Prevod
Boston se je predal. Washington je prihajal z višin, kjer je svoje topove usmeril proti britanskim utrdbam, sir William Howe pa se je še mudil pri vratih Province House — zadnji kraljevi guverner, ki je stal tam — ter preklinjal, mahal z rokami in udarjal s peto ob stopnico, kakor da bi s tem teptal upor. Ta hrup je k njemu privabil staro žensko. »Esther Dudley!« je vzkliknil. »Zakaj še niste odšli?«
»Nikoli ne bom odšla. Kot gospodinja guvernerjev in prejemnica kraljeve pokojnine sem tu imela svoj dom; edini dom, ki ga poznam. Vrnite se v domovino, vendar pošljite še več vojakov. Hišo bom varovala, dokler se ne vrnete.«
»Bog daj, da bi se vrnil,« je zaklical. »Ker boste ostali, vzemite to vrečo gvinej in hranite ta ključ, dokler ga ne bo zahteval kak guverner.« Nato je guverner s srditim, mračnim obrazom odšel in zbledele oči Esther Dudley ga niso videle nikoli več. Ko so vojaki republike po Bostonu iskali nastanitev, so uradno rezidenco prepustili tej stari ženski. Njena našopirjena torijska drža in razkazovanje nekdanje veličine sta jih zabavala in nikomur nista škodovala; njeno zvestobo so celo nekoliko občudovali. Poleg tega nihče ni bil tako ponosen na hišo kakor ona in nihče je ne bi bolje vzdrževal. Da je včasih povabila na večerjo pol ducata zakrknjenih starcev in da so jih sumili, da s staranim portovcem nazdravljajo Juriju III., je bilo nekaj, ob čemer je bilo najbolje zamižati. Govorilo se je, da vsi njeni gostje niso bili iz mesa in krvi, temveč da ima starinsko ogledalo, po katerem na njen ukaz v senčnem sprevodu hodijo nekdanji prebivalci hiše, in da rada kliče Shirleyje, Oliverje, Hutchinsone in Dudleyje iz grobov, da bi tam prirejali sprejeme; zato je bilo v občutju, ki je ljudstvo držalo proč, morda tudi nekaj strahu.
Tako je živela sama zase, zavračala novice o zmagah upornikov ter kresove, bobnanje, vzklike in zvonjenje razlagala kot znamenja novih angleških zmag. Vse bolj se je oddaljevala od svojega časa in bivala v sencah preteklosti. Za kraljev rojstni dan je razsvetljevala okna in pogosto s kupole oprezala za britanskim ladjevjem, ne meneč se za ljudi spodaj, ki so ob pogledu na njen uveli obraz smeje ponavljali prerokbo: »Ko bo zlati Indijanec na Province House izstrelil puščico in bo petelin na zvoniku South Church zapel, tedaj pričakujte, da spet pride kraljevi guverner.« Ko se je torej po ulicah razširila vest, da prihaja guverner, se ji to ni zdelo prav nič nenavadno; oblekla se je v svilo in krinolino, si nadela obilje starinskega nakita in se pripravila, da ga sprejme. Res je šlo za slovesen dogodek, saj je skozi dvorišče že prihajal mož veličastne drže, bogato oblečen, za njim pa spremstvo mož v lasuljah in s čipkami obrobljenih suknjičih ter nekoliko bolj zadaj četa vojakov. Esther Dudley je na stežaj odprla vrata, padla na kolena in iztegnila ključ z vzklikom: »Hvala nebesom za to uro! Bog obvaruj kralja!«
Guverner je snel klobuk in ženski pomagal na noge. »Nenavadna molitev,« je dejal, »vendar jo bomo ponovili v tem smislu: v dobro kraljestva, ki ga še priznava za svojega vladarja, naj Bog obvaruje kralja Jurija.«
Esther Dudley je strmela vanj z divjim pogledom. Zdaj se je spomnila tega obraza — izobčeni upornik John Hancock; guverner, ne po kraljevi milosti, temveč po volji ljudstva.
»Sem mar izrekla dobrodošlico izdajalcu? Potem naj umrem.« »Žal, gospa Dudley, svet se je v teh zadnjih letih za vas spremenil. Amerika nima kralja.« Ponudil ji je roko in za hip se je oklenila je, nato pa se zgrudila; veliki ključ, ki ga je tako dolgo skrbno hranila, je žvenketaje padel na tla.
»Zvesta sem bila do smrti,« je zasopla. »Bog obvaruj kralja!« Ljudje so sneli klobuke, kajti bila je mrtva. »Ob njenem grobu,« je dejal Hancock, »se bomo za vselej poslovili od preteklosti. Za nas je nastopil nov dan. V njegovi polni svetlobi bomo stopali naprej.«
Izvirnik
Boston had surrendered. Washington was advancing from the heights where he had trained his guns on the British works, and Sir William Howe lingered at the door of Province House,--last of the royal governors who would stand there,--and cursed and waved his hands and beat his heel on the step, as if he were crushing rebellion by that act. The sound brought an old woman to his side. “Esther Dudley!” he exclaimed. “Why are you not gone?”
“I shall never leave. As housekeeper for the governors and pensioner of the king, this has been my home; the only home I know. Go back, but send more troops. I will keep the house till you return.”
“Grant that I may return,” he cried. “Since you will stay, take this bag of guineas and keep this key until a governor shall demand it.”
Then, with fierce and moody brow, the governor went forth, and the faded eyes of Esther Dudley saw him nevermore. When the soldiers of the republic cast about for quarters in Boston town, they spared the official mansion to this old woman. Her bridling toryism and assumption of old state amused them and did no harm; indeed, her loyalty was half admired; beside, nobody took the pride in the place that she did, or would keep it in better order. That she sometimes had a half-dozen of unrepentant codgers in to dinner, and that they were suspected of drinking healths to George III. in crusted port, was a fact to blink. Rumor had it that not all her guests were flesh and blood, but that she had an antique mirror across which ancient occupants of the house would pass in shadowy procession at her command, and that she was wont to have the Shirleys, Olivers, Hutchinsons, and Dudleys out of their graves to hold receptions there; so a touch of dread may have mingled in the feeling that kept the populace aloof.
Living thus by herself, refusing to hear of rebel victories, construing the bonfires, drumming, hurrahs, and bell-ringing to signify fresh triumphs for England, she drifted farther and farther out of her time and existed in the shadows of the past. She lighted the windows for the king's birthday, and often from the cupola watched for a British fleet, heeding not the people below, who, as they saw her withered face, repeated the prophecy, with a laugh “When the golden Indian on Province House shall shoot his arrow and the cock on South Church spire shall crow, look for a royal governor again.” So, when it was bandied about the streets that the governor was coming, she took it in no wise strange, but dressed herself in silk and hoops, with store of ancient jewels, and made ready to receive him. In truth, there was a function, for already a man of stately mien, and richly dressed, was advancing through the court, with a staff of men in wigs and laced coats behind him, and a company of troops at a little distance. Esther Dudley flung the door wide and dropping on her knees held forth the key with the cry, “Thank heaven for this hour! God save the king!”
The governor put off his hat and helped the woman to her feet. “A strange prayer,” said he; “yet we will echo it to this effect: For the good of the realm that still owns him to be its ruler, God save King George.”
Esther Dudley stared wildly. That face she remembered now,--the proscribed rebel, John Hancock; governor, not by royal grant, but by the people's will.
“Have I welcomed a traitor? Then let me die.”
“Alas! Mistress Dudley, the world has changed for you in these later years. America has no king.” He offered her his arm, and she clung to it for a moment, then, sinking down, the great key, that she so long had treasured, clanked to the floor.
“I have been faithful unto death,” she gasped. “God save the king!”
The people uncovered, for she was dead.
“At her tomb,” said Hancock, “we will bid farewell forever to the past. A new day has come for us. In its broad light we will press onward.”
