The American Claimant by Mark Twain

my eye–and tortured my ear; till at last my very footfalls time

themselves to the brain-racking rhythm of Simon Lathers!–Simon Lathers!

–Simon Lathers! And now, to make its presence in my soul eternal,

immortal, imperishable, you have resolved to–to–what is it you have

resolved to do?”

“To go to Simon Lathers, in America, and change places with him.”

“What? Deliver the reversion of the earldom into his hands?”

“That is my purpose.”

“Make this tremendous surrender without even trying the fantastic case in

the Lords?”

“Ye–s–” with hesitation and some embarrassment.

“By all that is amazing, I believe you are insane, my son. See here

–have you been training with that ass again–that radical, if you prefer

the term, though the words are synonymous–Lord Tanzy, of Tollmache?”

The son did not reply, and the old lord continued:

“Yes, you confess. That puppy, that shame to his birth and caste, who

holds all hereditary lordships and privilege to be usurpation, all

nobility a tinsel sham, all aristocratic institutions a fraud, all

inequalities in rank a legalized crime and an infamy, and no bread honest

bread that a man doesn’t earn by his own work–work, pah!”–and the old

patrician brushed imaginary labor-dirt from his white hands. “You have

come to hold just those opinions yourself, suppose,”–he added with a

sneer.

A faint flush in the younger man’s cheek told that the shot had hit and

hurt; but he answered with dignity:

“I have. I say it without shame–I feel none. And now my reason for

resolving to renounce my heirship without resistance is explained.

I wish to retire from what to me is a false existence, a false position,

and begin my life over again–begin it right–begin it on the level of

mere manhood, unassisted by factitious aids, and succeed or fail by pure

merit or the want of it. I will go to America,, where all men are equal

and all have an equal chance; I will live or die, sink or swim, win or

lose as just a man–that alone, and not a single helping gaud or fiction

back of it.”

“Hear, hear!” The two men looked each other steadily in the eye a moment

or two, then the elder one added, musingly, “Ab-so-lutely

cra-zy-ab-solutely! “After another silence, he said, as one who, long

troubled by clouds, detects a ray of sunshine,” Well, there will be one

satisfaction–Simon Lathets will come here to enter into his own, and I

will drown him in the horsepond. That poor devil–always so humble in

his letters, so pitiful, so deferential; so steeped in reverence for our

great line and lofty-station; so anxious to placate us, so prayerful for

recognition as a relative, a bearer in his veins of our sacred blood–

and withal so poor, so needy, so threadbare and pauper-shod as to

raiment, so despised, so laughed at for his silly claimantship by the

lewd American scum around him–ah, the vulgar, crawling, insufferable

tramp! To read one of his cringing, nauseating letters–well?”

This to a splendid flunkey, all in inflamed plush and buttons and

knee-breeches as to his trunk, and a glinting white frost-work of

ground-glass paste as to his head, who stood with his heels together and

the upper half of him bent forward, a salver in his hands:

“The letters, my lord.”

My lord took them, and the servant disappeared.

“Among the rest, an American letter. From the tramp, of course. Jove,

but here’s a change! No brown paper envelope this time, filched from a

shop, and carrying the shop’s advertisement in the corner. Oh, no, a

proper enough envelope–with a most ostentatiously broad mourning

border–for his cat, perhaps, since he was a bachelor–and fastened with

red wax–a batch of it as big as a half-crown–and–and–our crest for a

seal!–motto and all. And the ignorant, sprawling hand is gone; he

sports a secretary, evidently–a secretary with a most confident swing

and flourish to his pen. Oh indeed, our fortunes are improving over

there–our meek tramp has undergone a metamorphosis.”

“Read it, my lord, please.”

“Yes, this time I will. For the sake of the cat:

14,042 SIXTEENTH. STREET,

WASHINGTON, May 2.

It is my painful duty to announce to you that the head of our illustrious

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *