The $30,000 Bequest - Mark Twain (ebooks that read to you .txt) 📗

souls under its boughs.

He was aware of the pleasure that he had seen there. So one evening, as

he was returning from his reading, he concluded he would pay a visit

to this enchanting spot. Little did he think of witnessing a shadow

of his former happiness, though no doubt he wished it might be so.

He continued sauntering by the roadside, meditating on the past.

The nearer he approached the spot, the more anxious he became.

At that moment a tall female figure flitted across his path, with a

bunch of roses in her hand; her countenance showed uncommon vivacity,

with a resolute spirit; her ivory teeth already appeared as she

smiled beautifully, promenading—while her ringlets of hair dangled

unconsciously around her snowy neck. Nothing was wanting to complete

her beauty. The tinge of the rose was in full bloom upon her cheek;

the charms of sensibility and tenderness were always her associates.

In Ambulinia’s bosom dwelt a noble soul—one that never faded—

one that never was conquered.

 

Ambulinia! It can hardly be matched in fiction. The full name

is Ambulinia Valeer. Marriage will presently round it out and

perfect it. Then it will be Mrs. Ambulinia Valeer Elfonzo.

It takes the chromo.

 

Her heart yielded to no feeling but the love of Elfonzo, on whom

she gazed with intense delight, and to whom she felt herself

more closely bound, because he sought the hand of no other.

Elfonzo was roused from his apparent reverie. His books no longer

were his inseparable companions—his thoughts arrayed themselves

to encourage him to the field of victory. He endeavored to speak

to his supposed Ambulinia, but his speech appeared not in words.

No, his effort was a stream of fire, that kindled his soul into

a flame of admiration, and carried his senses away captive.

Ambulinia had disappeared, to make him more mindful of his duty.

As she walked speedily away through the piny woods, she calmly echoed:

“O! Elfonzo, thou wilt now look from thy sunbeams. Thou shalt

now walk in a new path—perhaps thy way leads through darkness;

but fear not, the stars foretell happiness.”

 

To McClintock that jingling jumble of fine words meant something,

no doubt, or seemed to mean something; but it is useless for us to try

to divine what it was. Ambulinia comes—we don’t know whence nor why;

she mysteriously intimates—we don’t know what; and then she goes

echoing away—we don’t know whither; and down comes the curtain.

McClintock’s art is subtle; McClintock’s art is deep.

 

Not many days afterward, as surrounded by fragrant flowers she sat

one evening at twilight, to enjoy the cool breeze that whispered

notes of melody along the distant groves, the little birds perched

on every side, as if to watch the movements of their new visitor.

The bells were tolling, when Elfonzo silently stole along by the wild

wood flowers, holding in his hand his favorite instrument of music—

his eye continually searching for Ambulinia, who hardly seemed

to perceive him, as she played carelessly with the songsters

that hopped from branch to branch. Nothing could be more striking

than the difference between the two. Nature seemed to have given

the more tender soul to Elfonzo, and the stronger and more courageous

to Ambulinia. A deep feeling spoke from the eyes of Elfonzo—

such a feeling as can only be expressed by those who are blessed

as admirers, and by those who are able to return the same with

sincerity of heart. He was a few years older than Ambulinia:

she had turned a little into her seventeenth. He had almost grown

up in the Cherokee country, with the same equal proportions as one

of the natives. But little intimacy had existed between them until

the year forty-one—because the youth felt that the character of such

a lovely girl was too exalted to inspire any other feeling than

that of quiet reverence. But as lovers will not always be insulted,

at all times and under all circumstances, by the frowns and cold

looks of crabbed old age, which should continually reflect dignity

upon those around, and treat the unfortunate as well as the fortunate

with a graceful mien, he continued to use diligence and perseverance.

All this lighted a spark in his heart that changed his whole character,

and like the unyielding Deity that follows the storm to check its

rage in the forest, he resolves for the first time to shake off

his embarrassment and return where he had before only worshiped.

 

At last we begin to get the Major’s measure. We are able to put

this and that casual fact together, and build the man up before

our eyes, and look at him. And after we have got him built, we find

him worth the trouble. By the above comparison between his age

and Ambulinia’s, we guess the war-worn veteran to be twenty-two;

and the other facts stand thus: he had grown up in the Cherokee

country with the same equal proportions as one of the natives—

how flowing and graceful the language, and yet how tantalizing

as to meaning!—he had been turned adrift by his father, to whom he

had been “somewhat of a dutiful son”; he wandered in distant lands;

came back frequently “to the scenes of his boyhood, almost destitute

of many of the comforts of life,” in order to get into the presence

of his father’s winter-worn locks, and spread a humid veil of

darkness around his expectations; but he was always promptly sent

back to the cold charity of the combat again; he learned to play

the fiddle, and made a name for himself in that line; he had dwelt

among the wild tribes; he had philosophized about the despoilers

of the kingdoms of the earth, and found out—the cunning creature—

that they refer their differences to the learned for settlement;

he had achieved a vast fame as a military chieftain, the Achilles

of the Florida campaigns, and then had got him a spelling-book

and started to school; he had fallen in love with Ambulinia Valeer

while she was teething, but had kept it to himself awhile, out of

the reverential awe which he felt for the child; but now at last,

like the unyielding Deity who follows the storm to check its rage in

the forest, he resolves to shake off his embarrassment, and to return

where before he had only worshiped. The Major, indeed, has made up

his mind to rise up and shake his faculties together, and to see

if HE can’t do that thing himself. This is not clear. But no matter

about that: there stands the hero, compact and visible; and he is

no mean structure, considering that his creator had never structure,

considering that his creator had never created anything before,

and hadn’t anything but rags and wind to build with this time.

It seems to me that no one can contemplate this odd creature, this quaint

and curious blatherskite, without admiring McClintock, or, at any rate,

loving him and feeling grateful to him; for McClintock made him,

he gave him to us; without McClintock we could not have had him,

and would now be poor.

 

But we must come to the feast again. Here is a courtship scene, down

there in the romantic glades among the raccoons, alligators, and things,

that has merit, peculiar literary merit. See how Achilles woos.

Dwell upon the second sentence (particularly the close of it) and the

beginning of the third. Never mind the new personage, Leos, who is

intruded upon us unheralded and unexplained. That is McClintock’s way;

it is his habit; it is a part of his genius; he cannot help it;

he never interrupts the rush of his narrative to make introductions.

 

It could not escape Ambulinia’s penetrating eye that he sought

an interview with her, which she as anxiously avoided, and assumed

a more distant calmness than before, seemingly to destroy all hope.

After many efforts and struggles with his own person, with timid

steps the Major approached the damsel, with the same caution

as he would have done in a field of battle. “Lady Ambulinia,”

said he, trembling, “I have long desired a moment like this.

I dare not let it escape. I fear the consequences; yet I hope

your indulgence will at least hear my petition. Can you not

anticipate what I would say, and what I am about to express?

Will not you, like Minerva, who sprung from the brain of Jupiter,

release me from thy winding chains or cure me—” “Say no more,

Elfonzo,” answered Ambulinia, with a serious look, raising her hand

as if she intended to swear eternal hatred against the whole world;

“another lady in my place would have perhaps answered your question

in bitter coldness. I know not the little arts of my sex.

I care but little for the vanity of those who would chide me,

and am unwilling as well as ashamed to be guilty of anything

that would lead you to think ‘all is not gold that glitters’;

so be no rash in your resolution. It is better to repent now,

than to do it in a more solemn hour. Yes, I know what you would say.

I know you have a costly gift for me—the noblest that man can make—

YOUR HEART! You should not offer it to one so unworthy.

Heaven, you know, has allowed my father’s house to be made a house

of solitude, a home of silent obedience, which my parents say

is more to be admired than big names and high-sounding titles.

Notwithstanding all this, let me speak the emotions of an honest heart—

allow me to say in the fullness of my hopes that I anticipate

better days. The bird may stretch its wings toward the sun,

which it can never reach; and flowers of the field appear to

ascend in the same direction, because they cannot do otherwise;

but man confides his complaints to the saints in whom he believes;

for in their abodes of light they know no more sorrow. From your

confession and indicative looks, I must be that person; if so deceive

not yourself.”

 

Elfonzo replied, “Pardon me, my dear madam, for my frankness.

I have loved you from my earliest days—everything grand and beautiful

hath borne the image of Ambulinia; while precipices on every hand

surrounded me, your GUARDIAN ANGEL stood and beckoned me away from

the deep abyss. In every trial, in every misfortune, I have met

with your helping hand; yet I never dreamed or dared to cherish

thy love, till a voice impaired with age encouraged the cause,

and declared they who acquired thy favor should win a victory.

I saw how Leos worshiped thee. I felt my own unworthiness.

I began to KNOW JEALOUSLY, a strong guest—indeed, in my bosom,—

yet I could see if I gained your admiration Leos was to be my rival.

I was aware that he had the influence of your parents, and the wealth

of a deceased relative, which is too often mistaken for permanent

and regular tranquillity; yet I have determined by your permission

to beg an interest in your prayers—to ask you to animate my drooping

spirits by your smiles and your winning looks; for if you but speak

I shall be conqueror, my enemies shall stagger like Olympus shakes.

And though earth and sea may tremble, and the charioteer of the sun

may forget his dashing steed, yet I am assured that it is only

to arm me with divine weapons which will enable me to complete my

long-tried intention.”

 

“Return to yourself, Elfonzo,” said Ambulinia, pleasantly: “a dream

of vision has disturbed your intellect; you are above the atmosphere,

dwelling in the celestial regions; nothing is there that urges

or hinders, nothing that brings discord into our present litigation.

I entreat you to condescend a little, and be a man, and forget