plays [66]
lay there, in her bed. She took
my hand. 'I am going,' she said, 'to heaven. For Christ's
sake,' she said, 'come after me, and bring my little maid. I'll
be waiting and wearying till you come;' and she kissed my hand,
the hand that killed her. At that I broke out calling on her to
stop, for it was more than I could bear. But no, she said she
must still tell me of my sins, and how the thought of them had
bowed down her life. 'And O!' she said, 'if I couldn't prevail
on you alive, let my death.' . . . Well, then, she died. What
have I done since then? I've laid my course for Hester. Sin,
temptation, pleasure, all this poor shadow of a world, I saw them
not: I saw my Hester waiting, waiting and wearying. I have made
my election sure; my sins I have cast them out. Hester, Hester,
I will come to you, poor waiting one; and I'll bring your little
maid: ay, dearest soul, I'll bring your little maid safe with
me!
ARETHUSA. O teach me how! Show me the way! only show me. - O
mother, mother! - If it were paved with fire, show me the way,
and I will walk it bare-foot!
GAUNT. They call me a miser. They say that in this sea-chest of
mine I hoard my gold. (HE PASSES R. TO CHEST, TAKES OUT KEY, AND
UNLOCKS IT.) They think my treasure and my very soul are locked
up here. They speak after the flesh, but they are right. See!
ARETHUSA. Her watch? the wedding ring? O father, forgive me!
GAUNT. Ay, her watch that counted the hours when I was away;
they were few and sorrowful, my Hester's hours; and this poor
contrivance numbered them. The ring - with that I married her.
This chain, it's of Guinea gold; I brought it home for her, the
year before we married, and she wore it to her wedding. It was a
vanity: they are all vanities; but they are the treasure of my
soul. Below here, see, her wedding dress. Ay, the watch has
stopped: dead, dead. And I know that my Hester died of me; and
day and night, asleep and awake, my soul abides in her
remembrance.
ARETHUSA. And you come in your sleep to look at them. O poor
father! I understand - I understand you now.
GAUNT. In my sleep? Ay? do I so? My Hester!
ARETHUSA. And why, why did you not tell me? I thought - I was
like the rest! - I feared you were a miser. O, you should have
told me; I should have been so proud - so proud and happy. I
knew you loved her; but not this, not this.
GAUNT. Why should I have spoken? It was all between my Hester
and me.
ARETHUSA. Father, may I speak? May I tell you what my heart
tells me? You do not understand about my mother. You loved her
- O, as few men can love. And she loved you: think how she
loved you! In this world, you know - you have told me - there is
nothing perfect. All we men and women have our sins; and they
are a pain to those that love us, and the deeper the love, the
crueller the pain. That is life; and it is life we ask, not
heaven; and what matter for the pain, if only the love holds on?
Her love held: then she was happy! Her love was immortal; and
when she died, her one grief was to be parted from you, her one
hope to welcome you again.
GAUNT. And you, Arethusa: I was to bring her little maid.
ARETHUSA. God bless her, yes, and me! But, father, can you not
see that she was blessed among women?
GAUNT. Child, child, you speak in ignorance; you touch upon
griefs you cannot fathom.
ARETHUSA. No, dearest, no. She loved you, loved you and died of
it. Why else do women live? What would I ask but just to love
my Kit and die for him, and look down from heaven, and see him
keep my memory holy and live the nobler for my sake?
GAUNT. Ay, do you so love him?
ARETHUSA. Even as my mother loved my father.
GAUNT. Ay? Then we will see. What right have I - You are your
mother's child: better, tenderer, wiser than I. Let us seek
guidance in prayer. Good-night, my little maid.
ARETHUSA. O father, I know you at last.
SCENE II
GAUNT and ARETHUSA go out, L., carrying the candles. Stage
my hand. 'I am going,' she said, 'to heaven. For Christ's
sake,' she said, 'come after me, and bring my little maid. I'll
be waiting and wearying till you come;' and she kissed my hand,
the hand that killed her. At that I broke out calling on her to
stop, for it was more than I could bear. But no, she said she
must still tell me of my sins, and how the thought of them had
bowed down her life. 'And O!' she said, 'if I couldn't prevail
on you alive, let my death.' . . . Well, then, she died. What
have I done since then? I've laid my course for Hester. Sin,
temptation, pleasure, all this poor shadow of a world, I saw them
not: I saw my Hester waiting, waiting and wearying. I have made
my election sure; my sins I have cast them out. Hester, Hester,
I will come to you, poor waiting one; and I'll bring your little
maid: ay, dearest soul, I'll bring your little maid safe with
me!
ARETHUSA. O teach me how! Show me the way! only show me. - O
mother, mother! - If it were paved with fire, show me the way,
and I will walk it bare-foot!
GAUNT. They call me a miser. They say that in this sea-chest of
mine I hoard my gold. (HE PASSES R. TO CHEST, TAKES OUT KEY, AND
UNLOCKS IT.) They think my treasure and my very soul are locked
up here. They speak after the flesh, but they are right. See!
ARETHUSA. Her watch? the wedding ring? O father, forgive me!
GAUNT. Ay, her watch that counted the hours when I was away;
they were few and sorrowful, my Hester's hours; and this poor
contrivance numbered them. The ring - with that I married her.
This chain, it's of Guinea gold; I brought it home for her, the
year before we married, and she wore it to her wedding. It was a
vanity: they are all vanities; but they are the treasure of my
soul. Below here, see, her wedding dress. Ay, the watch has
stopped: dead, dead. And I know that my Hester died of me; and
day and night, asleep and awake, my soul abides in her
remembrance.
ARETHUSA. And you come in your sleep to look at them. O poor
father! I understand - I understand you now.
GAUNT. In my sleep? Ay? do I so? My Hester!
ARETHUSA. And why, why did you not tell me? I thought - I was
like the rest! - I feared you were a miser. O, you should have
told me; I should have been so proud - so proud and happy. I
knew you loved her; but not this, not this.
GAUNT. Why should I have spoken? It was all between my Hester
and me.
ARETHUSA. Father, may I speak? May I tell you what my heart
tells me? You do not understand about my mother. You loved her
- O, as few men can love. And she loved you: think how she
loved you! In this world, you know - you have told me - there is
nothing perfect. All we men and women have our sins; and they
are a pain to those that love us, and the deeper the love, the
crueller the pain. That is life; and it is life we ask, not
heaven; and what matter for the pain, if only the love holds on?
Her love held: then she was happy! Her love was immortal; and
when she died, her one grief was to be parted from you, her one
hope to welcome you again.
GAUNT. And you, Arethusa: I was to bring her little maid.
ARETHUSA. God bless her, yes, and me! But, father, can you not
see that she was blessed among women?
GAUNT. Child, child, you speak in ignorance; you touch upon
griefs you cannot fathom.
ARETHUSA. No, dearest, no. She loved you, loved you and died of
it. Why else do women live? What would I ask but just to love
my Kit and die for him, and look down from heaven, and see him
keep my memory holy and live the nobler for my sake?
GAUNT. Ay, do you so love him?
ARETHUSA. Even as my mother loved my father.
GAUNT. Ay? Then we will see. What right have I - You are your
mother's child: better, tenderer, wiser than I. Let us seek
guidance in prayer. Good-night, my little maid.
ARETHUSA. O father, I know you at last.
SCENE II
GAUNT and ARETHUSA go out, L., carrying the candles. Stage