The $30,000 Bequest - Mark Twain (ebooks that read to you .txt) 📗
- Author: Mark Twain
- Performer: 1406911003
Book online «The $30,000 Bequest - Mark Twain (ebooks that read to you .txt) 📗». Author Mark Twain
and in his pain and shame he would have given worlds to have
those unkind words back. She had uttered no syllable of reproach—
and that cut him. Not one suggestion that he look at his own record—
and she could have made, oh, so many, and such blistering ones!
Her generous silence brought a swift revenge, for it turned his
thoughts upon himself, it summoned before him a spectral procession,
a moving vision of his life as he had been leading it these past
few years of limitless prosperity, and as he sat there reviewing
it his cheeks burned and his soul was steeped in humiliation.
Look at her life—how fair it was, and tending ever upward; and look
at his own—how frivolous, how charged with mean vanities, how selfish,
how empty, how ignoble! And its trend—never upward, but downward,
ever downward!
He instituted comparisons between her record and his own. He had found
fault with her—so he mused—HE! And what could he say for himself?
When she built her first church what was he doing? Gathering other
blas’e multimillionaires into a Poker Club; defiling his own palace
with it; losing hundreds of thousands to it at every sitting,
and sillily vain of the admiring notoriety it made for him.
When she was building her first university, what was he doing?
Polluting himself with a gay and dissipated secret life in the
company of other fast bloods, multimillionaires in money and paupers
in character. When she was building her first foundling asylum,
what was he doing? Alas! When she was projecting her noble Society
for the Purifying of the Sex, what was he doing? Ah, what, indeed!
When she and the W. C. T. U. and the Woman with the Hatchet,
moving with resistless march, were sweeping the fatal bottle from
the land, what was he doing? Getting drunk three times a day.
When she, builder of a hundred cathedrals, was being gratefully
welcomed and blest in papal Rome and decorated with the Golden Rose
which she had so honorably earned, what was he doing? Breaking the
bank at Monte Carlo.
He stopped. He could go no farther; he could not bear the rest.
He rose up, with a great resolution upon his lips: this secret
life should be revealing, and confessed; no longer would he live
it clandestinely, he would go and tell her All.
And that is what he did. He told her All; and wept upon
her bosom; wept, and moaned, and begged for her forgiveness.
It was a profound shock, and she staggered under the blow, but he
was her own, the core of her heart, the blessing of her eyes,
her all in all, she could deny him nothing, and she forgave him.
She felt that he could never again be quite to her what he had
been before; she knew that he could only repent, and not reform;
yet all morally defaced and decayed as he was, was he not her own,
her very own, the idol of her deathless worship? She said she
was his serf, his slave, and she opened her yearning heart and took
him in.
One Sunday afternoon some time after this they were sailing the
summer seas in their dream yacht, and reclining in lazy luxury under
the awning of the after-deck. There was silence, for each was busy
with his own thoughts. These seasons of silence had insensibly
been growing more and more frequent of late; the old nearness and
cordiality were waning. Sally’s terrible revelation had done its work;
Aleck had tried hard to drive the memory of it out of her mind,
but it would not go, and the shame and bitterness of it were
poisoning her gracious dream life. She could see now (on Sundays)
that her husband was becoming a bloated and repulsive Thing.
She could not close her eyes to this, and in these days she
no longer looked at him, Sundays, when she could help it.
But she—was she herself without blemish? Alas, she knew she was not.
She was keeping a secret from him, she was acting dishonorably
toward him, and many a pang it was costing her. SHE WAS BREAKING
THE COMPACT, AND CONCEALING IT FROM HIM. Under strong temptation
she had gone into business again; she had risked their whole
fortune in a purchase of all the railway systems and coal and steel
companies in the country on a margin, and she was now trembling,
every Sabbath hour, lest through some chance word of hers he find
it out. In her misery and remorse for this treachery she could
not keep her heart from going out to him in pity; she was filled
with compunctions to see him lying there, drunk and contented,
and ever suspecting. Never suspecting—trusting her with a perfect
and pathetic trust, and she holding over him by a thread a possible
calamity of so devastating a—
“SAY—Aleck?”
The interrupting words brought her suddenly to herself. She was
grateful to have that persecuting subject from her thoughts,
and she answered, with much of the old-time tenderness in her tone:
“Yes, dear.”
“Do you know, Aleck, I think we are making a mistake—that is,
you are. I mean about the marriage business.” He sat up, fat and
froggy and benevolent, like a bronze Buddha, and grew earnest.
“Consider—it’s more than five years. You’ve continued the same
policy from the start: with every rise, always holding on for five
points higher. Always when I think we are going to have some weddings,
you see a bigger thing ahead, and I undergo another disappointment.
I think you are too hard to please. Some day we’ll get left.
First, we turned down the dentist and the lawyer. That was all right—
it was sound. Next, we turned down the banker’s son and the
pork-butcher’s heir—right again, and sound. Next, we turned
down the Congressman’s son and the Governor’s—right as a trivet,
I confess it. Next the Senator’s son and the son of the Vice-President
of the United States—perfectly right, there’s no permanency about
those little distinctions. Then you went for the aristocracy;
and I thought we had struck oil at last—yes. We would make
a plunge at the Four Hundred, and pull in some ancient lineage,
venerable, holy, ineffable, mellow with the antiquity of a hundred
and fifty years, disinfected of the ancestral odors of salt-cod
and pelts all of a century ago, and unsmirched by a day’s work since,
and then! why, then the marriages, of course. But no, along comes
a pair a real aristocrats from Europe, and straightway you throw over
the half-breeds. It was awfully discouraging, Aleck! Since then,
what a procession! You turned down the baronets for a pair
of barons; you turned down the barons for a pair of viscounts;
the viscounts for a pair of earls; the earls for a pair of marquises;
the marquises for a brace of dukes. NOW, Aleck, cash in!—
you’ve played the limit. You’ve got a job lot of four dukes
under the hammer; of four nationalities; all sound in the wind
and limb and pedigree, all bankrupt and in debt up to the ears.
They come high, but we can afford it. Come, Aleck, don’t delay
any longer, don’t keep up the suspense: take the whole lay-out,
and leave the girls to choose!”
Aleck had been smiling blandly and contentedly all through this
arraignment of her marriage policy, a pleasant light, as of triumph
with perhaps a nice surprise peeping out through it, rose in her eyes,
and she said, as calmly as she could:
“Sally, what would you say to—ROYALTY?”
Prodigious! Poor man, it knocked him silly, and he fell over the
garboard-strake and barked his shin on the cat-heads. He was dizzy
for a moment, then he gathered himself up and limped over and sat
down by his wife and beamed his old-time admiration and affection
upon her in floods, out of his bleary eyes.
“By George!” he said, fervently, “Aleck, you ARE great—the greatest
woman in the whole earth! I can’t ever learn the whole size of you.
I can’t ever learn the immeasurable deeps of you. Here I’ve been
considering myself qualified to criticize your game. I! Why,
if I had stopped to think, I’d have known you had a lone hand up
your sleeve. Now, dear heart, I’m all red-hot impatience—tell me
about it!”
The flattered and happy woman put her lips to his ear and whispered
a princely name. It made him catch his breath, it lit his face
with exultation.
“Land!” he said, “it’s a stunning catch! He’s got a gambling-hall,
and a graveyard, and a bishop, and a cathedral—all his very own.
And all gilt-edged five-hundred-percent. stock, every detail of it;
the tidiest little property in Europe. and that graveyard—
it’s the selectest in the world: none but suicides admitted;
YES, sir, and the free-list suspended, too, ALL the time.
There isn’t much land in the principality, but there’s enough:
eight hundred acres in the graveyard and forty-two outside.
It’s a SOVEREIGNTY—that’s the main thing; LAND’S nothing.
There’s plenty land, Sahara’s drugged with it.”
Aleck glowed; she was profoundly happy. She said:
“Think of it, Sally—it is a family that has never married outside
the Royal and Imperial Houses of Europe: our grandchildren will
sit upon thrones!”
“True as you live, Aleck—and bear scepters, too; and handle
them as naturally and nonchantly as I handle a yardstick.
it’s a grand catch, Aleck. He’s corralled, is he? Can’t get away?
You didn’t take him on a margin?”
“No. Trust me for that. He’s not a liability, he’s an asset.
So is the other one.”
“Who is it, Aleck?”
“His Royal Highness
Sigismund-Siegfriend-Lauenfeld-Dinkelspiel-Schwartzenberg
Blutwurst, Hereditary Grant Duke of Katzenyammer.”
“No! You can’t mean it!”
“It’s as true as I’m sitting here, I give you my word,” she answered.
His cup was full, and he hugged her to his heart with rapture, saying:
“How wonderful it all seems, and how beautiful! It’s one of the
oldest and noblest of the three hundred and sixty-four ancient
German principalities, and one of the few that was allowed to
retain its royal estate when Bismarck got done trimming them.
I know that farm, I’ve been there. It’s got a rope-walk and a
candle-factory and an army. Standing army. Infantry and cavalry.
Three soldier and a horse. Aleck, it’s been a long wait, and full
of heartbreak and hope deferred, but God knows I am happy now.
Happy, and grateful to you, my own, who have done it all.
When is it to be?”
“Next Sunday.”
“Good. And we’ll want to do these weddings up in the very regalest
style that’s going. It’s properly due to the royal quality of the
parties of the first part. Now as I understand it, there is only one
kind of marriage that is sacred to royalty, exclusive to royalty:
it’s the morganatic.”
“What do they call it that for, Sally?”
“I don’t know; but anyway it’s royal, and royal only.”
“Then we will insist upon it. More—I will compel it.
It is morganatic marriage or none.”
“That settles it!” said Sally, rubbing his hands with delight.
“And it will be the very first in America. Aleck, it will make
Newport sick.”
Then they fell silent, and drifted away upon their dream wings
to the far regions of the earth to invite all the crowned heads
and their families and provide gratis transportation to them.
During three days the couple walked upon air, with their heads in
the clouds. They were but vaguely conscious of their surroundings;
they saw all things dimly, as through a veil;
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