Fortune shall win a prize more delicate
Than are the velvet leaves of fabled roses.
For years my mind’s best nutriment has come
By night,—and what of night? I’ll think on it,
While Violet arrays herself for this
Night’s masquerade. It would be right in me
To fancy night as a black sea in space,
That hath circumference and depth, and through
Whose clouded elements grim-visaged hawks
Do sleekly plunge like fishes in the sea,
Seeking their prey; and all upon the earth
Dwell on the floor of this aërial sea,
And thence look longingly at moon and stars.
Oh, hasten, sun, drive back this monstrous tide
Of night! See how these trembling night-lights throb
With the sun’s offices. Ten million such
Could not burn up a solitary rood,
Nor make partition for a vaulted league
Of this black night. But I’ll not rail against
The gentle night; for often doth it bear
A princely offering to Mammon’s shrine.
But come, my niece, my gentle Violet,
Make haste; the hours halt not for lagging maids,
Nor fortune either.
Violet [within].
Northlake.
The world on edge? ’Tis but the kindled rapture
Of selfishness, that joys to see its double,
Its fond endearment, its sweet concord, and
Reflection in another. While love is true,
Two doubles come, both blent in one, in love’s
Bright mirror; but when fails the endearing bond
Of selfishness, the passions, then two natures
Rudely clash therein, and love sees double,
Like to an eye disordered. Wonderful
Nature is solved as easily as a scholar
Doth solve his problem on the wall, when lo!
The master’s back is turned, and stealthily
He peeps into the key. O Selfishness,
Thou art the key to all the operations
Of all this globe,—all men and animals,
And all the garniture of fields and forests.
Oft thou art hideous; then thou art distorted,
As is a lovely body racked by torture;
But in thy true and fair proportioned self
Thou’rt beautiful as beauty, and as wise
As wisdom. Thou art plentiful as color,
Sound, motion; and without thee Nature would
Eclipse herself in stark and blank oblivion.
Learn early this misfortune: Envy and Hate
Live on good fortune.... Not ready yet!
I’ll knock upon the door [knocking]. Fair Violet,
Make haste, or we’ll be late.
Violet [within].
Northlake.
A cloister were; but these fair ornaments,
Arranged in chaste profusion, show a maiden
Mind dwells here that doth delight in beauty.
Yonder, enshrined with wreaths of evergreen
And immortelles, a precious picture hangs,—
Her mother and my sister, looking most
Pityingly on me. What is this? Why, here’s
The carven image of a maid at prayer;
And here’s a tender picture of a youth
And maiden in a flower-garden, done
In placid oils upon a patch of canvas.
Methinks the artist had done better had
He put here in the corner of the picture
Some quaint and curious demon, peeping o’er
The garden wall. Why, looking at these toys,
So fitting for a maiden’s bower, almost
Moves me from my purpose. Must all these
Vanish? Will not some angel answer me?
No; Heaven answers not a bankrupt’s prayer.
My fortune and her fortune swallowed in
The hideous maw of speculation; both
Banished, completely banished! Why, I’d rather
Be exiled from my country than my fortune.
But all, all is not lost. She hath a girlish
Beauty and a heart most rare; and in
This age of rude massed gold there’s value in it.
A heaven-dowered woman hath an alchemy
That can refine base gold. The bargain’s good....
Ninon, is not thy lady nearly ready?
Ninon [within].
And says she’d rather be plain Violet.
Northlake.
But more become a simpering maid than thy
Chaste self. [Aside] Alas, the plague of poverty!
[Aloud] Thou dost obedient service to thy guardian
Uncle, and mayst save him from a plague
That’s worse than all the plagues that e’er beset
The town of Coventry.
Violet [within].
Northlake.
[Turning up the lights.
My house, no cunning mockery, no smirking
Counterfeit. Why, he shall own, and rightly
Own, that she, in bodily volition,
Movement, and gesture, well doth match a mind
That’s matchless.
Enter Violet in fancy costume, and Ninon carrying domino.
Violet.
Northlake.
Possessions fabulous.
Violet.
Thou speakest strangely.
Northlake.
Violet.
[Taking his arm.
Northlake.
Violet.
To me to-night.
Northlake.
Violet.
Northlake [taking domino from Ninon and putting it on Violet].
Thy passage to the ball. It is a shield
Which, laid aside, thy beauty’s peerless might
Shall conquer all.
[Curtain.
Act the Third.
Scene I.—A masquerade. Musicians playing. Maskers moving about.
Enter Whetstone and Bluegrass in masquerade costume.
Whetstone.
Major, have we any parallels for this?
Bluegrass.
Millions of parallels. Nature loves a masquerade as much as she abhors a vacuum.
Whetstone.
See if my character is loose. It feels like slipping down over my boots.
Bluegrass.
Hold on to your character; never let it slip, or all is lost. Remember, you are a Teuton knight-errant of the Horn of Plenty, and I am Rainbow, your squire. The ancient warrior Achilles carried a shield with amazing scenes beaten thereon.
Whetstone.
I can beat Achilles’ shield all hollow. I’ve brought my album, with photographs of my houses, stores, banks, farms, academy, and prize cattle. Here it is. [Displaying a large album.] But come, my boy, again explain. Why am I called the Horn of Plenty?
Bluegrass.
Horn of Plenty signifies wealth. Remember, we are now walking in a romance, and explanations are like stumbling-blocks in a dream. One must imagine more than he sees.
Enter Scythe with glass, examining Whetstone, and especially
Jack, among the masqueraders.
Whetstone.
Then she might imagine I was a dinner-horn, a trombone-horn, a tooting-horn, the moon’s horn, a horned beast, or some other horn, or that I took a horn as a matter of business.
Bluegrass.
Don’t talk of business; stick to your character.
Whetstone.
Confound you, my boy! I am sticking to my character, and my character sticks to me. I feel like a rooster in an iron nightgown.
Bluegrass.
Solid in solid.
Whetstone.
I’m the only one here who seems to have his clothes riveted and anchored to him.
Bluegrass.
Hold! you must talk in the language of knight-errantry: My sweet, fair, or beauteous lady, wilt tread a measure in the dance? I am listed in the tournament of love.—Something in that strain.
Whetstone.
Will my clothes bear the strain?
Bluegrass.
Seemingly, but if you should feel rusty, either in character or memory, ask me to polish you; for such is my traditional duty as your faithful squire.
Enter Northlake, Violet, and Ninon.
Whetstone [observing Violet].
Oh, ho! look there, Major, my boy,—there comes the prize of the market. She’s pretty as a pet kitten. She’s sweet as a box of honey. She’s worth a barrel of money. I wish it were Violet; I’d throw in the farm on Pearl Creek.
Bluegrass.
Steady, steady; hang on to your character!
Catharine [recognizing Bluegrass].
[Aside] That is he with the blue ribbon. I’ll hail this rainbow. [Aloud] Sir Rainbow, you make fair promises, and keep them fairly.
Bluegrass.
Rainbows bespeak fair weather and fair maids.
Catharine.
You have bespoken fair weather with bright words, and you shall bespeak a fair maid with bright eyes, as I promised you to-day on the seashore.
Bluegrass.
Oh, where is she?
Catharine.
Yonder she stands while the fates work her destiny,—the fair Ninon. Come, give me your arm.
[They join Ninon.
Whetstone.
Going, going, gone; knocked down to the first bidder! What a weakness he has developed for women!
Northlake.
[Aside] Why, that’s the voice of Mayor Whetstone. I’ll address him. [Aloud] Ho, most gallant knight, thy squire hath left thee in a lonesome plight!
Whetstone.
I am the so-called Teuton knight of the Horn of Plenty. Do you know me?
Northlake.
Have you the mettle of the true knight?
Whetstone.
I’m covered with metal seven hundred years old. Northlake, I know you! Where is she?
Northlake.
Yonder, with her maid. Go, woo and win the lady. You could not have chosen a better suit in which to press your suit.
Whetstone.
She shall be mine, and you shall be rewarded. [To Violet.] Beauteous lady, I am the resplendent knight of the Horn of Plenty. [Aside] What’s the rest? [Aloud] Please wait a moment till I see my squire.
[He goes to consult with Bluegrass.
Northlake.
He is the antipodes of that ancient gentleman whose dress he wears. But, alas! the rudest oft give most thanks for a gentle wife, and he’ll make her a comfortable husband. To do this, some would say was villanous in me; but ’tis a convenient fashion. Wealth is a rude mountain, from which the gentle win gentle treasures. The Decorator of the fields hath placed the flower and sturdy plant side by side, and the one doth shield the other. From dankest earth the whitest lily grows; from keen-edged sands the fairest blossom blows. E’en frozen clods have flowers, and flowers their frozen clods.
Whetstone [returning to Violet].
Wilt tread a measure with me? I am listed in the tournament of love.
Violet.
Thy words bespeak a gallant knight. I’ll grant thy wish.
Northlake [to Catharine].
I pray thee for a partner.
A dance. Whetstone and Violet, Bluegrass and Ninon, Northlake and Catharine; Scythe inspects Jack with his glass and takes him for a partner.
[Curtain.
Scene II.—A balcony.
Enter Whetstone and Violet.
Violet.
Sir Knight of the Horn of Plenty, did thy grand-uncle slay the Indians?
Whetstone.
All of them. The banks of the Mississippi were covered. He had hired soldiers under him who harvested their scalps while he slew them. In my life in Flatpuddle Smith’s Biography of Great Men, you will find him given as my great collateral ancestor.
Violet.
Thy family is warlike, but surely thou art a gentle knight.
Whetstone.
Oh, I’m gentle now; but if one of those savage Indians rose up against me, I’d heap this illustrated album of civilization, like a burning coal, upon his head! Do you know, when I was in Europe they offered to make me a reigning prince—if I’d pay for it. There were several vacant thrones, and I was about making a bid, when my gigantic business interests called me back to Cornville, and the throne fell through.
Violet.
When you were in Europe, did you visit Rome?
Whetstone.
Passed through in the night-time, and didn’t stop. No business done there; only a lot of fellows cutting figures in stone, and painting pictures under the old masters.
Violet.
’Tis cruel in thee to jest so. Thy figure shows a gallant knight, and thou dost speak by contraries to make thy showing finer. How doth the moon shine in Europe?
Whetstone.
The same old moon.
Violet.
’Tis very fair.
Whetstone.
Why, there is the so-called fair moon now, sure enough! [Looking at the moon.] It shines like a new tin pan.
Violet.
The moon shines on thy armor, and thou thyself dost shine like a new tin pan.
Whetstone.
There’s the new moon, the quarter moon, the full moon, and the dark of the moon. The moon is good enough in its place.
Violet.
Why, where is the moon’s place, if not in heaven?
Whetstone.
In the almanac.
Violet.
Why, gallant knights and lovers gather substantial sustenance from moonlight. ’Tis prescribed by Heaven and the poets. And thou revilest the moon? Thou art a traitor to nature. Thy best place were in an almanac, in the dark of the moon, in the sign of Capricorn.
Whetstone.
Off with the mask! [Removes head-piece.] Behold the real Honorable Mayor Whetstone, Merchant Prince of Cornville, near the capital of Illinois; called Hercules after his real grand-uncle Hercules, who drove the real Indians reeling down the real Mississippi. Do you follow me?
Violet.
Heaven guide me in this whirlwind of contraries!
Whetstone.
Take yours off, too.
Violet.
As I hate disguises, and this moonlight is a gentle vapor, I’ll unmask without more argument.
[She unmasks.
Whetstone.
Beauteous Violet, you are my future wife. Let, oh, let me take a kiss.
Violet.
Our acquaintance is too brief for a jest so durable.
Whetstone.
Come, no one sees us. Just one little kiss. [Enter Scythe, looking at them through his glass.] Professor, get out! Take notes, hunt specimens, and shelve your knowledge; but never let me see you here again. [To Violet] Did not your uncle tell you?
[Exit Scythe.
Violet.
Why, thou art a sportive knight, indeed. Oh, thou art a deep dissembler! But, no, thou art a gallant knight! This is some stratagem of words and dress, invented by my good uncle for my diversion. If thou wilt keep a secret, I will tell it thee.
Whetstone.
I’ll keep it. But, oh, how I’d like a kiss!
Violet.
Kissing is an idle fashion but lightly spoken of by our best authors, and well missed by young misses. But to my secret. This morn my uncle told me in the orchard that he had chosen for me a lover,—a most substantial gentleman, a very merchant prince—
[Pauses.
Whetstone.
Go on; give me all your secret.
Violet.
Why, thou art he in name and title; but I know thou art not, from thy discord in guise, speech, and action; and thou dost carry out a jest too literally with thy contraries.
Whetstone.
I swear I am the real he. See, here is my album! [Opening album.] Here is my picture, in my shirt-sleeves, before my store. See the sign above the door: Hercules Whetstone’s Gigantic Store. Here’s my banking-house. See, see! Now, do you believe and love me? Be my wife, and I’ll bind the bargain with a kiss.
Violet.
Surely thou art the prince of jesters; and if ’tis thy humor, in part I’ll not deny thee; but no maid should bind a bargain with betrothal kiss until she knows the true worth of it. Hast thou any castles in thy domain?
Whetstone.
Castles? Why, I own the half of Cornville. See [showing the album], here’s my town-house. I’ll have its hall set in solid mahogany. Then we’ll be the Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Mayor Whetstone, of Mahogany Hall, Cornville, solid people,—if you like, in our castle.
Violet.
When thou dost in a day change thy house into a castle, then it will have a gallant knight.
Enter Fopdoodle concealing himself.
Whetstone [showing a picture in the album].
See, this is my stately dairy farm. Yonder pearly stream that through the middle of the farm doth run and wind about, and then run in and out as if ’twere playing tag between its wave-kissed banks, is called Pearl Creek. It is a curious stream. Here, once, the wild goose, while he plucked the toothsome grass from its banks of verdure, listened to an Indian maid. Here, beneath this spacious sycamore, we’ll sit and fish for speckled trout; I’ll bait the hook. And when ’tis winter we’ll skate upon it. See yonder latticed arbor perched upon the bank: it is the hen-house, with hens and their companions from many lands. Here will we gather eggs through all the seasons; and to have fresh eggs in winter is no mean luxury. See yonder moss-covered house of stone picturesquely wading in the water. It is the milk-house, with all its crocks of golden cream. Here, with sparkling water, without a murmur from the world, we’ll fill our crocks of fortune to the brim. Here, amid these scenes of thrift and beauty, bustling hens, pensive geese, lowing herds, crocks of cream, and gleaming fishes, we’ll wander hand in hand, spending our full-orbed honeymoon, while the rude outsiders stare in dreamy wonder at so much happiness on earth. Does not the prospect charm you?
Violet.
Do not end thy bright illumined catalogue. Give me it all.
Whetstone.
Give you it all! I’ll give you your share, but not all. Come, Violet, that’s asking too much!
Fopdoodle [from his concealment].
Oh for a dagger to assassinate him! O dazzling Violet!
Violet.
Continue.
Whetstone.
Oh! Now we leave the country, and come to town [referring to the album]. Here is my edifice of learning, my Cornville Academy, my spring of knowledge. I own the whole of it. Here’s my Cornville Eagle, which shall brighten its plumage when we are married; and here’s my Bank, whose president craves your hand. Do let me take it now; no one is looking.
Scythe appears stealthily for a moment, observing them
with his glass.
Violet.
They who love moonlight must not forget the man in the moon; and I must first ask my uncle. But I did not know that knights of late had grown so rich. I must put on my spectacles.
Whetstone.
Bless me, are you near-sighted? I’ll come nearer.
Violet.
Nay, at dawn I was near-sighted, but to-night I am far-sighted.
Whetstone.
Bless me, I almost forgot it,—I own half a church, and built the steeple out of my own pocket.
Violet.
Art thou a pious knight?
Whetstone.
Heaven must have a share. Besides, it was a sharp business project. It is the highest steeple in the State; and some day I’ll ride into the governor’s chair on it.
Violet.
Thy steeple should turn thy thoughts to heaven, instead of to the earth.
Whetstone.
That reminds me of the lightning-rod. [Aside] I’ll give her a sample of my business talents. [Aloud] A pedler one day said to me: Mayor Whetstone, I wish to introduce into your community my patent flanged galvanized lightning-rods. Said I to him, pointing to the steeple: Eureka! Excelsior! Do you climb? Do you follow me? Do you donate? Is the advertisement worth the rod? Will you spare the steeple, and spoil the rod? He climbed. He donated. Before the next thunderstorm he received orders for over forty rods from members who were afraid the lightning would strike their property if they didn’t buy a rod.
Violet.
I much mistrust thou’rt not a redoubtable, but only a doubtful, knight.
Whetstone [kneeling].
Heaven knows ’tis true. I pray for your hand.
Violet.
Pray for thine own heart. Rise; for when thou kneelest, thou half liest. So stand up, and be not prone to lie upon thy knees.
Fopdoodle [from his concealment].
Oh, how I want to be a noble husband! O dazzling Violet! Oh, oh!
Whetstone [rising].
I thought I heard some one owe me something!
Violet.
No one here owes thee anything. Take thy mind off thy gains.
Whetstone.
Let me call your uncle.
Violet.
Nay, thy jest in greed lacks no ingredient.
Whetstone.
That’s not all; I have more stores, houses, cattle, stocks, barrels of money, stacks of it—
Violet.
Whetstone.
Give you it all!
Violet.
All, everything.
Whetstone.
Give you it all! That’s practical. Who’d have thought it in one so young? Would you outwit me? Would you outmatch me? Would you ruin me?
Violet.
Thou art a gentle stupid. I only meant, give me a description of all,—thy catalogue of all thou hast. Thy lips label better thy goods than thy love.
Whetstone.
What’s that?
Violet.
I insist upon all. I do mistrust—for I’m no trusting miss—that thou art a poor ignoble man withal, hired by my jesting uncle withal to put on this chivalrous disguise withal to jest with me withal. What false knight art thou that thou wilt not endow the lady of thy love with all thou dost possess, that lovest thy goods better than love? Thou art of crude metal. Go to thy farm on Pearl Creek; I do not want thy goods.
Whetstone.
Fopdoodle [from his concealment].
Oh for a carmine dagger to hack, to stab, to prostrate him! Oh, how I crave to be a noble husband. O dazzling Violet!
Violet.
Thou hast kept from thy catalogue and basely concealed that which loving knights and ladies prize the highest.
Whetstone.
What can it be? I’ll buy it.
Violet.
’Twere better guessed, for by purchase it loses its value.
Whetstone.
I know nothing like it. But if it be concealed and of the highest value, it must be a gold mine.
Violet.
Nay, thou gentle stupid, try again.
Whetstone.
Ah, now I’ve got it. A coal mine. Why, Violet, you are wiser than I thought. You look beneath the surface. There is a rich vein of coal beneath my farm; but it’s not worked.
Violet.
Neither is the vein of love well worked by thee. Try again, and for lack of discovery and my sentence, thou shalt bear no complaint to my uncle.
Fopdoodle [from his concealment].
Oh, let me tell! O dazzling Violet!
Whetstone.
I can think of nothing else besides.
Violet.
Put thy hand to thy left side. Hast thou no heart?
Whetstone [putting his hand over his heart].
I have a heart; and oh, I feel it beat tremendously.
Violet.
He is a poor merchant in love, who, having a heart, hath no value to it. He’s a bankrupt who can declare no dividend unto his lady creditor. A true and loving heart hath larger dividends than banks, richer harvests than farms, finer goods than stores, and more happiness than all the world besides.
Fopdoodle [from his concealment].
O Violet, I’ve got a heart. O dazzling Violet!
Violet.
Methinks that soon the silver moon will yonder mantling cloud enrich, and leave thee a knight quite poor.
Whetstone.
I cannot lose you. Your worth grows upon me at the rate of a thousand dollars a minute. [Kneeling] Here on my knees let me explain.
Violet.
Rise. I cannot help thee, although ’tis sadly said. Hadst thou discovered thy heart earlier, and put the true worth of a heart upon it, then I had thought more deeply. But now, alas! thy discovery comes too late. I am a young judge, yet my sentence shall be a just one, and I’ll not revoke it. Thou art a guileful knight. I sentence thee to perpetual banishment; and that thou mayst study the phases of a maid’s heart and of the moon, I will allow thee no book but thy almanac.
Whetstone.
Let the heavens hear me! I am not through yet. I have, a fearful fever!
Violet.
Maids are no doctors, except for hearts in love.
Whetstone.
Oh, I am in love, and now I know it.
Violet.
Thy complaint comes too late. Be patient, but be no patient of mine. I’ll practice on thee no further. Thou hast thy sentence.
Fopdoodle leaves his concealment.
Fopdoodle.
Stay, you villain! If I had my dagger, I’d stab you. O dazzling Violet!
Whetstone [rising].
Who are you?
Fopdoodle.
You caitiff knight, I am Augustus Fopdoodle and your deadly rival. O dazzling Violet!
Whetstone.
You rascal rat! you eavesdropper! If I had my knightly sword, I’d hack you into a thousand pieces and make you bait for catfish. Where’s my sword?
Fopdoodle.
Aha, vain boaster! There is my gage of battle; pick it up.
[Throws down a glove.
Whetstone.
Pick it up yourself, you villain!
Violet.
Hold, gentlemen, brave gentlemen! ’Twere a pity that two such gentlemen should end a harmless jest in sanguinary strife. Come. Your brave humors make the rash current of your words more harmful than your sword-blades. Believe me. Come.
[Exeunt Whetstone and Violet.
Fopdoodle.
I’ll challenge him this very night to fight a duel. Fopdoodle, thou art a brave man. Bless thee, Augustus Fopdoodle. Bless thee, O dazzling Violet! I am a terribly quick man, and I should have killed thousands of men had I but done it when I thought to do it. Let me think.—No, I must not think so much upon the bloody deed, the grim and horrid spectacle. Thinking cools me off like an evaporation; yet truly there is a manifold vigor in me, O dazzling Violet, else why am I so brave when heated? Fire brings out my bravery. What is the coward quality that on a sudden chokes my valor so? I have it: it comes of too much thinking. Let me pluck it out.—But no, I cannot pluck out my brains; yet I will admonish my head not to think so much. But still, thinking is wisdom; therefore too much wisdom makes me a thinking coward. I must cultivate less wisdom. O dazzling Violet! I’ll send him a challenge, and he’ll not fight. A bloodless triumph. Now thinking comes to my rescue. Animals have not this process of thinking, for I have seen terrible animals fight ferociously until they were dead, dead. O dazzling Violet! Therefore I bless thee, Augustus Fopdoodle, that thou hast the spirit of bravery; but I do bless thee more that thou hast the process of thinking. I do not think he’ll fight. O dazzling Violet!
[Exit.