Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

A small ward—the women’s ward—in a hospital; several cots with patients in them are visible. One patient is in a wheeled chair. Screens stand by the cots. There are plants, pictures, the cheerful features of the modern hospital. Two nurses are seen busy with patients.

Enter Dr. Gazell and Dr. Carver.

Dr. Gazell (seats himself by one of the patients; speaks blandly). And how do we find ourselves to-day?

Patient (turning her face, on which can be seen traces of tears). Bad enough—worse. I’ve been so upset by—

Dr. Gazell. Yes, yes. I know. It is truly shocking!

Dr. Carver (addressing one of the nurses). You become your cap to-day. You have an uncommonly good color—I mean to operate on No. 21.

Nurse. Do you really? We thought her improving. She’s nervous to-day—on account of Dr. Thorne.

Dr. Carver. Yes. Thorne had things all his own way here, as usual. I mean to operate,—if Dr. Gazell can manage her.

Nurse (coquettishly). You are so expert,—such an easy surgeon. You don’t mind it more than a layman would carving a Christmas goo—oose. And what would you operate for—on No. 21?

Dr. Carver. Appendicitis, of course.

Nurse. Really? You are so clever on diagnosis. Now, I hadn’t thought of appendicitis—in her case. Do you know—I thought it more like pleurisy?

Dr. Carver (looks keenly at the nurse to discover if she is making game of him; speaks pompously). The nurse, as you have been taught in your training-school, can have no opinions. Now, the physician—

Nurse (demurely). Oh, of course. I wouldn’t have you think I’m presuming to set up mine. She might have measles, or the grippe, for anything I should know.

Dr. Carver. Now you speak very properly indeed.

Dr. Gazell (at bedside of No. 21). Is the pain more severe on the right?

Patient. I didn’t say I had any pain—now.

Dr. Gazell (soothingly). Increasing toward night? Paroxysms? Or is it steady?

Patient. I said I’d got over the pain. That has all gone. It is the weakness—the deadly weakness.

Dr. Gazell. Just so. That weakness is a most significant symptom—I think you said it was accompanied by nausea?

Patient. No, I didn’t. Not a bit.

Dr. Gazell. Just so. Dr. Carver? Here a moment? (To the patient.) I’m sure we can relieve all that. Just a little operation—a very pretty little operation—would set you right again in a week or two.

Dr. Carver (coming to the cotside of No. 21; speaks eagerly). It is such a beautiful operation! Why, I’ve known patients beg for it,—it is so beautiful.

Patient (beginning to cry). Dr. Thorne said there was no need of anything of the kind.

Dr. Gazell (stiffening). Dr. Thorne was an able man—but eccentric. His professional colleagues did not always agree with him.

Enter Dr. Thorne. (He has wasted since
his last appearance; looks outcast,
wan, and wretched; is splashed with
mud; still hatless; stands at the
lower end of the ward, gazing blindly
about.)

Patient No. 21. Dr. Thorne used to say that if we had better doctors, we shouldn’t need so many surgeons. He said the true treatment would prevent half the surgery in the city.

(Dr. Thorne starts, and moves towards the patient.)

Dr. Gazell (soothingly). Yes. Just so. Dr. Thorne had great confidence in himself.

Patient (rousing). No more than his patients had in him.

Dr. Carver. Irritable! Very irritable! A significant symptom, Dr. Gazell. In my opinion, this extreme irritability demands an operation for appendicitis.

First Nurse (listening, laughs; addresses Second Nurse). Now, if one could only apply that! Take a cross man,—any cross man,—say a brother, or a husband, or even a doctor, and if he carried it too far, just call on Dr. Carver. Why, it would revolutionize society. And he is so expert! He doesn’t mind it any more than carving a goo—oose. Yes, sir! I’m coming. (Demurely obedient; hurries to Dr. Gazell.)

(Second Nurse moves to the rear of the ward to a patient behind a screen.)

(Dr. Thorne advances slowly; stands in the middle of the ward, unnoticed.)

Patient No. 21 (louder). I say, when a man’s dead is the time to speak for him. And I’ll stand up for my dear dead doctor as long as I live.

Voice from another cot. And so would I,—and longer, if I got the chance.

Another voice. He doesn’t need anybody to stand up for him. His deeds do follow him. And he rests from his labors.

(Dr. Thorne smiles bitterly; stands with his face towards the speaker. He knots his hands in front of him, and thus advances with a motion so slow as to be almost stealthy.)

Voice from another cot. He wouldn’t care so much for that. It’s Bible. He was not a religious man. But he was as kind to me! (Weeps.)

Other voices. And to me! Oh, yes, and to me,—as kind!

Patient in the wheeled chair. I couldn’t move in my bed when I came here. I’d been so three years. Look what he’s done for me. (Sobs.)

Dr. Thorne (in a low tone). Miss Jessie? Don’t cry so. You’ll make yourself worse. Go back to bed, Jessie, and—see. I’ll tell you a secret. Don’t tell the others just yet. I wasn’t killed, Jessie. That was a newspaper canard. I’m a live man yet. See! Look up, Jessie. Look at me,—can’t you? (Pleads.) Won’t you, Jessie?

Patient in the wheeled chair (stares past him at Dr. Gazell and Dr. Carver). And to think of the likes of them,—in his place! What ever’ll become of this hospital without him?

Dr. Thorne (with trembling lip). You don’t hear me, do you, Jessie? Well—well. I must have met with some cerebral shock affecting the organs of speech. It is a clear case of aphasia. I can’t make myself understood. It—it’s hard. Jessie? (Louder.) I can’t see things go wrong with you,—no matter how it is with me. You’ve been in that chair long enough for to-day. (Imperiously.) Jessie, go back to bed! Stop crying about me, and go back to your bed.

(Jessie wavers; shades her eyes with her hands; stares about her; slowly turns her wheeled chair and moves away.)

[Exit Jessie.

Dr. Thorne (moves more naturally and rapidly; stands by the cot of No. 21; speaks). Good-morning, Mrs. True. I meant to have seen you last night. I was—unavoidably detained. I hope you’re not worse this morning?

Patient (with tears). I’ve cried half the night.

Dr. Thorne. That’s a pity. But you won’t cry any more. I’ll take care of you now.

Patient (looks up wearily; turns her face on her pillow and sobs).

Dr. Thorne. Clearly aphasia. She does not understand a word I say. Dr. Gazell! Gazell! Dr. Carver?

(The two physicians murmur together.)

Dr. Thorne. Gazell? What’s that? The knife? For Mrs. True? Excuse me, but I cannot permit it.

Dr. Carver. It would be such a pretty little operation. The students are getting restless for something. I told them—

Dr. Gazell. It is well-defined appendicitis.

Dr. Thorne. Well-defined appendi—fiddlesticks! It is nothing but pleurisy. I tell you, Gazell, I will not have it!

Dr. Gazell (looks around uncomfortably; speaks with hesitation). Of course, Thorne would not have agreed with us.

Dr. Thorne (grips Dr. Gazell by the arm). I tell you it would be butchery, Gazell! What are you thinking of? Gazell!

Dr. Gazell. But he was a very opinionated man,—everybody knew that.

(Dr. Thorne drops Dr. Gazell’s arm and walks away with a gesture of distress.)

Second Nurse (to First Nurse; moves out from behind the screen). Very invigorating day!

First Nurse (to Second Nurse). Father Sullivan’s late with the Sacrament. I hope Norah, yonder, won’t get ahead of him. She’s ’most gone. (Approaching the cot of the patient behind the screen.)

Second Nurse (moves away). Yes. She’s been unconscious half an hour.

Enter Priest. (He advances to offer Extreme Unction to the dying patient.)

First Nurse. Lovely morning, Father.

Dr. Thorne (standing in the middle of the ward). They used to call my name when I came in. “Oh, there’s the doctor!” “The doctor’s come!” It ran from cot to cot—like light. And everybody used to smile. Seems to me some of them blessed me. Now—

(Sobs from the ward.)

Dr. Thorne (tremulously). My patients! Isn’t there one of you who knows me? Doesn’t anybody hear me? Don’t cry so! All the symptoms will be worse for it.

The dying patient. Doctor? Doctor?

Dr. Thorne. That sounds like Norah.

Priest (recites behind the screen at Norah’s bedside the prayer for the passing soul). “Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, qui te creavit; in nomine Jesu Christi Filii Dei vivi, qui pro te passus est; in nomine Spiritus Sancti”—

Dr. Thorne (softly). Thank you, Father. (Stands silently with bowed head.)

ReËnter the patient in the wheeled chair.

Jessie (happily). I’ve had such a lovely dream! I thought Dr. Thorne was here—in this ward. Oh! (With disappointment.)

Dr. Thorne. Jessie!

Jessie (sadly). It was such a lovely dream! (Droops and turns away.)

(Dr. Thorne walks apart; stands drearily, with downcast eyes.)

Enter Mrs. Fayth. (She looks pale and
agitated, but quite happy. She is
dressed as before, for the street, but
her head is bare; is wrapped from
head to foot in her long, pale, dove-colored
opera cape. She goes straight
to Dr. Thorne, and touches him upon
the arm; speaks softly.)

Mrs. Fayth. Doctor?

Dr. Thorne (starts). Oh! Mary Fayth! You? (He grasps her hand with pathetic eagerness.) Oh, I never was so glad! You are the first person—the only one—nobody else seemed to know me. I might have known you would. Where’s Helen? Isn’t she with you? And you weren’t hurt at all, were you? I have been—anxious about you. Those cowardly papers said—I tried to get right over and see you. And, after all, you’re not hurt. I thank— (Looks around confusedly.) Ah, what shall I thank?

Priest. Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.

(Dr. Thorne listens with troubled interest, like a child learning a hard lesson.)

Mrs. Fayth (smiling). I can only stay a minute. I must get back to my poor Fred.

Dr. Thorne. Don’t leave me.

Mrs. Fayth. Oh, poor doctor! Don’t you see? The carriage overturned. I was badly hurt. I only died an hour ago.

Dr. Thorne (gasps, and stares at Mrs. Fayth. He tries to speak, but can only articulate). You died an hour ago? And I? And I?

Mrs. Fayth (still smiling, with her sweet, mysterious smile). Don’t take it so hard, doctor. I came to ex-plain it to you. Why, it’s the most beautiful thing in the world! (Glides away slowly, but smiling to the last.)

Dr. Thorne (throws up his arms in anguish). I am dead! My God! I am a dead man!

(His face falls into his hands, his whole body collapses slowly, he drops.)

End of Scene I.

SCENE II.

Enter Mrs. Thorne. (She is dressed in
deep black. Her face is drawn with
grief. Her hands are clasped in front
of her. She paces the room drearily.
She is alone. She seats herself by the
table; tries to read; lays the book
down, and rises; paces the room.)

[Exit Mrs. Thorne.

Enter Dr. Thorne at the far end of the
street near the church. (He is dressed
as before. He is still pale. His manner
has increased in agitation, but a
new resolution gives more firmness to
his wasted countenance. He speaks,
meditatively.)

Dr. Thorne. After all, there is another life. I really did not think it. (Stops and passes his hand over his eyes; muses.) God knows—if there is a God—how it is with me. If I have never done anything, or been anything, or felt anything that was fit to last, I have loved one woman, and her only—and thought high thoughts for her, and felt great emotions for her, and I could forget myself for her sake—and I would have had joy to suffer for her, and I’ve been a better man for love of her. And I have loved her,—oh, I have so loved her that ten thousand deaths could not murder that living love! (Falters.) And I spoke to her—I said to her—like any low and brutal fellow, any common wife-tormentor—I went from her dear presence to this. (Brokenly.) ... And here there is neither speech nor language. Neither earth nor heaven, nor my love ... nor my shame ... can give my famished eyes the sight of her dear face,—nor my sealed lips the power to say, Forgive!

(The organ can be heard from the church.)

Dr. Thorne (without noticing the anthem). I will not bear it. No—no. I will not! I will go to her! (Starts to rush up the street, whose familiar precincts he seems for the first time to recognize.) Why, there is my own house! She can’t be two rods away. I wonder if a dead man can get into his own home? Helen? (His feet lag heavily; he moves like one who is wading in water. He makes the motions of one who withstands a strong blast or an invisible force. He is beaten back. Suddenly he raves.) You are playing with me! You torture a miserable man. Who and what are you? Show me what I have to fight, and let me wrestle for my liberty! Though I am a ghost, let me wrestle like a man! Let me to my wife! Give way and let me seek her! (Slowly recedes, as if beaten back; bows his head. The man sobs.)

Choir from the church (chant).

(Choir breaks off. The organ sounds on.)

(Dr. Thorne seems to listen, but with a kind of anger. He slowly recedes, as if pushed back.)

[Exit Dr. Thorne.

Enter the Veiled Woman. (She stands
mutely and wretchedly. Watches the
house. Wrings her hands, but makes
no sound.)
Enter Mrs. Thorne. (Within the house;
can be seen plainly from the street
through the window. She advances
and draws the shade still higher;
stands close to the window, pressing
her hands against the sides of her
eyes; looks out.)

(The Veiled Woman shrinks at the sight of Mrs. Thorne.)

[Exit the Woman.

ReËnter Dr. Thorne at the other end of the street. (He speaks shrewdly.) It is nearer at this end. And perhaps, if I didn’t have to get by that church— (Hurries up opposite the house. Suddenly he sees her.) Oh, there’s Helen! God! It is my wife. I—see—my—wife. (Brokenly.) Dear Helen! (Pushes toward the house. At the foot of his own steps he falters and falls, still as if beaten back. He struggles as a man would struggle for his life. The veins stand out on his face and on his clinched hands. He cries out.) I’m coming, Helen! It is only I, my girl. Don’t be frightened, dear! I wonder would she be afraid of me? Perhaps it would shock her. Live people and dead people don’t seem to understand each other. But I’ll risk it. Helen would go alone and lie down alive in a grave at midnight, and never look over her shoulder—if she thought she could see me. I know Helen. I’ll try again. (He pushes and urges his way onward. But the invisible Power restrains him, as before. He stretches his arms towards the lighted window.) Here I am, Helen! I can’t get any farther, somehow.... Come and open the door for me, my girl,—the way you used to do. Won’t you, Helen? With the boy in your arms? Perhaps if you opened the door,—I could get in. I ... (After a silence.) I won’t stay very long. I won’t trouble you any, Helen. I know I don’t belong there any more. I won’t intrude. (Wistfully.) Helen! I was cruel to you. I have been ashamed of myself. I thought if I could get in long enough to say— (Reflects.) Mary Fayth went back to see Fred. Nothing prevented her—

(Mrs. Thorne throws open the window. Leans out and looks about.)

(Maggie is seen moving about the lighted room.)

(People in the street pass.)

(Mrs. Thorne hastily shuts the window.)

Dr. Thorne (piteously). Helen!

(The organ sounds from the church.)

Dr. Thorne (turns suddenly, as if turning on an antagonist). What art Thou that dost withstand me? I am a dead and helpless man. What wouldst Thou with me? Where gainest Thou thy force upon me? Art Thou verily that ancient Myth that men were wont to call Almighty God? (He lifts his face to the sky; holds up his hands as if he held up a question or an argument.)

Choir from the church:—

Maggie (opens the door. The lighted hall is seen behind). There’s nobody here, Mrs. Thorne.

(Mrs. Thorne, wearing a slight, white shawl which falls from her as she moves, comes to the open door; motions Maggie away.)

[Exit Maggie.

Mrs. Thorne (softly). Esmerald? He might be out there in the dark. Who knows what spirits do? Esmerald? Would God that I had died for you! Oh, my dear!

Dr. Thorne. Helen!

Mrs. Thorne. If he were there he would answer me if it cost him his living soul.

Dr. Thorne. Helen, I answer you, for I am a living soul. Helen! (He struggles mightily; crawls up the steps, reaches with the tips of his fingers the fringe of her white shawl, which has fallen down the steps, and lies there unnoticed.) Helen, look down! Down. (He clutches the white fringe to his lips. He kisses it wildly.)

(Mrs. Thorne lifts her face to the sky.)

Dr. Thorne. I can’t get any higher,—not any nearer, dear.

Mrs. Thorne. There is no one here. (Weeping.) There is nothing here. (She shuts the door slowly and reluctantly; remembers the shawl, which she draws in with her.)

(Dr. Thorne clings to the shawl in vain. Moaning, he kisses the doorsteps of his own home where the garment had touched them.)

End of Scene II.

SCENE III.

Enter Dr. Thorne (slowly, holding a
staff; he is robed in purple, a flowing
garment, not unlike a talith or a toga.
His face, still pale, is heavily lined;
but more with anxiety than with resentment;
its expression is somewhat
softer. He speaks).

Dr. Thorne. I wonder what is to be done with me next? I see no particular reason for climbing these mountains. There seems to be nothing for a dead man to do but to obey orders. Well (candidly), I’ve given my share of them in my time. I suppose it’s fair enough to turn about and take a few—now. (He smiles. After a pause, climbing slowly.) I must say I can’t call this an attractive country—so far. Its main features are not genial.

(The storm increases; there is thunder and cloud.)

Dr. Thorne (looking about). It seems to be in the cyclonic belt. There’s a storm of some sort,—I should say two of them fighting up in these hills. Hear them close and clinch! Like a man’s two natures; civil war all the time. And no truce! (Muses.) It’s not a social region, certainly. I don’t know that I recall, really, ever being in a place that was so desolate. There isn’t so much as a wild animal, nor a bird flying over. It reminds me of—what was it? I can’t recall the words. It seems to me my mother taught them to me when I was a little lad. But they have quite gone. Beautiful literature in that old Book! It’s a good while since I’ve dipped into it. I’ve had too much to do. What was it?

(He breaks off; climbs stoutly. The storm darkens down. For the first time Dr. Thorne’s face expresses something like alarm. He looks about like a man who would call for help, but is too proud to do so. He speaks.)

This is really growing serious. I wish I could remember those words. Now I think of it, we were on our knees. A most unnatural posture! My mother was a sweet saint,—rest her pure spirit! (It lightens as he says this.)

Voices from beyond (softly chanting).

Dr. Thorne (lifts his head to listen). There’s a good musical taste in this country, at all events. That’s something. What were those words? Ah, I have it.

It went in some such way. (Repeats perplexedly.)

(Sadly.) A beautiful superstition.

(The storm comes on heavily, with darkness and lightning. Through the gloom his solitary form can be seen manfully climbing. He exhibits no panic, but his evident bewilderment grows upon him. He mutters.)

The desolation of desolations! I shall be glad when I get out of it. What solitude! Of all the people I have known—dead or living—there is not one to stay by me.

Voices from beyond.

Enter, on the pass above him, a young
girl repeating prayers on a rosary.
She is a plain, unattractive girl, folded
in a dull gray gown that wraps her
loosely. Her face is earnest and devout.

Dr. Thorne. Why, Norah!

Norah (looking back). Oh, it is the Doctor.

Dr. Thorne. I can’t overtake you, Norah.

Norah. And I’ve only died the day.

Dr. Thorne. But you’ve got the start of me, Norah. You are higher up. I am glad to see you, Norah (eagerly). But I can’t reach you.

Norah (holds down her hand). Come up, Doctor! Come up! I’ll help you, Doctor.

Dr. Thorne (gratefully). Thank you, Norah.

Norah. It’s to Purrgatory I’d be goin’. But you’re the herretic, Doctor. Which way do you be goin’?

Dr. Thorne (shakes his head). I don’t know, Norah. You are wiser than I am—in this foreign place.

Norah (holds down her hand). The dear Doctor! Ye were that kind to me, Doctor,—at the hospital, and forninst the house where I was worrkin’. It’s niver a cint I had to pay yez for yer thruble. If I’d been a pretty lady with a purrse of gold, ye never could have put yerself about more than ye did for the likes of me. It’s not meself that would have died the day if you’d been there. Doctor? Would yez mind, if I should—bless you, Doctor? There’s kindness onto kindness, and mercy goin’ after mercy that ye did me, all hidin’ in a poor girrl’s heart to rise and meet you here. I was sick an’ ye did visit me.

Dr. Thorne (melting). When did I ever show you all that kindness, Norah? I don’t remember—

Norah. And I don’t forget. Take my hand, now, Doctor, do. It must be lonesome down below there by yersel’. (Touches her rosary. Her lips move in prayer.)

Dr. Thorne (climbing on, grasps Norah’s hand). Thank you, Norah (gently).

(There is a lull in the storm. It grows lighter.)

(Dr. Thorne and the Irish girl climb on together silently.)

(It brightens at the brow of the mountain. Dim outlines of figures are faintly seen at the summit. They waver, and melt away.)

Dr. Thorne (gradually loosening his hold of Norah’s hand, speaks, but not to Norah, bitterly). Now stop a moment. Where will all this end? Rebelling, I obey; and obeying, I rebel. I am become what we used to call a spirit. And this is what it means! Better might one become a molecule, for those at least express the Laws of the Universe, and do not suffer. I don’t incline to go any higher. (Drops back.) Every step is taking me further away from my wife.

Norah (anxiously). Doctor? Doctor! (She climbs on, but looks back, beckoning.)

Dr. Thorne (pays no attention to Norah. Retraces his steps down the narrow path). Come what may, I will not go any further from Helen. I’ll perish first, in this unearthly place. (He continues to descend; stands lost in thought. The storm darkens round him, but lightens beyond him. At the summit dim outlines can be seen again. These brighten faintly.)

(Norah reaches her arms towards them; climbs on.)

Dr. Thorne. It was something to be in the same world with Helen. (Muses.) Oh, hot in my anger I went from her. And cold, indeed, did I return. (Still descending.) I will go back. I will get as near the old system of things as I can. I will not put another span of space between myself and Helen. Poor, poor girl!

(Dr. Thorne, doggedly descending, does not look up.)

(White-robed forms at the summit brighten. Arms are stretched downwards through a mist. Hands beckon. One of them reaches down and clasps Norah’s hand; draws her up.)

Norah (looking back). Doctor!

(Norah vanishes.)

(The pass grows dark. Figures at the summit dim.)

(Enter, from a darkness in the mountains,
the Woman in flame-color. Her ashen
mantle is now thrown back, but still
clings to her. She stands mournfully
regarding Dr. Thorne. She does not
address him, but slowly extends her
arms.)

(Dr. Thorne does not observe the Woman. She does not obtrude herself upon his attention.)

[Exit the Woman into the darkness
whence she came.

Dr. Thorne (with frowning face descends; he murmurs). And a few days ago I was troubled because I had lost a few thousand dollars in Santa Ma.... I saved up money! (Scornfully.) I would accumulate a fortune. Oh, the whole of it, ten hundred thousand-fold the whole of it, for one hour in a dead man’s desolated home! (Pushes downwards, suddenly and silently.)

Enter Azrael, Angel of Death. (The
pass blackens. The mountain summit
is wrapped in darkness.)

(Azrael stands tall and resplendent. He is a white-robed figure, winged and powerful. The light falls only upon Azrael and upon the man. It can be seen that this gleam comes from a sword held in the hand of the Angel. Without a word he lifts the flaming sword, and with it bars the narrow pass from side to side.)

Dr. Thorne (in a ringing voice). Azrael!

(Azrael does not reply.)

Dr. Thorne (under his breath). Azrael, Angel of Death! (Falls back.)

(The two figures confront each other in silence. Dr. Thorne desperately flings himself towards the Angel. Without a touch he is beaten back. Azrael stands immovable. His face grows solemn with pity. Dr. Thorne retreats; advances again; raises his staff, and strikes it upon the Angel’s sword. The staff flames up, burns, and drops to ashes on the ground.)

(Dr. Thorne recedes a few steps; shades his eyes with his hands; regards the Angel blindly; wavers, turns. Slowly, with bent figure, he weakly reascends the mountain; stumbles and falls; regains his footing; climbs on alone, and now without his staff; does not look back.)

(Azrael stands immovable, with drawn sword.)

Voices from beyond (sing so softly that they seem rather to be breathing than singing):—

(As they sing the summit mellows slowly. No figures appear. At the brow of the mountain a single gleam of light pierces the gloom. It brightens rather than broadens. It has the color of dawn.)

(Azrael fades away, the sword vanishing last.)

(Dr. Thorne climbs up, with eyes lifted towards the light on the summit, which strikes his face and figure.)

As the Voices sing:—

End of Act II.