The Squatter And The Don (Modern Library Classics) - Softcover
Buch 19 von 43: Modern Library Torchbearers
Inhaltsangabe
A historical romance with an activist heart, and an impassioned critique of U.S. expansionism—with an introduction by Ana Castillo, author of So Far from God
A fiercely partisan novel based on the author’s own experiences, The Squatter and the Don follows two families living near San Diego shortly after the United States’ annexation of California: the Alamares of the landed Mexican gentry, and the Darrells, the New Englanders who seek to claim the Alamares’ land. When young Clarence Darrell falls in love with Mercedes Alamar, the stage is set for a conflict that blends the personal with the political.
A scathing critique of corporate capitalism, this story exposes the true historical plight of californios as their lands are taken away by a government with incestuous ties to the railroad monopoly—institutions laced with the greed and racism of nineteenth-century America’s expansionist agenda.
The Modern Library Torchbearers series features women who wrote on their own terms, with boldness, creativity, and a spirit of resistance.
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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor
Maria Amparo Ruiz de Burton (1832-1895) was born into a prominent family in Baha, California. Her grandfather, Don Jose Manuel Ruiz, was Governor of Baha. In 1849, she married U.S. Army Captain Henry S. Burton. Her husband died in the Civil War, leaving the author with two young children to raise. She spent years fighting legal battles over lands that she and her husband had owned, battling squatters and government officials much like Don Mariano's family in The Squatter and the Don. Ruiz de Burton's literary works included newspaper articles, a theatrical comedy of Don Quixote, and the novel, Who Would Have Thought It?
Aus dem Klappentext
The Squatter and the Don, like its author, has come out a survivor, notes Ana Castillo in her Introduction. The fact that it has resurfaced after more than a century from its original publication is a testimony to its worthiness. Inviting comparison to Uncle Tom s Cabin, María Amparo Ruiz de Burton s illuminating political novel is also an engaging historical romance. Set in San Diego shortly after the United States annexation of California and written from the point of view of a native Californio, the story centers on two families: the Alamars of the landed Mexican gentry, and the Darrells, transplanted New Englanders and their tumultuous struggles over property, social status, and personal integrity.
This Modern Library Paperback Classic is set from the first edition of 1885.
Ana Castillo is a poet, essayist, and novelist whose works include the recent poetry collection I Ask the Impossible and the novel Peel My Love Like an Onion. She lives in Chicago and teaches at DePaul University.
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Chapter 1
Squatter Darrell Reviews the Past
“To be guided by good advice, is to profit by the wisdom of others; to be guided by experience, is to profit by wisdom of our own,” said Mrs. Darrell to her husband, in her own sweet, winning way, as they sat alone in the sitting room of their Alameda farm house, having their last talk that evening, while she darned his stockings and sewed buttons on his shirts. The children (so-called, though the majority were grown up) had all retired for the night. Mr. and Mrs. Darrell sat up later, having much to talk about, as he would leave next day for Southern California, intending to locate—somewhere in a desirable neighborhood—a homestead claim.1
“Therefore,” continued Mrs. Darrell, seeing that her husband smoked his pipe in silence, adding no observations to her own, “let us this time be guided by our own past history, William—our experience. In other words, let us be wise, my husband.”
“By way of variety, you mean,” said he smiling. “That is, as far as I am concerned, because I own, frankly, that had I been guided by your advice—your wisdom—we would be much better off to-day. You have a right to reproach me.”
“I do not wish to do anything of the kind. I think reproaches seldom do good.”
“No use in crying over spilt milk, eh?”
“That is not my idea, either. On the contrary, if by ‘milk’ it is meant all or any earthly good whatever, it is the ‘spilt milk’ that we should lament. There is no reason to cry for the milk that has not been wasted, the good that is not lost. So let us cry for the spilt milk, by all means, if by doing so we learn how to avoid spilling any more. Let us cry for the spilt milk, and remember how, and where, and when, and why, we spilt it. Much wisdom is learnt through tears, but none by forgetting our lessons.”
“But how can a man learn when he is born a fool?”
“Only an idiot is, truly speaking, a born fool; a fool to such a degree that he cannot act wisely if he will. It is only when perversity is added to foolishness, that a being—not an idiot—is utterly a fool. To persist in acting wrongfully, that is the real folly. To reject good counsel, either of one’s own good thoughts or the good thoughts of others. But to act foolishly by deciding hastily, by lack of mature reflection, that I should only call a foolish mistake. So, then, if we have been foolish, let us at least utilize our foolishness by drawing from it lessons of wisdom for the future. We cannot conscientiously plead that we are born fools when we see our errors.”
Mr. Darrell smilingly bowed, and with a voice much softer than his usual stentorian tones, said:
“I understand, little wife, but I fear that my streak of perversity is a broad one, and has solely been the bane of my life; it has a fatality accompanying it. I have often seen the right way to act, and yet I have gone with my eyes wide open to do the wrong thing. And this, too, not meaning to do harm to any one, nor wishing to be malicious or mean. I don’t know what power impelled me. But if you will forgive my past wickedness, I’ll try to do better.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t speak of your wickedness, for real wickedness is perversity. You have acted wrongly at times, when you have misapplied your rights and the rights of others, but you have not intentionally done wrong. You are not perverse; don’t say that.”
“In a few days it will be twenty-four years since we crossed the plains with our three babies, in our caravan of four wagons, followed by our fine horses and choice Durham cows. I firmly believed then, that with my fine stock and my good bank account, and broad government lands, free to all Americans, I should have given you a nice home before I was five years older; that I would have saved money and would be getting more to make us rich before I was old. But see, at the end of twenty-four years, where and how do I find myself? I am still poor, all I have earned is the name of ‘Squatter.’2 That pretty name (which I hate because you despise it) is what I have earned.”
“Don’t say that either, William. We will only recommence one of numerous fruitless discussions. We are not poor, because we have enough to live in comfort, and I do not despise the name of Squatter, for it is harmless enough, but I do certainly disapprove of acts done by men because they are squatters, or to become squatters. They have caused much trouble to people who never harmed them.”
“They, too, the poor squatters, have suffered as much distress as they have caused, the poor hard-worked toilers.”
“That is very true, but I am afraid I shall never be able to see the necessity of any one being a squatter in this blessed country of plentiful broad acres, which a most liberal government gives away for the asking.”
“That’s exactly it. We aren’t squatters. We are ‘settlers.’ We take up land that belongs to us, American citizens, by paying the government price for it.”
“Whenever you take up government land, yes, you are ‘settlers,’ but not when you locate claims on land belonging to any one else. In that case, you must accept the epithet of ‘Squatter.’ ”
Darrell set his teeth so tightly, that he bit a little chip off his pipe. Mrs. Darrell went on as if she had not observed her husband’s flash of irritation.
“But I hope we will never more deserve such name; I trust that before you locate any homestead claim in Southern California, you will first inform yourself, very carefully, whether any one has a previous claim. And more specially, I beg of you, do not go on a Mexican grant3 unless you buy the land from the owner. This I beg of you specially, and must insist upon it.”
“And how am I to know who is the owner of a rancho4 that has been rejected, for instance?”
“If the rancho is still in litigation, don’t buy land in it, or if you do, buy title from the original grantee, on fair conditions and clear understanding.”
“I don’t know whether that can be done in the Alamar rancho, which I am going to see, and I know it has been rejected. But of one thing you can rest assured, that I shall not forget our sad experience in Napa and Sonoma valleys,5 where—after years of hard toil—I had to abandon our home and lose the earnings of years and years of hard work.”
“That is all I ask, William. To remember our experience in Napa and Sonoma. To remember, also, that we are no longer young. We cannot afford to throw away another twenty years of our life; and really and truly, if you again go into a Mexican grant, William, I shall not follow you there willingly. Do not expect it of me; I shall only go if you compel me.”
“Compel you!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Compel you, when you know I have obeyed you all my life.”
“Oh! no, William, not all your life, for you were well grown before I ever saw you.”
“I mean ever since I went to Washington6 with my mind made up to jump off the train coming back, if you didn’t agree to come North to be my commandant.”
“I don’t think I have been a very strict disciplinarian,” she said, smiling. “I think the subaltern has had pretty much his own way.”
“Yes, when he thinks he might. But when the commandant pulls the string, by looking sad or offended, then good-by to the spirit and independence of the subaltern.”
“One...
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