good! Has my brother returned from luncheon?
BERTINE. Not yet, sir. [_He hands a telegram to_ RAOUL.] This telegram
arrived while you were out.
RAOUL. [_Opens it and reads._] ‘If possible, kindly postpone conference
till five o’clock. I wish to be present at the meeting. Signed, D’Or.’
BERTINE. M. D’Or!
RAOUL. As he chooses to call himself—the grandson of the late Josiah
Dorr, whose money coupled with the brains of my honored father
[_Pointing to the portrait._] made this great plant possible. Let me
see—the Dorr estate holds about one-third of the shares, does it not?
BERTINE. Somewhat more. Within the last few months they have increased
their holdings to nearly forty per cent.
RAOUL. In any event, it is enough to command respect for such a request
as this. [FRÉDÉRIC LEHMANN _enters at the rear right entrance with hat
and gloves_.] Ah! Frédéric. I have just received this communication from
M. D’Or. [_He hands the telegram to_ FRÉDÉRIC.]
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Reads._] So! The mysterious grandson and heir!
RAOUL. We must accede to the request. He may make trouble otherwise—we
have enough to worry about without antagonizing our shareholders.
FRÉDÉRIC. By all means! If he is anything like his grandfather, he will
strengthen our position very much. Old Josiah always took care that he
got his share of the spoils—and usually a little besides!
RAOUL. [_To_ BERTINE.] Kindly have M. Albert sent here at once. He heads
the delegation, I believe?
BERTINE. Yes. [_He goes to the house-telephone and adjusts the plug._]
Hello.... Yes.... Ask M. Albert to come to the office.... Yes.... That’s
all.
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Looking at the telegram._] So the grandson of old Mr. Dorr
blossoms into M. D’Or!
RAOUL. Some rogue of a genealogist probably convinced him that the
change of name could be defended. The rich American has a weakness for
that sort of thing. The manufacture of genealogies is a more profitable
industry than that of laces, Frédéric!
FRÉDÉRIC. Very likely; but it demands an imagination—an inventive
faculty that most of us do not possess. [ALBERT _enters at the rear,
left. He bows respectfully to the_ LEHMANNS.]
RAOUL. M. Albert, our conference this afternoon will be postponed until
five o’clock. M. D’Or, who is one of our American shareholders, wishes
to attend the meeting, so we are making this change to accommodate him.
ALBERT. Very well, M. Lehmann. Shall I inform my associates?
RAOUL. Yes. I believe there are five of you?
ALBERT. Two of the men besides myself and two of the women.
RAOUL. You may return to your work, M. Albert. [ALBERT _bows himself out
at the left rear entrance_.]
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Who has been examining a paper at the table._] M. Bertine,
will you look over this schedule and compare it with the duplicate on
file in my office?
BERTINE. [_Taking the paper._] Very well, M. Lehmann. [_He bows low and
goes out at the side door, left._]
FRÉDÉRIC. Bah! What a life it must be to cringe and bow continually to
one’s superiors. Our M. Albert from the shops is scarcely more servile
than our M. Bertine in his attitude towards us.
RAOUL. True enough; but let M. Albert show lack of respect to so
influential a man as M. Bertine and he would soon feel the consequences.
Even the secretary of Lehmann Frères is a great man in the eyes of his
inferiors. [_He goes to his desk._] It’s a queer world, Frédéric, but
there’s considerable satisfaction to be gained from being in the front
ranks.
FRÉDÉRIC. Yes—to issue orders, not to take them; to command men, not to
obey them. [_Looks at the portrait._] What a debt we owe, Raoul, to the
genius of our dear father!
RAOUL. [_Drily, at the desk, without looking around._] And to the money
of old Josiah Dorr!
FRÉDÉRIC. Certainly—but tell me, could anything be more useless, in fact
more harmful than such money unless administered with discretion and
foresight?
RAOUL. By the way, Frédéric, M. Bertine has just informed me that the
Dorr interest is now forty per cent. of our capital. Have you been
keeping track of the stock-transfers?
FRÉDÉRIC. You signed the certificates as well as I.
RAOUL. True; they were all for small amounts, but it now occurs to me
there were a great many of them. I often regret that we ever reduced our
holdings below an actual majority of the stock. Of course, you had to
furnish your villa on the Axenstrasse—
FRÉDÉRIC. And you needed money to keep your racing-stables stocked with
thoroughbreds. You know very well, Raoul, that you disposed of more
shares than I did.
RAOUL. We have both been careless in the matter. Our joint holdings are
about forty-five per cent., which is but a little more than the Dorr
estate now holds. I know, the rest is scattered in small lots, but I get
apprehensive at times. [_He goes over to_ FRÉDÉRIC.] Frédéric, we have a
serious duty before us—we must regain a majority interest of the stock.
FRÉDÉRIC. You are right. We cannot afford to take chances on losing
control of the business. I shall increase the mortgage on my villa; you
can probably spare a few of your horses?
RAOUL. Yes. We must also devise other means of raising money. One thing
is certain—we cannot grant the demand of our workpeople for higher
wages. [_He picks up the petition from_ BERTINE’S _desk and scans it_.]
I note that they ask for a uniform advance of ten per cent. in all
departments.
FRÉDÉRIC. They might as well ask for one hundred and ten per cent.
[_Laughing._] You and I agree on that subject, at least—and M. D’Or is
not likely to intercede for them if he is as fond of fat dividends as
his respected grandfather used to be!
RAOUL. We need not fear M. D’Or. It is probably idle curiosity that
brings him here. [_Voices are heard in the room, left._ BERTINE _enters
excitedly, followed by_ D’OR, _who is dressed in fine white flannels,
with gold-headed cane, gold band on straw hat, several conspicuous gold
rings and a heavy watch fob_.]
BERTINE. [_Spluttering._] M. D’Or! M. Raoul Lehmann, M. Frédéric
Lehmann! [_He bows himself out._]
D’OR. [_With familiarity._] Ah, gentlemen, so I stand in the presence of
Lehmann Frères. [_They shake hands._] You evidently expected me to enter
by your front door [_Points back, right._] but I stole a march on you. I
have been inspecting the factory for the past two hours.
RAOUL. [_Surprised._] Inspecting the factory!
D’OR. I have been all over the plant—it is truly a model establishment.
I am pleased to be associated in the control of such an admirable hive
of industry. You will pardon my unconventional way of learning these
things, but I did not wish to be bored by an official and perfunctory
inspection starting from the office. I therefore took matters into my
own hands—and starting at the bottom, I have worked my way to the
intellectual summit of the structure. [_He looks about him._]
FRÉDÉRIC. It is a pleasure to know that we stood this unusual test so
well, M. D’Or—but, after all, the house of Lehmann Frères has nothing to
conceal—
D’OR. Evidently not. Your product is of the highest grade and commands
the best markets; your people work under the most hygienic conditions.
They are a busy multitude—those hundreds of men and women in the shops.
By the way, gentlemen, I observed some very pretty girls among them—but
I suppose you are already familiar with that fact.
RAOUL. [_Coldly._] Pardon me, M. D’Or—my brother and I are hardly in a
position to admire the personal charms of our employees. We are both
married men.
D’OR. Ah! I see—you may not talk freely of such things. How promptly you
seem to suspect that I was about to intimate something quite shocking.
Charming girls, just the same, even if they do not bask in the sunshine
of your favor. I became interested in one of the young women in your
lace department and stopped for a few moments to question her about her
work—a Mlle. Adrienne—Adrienne—[_He pulls out a small memorandum book._]
FRÉDÉRIC. Mlle. Courteaux.
D’OR. Thank you—that was the name. I was amazed at her dexterity and the
rapidity with which she worked. It was fascinating; yet she told me that
she receives only thirty-five francs a week.
RAOUL. Did she say _only_ thirty-five francs? She is one of our most
skilful and best-paid operatives.
D’OR. No—I supplied the _only_! It is an outrage—that attractive young
figure bending over the machine, those well-shaped, nimble fingers
constantly at work—and a miserable five and thirty francs at the end of
the week! No wonder your workers are complaining.
FRÉDÉRIC. But, M. D’Or, we pay the same wages as all the rest. There
must be a profit in the business—a fair return for the large capital
invested.
D’OR. I wish above all things to act intelligently when we meet their
delegation this afternoon—that is why I chose my own way of becoming
acquainted with the establishment. Have your people formulated their
grievances?
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Taking the document from_ BERTINE’S _desk_.] Yes, here is
their petition addressed to us. We did not wish to be subjected to their
oratory at the conference, so we insisted upon a preliminary bill of
complaint.
D’OR. [_Scanning the sheets._] H’m—in view of the prosperous times—plant
working to the limit of its capacity—unprecedented business—increased
rents—higher cost of living—we request a general increase of ten per
cent. Why, surely, it is very little that they ask?
RAOUL. Do you realize what an effect it will have upon our dividends?
FRÉDÉRIC. Are not our shareholders entitled to first consideration?
D’OR. [_Still glancing at the petition and not heeding their remarks._]
‘Respectfully submitted, Messrs. Albert, Lorraine, Frémiet; Mlles.
Céleste Bergère, Adrienne Courteaux’—well, I declare, my charming friend
of the lace-machine is to be one of your delegation! How soon do we meet
them?
RAOUL. I think we had better agree upon some line of action before we
invite the delegation to the office. We should at least present a united
front.
D’OR. How do you usually act in such an industrial crisis as this?
RAOUL. Sometimes we find it necessary to make a partial concession—they
are usually crafty enough to ask for twice what they expect to get.
Occasionally we can win over a delegation by assuring them of an
individual raise in wages and thus send them back to their associates
with a discouraging report.
FRÉDÉRIC. We dare not tamper with the present delegation—they would be
difficult to handle. Their leader, Albert, is a quiet fellow, but the
soul of honor. [_Looks over the petition._] Lorraine is an old man,
generally esteemed and beloved by his associates; Frémiet is a rascally
socialist, a constant breeder of trouble. [_He drops the petition._]
D’OR. [_Picking up the petition._] And the girls, Mlles. Céleste and
Adrienne—what lovely names they have!
FRÉDÉRIC. We never worry about the women in such delegations. They are
easily managed. It is strange, Raoul, that just those two should have
been chosen. You should know, M. D’Or, that Adrienne Courteaux is a
good, highly respected girl, who is supporting her widowed mother. As
for Mlle. Bergère—what shall I say, Raoul?
RAOUL. [_With sarcasm._] I hardly know how she will appeal to M. D’Or’s
fancy. She lacks exactly those virtues and qualities that strike us so
favorably in Mlle. Courteaux.
D’OR. Well, gentlemen, I see that you know something after all about the
young women of your establishment, in spite of the fact that you are
both married men—but, seriously, how do you propose to answer their
request for an advance?
RAOUL. There is but one answer if we are not to reduce our dividends—the
request must be refused.
D’OR. And the admirable Mlle. Courteaux, supporting a widowed mother,
will continue to get only thirty-five francs a week?
FRÉDÉRIC. Her case seems to distress you most. Do you realize that even
with the increase she would be earning less than forty francs?
D’OR. True—I hadn’t thought that it meant so little—so contemptibly
little. Gentlemen, I propose that we grant the ten per cent. increase
and that in such deserving cases as Mlle. Courteaux’s we give an
additional increment.
RAOUL. [_Leaping to his feet._] M. D’Or, pardon me—but what you propose
is impossible! Lehmann Frères are now paying the maximum wage-scale. We
cannot increase wages further without defying an established economic
law.
D’OR. M. Lehmann, the economic law has tyrannized over us long enough—it
must be taught a wholesome respect for the power of gold. Of what value
is wealth if it cannot crush so immaterial a thing as an economic law?
RAOUL. If you have no regard for your own interests, you should at least
respect the investment of the other shareholders.
D’OR. Who are the other shareholders?
RAOUL. You hold some forty per cent. from your grandfather’s estate
together with recent additions; my brother and I jointly own—[_A
pause._] about half of the stock or a little over. That leaves about six
or eight per cent. in small scattered holdings. [FRÉDÉRIC _looks
anxiously at_ D’OR.]
D’OR. [_With a sinister expression, drawing a bundle of certificates
from his pocket._] M. Lehmann, you and your brother own forty-five per
cent. or less! The so-called scattered holdings are not six or eight per
cent.—here are at least fifteen per cent.—you will observe that each
certificate is endorsed in my favor.
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Leaping up._] Then you actually own a majority of the stock?
[RAOUL _buries his face in his hands and groans_.]
D’OR. Yes. The Blausteins at Paris have been quietly obtaining this
little block of Lehmann Frères for me. Gentlemen, I was surprised to
learn that you had permitted the control to escape you.
RAOUL. [_Walking excitedly._] Why should the delegation consult with us,
Frédéric? M. D’Or now dominates the situation—why prolong the agony?
D’OR. You should not be so bitter, M. Lehmann, because the sins of your
own negligence have found you out. Your lie a moment ago is pardonable.
I recognize your talents—you have maintained and advanced a great
industry established by your father. I hope you will continue to direct
the interests of Lehmann Frères. I simply wish to act as spokesman in
the conference with your delegation—I may say _our_ delegation of
workers.
RAOUL. Why ask of us a favor that we have no power to withhold? Complete
your triumph! We are in your hands! [D’OR _glances for a moment at the
angry_ RAOUL, _then turns to_ FRÉDÉRIC.]
D’OR. Kindly summon the committee!
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Rings._ BERTINE _enters, left_.] M. Bertine, please ask the
delegation to come at once. [BERTINE _goes out, rear left. Frédéric
crosses over to_ RAOUL, _who seems crushed and helpless. He tries to
encourage_ RAOUL.]
D’OR. [_Looking at portrait, after a pause._] Your father’s portrait, I
presume?
RAOUL. Thank Heaven, he did not live to see this day!
D’OR. [_Drily._] If he had lived there would have been no such day—at
least, it would not have disturbed his equanimity.
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Comforting_ RAOUL.] Do not reply, Raoul. Let us at least
preserve appearances before our employees. [_Enter, rear left_, BERTINE,
_followed by_ ALBERT, _then_ CÉLESTE _and_ ADRIENNE, _finally_ LORRAINE
_and_ FRÉMIET. _Throughout this scene_ RAOUL _labors under suppressed
excitement_; FRÉDÉRIC _is more composed_.]
FRÉDÉRIC. M. D’Or, this is the delegation of our workpeople who have
arranged for to-day’s conference. May I say to the committee that we are
honored in having with us M. D’Or, who has a large interest in Lehmann
Frères and wishes to participate in our deliberation.
D’OR. I should like to meet the delegates individually.
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Indicating._] M. Albert is their leader.
D’OR. [_Shaking hands._] M. Albert, I am glad to grasp the hand of a man
who has the mark of leadership in his personality. [_Pointing to the
petition._] Is this petition your work?
ALBERT. [_Modestly._] Only partly, monsieur. The committee worked on it
as a body.
D’OR. It is a masterful summary. I congratulate you! [ALBERT _bows with
a look of gratification and steps aside_.]
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Introducing_ LORRAINE.] Our oldest worker, M. Lorraine.
D’OR. The oldest worker! Most interesting! How long have you been
associated with the company?
LORRAINE. I was twenty when the honored father [_Points to the
portrait._] of Messrs. Lehmann first engaged me—and I’ve been here ever
since. I have two sons and five grandsons here now. I am seventy-three
years old.
D’OR. [_Astonished._] Fifty-three years of faithful service—and you are
still among the workers! How is it that you have not risen to prosperity
in that time?
LORRAINE. [_Without bitterness._] We cannot all hope to reach the top.
Some of us have not the brains—and others have not the chance. I have
always been a sober and industrious man, but the pay is not large. I do
not complain, however—I have always been treated well.
D’OR. It is unjust—rankly unjust! [_He turns to_ FRÉMIET.] And our third
delegate?
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Curtly._] M. Frémiet.
D’OR. Ah! I recall—the anarchist!
FRÉMIET. Pardon me, I am a socialist.
D’OR. Is there any difference? [FRÉMIET’S _look is contemptuous_.] I am
quite unfamiliar with your nice distinctions of political or economic
creed. I dare say you regard yourself as a very badly used person?
FRÉMIET. Yes. Every worker is badly used. He does not get his share of
the wealth that he creates by the sweat of his brow.
D’OR. I suppose you believe that all men are created equal?
FRÉMIET. They are not—they should be.
D’OR. Ah! So you actually have a grudge against Nature in the first
instance. How unhappy you must be! At any rate you believe in social
equality. Let me test your faith. You are a workman, laboring faithfully
week after week at the plant of Lehmann Frères; I am a gentleman of
leisure, living idly on an inherited income. Do you believe that any
social upheaval can ever make me your equal?
FRÉMIET. [_Misunderstanding._] I regard myself as any man’s equal, poor
and crushed as I am. It is a cruel social tyranny that keeps us down.
D’OR. Pardon me, my friend—you did not listen carefully. I asked whether
you believed that any social upheaval could make me _your_ equal.
FRÉMIET. You are mocking me, M. D’Or. In your heart you know that you
are my superior—my superior in everything that is most desirable in this
world. You live your life according to the dictates of your own fancy,
you call no man master, the pleasures of the world are at your beck. Why
should you seek to torture me and these others on the rack?
D’OR. [_Turning to the_ LEHMANNS.] Really, I had no idea that my visit
was to be so interesting! [_To_ FRÉMIET.] M. Frémiet, you are something
better than a socialist—you are a poet. Instead of working at the
lace-machines you should capitalize your thoughts. You would soon
attract sufficient attention to make you rich and famous—and
incidentally to drive every vestige of socialism out of your system.
[FRÉMIET _bows with evident pleasure_.]
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Introducing_ CÉLESTE.] Mlle. Bergère.
CÉLESTE. [_With a curtsy, archly._] Céleste Bergère.
D’OR. [_Bowing._] Mademoiselle, I am particularly interested in the
welfare of the young women in our workrooms. In which department are
you?
CÉLESTE. I assist in sorting and packing embroideries.
D’OR. And what is your pay for this service?
CÉLESTE. Twenty francs a week.
D’OR. Twenty francs! How can one live on such wages?
CÉLESTE. [_With a deliberate look at the_ LEHMANNS.] One cannot—and very
few make the effort. [_The_ LEHMANNS _are astounded and annoyed at her
audacity; the men of the delegation seem uneasy_; ADRIENNE _draws away
from_ CÉLESTE.]
D’OR. [_With sympathy._] Pardon me for asking that question. I might
have anticipated the answer. Of course, a girl living at home with her
family is under less expense—
FRÉMIET. [_Starting forward._] How about the rest? It means ruin for the
rest!
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Waving_ FRÉMIET _back and introducing_ ADRIENNE.] I believe
you have met Mlle. Courteaux.
D’OR. [_Graciously._] Yes, I met Mlle. Courteaux in the lace department.
Your pay is thirty-five francs a week—it is inadequate, I know.
ADRIENNE. It would not be so bad if it were not for the doctor and for
the medicines that my mother needs.
D’OR. You are your mother’s sole support?
ADRIENNE. Yes. [D’OR _looks at her in mingled admiration and pity_.]
FRÉDÉRIC. Mlle. Courteaux receives high pay as the schedule is arranged.
There are hundreds who receive far less.
D’OR. Heaven help the hundreds—and the thousands of their kind
elsewhere. [_To_ ADRIENNE.] Are you happy at your work?
ADRIENNE. Yes; it is not difficult—one soon acquires the necessary
skill.
D’OR. But you are surely looking forward to something better—something
less monotonous than a lace-machine!
ALBERT. I hope some day to make Mlle. Courteaux my wife.
D’OR. Some day?
ALBERT. Yes. As soon as my pay is sufficient to keep us both.
D’OR. [_Looks at_ ALBERT, _then_ ADRIENNE.] This, too! Another tyranny
of our industrial system! [_Turns to_ FRÉDÉRIC.] Can Lehmann Frères
afford to be accessories to such hardships?
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Coldly._] It is distressing, of course—but we surely cannot
undertake to reform society and bring about universal happiness.
RAOUL. [_Stepping forward._] May I remind M. D’Or that we have summoned
this delegation to discuss the wage-scale? We can hardly reach any
conclusion by considering the individual cases before us.
D’OR. [_With suppressed anger._] Thank you for reminding me, M. Lehmann.
I have made the mistake of regarding our delegation as a group of human
beings. [_He seats himself between the_ LEHMANNS.] Let us settle down to
business. I take it for granted we are all familiar with the contents of
this petition—it sums up the situation aptly—unless our friend Frémiet
wishes to make a speech?
FRÉMIET. I have no speech to make, M. D’Or. I have been listening
attentively to you—you are a fair-minded man. I am perfectly willing to
leave our grievances in your hands. [D’OR _is visibly flattered_.]
D’OR. Very well. [_To_ RAOUL.] Now, M. Lehmann, you are the head of this
great establishment—for years you have directed it ably and profitably.
What do you suggest?
RAOUL. [_Looking keenly at_ D’OR.] Are you asking for my opinion?
D’OR. Certainly. Can we do anything for our people?
RAOUL. [_Speaking cautiously._] Perhaps what I say may appear
unsympathetic—but I have always proceeded on the assumption that the
shareholders deserve first consideration in the distribution of
earnings. Our relation with our workers is in the nature of a personal
contract—we offer a certain wage and they are free to refuse it and stay
out of our employ if they so desire.
D’OR. That is sufficiently blunt to be understood by any one—and it’s
also quite orthodox, I believe; but let us drop abstractions. Can we
afford the requested increase in wages?
RAOUL. [_Feeling his way._] I wish to do the fair thing—but before all
else I must advise the safe course. Our reports show clearly that a ten
per cent. increase in all departments would ruin the concern. Perhaps we
might compromise on a five per cent. advance and try it for—say six
months, without committing ourselves to continue it beyond that term
unless our earnings justify—
D’OR. [_Impatiently._] Nonsense, M. Lehmann; you would offer Mlle.
Bergère an extra franc per week, the others perhaps two francs or
less—do you imagine that you have solved the problem? I propose that we
try the ten per cent. increase and give it a fair test.
CÉLESTE. [_Eagerly._] Oh! M. D’Or, you are our good angel!
D’OR. [_Flattered._] What is more, I propose to learn the circumstances
of every girl who works in this plant, and wherever conditions warrant
it, I shall recommend an increase of twenty per cent. or even more—
FRÉDÉRIC. It is impossible! We shall face bankruptcy!
D’OR. We might try it, at any rate.
RAOUL. [_Fiercely._] Your plan cannot succeed.
D’OR. [_Ominously._] None the less I ask you—shall we try it?
RAOUL. [_After a struggle._] Yes, if you insist! [_The workers are
astounded._]
D’OR. [_To_ FRÉDÉRIC, _blandly_.] Do you also agree?
FRÉDÉRIC. Yes. Do whatever you think best!
D’OR. [_To the delegation._] Your petition is favorably considered and
you may report to your associates that an increase of ten per cent. in
all wages goes into effect immediately. [_The delegates are delighted_;
D’OR _pays no attention to the rest, but gazes at_ ADRIENNE.]
ALBERT. [_Kissing_ D’OR’S _hand_.] You are a friend of humanity, M.
D’Or!
LORRAINE. [_With choking voice._] I speak for my sons and grandsons when
I say, ‘Heaven bless you!’ You have brought joy into our lives.
FRÉMIET. If all employers were like you, monsieur, I would stay away
from our socialistic meetings.
CÉLESTE. [_Boldly._] M. D’Or, Adrienne and I also wish to thank you, do
we not? [ADRIENNE _stands with bowed head beside her_.] You have made us
so happy! You will be a hero henceforth in the eyes of us all. [_She
turns to_ ADRIENNE, _expecting her to say something_.]
D’OR. And what do you say, Mlle. Courteaux? [ADRIENNE _raises her head
and looks fixedly at_ D’OR _for several moments of tense silence; then
with a sob she bursts into tears_.]
ALBERT. [_Hastening to her._] The truest tribute of all, M. D’Or! The
tribute of tears!
RAOUL. [_Curtly._] The conference being over, you may return to your
work. [_The delegates pass out at the rear left._] M. Bertine, you will
at once post a notice in the shops announcing the increase in wages.
[BERTINE _goes off, left_. RAOUL’S _demeanor changes completely_.] M.
D’Or, in my whole life I have never experienced such a sense of
humiliation, of utter degradation as in the last half hour. What a
terrible man you are! How could you trample us so ruthlessly under
foot—and before our workpeople—treating us like a pair of impotent
puppets!
D’OR. [_Coolly._] I like to feel the power of my wealth. You have had
the same experience in dealing with your workers.
RAOUL. Why don’t you exercise your power over them? It is easier and
cheaper.
D’OR. They know the power of wealth—they need no further demonstration.
The war of wealth against wealth is more to my taste at present.
Besides, gentlemen, it is cleaner sport.
FRÉDÉRIC. Don’t you realize that as the majority stockholder you must
pay the lion’s share of the bill?
D’OR. Yes, but it’s worth whatever it costs to see such a precious pair
as you brought to terms. I am satisfied with the reward that my
generosity will bring. By nightfall I shall be heralded through the town
as the kind friend of the downtrodden workers—
RAOUL. [_Bitterly._] And Lehmann Frères will lose thirty to forty
thousand francs a year!
D’OR. Of which nearly one half will fall upon you and your brother.
RAOUL. You forget, M. D’Or—there is still one resource. It would not be
difficult to prove in any court of law that you are an irresponsible
person. When a man, in order to gratify a passing whim, seeks to disturb
the economic balance—
D’OR. [_With a sneer._] Economic balance! I like that phrase! On the one
hand, our wealth, securely entrenched with all its vast unlimited
influence; on the other, the hands and brains of the numerous wretches
whom we call our employees. Economic balance, indeed!
FRÉDÉRIC. M. D’Or, we shall not be ruined without a struggle. This
industry has been fostered through two generations of growth and
development. We take pride in it—
D’OR. Let us stop quarreling, gentlemen—I have heard enough in this
strain. At what figure do you estimate your holdings in Lehmann Frères?
RAOUL. [_Interrupting_ FRÉDÉRIC.] This morning our joint holdings were
worth six hundred thousand francs—Heaven knows what they are worth now,
with you in the saddle!
D’OR. [_Deliberately._] Then I presume the easiest way for me to restore
peace and to avoid a commission in lunacy would be to pay you—let us say
eight hundred thousand francs?
RAOUL. What do you mean? To buy us out?
D’OR. [_Toying with the petition._] Yes—for eight hundred thousand
francs.
FRÉDÉRIC. On what terms?
D’OR. A sight draft on the Blausteins at Paris. [_A frantic discussion
between the brothers, which evokes a smile from_ D’OR.]
RAOUL. [_Finally._] We accept your offer!
D’OR. Are you no longer afraid that I am a desperate madman? Are you
sure that a man who disturbs the economic balance can legally transact
business? Would not the sale of your holdings at such an outrageous
overvaluation be liable to attack in your courts?
RAOUL. [_Suavely._] Not unless you or your friends should proceed. You
made the offer yourself—we are not likely to test your sanity after the
draft is honored.
D’OR. Gentlemen, I see you are not without a sense of humor. Kindly draw
up a formal agreement—the actual transfer of the property can be
effected to-morrow. [RAOUL _prepares an agreement_.] You can make
immediate delivery, I presume?
FRÉDÉRIC. Yes. There is nothing to prevent you from taking absolute
possession of the entire establishment at once. You will henceforth be
able to follow the dictates of your own fancy in administering the
affairs of the company. Would it be an impertinence to wish you success
in your venture?
D’OR. I fear it would be, in the face of your conviction that I am
doomed to inevitable failure.
FRÉDÉRIC. You are trying to do the impossible!
D’OR. The impossible is the only thing worth doing nowadays. [RAOUL
_shows the agreement to_ FRÉDÉRIC.]
FRÉDÉRIC. [_Handing it to_ D’OR.] Very good!
D’OR. [_Returning it to_ RAOUL.] Quite proper—and to the point. [RAOUL
_rings for_ BERTINE, _who enters, left_.]
RAOUL. M. Bertine, kindly let us have three copies of this agreement at
once. [BERTINE _takes the paper, glances at its contents and utters an
involuntary cry_.]
RAOUL. [_Severely._] Have you forgotten yourself?
BERTINE. [_Confused._] I—I beg your pardon, gentlemen. [_He glances from
one to another, looks at_ D’OR _as at an apparition and goes out
awkwardly_.]
D’OR. [_Sympathetically._] Poor fellow! How hard he takes it! Gentlemen,
I confess that I looked for a possible word of sentiment from you—a
desire to remain identified with the great business that your father had
established and had developed to its present importance. I was even
prepared to bid higher in case my first offer was not accepted—[_The
brothers look at him in mingled anger and covetousness._] but the sum
seems to have satisfied your cupidity. However, I have an appeal to
make. I do not wish to undertake the administration of this great
industry—I know nothing about it. Do you care to remain here in your
present executive capacity? I know we can agree upon terms.
RAOUL. Events have crowded each other so quickly that neither of us has
any plans for the future. We shall be willing to stay—for a time at
least, eh, Frédéric?
FRÉDÉRIC. Assuredly. I, for one, am interested to know how M. D’Or’s
experiment is going to work out. Such audacity affords an enlightening
spectacle to the business man of normal training.
D’OR. Thank you, gentlemen, I shall appreciate your co-operation. Such a
business requires a certain amount of personal shrewdness and finesse
with which you are evidently well equipped. [BERTINE _enters with the
papers, hands them to_ RAOUL _and goes off, left_. RAOUL _signs each
copy, hands them to_ FRÉDÉRIC, _the latter signs and passes them to_
D’OR.]
D’OR. [_Signing the last copy._] There we are! [_Each takes a copy._]
That settles the formal transfer—the details can go over till to-morrow.
Is there anything further, gentlemen?
RAOUL. [_Somewhat excited, puts his hand to his brow._] I—I do not feel
altogether well. The excitement of the past hour is playing havoc with
my brain! I had better go home—
FRÉDÉRIC. My dear Raoul—you are not ill, I hope?
RAOUL. You had better take me home. [_They get their hats and gloves._]
M. D’Or, I wonder whether you are not a demon—or an apparition of some
evil dream!
D’OR. Have no fear, M. Lehmann. You will find my draft on the Blausteins
a very reliable piece of paper—in exchange for which I am to receive
[_Throwing out his arms._] all this!
RAOUL. [_In agony._] Ah! this is terrible! [_He goes out, rear right,
followed by_ FRÉDÉRIC. D’OR _looks after them with a laugh, jingles the
gold in his pocket and rings for_ BERTINE _who enters, left. As it is
growing dark_, BERTINE _turns on the electric lamp on the table_.]
D’OR. M. Bertine, at what time does work cease?
BERTINE. [_Consults his watch._] In twenty minutes, monsieur.
D’OR. Will you kindly ask Mlle. Courteaux to come to the office before
she leaves? You may tell her to come at once.
BERTINE. Very well, monsieur. [_He goes off, rear left._ D’OR _takes the
agreement from his pocket and laughs over it. He looks over other papers
on the desk with deprecatory gestures. For a few moments he gazes at the
portrait of Lehmann senior._ ADRIENNE _enters, rear left, followed by_
BERTINE.]
BERTINE. Anything further, monsieur?
D’OR. Not at present. [_Exit_ BERTINE, _left_. ADRIENNE _stands looking
steadily at_ D’OR.] Mlle. Courteaux, you doubtless wonder why I sent for
you?
ADRIENNE. [_Simply._] No, I am not wondering.
D’OR. But you surely cannot know? You see, I—that is, I was so much
distressed when I heard of your sick mother that I desire to learn if I
can do anything for her—perhaps a better doctor, or a trip to the
mountains. I am much interested in her welfare.
ADRIENNE. [_Coolly._] M. D’Or, it is impossible for me to believe that
you are at all concerned about my mother.
D’OR. You might at least credit me with good intentions towards her.
There was another reason for my summoning you. When I announced the
increase in wages to the delegation, the others were profuse in their
thanks. You said nothing—you burst into tears.
ADRIENNE. The rest believed you meant well by them.
D’OR. And you?
ADRIENNE. [_After a pause._] I knew better.
D’OR. [_With a look of admiration._] You are entirely too bright a girl
to pass your best years in a factory. This morning I recognized your
beauty and your charm of manner—now I learn that you are clever as well.
ADRIENNE. What next, M. D’Or?
D’OR. How did the shops receive the news of the increase?
ADRIENNE. The workers went almost wild with joy.
D’OR. And you alone find a sinister motive in what I did?
ADRIENNE. Am I wrong?
D’OR. [_With apparent wounded dignity._] You are doing me a great
injustice—I want you to regard me as a friend. I shall be perfectly
frank with you. When I arrived here I had no intention of playing the
philanthropist as I did a few moments ago. I would have supported the
Lehmanns and there would have been no increase—not a franc for anyone—if
I had not seen you at work.
ADRIENNE. All this would be very complimentary, monsieur, if I could
ignore the rest of your frankness.
D’OR. When I urged the increase in wages it was to please you—you alone.
I did not care a whit about the others—and the Lehmanns had to dance as
I fiddled!
ADRIENNE. That was evident. I felt very sorry for them.
D’OR. Then you don’t think better of me for what I have done?
ADRIENNE. How can you expect any one who reads your motives to think
well of you?
D’OR. Of course, the increase was only a trifle for you after all! But
suppose you could get away from the lace-machine altogether, could live
well, dress well and enjoy life in a way worthy of your beauty—would
that make any difference?
ADRIENNE. M. D’Or, why do you find it necessary to insult me?
D’OR. Perhaps you care for that fellow Albert?
ADRIENNE. [_Quietly._] No.
D’OR. Is there any one else?
ADRIENNE. No.
D’OR. [_More eagerly._] I wouldn’t use that word ‘insult’ if I were you.
I am offering to take you out of a life of drudgery into one of comfort
and affluence, to put the luxuries of the world at your disposal, to
give you the one talisman to the real joy of living.
ADRIENNE. And that is—
D’OR. [_Drawing out a handful of gold coin and talking hysterically._]
Gold! Gold! Unlimited gold! The faithful slave that brings me whatever I
desire. The power that sent the Lehmanns slinking out of this room a few
minutes ago like a pair of whipped curs! The power that has placed the
entire establishment of Lehmann Frères in my hands. I own it all—all,
Adrienne!
ADRIENNE. And you are the man who is now being proclaimed throughout the
town as the champion of the poor man, the friend of the oppressed
woman—you, who seek to control only that you may corrupt!
D’OR. [_Nettled._] How dare you speak thus to me? You forget that I am
your employer!
ADRIENNE. That you are not. You have made it impossible for me to earn
my living here. [_She moves toward the door, rear left._] Even if you do
own Lehmann Frères, you might at least spare to your workers their own
souls. You call gold your faithful slave; be careful that your slave
does not master you in the end! [_She passes out quickly._ D’OR _stares
after her and throws the coins on the table. He laughs nervously as he
looks about, especially at the portrait of Lehmann senior. He picks up
the petition, pulls out the agreement, and after some moments of
indecision goes to the telephone._]
D’OR. [_Looks up the number in the telephone book._] 7—1—4 please....
Hello.... Yes.... Is that the home of M. Raoul Lehmann?... M. Lehmann
himself? This is M. D’Or, at the office.... Yes.... I have changed my
mind about purchasing your interest and your brother’s.... Yes, I prefer
to restore the plant into your hands.... Yes, a majority of the stock as
well as a bonus for cancelling the deal.... I know you won’t lose
control of it again.... Yes.... I’m sorry I treated you and your brother
so roughly to-day.... Why am I giving it up? Well, I’ve already had
enough of it. Besides, your father’s portrait makes me nervous. I
wouldn’t care to take it down—and I don’t dare to look at it.... What’s
that?... You accept? Good!... Will you inform your brother?... Very
well, in the morning at ten! Are you feeling better?... I am glad to
hear it.... Good-by. [_He goes over to the table and slowly picks up the
coins._] To-day you played me a very shabby trick! [_He pockets the
gold, puts on his hat, takes his cane and is about to leave when he
again notices the portrait. He goes directly to it, takes off his hat
with a bow and addresses the picture._] M. Lehmann, I have the honor to
bid you farewell! [_With a laugh he goes out at the rear right entrance
as the curtain falls._]
SCENE II
[_The music salon of the Chateau D’Or. A handsome room, most luxuriously
furnished in white and gold. The grand piano at the left is also
finished in white and gold. The central entrance leads to a wide
corridor which runs parallel with the room. The furniture and hangings
are over-ornate, showing plainly the triumph of wealth over good taste
in their selection. The guests of_ M. D’OR _are seated about the room in
fashionable morning toilettes. On a sofa right are seated_ MME.
CYPRIENNE DACIER _and_ MME. LUCETTE CLARY. _Before the curtain rises,
the Prelude in C sharp minor by Sergei Rachmaninoff is played at the
piano. As it concludes, the curtain rises and_ HENRI VAUX _is seen
standing at the piano, bowing to the applause of the assembled guests.
(If practicable, the curtain might rise before_ VAUX _has completed his
solo.) As the scene begins, the anonymous guests chat in groups._]
LUCETTE. Bravo, M. Vaux! You played that prelude beautifully.
VAUX. Thank you, Mme. Clary. It is a favorite of mine, but perhaps a bit
too depressing for such a pleasant occasion as this.
LUCETTE. Not at all. We must remember that there is a serious side to
life—don’t you think so, Cyprienne?
CYPRIENNE. Of course. We can’t have dance music all the time.
VAUX. But life—at least, life as the artist usually knows it—is apt to
be sad enough; perhaps it is natural that he should prefer a melancholy
theme for subjective interpretation.
CYPRIENNE. Speaking of melancholy themes reminds me that Adolphe Lemaire
is to be here.
LUCETTE. Why do you call this M. Lemaire a melancholy theme?
CYPRIENNE. Don’t you know him? He exhibited that remarkable painting
called ‘Death in Life’ in the recent _Salon_.
LUCETTE. I did not get to Paris this spring.
CYPRIENNE. You surely saw a reproduction of the picture—it was copied in
all the illustrated papers—a young girl wandering through a sun-lit
grove and intercepted by a shrouded figure of Death.
LUCETTE. Oh! I recall it! I shall be delighted to meet the artist.
VAUX. M. D’Or usually brings together the most interesting people at his
musicales. I believe the poet Moreau is also expected. You know him,
Mme. Clary? A brilliant but eccentric genius! [LUCETTE _shakes her
head_.]
CYPRIENNE. You have surely heard of Jean Moreau. He writes those
stinging verses against the government. M. Dacier says that the
Opposition would be helpless without him. Of course, he pretends that
his satires refer to the middle ages or to some other country, but every
one knows what he means!
LUCETTE. Have you brought your daughter along, M. Vaux?
VAUX. Yes; she was in the corridor a few moments ago.
LUCETTE. She is a most charming girl—so modest, so refined, and so very
reticent! She seems almost afraid to express an opinion of her own.
VAUX. Is there any wonder? The sort of opinions that society likes to
hear are not the sort that a young girl can express with any
self-respect.
CYPRIENNE. Oh! what a cynical remark! Could anything be more attractive
than the sincere thoughts of a sweet girl who has not yet lost her
illusions, who is still a stranger to the bitter realities of life?
[_She sighs._]
LUCETTE. My dear Cyprienne! Do not seem so vividly reminiscent! It makes
me feel like an old woman to hear you talk in that strain. It isn’t ages
since we felt that way ourselves.
CYPRIENNE. It isn’t ages, Lucette, in the number of years, but I feel
that I have lived ages since then.
VAUX. So you regret those days?
CYPRIENNE. They were sweet; but life has been so varied since—I have
enjoyed so much—that I cannot say that I regret the passing of
impossible ideals. We must all awaken from the vain dreams of youth!
VAUX. I would have Hélène dream while the mystic charm still pervades
her soul; I would not have her crushed to earth by the revelation of the
deep-seated miseries of existence. I would foster her love for art, her
devotion to music—in short, her taste for such ideals as are cherished
by our genial and accomplished host, M. D’Or. [_Enter_ D’OR, _at the
centre, in a frock coat, gold waistcoat, wearing a conspicuous scarfpin
and rings_.]
D’OR. My good friends! You have just enjoyed a treat! I heard the
Rachmaninoff prelude from the corridor, M. Vaux. Your interpretation is
masterful; it is the grip of despair itself tugging at the heartstrings
of humanity. We are all indebted to you and pay homage to your art. I am
having some light refreshment served in the corridor. Won’t you kindly
step that way? M. Vaux, may I entrust Mme. Clary to you? [VAUX _leads
with_ LUCETTE, _the rest follow_. CYPRIENNE _takes_ D’OR’S _arm. When
the others are out, he stops short._]
D’OR. We need not hurry after the others, Mme. Dacier. I have not had a
chance to chat with you this morning; you will not deny me the pleasure
of a few words. I do not see your husband among the guests.
CYPRIENNE. He is very busy at the bank just now. He finds it impossible
to get away—even for such a splendid affair as you are giving us to-day.
D’OR. It is right that M. Dacier should regard his business as his first
consideration. He is becoming one of our best known bankers.
CYPRIENNE. Ah! you are trying to flatter me. My husband is like many
others who are engaged in the money game—a good enough fellow in the
ranks, but not likely to become a leader. He is somewhat envious of you!
D’OR. _He_ envious of me?
CYPRIENNE. Yes—your close association with the house of Blaustein. He
has sought for years to acquire the good will of that firm, but
evidently his talents and resources are not sufficient to command their
attention. I also am envious, M. D’Or.
D’OR. Surely not.
CYPRIENNE. I am envious of your future wife. Think of the unlimited
wealth you will place at her disposal—the unfailing resource of gold.
D’OR. [_Sentimentally._] I shall never marry.
CYPRIENNE. And why not?
D’OR. Because the one charming woman whom I know is already married.
[CYPRIENNE _affects indifference_.] Her name is—Cyprienne! [_He takes
her hand._]
CYPRIENNE. [_Starts, but does not withdraw her hand._] Hush, M. D’Or—you
should not say such things! You should not call me Cyprienne. M. Dacier
would not like it.
D’OR. Do you think there is the remotest possibility of my saying it in
his hearing, Cyprienne?
CYPRIENNE. [_Archly._] You are an irresistible man. How many hearts have
you broken?
D’OR. None, I assure you. My own heart is more likely to be broken,
unless—
CYPRIENNE. [_Coming closer._] M. D’Or, you might say a favorable word or
two about Dacier to the Blausteins—you have such great influence!
D’OR. [_Eagerly._] I shall be delighted to do so, Cyprienne. We must
talk it over some time. When can I see you?
CYPRIENNE. You are always welcome at our chateau.
D’OR. But I would see you alone!
CYPRIENNE. [_With feigned surprise._] Alone?
D’OR. Surely, our plan is to arrange a surprise for M. Dacier. At what
hour does he reach home?
CYPRIENNE. At four or later.
D’OR. Then I may call some afternoon—say at two? [CYPRIENNE _starts_.]
We can talk things over quite by ourselves. And then—[_Enter_ BAPTISTE.]
BAPTISTE. [_Announcing._] M. Moreau! [BAPTISTE _retires_.]
D’OR. [_To_ CYPRIENNE.] Confound the poet! I’d rather chat with you.
[_Enter_ MOREAU.] Welcome, my dear M. Moreau! I’m delighted to see you.
MOREAU. Pardon my lateness, M. D’Or. I have been attending a conclave of
the Opposition.
D’OR. Still denouncing the government, eh? I hope you will find it more
agreeable here. Mme. Dacier, may I present M. Moreau?
CYPRIENNE. [_Extending her hand._] M. Moreau is an old friends of ours.
[_Enter_ BAPTISTE.]
BAPTISTE. [_Announcing._] M. Lemaire! [_He retires._]
MOREAU. Ah! so Lemaire is also late. Evidently we poets and artists are
an unreliable class. [_Enter_ LEMAIRE.]
D’OR. My best greetings, my dear Lemaire. [LEMAIRE _greets_ CYPRIENNE
_and_ MOREAU.] We feared you were going to disappoint us this time—and
every one is anxious to learn what work you have undertaken since your
successful painting ‘Death in Life.’
LEMAIRE. [_Staring vacantly and nervously._] I’ve done very little
lately. Heaven knows, I should be working, but that picture seems to
have exhausted every vestige of inspiration in my being. I find it
impossible to pull myself together.
MOREAU. I know the sensation—a great vital utterance leaves the
inventive power paralyzed and one gropes about in vain for support.
D’OR. Gentlemen, if you will pardon me, I shall escort Mme. Dacier to
the corridor for some refreshment. Pray make yourselves at home; I shall
rejoin you shortly. [_Exeunt_ D’OR _and_ CYPRIENNE.]
LEMAIRE. [_Looking about._] What a palace! What wonderful appointments!
Is it conceivable that the pen or the brush could ever earn such luxury
for either of us? D’Or’s supply of gold seems inexhaustible—and he
spends with a knowing hand.
MOREAU. A pleasant fellow, our host! My only regret is that he
sympathizes with the scoundrels who constitute the present ministry. If
I could only get him to support the Opposition, we should have the
Premier’s resignation within a week!
LEMAIRE. Try him, Moreau! It’s worth working for! I believe that the
mere mention of D’Or’s name as an adherent of our party would overturn
the authority of the Premier. Try to have a quiet talk with him before
you go—and let me know how you succeed.
MOREAU. I shall do it; with D’Or on our side the cause is as good as
won! And then, Lemaire, a brighter day shall dawn for our country. We
shall once more lead the way to higher and nobler achievement. [_Enter_
D’OR.]
D’OR. You see, my friends, I have not kept you waiting long. Perhaps you
would care to partake of some refreshment?
MOREAU. No, thank you. Like most poets, I think most clearly on an empty
stomach.
D’OR. With many poets compulsion and not choice develops that opinion.
And you, M. Lemaire?
LEMAIRE. [_With a significant look at_ MOREAU.] I think I shall cater a
bit to the inner man. I shall rejoin you later. _Au revoir!_ [_Exit_
LEMAIRE.]
D’OR. Well, my dear Moreau, on what are you working now? I hope you are
not as destitute of plans as our good friend Lemaire?
MOREAU. No; I am writing a new poem which I hope to finish shortly.
D’OR. May I enquire the nature of your subject?
MOREAU. Certainly. I am seeking to glorify the future of our country and
to blaze the way toward the realization of its noblest ideals.
[_Slowly._] Of course, such a dream is impossible under existing
conditions.
D’OR. You mean the present ministry?
MOREAU. Yes. They are a group of detestable politicians who make all
great questions of state subservient to their own schemes for personal
power and profit.
D’OR. I think you are a little unfair to the Premier and his associates.
You must not forget that every party when out of office rails against
those in control.
MOREAU. But the Opposition stands upon a firm foundation of integrity
and high moral purpose.
D’OR. Mere vaporing, my dear Moreau. The minority is always respectable.
It’s their only chance to regain the ascendancy. If your Opposition
should triumph they would soon be drunk with power and the present party
could successfully parade its manifold virtues before the public.
MOREAU. So you really believe that in the long run there can be no
improvement in government?
D’OR. Yes, if you choose to put it thus; and my advice to you is that
you join the party in power. You have too much talent to squander your
life in the service of a hopeless Opposition.
MOREAU. Hopeless? I thought that possibly you might be induced to join
our cause—to become the patron of a new and better order of things.
D’OR. [_Apparently ignoring the remark._] Of course, the ministry has
antagonized the visionaries—idealists like yourself, who dream of
Utopian governments, but who have little or no experience in practical
affairs.
MOREAU. An instinctive sense of right and wrong is the best equipment
for a statesman.
D’OR. There speaks the poet! Now, may I tell you in confidence what
really does constitute the best equipment for a statesman?
MOREAU. [_Curiously._] What is it?
D’OR. [_Deliberately._] Knowledge of the fact that his party has the
approval of the Blausteins!
MOREAU. [_Astounded._] The approval of a banking-house!
D’OR. The approval of the greatest power in the world—unlimited gold.
MOREAU. It seems hardly credible! The utter corruption of the existing
state of affairs is beyond my comprehension.
D’OR. M. Moreau, let us talk sensibly about these things. I like your
poetry very much; I admire everything about you except your political
sentiments. Why do you not put your fine talent to better use?
MOREAU. What better use is there than devotion to the popular welfare?
D’OR. Nonsense. The people for whom you write cannot appreciate the
subtlety of your thought nor the nobility of your inspired poetic
nights. They place a scant value upon your efforts. The present
government honors its friends more highly. A poem in praise of the
ministry would bring you greater material reward and more renown than
ten years of labor for the ungrateful Opposition.
MOREAU. M. D’Or, I am devoted to our cause; I would not write a poem in
commendation of the present ministry for fifty thousand francs.
D’OR. [_Alert._] You would not?
MOREAU. No. It would be treason to the people.
D’OR. How long would you labor for the popular cause before you earned
fifty thousand francs with your pen?
MOREAU. Five years at least.
D’OR. And you are unwilling to purchase a release from five years of
drudgery by a single effort because of a conscientious scruple? You are
indeed a patriot.
MOREAU. I wish merely to be true to myself.
D’OR. [_Slowly._] M. Moreau, what would you do if some one were to offer
you—say one hundred thousand francs for a poem over your signature
addressed to the Premier and commending the present government?
MOREAU. [_Aghast._] One hundred thousand francs! The question is
ridiculous. You are trying to entrap me.
D’OR. The question is not ridiculous. I offer you that sum!
MOREAU. Are you serious?
D’OR. I shall not mince words. The government seeks the support of its
most intelligent and most gifted people. You are one of these. The
government would not, however, pay you such an amount as I have
mentioned; that sum represents my personal gratification at the prospect
of numbering M. Moreau among the champions of the ministry.
MOREAU. You are bribing me!
D’OR. I am not. I am telling you that there is fame and substantial
reward for the adherents of the government; there is futile effort and
wasted opportunity for the Opposition. You are a sane man; which do you
choose?
MOREAU. But to write such a poem is a manifest renunciation of my high
principles of conduct.
D’OR. To write such a poem is a declaration to the world that you have
become a conservative. Are you familiar with that word ‘conservative’?
It is a word of excellent savor and of good repute. A man who betrays a
cause is justly styled a renegade or a traitor; but a man who has held
visionary views concerning government or society, and who as a result of
maturer deliberation rejects such fallacies and becomes an adherent of
the existing social order may properly be styled a conservative. That’s
the worst they can say about you—and the reward is the price of ten
years’ hard labor with the pen.
MOREAU. [_Bewildered._] One hundred thousand francs! I can see it in
every journal in Paris! ‘M. Moreau joins the conservatives!’ One hundred
thousand francs!
D’OR. [_Jestingly._] You will note that there is nothing conservative in
the sum I am offering you. I should call it liberal—decidedly liberal!
MOREAU. [_Brokenly._] After all, perhaps you’re right. Lemaire will
think I’m a cur—but I accept your offer. I may live to regret this step,
but I cannot resist you. I shall write your poem and I shall mean every
word that I say. Henceforth I am one of your party. There is no future
for me elsewhere. I want you to understand that I am completely within
your ranks. I will not be a hireling, to puff the Premier in a single
insincere poem. You have not bought a poem, M. D’Or—you have bought me,
body and soul. Do you understand?
D’OR. [_Quietly._] Yes. It was you I was bidding for.
MOREAU. [_More wildly._] It’s a serious matter, this tearing one’s self
out by the roots. I must have time for reflection. Pardon me, M. D’Or,
it is growing oppressive here—I must have fresh air. I cannot meet
Lemaire just now. You shall have your poem—a poem from the depths of my
heart. It’s fresh air I need—fresh air! [_He staggers out with a groan._
D’OR _looks after him and smiles strangely. He draws a handful of gold
coins from his pocket and is about to jingle them when_ LEMAIRE
_enters_. D’OR _replaces the coins quickly_.]
LEMAIRE. You are alone! I expected to find M. Moreau with you.
D’OR. [_Coolly._] He left me only a moment ago. Have you partaken of the
luncheon?
LEMAIRE. Yes, and chatted with some of your delightful guests. I am
grateful to find so many recognized Liberals among them. Are you being
converted?
D’OR. By no means—but I like to know intimately all points of view. It’s
part of one’s education, after all. I try to make these gatherings as
varied as possible and to give free rein to the expression of opinion.
Did you hear nothing that might arouse renewed inspiration for another
great painting?
LEMAIRE. [_Gloomily._] I shall probably grope long in the dark before I
find another subject as striking as ‘Death in Life’!
D’OR. Surely, there are many themes available?
LEMAIRE. Few that I should care to depict. I shall paint nothing
ignoble, nothing degrading. If my brush is not destined to uplift and to
glorify mankind, I shall cast it aside.
D’OR. A noble ideal, indeed; but ideals are evanescent in this corrupt
old world of ours.
LEMAIRE. Are they not about all that is worth while?
D’OR. Rather too unsubstantial, I should say. After all, an artist must
labor for his bread and butter. Of course, he may be so absorbed in his
ideals that he ignores the gross commercial value of his inspiration and
its product. I am told you sold your ‘Death in Life’ for a trifle—yet it
is your finest picture.
LEMAIRE. I have no regrets. The ‘Death in Life’ was sold to a collector
while it still hung in my studio. He offered two thousand francs—I
needed the money and accepted. Had I anticipated the success of the
picture in the _Salon_, I might have asked more.
D’OR. That picture would have been cheap at ten thousand francs. Perhaps
you do not know that I offered your lucky purchaser twice that sum—and
it was refused!
LEMAIRE. Twenty thousand francs for my painting!
D’OR. Yes, and it was refused. [_After a pause._] I have an idea, M.
Lemaire—a good one. Will you paint me a companion piece to ‘Death in
Life’?
LEMAIRE. A companion piece?
D’OR. Yes. You might call it ‘Life in Death’ by way of contrast. I will
give you thirty thousand francs for such a painting, if you permit me to
suggest the subject.
LEMAIRE. You are willing to pay that price for a painting of mine?
D’OR. I have an object in view. I wish to make the other painting
ridiculous, so that the purchaser may be willing to part with it.
LEMAIRE. I do not quite understand—
D’OR. Why should you? It is but necessary that you accept my offer.
LEMAIRE. Of course I accept! It is many times more than I have ever
received for a painting, but you are a rich man, a noble patron of the
arts. Have you chosen your subject?
D’OR. You agree to be bound to it?
LEMAIRE. Yes. It is to be called ‘Life in Death,’ I understand, and is
to represent—
D’OR. [_Slowly._] A dead rat lying in a foul gutter!
LEMAIRE. [_With a cry._] You are mad, M. D’Or!
D’OR. Not at all. I think it’s a rather good subject to accomplish my
purpose. I would like you to represent the rat as putrescent—
LEMAIRE. [_Horrified._] Stop, monsieur! You are insulting me. I shall
hear no more of that.
D’OR. You gave your promise.
LEMAIRE. Yes, to paint a picture—not to execute a mad vagary of yours.
D’OR. I don’t expect my realistic theme to conform with your airy
ideals, but think of the money I intend to pay you for this painting.
LEMAIRE. It won’t do. I must refuse.
D’OR. [_Firmly._] I intend to have that dead rat, M. Lemaire!
LEMAIRE. Then you must get some one else to paint it.
D’OR. I intend that you shall paint it. Perhaps I estimate realism too
cheaply. I offer you forty thousand francs for the rat!
LEMAIRE. [_Almost in a whisper._] Forty thousand francs! To drag my
reputation as an artist through the slime?
D’OR. No. To initiate you into a new and profitable school of art. Do
you not realize that mankind has a natural craving for the unclean and
the depraved? Mine will not be your last commission in the realistic
style. Remember that I am offering you twenty times as much as you
received for your ‘Death in Life.’ If any one asks you why you painted
‘Life in Death,’ tell them it is a parody on the original, executed at
my order.
LEMAIRE. [_Hesitating._] If I did not need the money so badly, I
would—[_Suddenly._] I’ll do it—I’ll do it for you, M. D’Or. I cannot
help myself. [_Beating his forehead._] A dead rat—Great Heavens!—a dead
rat! [_He rushes out wildly._ D’OR _is about to jingle the gold as
before, but feels that he cannot. He mops his brow with his handkerchief
and seems somewhat distracted. Meanwhile_ HÉLÈNE VAUX, _a charming girl
of eighteen, dressed simply in white, enters quietly and gazes strangely
at_ D’OR _as if to fathom his thoughts_.]
D’OR. [_Observing her._] Mlle. Vaux! I did not hear you come in.
HÉLÈNE. [_Timidly._] Pardon me, M. D’Or. I am looking for my father.
D’OR. Surely you will not deny me the pleasure of a few words with you.
I am always glad to see you here with your father, but you seem desirous
of avoiding me.
HÉLÈNE. [_Nervously._] No!—I—
D’OR. My sole object on such occasions as this is to make my guests
happy—to entertain them in a way that will ever be a pleasant memory in
the days to come; yet you always seem apprehensive of harm—
HÉLÈNE. I cannot explain. It seems so strange that you—[_She stops
helplessly. They gaze fixedly at each other._]
D’OR. [_After a pause._] Eleanor! [_He seems entranced._]
HÉLÈNE. Why do you call me Eleanor? My name is Hélène.
D’OR. [_Embarrassed._] Pardon me, Mlle. Vaux. I once knew some one of
that name. You resemble her—you bring back fleeting memories of the
past.
HÉLÈNE. [_Ill at ease._] I do not understand—I must find my father.
[_She goes off hastily._ D’OR _sits down at the right and rests his head
on his hand as if dazed. He does not notice_ BAPTISTE _who enters_.]
BAPTISTE. M. D’Or! [_Louder._] M. D’Or! [_A pause._]
D’OR. [_Recovering himself._] Baptiste!
BAPTISTE. Mme. Dacier asked me to give you this note.
D’OR. [_Takes it._] Very well. [BAPTISTE _bows himself out_. D’OR _opens
the envelope and draws out a card which he reads_.] ‘To-morrow at
two—Cyprienne.’ [_He quickly thrusts the card into his waistcoat pocket.
His demeanor instantly changes. He is completely aroused from his
trance._ VAUX _enters at the centre_.] Ah! M. Vaux, your daughter is
looking for you!
VAUX. I have been neglecting her all morning. I thought she was talking
to Mme. Clary a few moments ago.
D’OR. Your daughter is a most attractive girl—one in a thousand. I
congratulate you, M. Vaux, on the possession of such a jewel.
VAUX. [_Pleased._] Yes, Hélène is a good girl—my chief consolation since
her mother was taken away. It is my one regret that I cannot give her
the musical training that her talents merit.
D’OR. Surely she has teachers?
VAUX. The best that my purse allows, but not the best to be had. We
musicians cannot hope to win great wealth, yet I still have hopes that
when my new symphonic poem is brought out—
D’OR. A new composition! I am glad to hear of it.
VAUX. It is almost completed. I have been laboring on it for many years.
It was begun in the first hours of grief after the loss of Hélène’s
mother. I have put my very soul into that score!
D’OR. Have you a program in mind?
VAUX. I shall call it ‘The Conqueror’—the record of a storm-tossed soul
that works its way through peril and temptation to the triumphant
heights of its ideal. You see how much of a dreamer I am, but I love the
idea of the conquering soul—the personality that dominates and directs.
D’OR. [_Much interested._] That is a very fascinating idea—the
personality that dominates! I am sure you will win fame with ‘The
Conqueror.’ Have you sought to glorify a particular hero in your
composition?
VAUX. No. It would be difficult to find a man who represents my ideal
conqueror—who reaches the heights unspotted with the stains of the
battle.
D’OR. The more I think of your idea, the more it pleases me. I always
have sought to be such a conqueror as you have in mind—a man of
commanding position and so equipped as to become a directing
intelligence in the affairs of the world. This may sound boastful, M.
Vaux, but I have a reason for speaking thus.
VAUX. [_Bewildered._] I do not understand—
D’OR. You say that you have no particular hero in mind to whom you are
addressing your symphonic poem. Would it be presumptuous on my part to
say that I should feel honored to have such a composition dedicated to
me? Let me explain more fully, M. Vaux—there need be no reserve. I have
abundance of the wealth that you in common with others find so useful;
you have a talent that can immortalize the man to whom your compositions
are addressed. If you were to honor me with the dedication of ‘The
Conqueror’ I should see that every resource were at the disposal of
Mlle. Vaux for her thorough musical training.
VAUX. For Hélène’s education?
D’OR. It would be a trifle for me, M. Vaux; to you it would represent
long hours of arduous toil. Thus each of us can serve the other.
VAUX. [_Anxious not to offend._] I must confess that I had a very
different ideal of ‘The Conqueror’—pardon my bluntness, but my hero
typified spiritual achievement, not the conquests of material wealth.
D’OR. Of course—I understand. Spiritual achievement has a pleasant sound
and at one time in the world’s history it probably meant something; but
we are living in a very different age. The real conquerors of to-day are
the men who act as stewards of the world’s great wealth. I can buy you
any man you may name, heart and soul. It is merely a question of price—
VAUX. [_Horrified._] M. D’Or!
D’OR. I know it sounds scandalous, but it is true—I have demonstrated my
power. There are no conquests in this world like the conquests of
material wealth.
VAUX. [_Sadly._] I have lived in this world many more years than you, M.
D’Or—I know the weakness of humanity. There is much truth in what you
say; but we artists have not done our duty if we are content to depict
the world as we find it—if we do not point the way to higher ideals—
D’OR. [_Impatiently._] A truce to your ideals! I have heard more than
enough this morning about ideals! I have just made you a substantial and
flattering offer; you seem inclined to treat me in turn to a
conventional discussion on the nature of the artistic impulse. You are a
poor man, M. Vaux, though a talented one. You have a daughter whose
future welfare is largely concerned in your answer to my offer. Are you
foolish enough to hesitate?
VAUX. I appreciate fully what your offer means, but people will
understand by my dedication that I desire to uphold you as the type of
‘The Conqueror’—
D’OR. And why not?
VAUX. Because I had a very different conqueror in mind—one whose career
typified a conquest by spiritual resource, by unfailing courage—
D’OR. [_Suddenly but with deliberation._] M. Vaux, do you love your
daughter Hélène? Are you mindful of her future—of the years when you
will no longer be here to protect her?
VAUX. [_Completely broken._] I can struggle against you no longer. You
have triumphed! ‘The Conqueror’ shall be dedicated to you!
D’OR. [_Smoothly._] I appreciate the honor, especially since there was
no haggling over terms. Rest assured, M. Vaux, you will have no occasion
to regret your trust in my generosity.
VAUX. [_Subdued._] I have done it for my Hélène. [_He sits on the sofa,
right, and seems overcome with emotion._ HÉLÈNE _enters and takes a half
kneeling position on the mat at his feet. She places a small autograph
album on his lap._]
HÉLÈNE. Father, I have been searching for you. Mme. Clary wishes your
autograph. Isn’t it an honor! Just look at the famous names—artists,
poets, musicians—
VAUX. [_Takes a fountain pen from his pocket and writes._] Mme. Clary is
very kind to ask your father to enroll himself in this record of genius.
[_Turning the pages._] What is this? M. D’Or, I find your name here!
D’OR. [_With a smile._] Indeed! Does it appear out of place among your
brilliant assemblage of earth’s talented sons?
VAUX. No, no! Do not misunderstand me! I thought it was merely a
collection of artists’ autographs. I am pleased to see it includes at
least one generous patron of the arts. [_To_ HÉLÈNE.] Hélène, we are
much indebted to M. D’Or. He will make it possible for me to give you
the best masters for your musical training.
HÉLÈNE. [_Rising._] You could not accept such an offer?
VAUX. [_Embarrassed._] I am dedicating ‘The Conqueror’ to M. D’Or. It
has pleased him to express his generous intentions in return.
HÉLÈNE. [_Turning on_ D’OR _with unexpected energy_.] ‘The Conqueror’!
[_Reproachfully._] M. D’Or, you have taken advantage of an old man.
D’OR. Taken advantage! Those are hard words for one who has your welfare
at heart. I am enabling your father to provide amply for you; indirectly
I am helping you to make the most of life, to win fame and position if
the talent abides within you. This you call taking advantage of your
father!
HÉLÈNE. M. D’Or, we are here as your guests. I cannot speak frankly.
D’OR. If I have offended you, my roof shall not save me from your
reproaches. Speak as freely as you will and tell me honestly why you
despise my offer.
VAUX. Hélène, I beseech you, be careful how you answer.
HÉLÈNE. [_To_ D’OR.] You see how thoroughly you have subdued my poor
father! He fears that my frankness will forfeit the bounty you are
disposed to heap upon us. You wish me to speak freely?
D’OR. By all means.
HÉLÈNE. Very well. M. D’Or, I fear the intention of your apparent
kindness.
D’OR. Why do you say that?
HÉLÈNE. A few moments ago I passed M. Moreau in the corridor—Moreau, the
brave champion of the people—and I heard him say that he had changed his
political views, and now felt morally obliged to support the ministry!
VAUX. [_Astonished._] Moreau a conservative! Impossible!
D’OR. What have I to do with Moreau’s politics?
HÉLÈNE. [_Watching him closely._] I cannot help thinking that you had a
hand in his sudden change of faith.
D’OR. [_Carelessly._] Why should I deny it? You would not believe me.
HÉLÈNE. [_Coming closer._] M. D’Or, I would believe you, if I heard you
deny it! Do you deny it?
D’OR. [_Without flinching, looking steadily at her._] Mlle. Vaux, I
admire your courage; I marvel at your penetration. I shall tell you the
truth. I bought that fellow Moreau for so much gold. He’s my man now and
he’ll take my orders when I give them. [VAUX _groans_.]
HÉLÈNE. Father, do you hear what M. D’Or says? [_To_ D’OR.] Is there
nothing else on your conscience? Are you aware that M. Lemaire is
astonishing your guests by incoherent ravings about dead rats and
foul-smelling gutters?
D’OR. [_Steadily._] It’s the subject for his next painting. The fellow
is executing it at my commission. I chose the subject, and I pay him his
price. [VAUX _groans again_.]
HÉLÈNE. [_To_ VAUX.] Are you still inclined to dedicate ‘The Conqueror’
to M. D’Or?
VAUX. I have given my promise.
D’OR. I shall release you from that promise if Mlle. Vaux requests it.
HÉLÈNE. I do not request it. After all, you are a conqueror—you have
triumphed over my unhappy father just as you overcame those other frail
souls and dragged them to the earth.
D’OR. I release your father from his promise. His conqueror is a vain
seeker after empty ideals. M. Vaux, you may dedicate your symphonic
flight to whom you will, but I beg you to let me carry out at least my
part of our compact. [VAUX _looks eagerly at_ HÉLÈNE _to reply_.]
HÉLÈNE. You have made that impossible for us, M. D’Or. We cannot accept
your generosity. [_To_ VAUX.] We must not stay here any longer. Let us
go home.
D’OR. Can we not remain friends? Will you not permit the resources of my
wealth to prove my friendship?
HÉLÈNE. [_More softly._] The best way to befriend you, M. D’Or, is to
prove to you the futility of your wealth. Come, father.
VAUX. Good-bye, M. D’Or. [_He offers his hand._]
D’OR. Good-bye. [_He looks at_ HÉLÈNE.]
HÉLÈNE. [_After a pause extends her hand._] Good-bye. Are you not
convinced?
D’OR. Not yet—but you are very kind to me. [_He kisses her hand._]
VAUX. [_Near the entrance, as if inspired._] M. D’Or, at last I know to
whom I shall dedicate ‘The Conqueror.’
D’OR. To whom?
VAUX. [_Taking_ HÉLÈNE’S _hand_.] To my daughter Hélène! [_They go out
quickly._]
D’OR. [_Somewhat seriously, after a pause._] Perhaps the old man is
right—and perhaps he is not! [_Laughs cynically and puts his hand as if
by instinct to his waistcoat pocket. He draws out_ CYPRIENNE’S _card and
reads it again_.] ‘To-morrow at two—Cyprienne.’ [_He kisses the card as
the curtain falls._]
SCENE III
[_A private parlor in the Hotel Royal, Interlaken. The room is
handsomely furnished in dark red. There are wide double doors in the
centre with elaborate panels on either side. On the left side there is
an exit and a fireplace in which a fire is burning. On the right there
is a window overlooking the street below. There is also an exit further
front. The furniture is appropriate for a business meeting. A large
central table is flanked by five armchairs. There is a large armchair,
left; also a small table with an adjacent chair, right. As the curtain
rises one central door opens slowly and_ CLAIRE LASALLE _peers in
nervously. Seeing no one, she enters and closes the door softly behind
her. She is dressed in black, with a white collar, and carries a small
leather writing pad. Her demeanor is that of a person undertaking a
delicate and difficult mission. She goes to the door, right, and knocks
cautiously. Receiving no answer, she stands for a moment, centre, in
evident indecision, then advances to the door, left, and knocks. The
door is opened and_ M. D’OR _steps in. He wears black satin
knee-breeches and a fancy house-jacket, heavily trimmed with gold
braid._ CLAIRE _hurriedly draws a card from her pad and hands it to_
D’OR.]
CLAIRE. M. D’Or?
D’OR. Yes. [_Reads the card._] ‘Mlle. Claire Lasalle, stenographer.’
[_He looks at her curiously, then at the card._] Ah! the Blausteins! I
must confess I hardly expected them to send a lady! [_He bows._]
CLAIRE. The Blausteins desire a verbatim report of the meeting.
D’OR. Are you familiar with such commissions as this?
CLAIRE. [_Smiling._] Yes. [_She looks about._] You must place me where I
can write unmolested. It is not necessary that I should see them. My
hearing is acute. [_She indicates the door, right._] Is that room
available?
D’OR. Yes.
CLAIRE. They are likely to insist on locked doors. You might let me lock
myself in. I can open the door slightly after the conference has begun.
D’OR. Very well. I shall turn the knob as a signal to you that we are
about to begin. Be very careful, mademoiselle!
CLAIRE. Have no fear. Such experience is not new to me.
D’OR. Do you know them—Muirhead, Graefflingen, and the rest?
CLAIRE. All but Andriev. He is a stranger to me. You expect them at
three? We have little time to spare.
D’OR. You’re right. I shall make you comfortable before they arrive.
[_He crosses to the right._] You will pardon my appearance, Mlle.
Lasalle—I was dressing for this conference when you knocked.
CLAIRE. Certainly. Do not let me detain you. [_He goes off, right,
meanwhile she opens her leather pad and gets her pencils ready. In a
moment_ D’OR _returns_.]
D’OR. I have placed a chair for you just beside the door. [_After a
pause._] Really, I cannot quite grasp the idea that a woman should be
entrusted with diplomatic work of this character.
CLAIRE. [_Facetiously._] There are women and women.
D’OR. And, moreover, a few rarely endowed young ladies who can keep
secrets—important secrets of state. Mademoiselle, I congratulate you! I
hope the Blausteins pay you adequately for such unusual services.
CLAIRE. [_Simply._] A thousand francs a session.
D’OR. Will you permit me to double it this time?
CLAIRE. [_Surprised, but on her guard._] Why should you?
D’OR. [_Ingenuously._] Why shouldn’t I?
CLAIRE. [_Sharply._] M. D’Or, the thousand francs that the Blausteins
pay me are sufficiently tainted. I’ve sunk about as low as I care to.
Does that answer your question?
D’OR. Your cleverness assures me that the Blausteins do not appreciate
you at your real worth.
CLAIRE. Perhaps you’re right—but I had the privilege of naming the
degree and the price of my corruption, so I have no cause for complaint.
May I take my place in the next room?
D’OR. Certainly. [_He throws open the door, right, for her._] Make
yourself comfortable, while I hurry into the rest of my official dress.
[_She passes out._] But let me first test our arrangement. [_He adjusts
the door to a very slight aperture._] There! How is that? [_He crosses
to the left side and faces the door, right._] Now, mademoiselle, can you
hear me distinctly at this distance?
CLAIRE. [_Within._] Yes, quite plainly.
D’OR. Can you hear me when I say that my offer of that extra thousand
francs will hold good after the conference if you should see fit to take
it? [_No answer. He draws a little nearer._] Perhaps you would hear
better if I said two thousand francs!
CLAIRE. [_Throwing the door wide open and stepping into the room._] M.
D’Or, we two—you and I—are about to engage in a very contemptible
business here. I am being paid my price; I trust you are getting yours.
There should be some show of mutual respect even among the corrupt. If
you annoy me further, I may be tempted to step out during your little
conference to expose you for the despicable creature that you are!
D’OR. [_With a deprecatory gesture._] Pray retire, mademoiselle, to your
post of vantage. I shall risk no further verbal fusillade from that
accomplished tongue of yours.
CLAIRE. [_With a sneer._] Where did the Blausteins find you? They have
the reputation of employing agents who attend strictly to the business
at hand. Let us see if you can live up to that standard! [_She goes off,
right, and closes the door with a bang. The lock clicks audibly._ D’OR
_shrugs his shoulders and goes off, left, shaking his head. For a few
moments the stage is empty. A knock is heard at the centre door. It is
repeated, then the door opens and_ HERR LOBEN _steps in. He draws out
his watch._]
LOBEN. None here yet! I have the honor to be the first. [_He crosses to
the table, right, and puts down a red portfolio. A moment later_ MR.
GILBERT _enters, carrying a similar black portfolio_. LOBEN’S _back is
turned_.]
GILBERT. Herr Loben, I believe?
LOBEN. [_Turning._] Ah—you are the secretary of Sir Mortimer
Muirhead—let me see—Mr.—
GILBERT. Mr. Gilbert.
LOBEN. Yes! Good afternoon, Mr. Gilbert. I infer that Sir Mortimer is to
be at this mysterious conference?
GILBERT. [_He places his portfolio on the centre table and examines his
papers._] Yes. Is Baron Graefflingen also to be here?
LOBEN. I expect him every moment. [_He goes to the window and looks out.
Comes back and watches_ GILBERT _with his papers, then, after a pause,
speaks as if in confidence_.] I say, Mr. Gilbert, do you know what it’s
all about?
GILBERT. [_Carelessly._] What? This meeting with M. D’Or?
LOBEN. Yes. Do you know him?
GILBERT. I have seen him once or twice at the consulate. He is
enormously rich—one of the Blaustein coterie.
LOBEN. Ah! so this is a Blaustein affair! I thought as much. Marquis
Pallot and Count Andriev are also to be here. Quite an international
gathering, eh?
GILBERT. [_Absently, busy with his papers._] Yes, quite so.
[_Suddenly._] What’s that you’re saying? Pallot and Andriev?
LOBEN. I thought you took it rather mildly. Yes, both of them. [_A
pause._] Do you suspect anything?
GILBERT. What do you mean?
LOBEN. Don’t you imagine that something is on foot when such a
distinguished array of diplomatic talent gathers to receive orders from
the Blausteins—
GILBERT. [_Springing up._] To receive orders—from the Blausteins? Herr
Loben, that is too absurd—
LOBEN. [_With a shrug._] How long have you been Sir Mortimer’s
secretary?
GILBERT. Six months.
LOBEN. Still a youngster in diplomacy, eh? I have been with Baron
Graefflingen for—let me see—seven years this winter.
GILBERT. Well?
LOBEN. Only this, Mr. Gilbert. To-day is not the first time that I hear
the name of the Blausteins.
GILBERT. Possibly not! But you spoke of their giving orders—
LOBEN. I hate to disillusion you—there was a time when I felt about
things as you do now—those were the days of my diplomatic innocence.
[_Motor-horn is heard outside._ LOBEN _goes to the window_.] It’s your
principal, Sir Mortimer.
GILBERT. [_Looks at his watch._] He’s on time. It lacks a minute or two
of three.
LOBEN. [_Coming forward._] He evidently doesn’t believe in keeping an
emissary of the Blausteins waiting. [GILBERT _is annoyed_.] No offense,
Mr. Gilbert—the others won’t be long in following him. [_Enter_ SIR
MORTIMER MUIRHEAD _at the centre_.]
MUIRHEAD. [_Nods to_ GILBERT, _then turns to_ LOBEN.] Good afternoon,
Herr Loben. Graefflingen’s coming?
LOBEN. [_Politely._] Yes, Sir Mortimer. He should be here now.
MUIRHEAD. [_To_ GILBERT.] You have sent off the dispatches?
GILBERT. Yes; they went this morning. I have received a wire confirming
your reservations at Geneva for next week.
MUIRHEAD. Very good. [_To_ LOBEN.] I believe Baron Graefflingen is one
of your delegates to the Geneva Conference?
LOBEN. Yes, he heads the delegation; our government is sending six
representatives. [_Motor-horn is heard_; LOBEN _goes to the window as
before_.] Here comes the Baron! [_He looks out._] I’m wrong! It’s
Marquis Pallot and Count Andriev!
MUIRHEAD. Count Andriev!
LOBEN. Yes, Sir Mortimer. They are both expected.
MUIRHEAD. [_To_ GILBERT.] Have you seen nothing of M. D’Or?
GILBERT. I asked before I came up. The attendants informed me that he
had taken a suite here at the hotel. [_Enter_ PALLOT _and_ ANDRIEV.]
PALLOT. Good afternoon, Sir Mortimer. [_He nods slightly to the
others._] You know Count Andriev?
MUIRHEAD. I have the honor. [ANDRIEV _bows_.] My secretary, Mr.
Gilbert—Herr Loben, secretary to Baron Graefflingen.
PALLOT. Are you familiar with the circumstances that bring us together
to-day, Sir Mortimer?
MUIRHEAD. I know absolutely nothing except that the note from Paris asks
me to meet M. D’Or at three this afternoon.
ANDRIEV. My note read, ‘M. D’Or of the house of Blaustein.’
MUIRHEAD. Of course—mine also! [_Laughing._] Otherwise what claim would
the gentleman have upon our attention? [GILBERT _starts and avoids the
grinning glance of_ LOBEN.]
PALLOT. I must say that I resent such a peremptory summons, coming from
such a source; but there is no alternative, I understand—we must simply
comply with the request. [LOBEN _coughs, and watches_ GILBERT’S _tense
face_.]
ANDRIEV. We may as well be prepared for the Blaustein message—it
undoubtedly concerns the Geneva Conference of next week. [_Motor-horn is
heard again_; LOBEN _goes to the window_.]
LOBEN. It is the Baron!
MUIRHEAD. Graefflingen may be better informed than the rest of us.
Perhaps he may be able to throw some light upon the very unusual
procedure that brings us together.
PALLOT. I doubt it. The Blausteins rarely take any one into their
confidence. They say nothing till they are ready to talk, but
then—[_Enter_ GRAEFFLINGEN.]
GRAEFFLINGEN. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Am I late? [_He shakes hands
with the diplomats and nods to_ GILBERT.] M. D’Or has not yet appeared?
MUIRHEAD. No. We’ve been counting on you, Baron, to tell us what it’s
all about.
GRAEFFLINGEN. I cannot speak with any authority, but from a dispatch
received this morning I infer that the Blausteins are not pleased with
certain details of the international agreement that will probably be
adopted at Geneva next week.
PALLOT. [_Looking at his watch._] I do not know how soon M. D’Or is
likely to join us—but I believe it would be advisable among ourselves to
oppose any material alteration in the Geneva agreement.
MUIRHEAD. A united front might strengthen our position very much, if we
only knew what particular part of the agreement the Blausteins are
likely to assail.
ANDRIEV. I propose, gentlemen, that when M. D’Or arrives and explains
the Blaustein views, we shall take the cue from one of our own number. I
suggest Sir Mortimer as the leader of our united forces.
PALLOT. That seems to be most desirable. If we do not stand together
there is not the least likelihood of our accomplishing much with M.
D’Or.
GRAEFFLINGEN. I heartily concur in Count Andriev’s proposal. We must
keep the Blaustein emissary within bounds.
MUIRHEAD. Gentlemen, I appreciate the honor that you are showing me. At
present we are groping in the dark—we do not as yet know the intentions
of M. D’Or.
LOBEN. [_Warningly._] Sh—h!! [_A pause._ D’OR _enters at the left,
wearing an elaborate diplomatic uniform of black satin, with a broad
gold band across his bosom_.]
D’OR. Good afternoon, gentlemen. [_Looking about._] One hardly needs
introduction to such a distinguished group. [_He shakes hands._] Sir
Mortimer, you are looking well—Baron Graefflingen—Marquis Pallot—Count
Andriev. [_He stops at the secretaries._]
MUIRHEAD. Our secretaries, Mr. Gilbert and Herr Loben.
D’OR. [_Shaking their hands._] It gives me pleasure to welcome the
future lights of diplomacy.
GRAEFFLINGEN. Perhaps you prefer that our secretaries retire during our
conference?
D’OR. Not at all, Baron—not at all. It will do the young men good to be
present.
ANDRIEV. Are we safe from possible eavesdroppers?
D’OR. [_Remembering_ CLAIRE.] Certainly, but we can assure ourselves by
locking the doors. [_He locks the door, left, and the central doors._]
This door is always kept locked, I believe. [_He goes to the door,
right, and very deliberately turns the knob several times. The others
present seem satisfied._] Shall we be seated? [_They take seats at the
central table_, D’OR _at the right end, then_ MUIRHEAD, PALLOT, ANDRIEV,
_and_ GRAEFFLINGEN. GILBERT _sits at the small table, right_; LOBEN _in
the armchair, left_.] Of course, we shall take no minutes of our
deliberation—everything is informal and secret.
GRAEFFLINGEN. That is wise. This meeting must be regarded as absolutely
confidential among ourselves.
ANDRIEV. I presume that it is agreed that no notes shall be taken by any
one present—
THE OTHERS. Certainly—assuredly. [GILBERT _starts from his seat and
stares ahead of him_.]
MUIRHEAD. What is the matter, Mr. Gilbert?
GILBERT. Nothing, Sir Mortimer. Pardon me, I thought I heard a slight
creaking noise. I was mistaken! [_He resumes his seat. Throughout the
scene_ GILBERT _pays close attention, Loben twiddles his thumbs and
yawns_.]
MUIRHEAD. [_To_ D’OR.] Have any others been invited, or is the group now
complete?
D’OR. Quite complete, I assure you, Sir Mortimer. I dislike dealing with
a large group of men. A few sensible minds gathered around a table can
best transact important business. You have not been chosen at random,
gentlemen. The Blausteins desired the leading figure in each delegation
to be present to-day and I am happy to say that the choice has fallen
upon you.
GRAEFFLINGEN. You are very complimentary, M. D’Or.
D’OR. Not at all, my dear Baron. Men like yourself who are leaders in
shaping the destinies of their country are entitled to recognition and
honor—but to come down to the immediate business of our meeting. You are
all delegates to the Geneva Conference which assembles next week. Can
you tell me, Sir Mortimer, what the convention is expected to
accomplish?
MUIRHEAD. From the program, of which you may have seen a copy, it is
evident that the principal purpose is to consider questions concerning
international arbitration and to effect by general agreement a reduction
of the active military forces maintained by our respective governments.
D’OR. The first is a laudable object and I believe the Blausteins are in
hearty accord with the project. As for the second—is such a reduction
possible?
MUIRHEAD. Not only possible, but very desirable; the military and naval
budgets are the most serious problems that concern our treasury
ministers.
GRAEFFLINGEN. There is widespread dissatisfaction throughout Europe at
the enormous appropriation of funds for military purposes. It is our
thought that if the Geneva Conference cannot effect total disarmament,
it can at least bring about a material reduction in equipment for war.
D’OR. It is proper that you should not misunderstand the attitude of the
Blausteins toward this great question. They do not desire to foment
strife among nations. As a matter of fact, they would not permit a
European war at this time.
ANDRIEV. Would not _permit_ a war! Those are strong words, M. D’Or.
D’OR. [_Smoothly._] None the less, the older diplomats present will
assure Count Andriev that my words are not stronger than the case
warrants. [_He looks about. There is an awkward pause._] I am sure the
general silence is the best proof of my assertion.
PALLOT. Pardon my remark, M. D’Or, but I cannot understand why the
Blausteins should deprecate warfare, yet at the same time insist that
the nations maintain the highest military efficiency.
D’OR. It was to explain just such matters as you have mentioned that our
little meeting of this afternoon was arranged. There are certain things
that cannot be openly discussed—
MUIRHEAD. One moment, M. D’Or. Are you certain that you do not wish our
secretaries to retire before you go into details?
D’OR. Assuredly not, Sir Mortimer. I particularly desire the young men
to remain. Diplomacy has many valuable lessons to teach. Here they can
learn some of them.
GILBERT. [_Rising._] I should much prefer to retire if—
D’OR. Nonsense! I want you to remain—I insist on it! [GILBERT _resumes
his seat_.] You are aware, gentlemen, of the extent to which the
Blausteins hold the bonds of your respective governments, but there is
another side to the story. A government does not borrow money except to
spend it. Now, while it undoubtedly pays the Blausteins to lend you
their gold, it pays them still better to become national contractors and
purveyors, thus getting back much of the actual money with an added
profit in the second transaction.
PALLOT. By which you mean—
D’OR. Simply this, gentlemen. The Blausteins have secured control of
your most important gun factories, your powder works, your saltpeter and
sulphur deposits, your mines. They control the firms that get most of
the contracts for the erection of fortifications and for furnishing the
munitions of war. In fact, they feed and clothe your soldiers, they
supply the horses—
MUIRHEAD. Can this be possible?
D’OR. Why should it surprise you? Is it not the most natural thing in
the world? The vast Blaustein millions cannot lie idle in the vaults. Is
there any wonder that with the accumulated surplus of three generations
of shrewd financiering, this insuperable power reaches out into new
fields to secure a firmer grasp upon the forces of civilization?
MUIRHEAD. M. D’Or, may I ask you to state precisely what the Blausteins
desire of us, as far as the Geneva Conference is concerned?
D’OR. Assuredly, Sir Mortimer. The Blausteins are aware that the Geneva
Conference will be watched with interest throughout the civilized world;
the press will report its proceedings in detail—
ANDRIEV. [_Drily._] But not these proceedings—here, to-day!
D’OR. No, that would never do. We must not give the rabble an
opportunity to peer behind the scenes; it might interfere with the
public performance. The Geneva Conference is presumably a gathering to
foster universal peace.
GRAEFFLINGEN. Presumably!
D’OR. Certainly, my dear Baron! Can anyone predict what such a gathering
will accomplish until the powers have sat in judgment upon it?
PALLOT. And we are here to get the verdict of the _real_ powers and to
settle the fate of the Geneva Conference a full week before it begins!
D’OR. You are unnecessarily bitter, gentlemen. I am surprised to find
such strange ideals in a group of experienced diplomats. This is no
fairy-tale world in which we are living—it is still the same old,
wicked, scandalous and hopeless Europe that it has always been.
MUIRHEAD. I am afraid, M. D’Or, that you are being drawn away from the
answer to my question—
D’OR. Thank you, Sir Mortimer—these idealists always make trouble. Now,
to the point. What the Blausteins particularly desire is that the Geneva
Conference shall not give the journalists a chance to become rampant.
Most of those vexatious pests are subsidized, but there are always
reckless fellows who have nothing to lose and who are ready to court
notoriety upon the slightest pretext. The Blausteins therefore want a
triumphant victory of the peace party at Geneva.
THE OTHERS. [_Astounded._] The peace party!
D’OR. You misunderstand me. They want you to talk peace, to sing peace,
to shout peace till you are exhausted. They want you to recommend
measures advising partial reduction of military equipment and eventual
disarmament in all countries, but at the same time they want it
distinctly understood by all that not one of those recommendations is to
be carried out at present. Just give each journalistic dog his bone to
gnaw, and when all is over, things will go on as they are.
MUIRHEAD. [_Seriously._] Then what you suggest, M. D’Or, is that we
should go through the farce of gathering at Geneva next week as the
ostensible delegates of our respective governments, that we should adopt
those splendid measures that appeal to all of us, and then, to please
the Blausteins, we should nullify the work of the Conference by
permitting its recommendations to become a dead letter! It is no trifle
that you ask of us!
ANDRIEV. [_Warmly._] Trifle! He is asking us to become the Blaustein
puppets! Are we here to take his orders?
D’OR. [_Smoothly._] No, no, Count Andriev—not orders. I am not here to
issue any orders, least of all to such eminent diplomats as you. I am
simply telling you what the Blausteins desire; the rest I leave in your
hands. Perhaps some day you will better understand the significance of
the name of Blaustein! [GILBERT _springs up with a cry and with clenched
fists stands quivering before_ D’OR, _who has also risen_. MUIRHEAD
_quickly steps between them._]
MUIRHEAD. Mr. Gilbert, you forget your place! You owe M. D’Or an
apology. [_The others have risen._]
GILBERT. [_Tensely._] I—I could not control myself, Sir Mortimer—
D’OR. [_Suavely._] Pray do not take this seriously, Sir Mortimer. Your
secretary owes me no apology. He did a very natural thing—I respect him
for it. [GILBERT _drops heavily into his chair holding his head in his
hands_. D’OR _watches him curiously. The rest resume their seats._ LOBEN
_twiddles his thumbs_.] Of course, it is very unpleasant—this mission of
mine. You can readily see that the Blausteins must protect their
interests. We are showing you how you can satisfy the clamors of your
people and silence the criticism of your newspapers by ostensibly
complying with the popular demand. After all, the execution of your
recommendations rests with others; you will do your duty at the
conference.
ANDRIEV. Do you imagine that the people will tolerate this sort of
trickery forever?
D’OR. Why not? The government that cannot control its masses by throwing
them an occasional sop is a confessed failure—it deserves to fall. Count
Andriev, your civic authorities have a most efficient ally in that
universal force known as human nature. When your aristocrats engage
against the rabble in that great game of skill popularly known as
maintaining the government it is your own fault if you do not win; the
dice are always loaded in your favor.
ANDRIEV. Suppose we should refuse to be parties to your plan?
D’OR. [_Looking around._] If you personally are eager to defy the
Blausteins, you will probably find that the rest of the gentlemen
present are not similarly inclined. [_An uneasy silence._]
ANDRIEV. [_Bitterly._] Evidently, you are right! Heaven help the nations
that have to take orders from the Blausteins! Is there anything further,
M. D’Or?
D’OR. Nothing except that I wish to express my thanks to all of you for
meeting me here this afternoon. I hope that we part as friends?
PALLOT. Assuredly, M. D’Or. We must remember that you are merely the
representative of the Blausteins and in no sense personally responsible
for the policy which they have adopted. It would be absurd to harbor any
personal resentment against you. [_Offers his hand._] I wish you good
afternoon!
ANDRIEV. [_Likewise shakes hands._] I have used hard words here this
afternoon—they were intended for the Blausteins, not for M. D’Or. Good
day! [D’OR _unlocks the central doors, and Pallot and Andriev go off
together_.]
D’OR. [_To_ GRAEFFLINGEN.] Well, Baron, are you as kindly disposed as
these others? [_They shake hands. He turns to_ LOBEN.] I suppose you
have learned a new lesson in the science of diplomacy?
LOBEN. [_Wearily._] Bless you, no indeed! I have been in diplomacy for
seventeen years; I have become hardened to such incidents as this. It’s
getting a bit monotonous. I wish there were some new forms of political
corruption—they might prove interesting!
D’OR. I congratulate you, Baron, on your very blasé secretary. Such a
man must be a treasure in your profession.
GRAEFFLINGEN. Good afternoon, M. D’Or. [_To_ MUIRHEAD.] Sir Mortimer, do
you remain at Interlaken?
MUIRHEAD. No, I leave for Lucerne this evening. I shall spend a few days
at the _Kaiserhof_ before going to Geneva.
GRAEFFLINGEN. I was about to ask you to dine with me. I am sorry you are
leaving so soon. Good afternoon! [LOBEN _has meanwhile shaken hands
with_ GILBERT _and clapped him on the shoulder as a sign of approval_.
GILBERT _stands in dejection_. GRAEFFLINGEN _and_ LOBEN _pass out
together_.]
MUIRHEAD. In taking leave, M. D’Or, I still feel that Mr. Gilbert owes
you an explanation for his very remarkable conduct. I am sorry the
incident happened.
D’OR. [_After a pause._] Perhaps you are right, Sir Mortimer. Won’t you
permit Mr. Gilbert to remain for a few moments when you go? We can talk
the matter over between ourselves.
MUIRHEAD. Mr. Gilbert, you hear what M. D’Or has said. You may rejoin me
later at the hotel. Good day. [_They shake hands and_ MUIRHEAD _goes
off_.]
D’OR. [_Very pleasantly._] Mr. Gilbert, Sir Mortimer has made it easy
for me to have a confidential chat with you. I am indebted to him for
it. I had no idea when I entered this room that I should meet such an
interesting personality as yourself.
GILBERT. Sir Mortimer is right. I owe you an apology and I make it
freely. I should have known my place.
D’OR. That is not the point. I want to know why you made that outcry?
GILBERT. I would rather not answer that question.
D’OR. I feel as if I have a right to insist upon an answer, Mr. Gilbert.
GILBERT. Perhaps you have. May I give the explanation in my own way?
D’OR. By all means! Let us sit down. [_They take seats, centre._] Do you
smoke? [_He offers a cigar._]
GILBERT. No, thank you. [D’OR _lights his own cigar_.] M. D’Or, I sought
the appointment as Sir Mortimer’s secretary because I believed it would
prove an opening to a diplomatic career.
D’OR. Quite right—a very good opening!
GILBERT. At that time I regarded diplomacy as my life-work. I dreamed of
participating in the great affairs of state, of helping in my own small
way to mould the history of our own day and generation. The diplomat
seemed to be so important a figure, so essentially a servant of the
state that I was dazzled at the thought of serving my country in that
way. And now—[_He pauses._]
D’OR. Now you think otherwise?
GILBERT. Until to-day I regarded Sir Mortimer Muirhead as one of the
most enviable of men. Now I pity him—from the bottom of my heart. Kindly
stop me if I offend—
D’OR. Go on. I want to hear all you have to say.
GILBERT. I learned this afternoon how hopelessly a man may be fettered
in his efforts to serve his fellow men. To an experienced man like
yourself it must be apparent how unfit I am for the profession I have
chosen.
D’OR. Why were you so distressed to-day?
GILBERT. Picture a group of distinguished diplomats, representing the
leading nations of Europe, gathered in secret conclave to hear the
commands of a coterie of money-barons, and, what is worse, yielding to
those commands in spite of their own convictions! It is enough to make
one’s blood boil!
D’OR. You forget, Mr. Gilbert, that they are practical men of affairs.
They know the power of the money-barons, as you choose to call them, and
they act accordingly. A modern nation cannot afford to entrust its
affairs to idealists and dreamers.
GILBERT. Apparently not; but what of the national honor? Do these secret
compromises never become public? What can the reputable people of a
great nation think when its rulers stoop to curry favor with the rich
and powerful?
D’OR. My young friend, you have a distorted image in your mind; I advise
you to set it right. Who are your reputable people who are to cavil at
those who seek wealth or the influence that wealth affords? How many of
your apparently reputable people are not themselves engaged in the
pursuit of wealth by every method, direct or devious, that lies within
their power? Look about you, Mr. Gilbert, and examine your fellow man a
little more closely. Don’t place him on a pedestal. He’s a corrupt
specimen of creation when you get to know him thoroughly.
GILBERT. [_Hotly._] What makes him corrupt but the fact that there are
forces of evil abroad to tempt him—
D’OR. [_Smiling._] Like myself, for example?
GILBERT. Some men are not strong enough to resist temptation. You know
that, M. D’Or. The shame of it is that men like you take advantage of
it.
D’OR. Nonsense, Mr. Gilbert. We corrupt none of them. If need be we
ascertain the price of their corruption, but there our responsibility
ends. The work of the world must be accomplished. We cannot have men
pulling in all directions at once. There must be some harmony of action
to achieve results. If any one impedes the progress of a great plan, it
is policy to buy him off; if he refuses to yield he must be swept out of
the way. Usually he is too wise to resist—he takes his price and
withdraws gracefully. The world is waiting to be bought.
GILBERT. There is one thing I cannot understand, M. D’Or—why do you tell
me these things?
D’OR. Because I take an interest in you. I should like to see you make
something of your career. A few moments ago there were four prominent
diplomats in this room who did me the honor to confer upon the important
question that you heard discussed, yet for this quartette of notables I
have infinitely less respect than I have for you. I took real pleasure
in your outburst of disapproval.
GILBERT. But they all opposed you, particularly Count Andriev.
D’OR. Yes, but they all yielded at last—that is the fact that makes them
contemptible in my eyes. Mr. Gilbert, may I ask what salary Sir Mortimer
pays you for acting as his secretary?
GILBERT. Five hundred pounds.
D’OR. If I were to offer you a thousand pounds to become my secretary,
would you accept?
GILBERT. No!
D’OR. If I were to make it five thousand pounds, would you listen to the
offer?
GILBERT. No, M. D’Or!
D’OR. If I were to discover that the Blausteins needed an eminently
trustworthy agent and that you fulfilled the requirements exactly, would
you consider a salary of ten thousand pounds?
GILBERT. Never!
D’OR. [_Puffing his cigar, coolly._] I knew it! That’s why you interest
me—you are a human curiosity. A few, years ago I was ready to declare
there were no such men in existence. Remember, I have not insulted you
by really making the offer that I put just now. I pride myself that I
read your character aright and knew the offer would be rejected.
GILBERT. Are such offers ever made seriously?
D’OR. Certainly, if the man is worth it. Such matters are always subject
to the dictates of reason.
GILBERT. I now realize the source of your overwhelming power. I have
learned something from this interview—I shall not give up diplomacy.
D’OR. Will you remain Sir Mortimer’s secretary?
GILBERT. Yes, for the present. If I am one of the few of whom you speak
so highly, my country needs me and I intend to remain in her service.
D’OR. [_Smiling._] There speaks the patriot! Be careful, my friend, to
avoid tight places, so that you may not have to yield to the tempter one
of these days. [_They rise._] May I wish you success in your career?
[_He extends his hand._]
GILBERT. [_Painfully._] M. D’Or, I don’t want to insult you
again—but—I’d rather not shake your hand.
D’OR. [_With assumed indifference._] Just as you wish—it is better that
we should understand each other exactly. Perhaps I should feel offended,
but I don’t—I’m not going to quarrel with you. I wish you success just
the same. You may be right, after all—you young fellows have a great
deal of enthusiasm. There ought to be more like you.
GILBERT. [_Eagerly._] M. D’Or, there’s a real strain of good in you—why
don’t you give it a chance?
D’OR. [_Uneasily._] I may change my mind some day. If I do, I shall
remember you, Mr. Gilbert—
GILBERT. [_Seizes_ D’OR’S _hand and looks squarely in his eyes_.] I hope
so, M. D’Or—I hope so! Good-bye! [_He goes out._]
D’OR. [_Places his cigar on the table and looks toward the central
door._] I’d give my fortune for that man’s outlook on life! [CLAIRE
_enters silently at the right, holding her notes in her hand. She looks
curiously at_ D’OR.]
CLAIRE. Well—there are some honorable people, after all!
D’OR. [_Turning quickly._] What! I must confess I had quite forgotten
that you were in the next room. You heard everything?
CLAIRE. [_Drily._] Yes—and profited by it, too!
D’OR. You have a verbatim report?
CLAIRE. Everything; even your interesting little chat with Mr. Gilbert.
D’OR. See here, mademoiselle—that has no place in the report. Kindly let
me have those sheets.
CLAIRE. Never fear, M. D’Or—the Blausteins will never see any part of
this report!
D’OR. What do you mean?
CLAIRE. I intend to destroy every line that I wrote in that room. I
heard what Mr. Gilbert said. I will no longer be the servile spy of the
Blausteins!
D’OR. [_With a sneer._] Ah! Virtue seems to be contagious.
CLAIRE. There are always immunes.
D’OR. Your tongue has not lost its cunning, in spite of your moral
awakening. So you won’t let me have the notes?
CLAIRE. Not unless you take them by force. [_With determination._] I
warn you, I shall not give them up tamely.
D’OR. Calm yourself. You forget the Blaustein maxim, ‘Above all things,
no public scandal.’ I shall not make the least effort to obtain those
notes without your consent.
CLAIRE. Thank you. May I go?
D’OR. [_Earnestly._] Mlle. Lasalle, I will give you five thousand francs
for those notes.
CLAIRE. [_Frightened._] Please let me pass!
D’OR. Ten thousand francs—for the notes.
CLAIRE. How dare you! [_A pause._] Remember Mr. Gilbert!
D’OR. [_With a start, then quietly._] Mademoiselle, will you give me
those notes at your own price if I promise to destroy them—now, here,
before your eyes?
CLAIRE. [_After a pause._] I shall give them to you on one condition.
D’OR. Name it.
CLAIRE. [_Slowly._] That you don’t ask me to touch any more Blaustein
money. I’m trying to do a decent thing this time.
D’OR. [_With admiration._] I understand. You have my promise. [CLAIRE
_fixes her gaze on_ D’OR, _and hands over the sheets. He keeps his eyes
on her as he tears the notes into tiny scraps which fall on the table.
He gathers up the scraps and throws them into the fire._]
CLAIRE. [_Earnestly._] We two are not entirely hopeless.
D’OR. [_Still gazing at her._] Not after this!
CLAIRE. We are not likely to meet again. I am going to some remote
corner of the earth—to try to forget the past. The Blausteins shall
never hear of me again. Let us make one good resolution before we part.
D’OR. What shall it be?
CLAIRE. Let us both try to remember Mr. Gilbert!
D’OR. I shall never forget Mr. Gilbert—[_Extending his hand._] nor Mlle.
Claire Lasalle, stenographer!
CLAIRE. [_Taking his hand._] Good-bye, M. D’Or! [_She hurries out at the
centre._ D’OR _looks after her for a moment, then snatches the gold band
from across his bosom and dashes it on the table with a gesture of
disgust. He drops into a chair as the curtain falls._]
SCENE IV
[_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._]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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