The Merchant Prince of Cornville A COMEDY BY SAMUEL EBERLY GROSS Represented in LONDON, ENGLAND, at the NOVELTY THEATER, on November //, 1896. Chicago R. R. Donnelley & Sons Company Copyright 1896 By Samuel Eberly Gross All rights reserved Copyrighted in England, I 896 The Merchant Prince of Cornville A co MED r The Merchant Prince of Cornville. A Comedy. THE CHARACTERS. WHETSTONE The Merchant Prince t suitor to Violet. BLUEGRASS His secretary. SCYTHE A scientist. IDEAL A poet, suitor to Violet. NORTHLAKE A philosopher. FOPDOODLE A fop, suitor to Violet. TOM His valet. PUNCH A miscellaneous person. JACK Son to Northlake and Catharine. POMPEY A butler. HANNIBAL A servant. VIOLET Niece and ward to Northlake. NINON Her maid. CATHARINE Former wife to Northlake. SUSAN Housekeeper to Whetstone. Maskers, Musicians, etc. PLACE . . . The Seaside. TIME . . . The Last Quarter of the Nineteenth Century. SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY AND INCIDENTS. ACT I. SCENE L An orchard by the sea. Sunrise. The pursuit and discovery. II. A pavilion, vjith vienu of the sea. The arrival of the Mer- chant Prince. ACT II. SCENE I. On the seashore. Business, science, and romance. II. Portico of the Dolphin Inn. A speculation in love. III. A costumer^s shop. A study in characters. IV. A street. The fop and the ape. V. A boudoir. Before the masquerade. ACT III. SCENE I. A masquerade. Assembly of the maskers. II. A balcony. The lover in armor. III. The same. A minor love affair. IV. The same. Hearts unmasked. ACT IV. SCENE I. A room at the Dolphin Inn. The hour before the combat. II. A clearing in a wood. The literary duel. III. The Glen of Ferns. Love's high noon. ACT V. SCENE I. A room at the Dolphin Inn. A prelude to a serenade. II. A hall in a villa. A speculation in stocks. III. A lavjn before a villa. The serenade and finale. The Merchant Prince of Cornville. A COMEDY. Act the First. SCENE I. An orchard by the sea. Sunrise. Birds singing. Enter IDEAL. IDEAL. The hour of dawn ! how thrilling and intense! The matin songs of birds, that dart and soar On quivering wings, now break upon the sense As sharply as the cannon's voice at mid-day ; In yonder wood that guards the sea-cliff's wall, Where sullen shadows shrink away and flee Before the rising sun's advancing spears, The day-detesting owl hath turned his back Unto the light, and sought the sheltering cowl Of ivy web about the oak-tree thrown; And all the glowing world, wood, sea, and sky, Is most sublimely beautiful beneath This pendulous light, that, like an avalanche Of golden beams . . . But I have spoken the word That halts my fancy's flight, and brings me back To earth and its dull cares, and our dull age, 9 The Merchant Prince Our golden age 't is called : our age of gold, Hard and material, when our best ideals But folly seem, all things are bought and sold, And even love itself is merchandise. Alas ! the many years that I have known, And many ills, in this same golden age, Have brought their bitter harvest to my breast, Like frozen grain beaten by winds unkind From out the icy north ; but as those seeds Fall sterile on the earth, nor glow with life, So shall my sorrows take no living root Within my bosom. . . . Now do I recall, Like a sweet picture in a gallery hung, How I last eve at early twilight watched The figure of a lovely maiden bending Tenderly o'er a vase of new-blown flowers, Upon a breezy terrace, underneath A green-hued lattice-work, that, like a shield Embossed with morning-glories, hides and guards Her chamber window. Passing there this morn, I looked upon the flowers as one might Who, barred from out the walls of Paradise, Would seize some blossom growing sweetly there ; Then, while my eager heart tumultuous beat, Sending the tell-tale blushes to my cheek, I plucked a flower this crimson, perfumed pink. 'T is woven from a clod of earth, and yet To me 'tis fairer than a star of heaven. Sweet flower ! sweet flower ! last evening I did see 10 of Cornville. Thy mistress from her chamber casement lean And gaze ecstatic on the pilgrim moon Tracing a silvery path along the sky ; But thou didst woo her from that magic gaze, Drawing her to thee with the subtler force Of finer particles than live within The cold moon's slanting beams. . . . But soft ! yonder my lady's self appears, Slow moving down the orchard path. I '11 seek A covert by this tree. Seeing the hunter Doth fright the deer away. \He bides behind an orchard tree. Enter VIOLET. VIOLET. Which way 's the robber gone ? I 'm sure I saw him here. IDEAL [aside]. What ! I 'm a robber, am I ? Well, this tree hath no tell- tale bark, and I '11 stay here. VIOLET. I thought I heard some one speak, but not from under- ground, for he's not a goblin ; nor yet from the sky, for he 's not an angel ; nor yet from the earth, for no dreadful man is near. Why, what is that in the sky ? 'T is last eve's moon, that will not to her couch by day. To rest ! pale planet. O gentle moon, where is thy blush ? Thou art II The Merchant Prince dismantled by the roseate sun. Alack ! what divine dramas are there in the skies ! Oh, would that I within thy circlet's rim Might glide by curves of brightening lawns. In thee The day is half a month till noon, and thoughts Are gentle as the velvet fawns that glide From out thy rustling groves. In thee, rare flowers Their fragrant balms distil, and perfume wreathes The girdling hours. Let me fancy this ! IDEAL. Now doth she see her fragile fancies rise on wings of gossamer, like one who chases golden butterflies, flying before the dawn. What sweet mysterious alchemy could beauty such as hers persuade ! VIOLET. But list; what's this? A spirit in the tree, a talking spirit, too ! I '11 listen ; 't is my privilege in this orchard. Go on, sweet spirit, I 'm listening. [Pauses."] Nay, go on, my time is brief; or if thou 'dst rather, I '11 not overhear. IDEAL. Nay, hear, sweet maid ; I 'm fated in this tree to dwell, and ne'er before so spoke my heart unto a maid. VIOLET. Canst thou not speak in rhymes ? Why, spirits should 12 of Cornville. be poets too ; or is the tree's rind too hard ? I do pity thee for a poor spirit. IDEAL. Nay, hear me. When the tree is in its blossom, then rhymes come fleetest ; when the tree is in its fruitage, then rhymes come sweetest. Thou once, on such a time, didst sit beneath these ripening boughs, in sweetest reverie wrapt, and I, while musing on thy beauty and the gentle spirit within thee, didst weave these rhymes. VIOLET. I well remember it; and if thou art a truthful spirit I will listen to thy rhymes. Thou mayst begin. IDEAL. What pure mysterious alchemy Doth beauty chaste as thine persuade To sublimate its crude degree In sweetest herbs of earth displayed ! VIOLET. Stop, stop ; I command thee ! Thou art much too philo- sophical for a poet. I 'm weary. IDEAL. Thou didst halt me in the middle of my verse. For I philosophy discern In quivering lips, in liquid eyes, In rounded neck, and cheeks that burn Like rose-leaves 'neath the radiant skies i 13 The Merchant Prince In hair as golden as the sun That wreathes the circling grove, and seems As fine and delicately spun As if 't were woven of his beams. VIOLET. Thou 'rt much too flattering for a spirit. Thou art not a cold spirit, but a warm one. Good spirits should be cold. Mend thy rhymes, or I will leave thee in thy prison. IDEAL I '11 learn if she beheld my robbery this morn. \_Aloud^\ Didst thou awake? Didst thou awake ? That hour when moonbeams glide away 'Neath limpid tints of twinkling day, When from the wires of its cage, That string between from bar to bar, Thy prisoned bird, in tuneful rage, Awoke unto the morning star, And sang unto the woodland wild That hides the sun beyond the hills, And hides, in wavy foliage isled, The breezy nest of cooing bills ? Didst thou awake ? Didst thou awake ? VIOLET. Why, that sounds like a morning serenade. Now indeed 14 of Cornville. do I know thee for a spirit of light-tripping gayety ; but I Ml answer no questions. I was wakened by a robber who from my chamber-window plucked my favorite flower. Spirits should know all things, and not be so inquisitive for ladies' secrets. IDEAL. Give me the wings of yonder lark, Soaring into the perfumed dawn, Beyond the chimney's beckoning spark That, blackening, strews the beaten lawn. For I, within this tree immured, With fervent glances scan the ships That sail and sail until, obscured, The ivory fleet the ocean dips ; While swarms of white-winged memories, Like missive-bearing doves, arise From out the pure pellucid seas, And float above these orchard skies. VIOLET. Why, what pretty fruit that tree doth bear ! I have a mind, but, alas ! not the heart, to leave thee in thy tree, to rhyme to me some other day. Art done ? No answer. Then I '11 rhyme, too. Spirit, thy art 's infectious. Move slow, thou circlet of the moon, Turn not to zones thy brightening lawns ; Let day be half a month till noon ; Wake not with light thy distant dawns. But, fie, why doth the genial sun make the moon so pale ? I would not turn so pale were a man to appear in this orchard. '5 The Merchant Prince [Pauses.~\ Sweet spirit, appear, appear ! No answer. Hast lost thy speech, or doth the tree's bark encompass thee too closely ? If thou art in the trunk of this fair tree, I '11 petition it with ardent lips to ope its close-bound rind and let thee out ; but how ? The tree cannot hear, being deaf, but the tree can feel, being alive; so then, I '11 kiss thee, thou hard, hard tree. \Bends to kiss the tree, when IDEAL appears and kisses berJ] What spirit art thou in man's disguise to thus affright a lady who ne'er did harm to thee, but wished thee well ? How couldst thou treat me so ? IDEAL. Fair maid, thou fill'st me with such keen delight I know not what to say, but pause for utterance, my lips being newly laden with a sweet burden. VIOLET. Nay, not so. Thou art too literal. I do entreat thee for an answer. IDEAL. Thou art the most fair complainant that e'er did sue for answer, and in a just cause, too. How could the earth resist the sun? How could the sea resist the tide? How could a spirit resist heaven ? VIOLET. I thought thou wert a spirit who 'd been in heaven long ago. IDEAL. Never before did I even dream of heaven ; and for material answer make I this : Our spirits were kindred, and by that fair relationship I did salute thee so. 16 of Cornville. VIOLET. Now do I know thee : thou art no spirit, but a robber, a substantial robber who plucked my favorite pink from my window ; but I, rising in quick haste, followed thee adown this orchard path. Thou thought's! thou hadst escaped me. I did see thee but half plainly, by the dawn's most timorous light that through the lattice wooed my pillow. IDEAL. As thou didst wake ! Oh, would I were the dawn's most delicate light that wooed thy soul's fair stars exiled within thy crescent-curtained eyes ! VIOLET. And if thou wert, thou wert but a robber still. Thou hast the flower in thy hand ! IDEAL. Oh, I have treasured it ; yet will I return to thee the pink. 'Tis thy property. VIOLET. Nay, keep the flower, if thou lovest it so. IDEAL. Ay, then I '11 think it had its birth 'neath twilight's violet sky. VIOLET. Think not too lightly of the flower; 'tis most rare, grown from a seed found in the tomb of an Egyptian 17 The Merchant Prince mummy. She was an ancient princess who died in the flower of her youth from love ill requited : so read the antique parchment entombed with her, a legend pitiful and true ; but then, 't was three thousand years ago. IDEAL. Love has grown more constant since then. VIOLET. I hope thou wouldst not jest at love ? IDEAL. Nay, not I. I 'd sooner jest at all fair properties in heaven and earth than jest at love. VIOLET. 'Tis a flower of ancient lineage. I planted it with mine own hands, and watched it grow. What joy I felt to see it grow, I ne'er can tell. When first its tender bud beseeched the sky, it was athirst ; I brought it water from a crystal spring. From simple bud to leafy stalk it grew, and then the petals formed, giving sweet promise of a flower ; till yesternight from its green husk the perfect blossom bloomed, and I did shed a tear upon it, thinking of that poor princess. IDEAL. Dost think her spirit lives in heaven ? 18 of Cornville. VIOLET. That do I most truly. I would not that thou thought's! differently. Thou couldst not be so cruel ! IDEAL. Thy simple story moves me beyond the power of prayer. Now that the flower buried with her doth live, let it be- queath a legacy of love most true and constant to our hearts ; so shall the princess from beyond see within our lives a perfect love wrought by her most heavenly agency. And here [kneeling], on bended knee, by thy dear hand that 's clasped in mine, I vow, by all the subtle bonds that nature placed within the world to bind us to the truth, to love thee ever. VIOLET. Rise ; thou art the planet of my maiden firmament. I do believe thee. My vow is linked with thine most sweetly and inseparably. IDEAL. Thy words are bright flowers, whose subtle sweets I do extract and hide away. Ay, I shall live on them when thou art absent, as the patient bee lives on his hoarded store in winter. VIOLET. I hope thou speakest truly as thou dost fairly, for thou speakest as a poet doth, and I have heard, but pardon me ; I '11 not quote the idle gossip. IDEAL. I pray thee, do. '9 The Merchant Prince VIOLET. Well, then, to heed thy prayer. I 've heard it rumored that poets, in their grammar, all the moods of love do conjugate in swift succession. IDEAL. I '11 prove to thee that gossip is untrue. VIOLET. I Ve heard that they are variable ; that they contract the four seasons imo the compass of a day, call the morning spring, the forenoon summer, the afternoon autumn, and the evening oft the depth of winter ; that they in idle ways say thus: Why, prithee, this forenoon, being in love be- neath the equator, I felt the fervent sun impart his fever to the earth ; but to-night, alack ! being out of love, Lap- land hath no denizen colder than I. I pray thou wilt not treat me so. IDEAL. By Heaven, 'tis a scandal ! I 'd have thee try me. Use pique, jest, coldness, stratagem, and all the dire weapons in a maid's armory to try her lover, and if, knowing thou art true, I do not in all love's humors love thee still, why then VIOLET. Yes, why then IDEAL. Why, then, I '11 return to dust. 20 of Cornville. VIOLET. Alack ! that would be unkind. IDEAL. Nay, try me. VIOLET. Perchance I may. \_Aside\ But only for a moment. \_Aloud\ How high *s the sun, pray ? IDEAL \looking at his watch']. I'll be precise, and timely guard my answer. 'Tis nigh unto five o'clock ; the minute-hand lacks one, the second- hand VIOLET. Stop, stop ! thou outspeedest Time himself. How desper- ately thou rushest from the hour to the minute hand from thence there is but a fraction of time to the second hand, which I take to be not a good token ; for thou hadst but a minute ago my hand, and yet thus swiftly thou wouldst approach a second hand. IDEAL. Shall we have no watches with second hands ? VIOLET. I '11 have no merchandising. Thou a poet and a lover, and lookest at thy watch to tell the sun's height ! Alas ! put up thy watch ; lovers do not time themselves by watches. Thou wouldst not so at night register the moon's 21 The Merchant Prince height ; but upon a pressing question, How high 's the moon ? wouldst answer, A little higher than yonder rose-bush, if the moon rose late ; or, perchance, A little higher than yonder tree-top, if the moon rose early. The sun 's as fine to me by day as the moon by night. Poetry doth not steal away at dawn of day. But thou must go ; good-by for a moment. \Looks up the orchard patb.~\ Nay, good-by for all day, for I do spy my guardian uncle. IDEAL. Dreams do not end but oft begin at dawn. Give me leave to walk with thee at midday in the Glen of Ferns. VIOLET. High noon must be high dream-time when poets love. Await me there to-morrow. IDEAL. High noon will brighter grow when thou dost come. [Exit IDEAL. VIOLET. As fair spoken a robbery as e'er the sun shone upon. A fair and gallant robber, too, who robs me of my heart in broad daylight, detected in the very act by his own watch. I made the robber tell the hour and minute, so that in any court no cruel alibi could lie. I 'm fain to think I '11 ne'er again detect so fine a robber. Who 's he ? What 's he ? I know not, I care not. I would not ask that question rude and mercenary. I do but know he 's the most gentle 22 of Cornville. gentleman I e'er did meet. Oh, if this be love, 't is very kind and sweet ! NORTHLAKE [afar in the orchard^ calls}. Violet ! VIOLET. 'T is very strange, for I have heard in sundry rhymes, and good rhymes too, that moonlit eves were the only seasons suited for robberies so thinly veiled as this. Why, my own heart doth beat as if there were two hearts within, and I had gained another rather than lost my own. How can it be? But gently, I'll not argue the question ; 'tis much too deep and sweet for idle questioning. Sweet argument, wait for my uncle. NORTHLAKE \afar, calls'], Violet ! VIOLET. Why, I forgot to ask his name ! I could not call him did I wish to, and I might wish, being affrighted. Yet he shall not want so simple a matter ; I '11 give him a name. I '11 call him \commandingly] Oliver ! \_Entr eatmgly~\ Oliver ! thy Violet calls thee. \_Indi jferently\ Oliver! I do not like the name, 't is too round. NORTHLAKE What, ho, Violet! VIOLET. I'll call him Peter. What, ho \_piquantly~\^ Peter! 'Tis too piercing ; I '11 none of it. Let me think : I '11 call him 23 The Merchant Prince [slowly~\ Daniel ! Dost hear me \lnquiringly j/ozt>], Daniel? I like it no better than the first. 'T is too long. NORTHLAKE [nearer]. Where art thou, Violet ? VIOLET. I'll call him yes, I'll call him Joseph. [Tenderly~\ Joseph ! wilt thou not come ? Thy Violet calls thee. No, no, 't is a mistake ; I '11 not call him Joseph, 't is too, too flat. I '11 call him let me see I '11 call him a name borne by none other, oft dreamed by me, but never met until this morn. I '11 call him my Ideal, my dear, dear Ideal. NORTHLAKE [very near"]. Violet ! Where can the maiden be ? [Enter NORTH- LAKE.] I surely saw her going down the orchard path. [Discovers VIOLET.] Why, there thou art ! Why didst thou not answer me ? VIOLET. Didst thou call me ? NORTHLAKE. Did I call thee ? Why, if I called once, I called thee twenty times. I 'm almost hoarse with calling. Why art thou out at break of day ? One might almost think thou wast in love, to rise so early. 24 of Cornville. VIOLET [aside]. That am I. NORTHLAKE. Thy lover comes to-day. VIOLET [aside], I wonder if he knows ! NORTHLAKE. He 's rich, a thorough business man and solid gentleman. VIOLET. I don't like solid gentlemen. Who is he ? NORTHLAKE. A princely merchant in the West, and owner of banks, mills, stores, houses, and lands. Thou shalt have a list of it all made for thee on satin. Profits of business are five hundred thousand a year. Think of it! thy wedding-dresses of white satin ! VIOLET [abstractedly']. Shall I have five hundred thousand dresses of white satin a year? NORTHLAKE. No, no; thou hast mixed the profits of the business with the number of dresses. 25 The Merchant Prince VIOLET. Are the profits of the business five hundred thousand white satin dresses a year ? NORTHLAKE. Stop, now ; this shall all be explained after thou art married. VIOLET. But I'll have it explained before I'm married. NORTHLAKE. Be patient, Violet. He will woo thee properly, and explain all things. I am to meet him at the Dolphin Inn to-day. He '11 be in a very good humor at my account of thee. VIOLET. I 'm well enough without his good humor. Pray, what 's his name ? NORTHLAKE. A merchant prince, the Honorable Hercules Whetstone, Mayor of Cornville. VIOLET [laughing]. What a name ! Ha ! ha ! Couldst thou not add something to it ? 'T is too short. NORTHLAKE. Thou wilt be added to it. 26 of Cornville. VIOLET. That will I not be. NORTHLAKE. What 's this, rebellion ? Who 's been here ? Hast thou seen any one in this orchard ? VIOLET. No one but my Ideal. NORTHLAKE. That 's too insubstantial. VIOLET. More substantial than thou dreamest. NORTHLAKE. I 'd think thou wast bewitched by love, did I not know thou never hadst a lover. VIOLET. That was true yesterday ; but to-day ! [Sighing] Ah, well-a-day ! NORTHLAKE. Thou speakest truly. Thou hast a lover now, and before the night passes thou shalt see him. VIOLET. Shall I ? 27 The Merchant Prince NORTHLAKE. He '11 be weary from his travels, and to-day, no doubt, will require rest; but he'll meet thee to-night at the masked ball. Come, then, to the villa, so that to-night thou mayst appear refreshed. VIOLET. I 'm not weary. Oh, that sweet, sweet tree ! NORTHLAKE. Why, what 's in that tree ? 'T is but an orchard tree. VIOLET. I '11 wager thee, 't will bear sweet fruit. NORTHLAKE. Why, what a fever thou art in ! VIOLET. I 'm not in a fever. A child that never ventured in the fields may know a blossom when it sees it. NORTHLAKE. Come, thy maid, Ninon, has risen, and awaits thee. Thy feet are damp with morning dew from the grass. 28 of Cornville. VIOLET. The dew of love is in my heart ; and that 's not damp. NORTHLAKE. This comes of teaching thee, from childhood, philosophy in my melancholy moods. I '11 never again teach thee philosophy, though I be as melancholy as Democritus, since thou dost use the philosophy I teach thee against thine uncle and teacher, instead of against the world. VIOLET. For the good philosophy thou didst teach me, I '11 love thee all my days. But, uncle, is this marriage good? 'Twere not good, 't were not philosophical. NORTHLAKE. Alas, dear Violet ! \_As\di\ If she but knew ! [Aloud] I cannot give thee thy dues except by this marriage. Thou wast my favorite sister's only child ; and when she left thee and thy fortune to my guardianship, I promised to protect thy fortune, and watch over thee even as my own daughter. Now I will get thee a good husband ; for he 's rich, and a solid gentleman. VIOLET. Who 's a solid gentleman ? NORTHLAKE. Why, the Honorable Hercules Whetstone. 29 The Merchant Prince VIOLET. Oh, puzzle thy Whetstone ! NORTHLAKE. I fear thou 'It puzzle him, Violet. But never mind ; come, come now. VIOLET. Oh, thou sweet tree ; I cannot leave thee ! NORTHLAKE. Why, there must be some witchery in that tree ! I '11 have it cut down and burnt. VIOLET. Nay, good uncle, thou wouldst not have the tree cut down. 'Tis a good and thrifty tree that never did harm to any one, and therefore I love the tree. [Takes bis arm.] Dear uncle, do not cut it down. Thou art a good, dear uncle, and I will go with thee ; and thou wilt let the tree live. NORTHLAKE \_ going]. Well, then, come, come ! I '11 let the tree live. [Exeunt, 3 of Cornville. SCENE II. d pavilion, with view of the sea. Forenoon. Enter WHETSTONE, BLUEGRASS, and SCYTHE. SCYTHE. Who knows but, in the chemistry of Heaven, we, this noble race of men, are but parasites feeding in space upon a crust of earth encompassing a fiery particle ! BLUEGRASS. What a glorious thing is one of our ordinary mundane cycles of time ! 'Tis only a day ; and yet it is a legacy too great for the richest man to put in his will. Let no one be so brazen as to attempt to belittle this magnificent star of ours. WHETSTONE. Hold ! Professor Scythe, is that the so-called sea ? SCYTHE [examining it with his glass], Yonder liquid and corrugated mass is the rumpled out- skirts of the sea. In our scientific formula, it is the correla- tion of a mighty power. WHETSTONE [taking glass and examining] . I can believe you. 3 1 The Merchant Prince BLUEGRASS. Hercules Whetstone, patron of the arts and sciences, founder and president of the Cornville Academy as a pay- ing investment, and nourisher of its infant civilization, pro- prietor of the Cornville Eagle WHETSTONE. One moment, Major Bluegrass : that will do for the home market, but not among strangers. I 've given you both a summer vacation, so that you may enjoy yourselves, and work harder when you return. Now, look around, store up knowledge, and I won't deduct the time from your salaries. That 's business. But you must be more particular about my titles. Always speak of me to stran- gers as the Honorable Mayor Hercules Whetstone, the Merchant Prince of Cornville, near the capital of Illinois, called Hercules after his grand-uncle Hercules, who drove the Indians down the Mississippi. Do you follow me ? BLUEGRASS, SCYTHE. We do. BLUEGRASS. Oh, why was I so long pent up in the heart of a con- tinent ? I can remain on land no longer. SCYTHE [taking out bis note-book and writing]. Item, this is important. Major Bluegrass, long pent up in the heart of the American continent, upon his first 11 of Cornville. sight of the sea wishes to swim. This is of great scientific value, as it shows the recurrence, after long deprivation, of an inherited pre-Adamite instinct ; for we read that Adam walked, but never that he swam, therefore are we driven to the waters for evidence. It proves the origin of man from the oyster, or some more ancient inhabitant of the sea. BLUEGRASS. I am no fish, nor ever was. I 'd rather spring from a rainbow than a pond. SCYTHE. A pond is your rainbow come to earth. BLUEGRASS. I must swim. Oh, Mayor Whetstone, let us all swim ! SCYTHE [writing in bis note-boo^. The pre-Adamite instinct in the presence of its primary environment manifests increasing ratio. BLUEGRASS. Professor, take your increasing ratio and slide down to the imponderable roots of the sea. I must get out of this prison of clothes, and into the water. WHETSTONE. Major, try to feel comfortable with your clothes on, for you'd soon be imprisoned without them. 3 33 The Merchant Prince BLUEGRASS. No dungeon of clothes can hold me ! What a lofty repose comes over me as I survey yon glittering expanse of water, like a blue field of undulating velvet! A tear of joy I give to thee, O mighty sea ! SCYTHE [writing in his note-boot] . Item, he returns a saline tear to the sea, in memory of his pre-Adamite ancestor. This is the pre-Raphaelism of natural selection. WHETSTONE^ You are my scientist, my threefold Professor of three chairs, natural science, hygiene, and agriculture, in my Cornville Academy. Now, to create a money-making hunger for science at the Academy we must popularize it. Therefore, give me the scientific facts about the sea in a popular sort of way, so that all may understand and enjoy them. SCYTHE. Its remote abysses are inhabited by the mammoths of natural history and evolutionary philosophy ; and vast herds of sea-cattle graze upon its marine meadows, like buffaloes upon the prairies. In fact, our prairies were once the bottom of the sea, and the buffaloes were supposed to have been left when the waters receded. BLUEGRASS. Your marine buffaloes must wear anchors around their necks, instead of cow-bells. 34 of Cornville. SCYTHE. Not so. Nature always provides for her creatures; for, as birds soaring above the mountain-tops have great wings of feathers, so, on the other hand, these cattle have immense hoofs, of a substance resembling lead, but much heavier than the lead of commerce. WHETSTONE. That adds to their commercial value. Major Bluegrass, you 're my private secretary, and editor of my Cornville Eagle : what do you know about the sea ? BLUEGRASS. I only know what I want to see : I want to see the sport the mermaids see down in their prismatic sea homes, drink- ing out of beautiful sea-shells, while pearls drop at their iridescent feet. Oh, Hercules Whetstone, you are rich ! Get me a diving-bell. I'll interview the mermaids for the O benefit of the Eagle, scoop our rival, the Hawkeye Observer, and send up the Eagle's circulation ten thousand. WHETSTONE. Blue thunder, Major, be calm ! Ever since we arrived here you 've been as excited as if you expected to see a drove of fairies and hobgoblins jump out of every bush and dance in the air. SCYTHE. He may have caught the infection of the season : for it is now the so-called fairies' season of drolleries and bewitch- 35 The Merchant Prince ments. It was a delusion of the ancients, and yet it had some scientific basis, for science shows that this full sum- mer tide heightens and ripens the natural dispositions of men, so that what is most natural in them often seems most strange. WHETSTONE. Professor, examine his hygiene, and see if he needs any medicine. SCYTHE [feeling his pulse] . What 's this ? Why, this pulse beneath my finger is the alarm-bell of a disordered system ! Open wide your eyes. [Looting into his eye^\ What a distended foresight have we here! The pupil of the eye is dilated like an owl's. BLUEGRASS. The owl stands for wisdom. SCYTHE. Silence ! Hold out your tongue ! [He opens his mouth.] It has an overcoat with a high color. [Taking out a ther- mometer.] The temperature is seventy-two outside [taking the temperature under his tongue]^ and inside, under the shade of the tongue, it is ninety-nine and nine-tenths. Why, we are approaching spontaneous combustion ! [Feeling his fore- head.] And your forehead is as hot as a volcano. Mayor Whetstone, you may in a few hours lose your private secretary. 36 of Cornville. WHETSTONE. I cannot afford to lose him yet j save him, Professor, save him ! SCYTHE. I will obey. The unimpeachable symptoms indicate hypothetical impoverishment of the blood, complicated by a highly inflamed excitation of the nerve-tissues. We must at once build up an iron constitution. WHETSTONE. Build him up, Professor, he 's too sensitive ; make an ironclad man of him, like myself. Give him ribs of iron. SCYTHE [presenting two pills] . Here are two pills of iron. I 'm an Eclectic. This in my right hand is the mammoth shell of the Allopathic school, and this in my left, balanced upon a point of my little finger, and no larger than a solitary grain of mustard- seed, is a fine shot of the Homoeopathic school. BLUEGRASS. I don't choose either of your schools. I belong to the Hydropathic school. WHETSTONE. He who will not swallow a school of medicine to save his life, must be made to do so. Here, Professor, while I hold him, give him a schooling. [They try to give BLUEGRASS an iron pill. 37 The Merchant Prince BLUEGRASS. Friends, have you no philopena ? Give me no pill of iron. May you ne'er sleep with down within your pillow ! Oh! put me in a pillory, but put no pill in me. Oh ! [They succeed in giving him a pill.~\ I 'm pilled ; the iron has entered my system ; how very hard I '11 soon lie down upon my little pillow. And thou, hard Whetstone, thus to sharpen Scythe to mow me down ! Caesar was stabbed by the iron daggers of the conspirators, but I am slugged by an iron bolus from the hands of my friends. This is ironical. Alas ! I am a pundit ; for as a typical represent- ative of the pun, e'en while the iron was in my heart I have doubly punn'd it. SCYTHE. The iron that enters your blood gives life, not death. Thus does modern science show her supremacy over ancient passion. BLUEGRASS. You speak well. I 'm better now. I acquit you both, and greet you as my friends. [They all shake hands.~\ What a weird place for a marine poem ! Would that a seamaid I might be made to see ! WHETSTONE. Hold on ; I have it. SCYTHE. What ? WHETSTONE. Sea-cattle, Professor : they live ? 38 of Cornville. SCYTHE. Most profoundly ! Among wild cattle are the sea-lion, sea-elephant, sea-unicorn WHETSTONE. Stop ! We must get a so-called unicorn for the Cornville Aquarium. SCYTHE. Among domestic cattle, vast droves of sea-pigs in our inland nomenclature called porpoises appear upon its sur- face when the sea boils, before a storm ; and sea-calves, sea-cows, and sea-oxen roam its salt sea pastures. BLUEGRASS. This is the romance of science. WHETSTONE. We must land them ! SCYTHE. What do you purpose to do with the porpoises and other sea-cattle ? WHETSTONE. How little you know of the grand possibilities of busi- ness ! Why, I Ml build up a new industry on these shores. I am the Merchant Prince of Cornville. Here I '11 be a sea-cattle king ; I '11 make a fresh fortune in my gigantic monster emporium for salted sea-cattle. And now to the Dolphin Inn, where I 'm to meet Northlake. Then for business by the sea. \_Exeunt. 39 The Merchant Prince Act the Second. SCENE I. On the seashore. Afternoon. Enter WHETSTONE, BLUEGRASS, and SCYTHE. WHETSTONE. Well, boys, I 've seen Northlake, and we 've all had a good dinner. A good dinner is also a good romance. Never despise money. Do you follow me ? BLUEGRASS, SCYTHE. We do. WHETSTONE. Then let us come to business at once. I 've brought you out here to have a consultation, and to get your opinion on certain things, each in his own department of learning, according to the salaries I pay you. I 've arranged to do a fine piece of business. I 'm a man of business, and I 'm a man in love. I 'm in love with my business, and I '11 make a business of my love. Professor, how should a man dress to be a so-called lover ? SCYTHE. That depends ; but this is true : He that loves is like a traveller between the north and south poles, and he will need different suits of clothing, and philosophy. 40 of Cornville. BLUEGRASS. What an explanation ! [laughing] ha ha ha ! WHETSTONE. Professor, what is the laugh ? SCYTHE. My analysis of the laugh is not yet completed, and I am now seeking to produce the missing link. However, the juxtaposition of two incongruous yet contemporaneous images in the mind is simultaneous with contrasting and varying pressures upon the electrically charged nerves. These vary- ing pressures by reflex action cause the pleasurable action of the muscles called the laugh. Let me illustrate. By varying and alternating pressures upon the electrically charged nerves of the eye there is presented to the mind the image of a lover caressing a maiden ; and just beyond, the one view overlapping the other, we see a donkey eating the lover's bouquet, and then \laugbing\ ha ha ha ! BLUEGRASS. The donkey took the bouquet for an offering of beau's hay. WHETSTONE. Be silent. No trifling with science ! Professor, analyze me Violet. 41 The Merchant Prince BLUEGRASS. I know ! I 'm at home in colors. WHETSTONE. Attention ! We 're now in science. SCYTHE. The flower violet is the only organic substance in which science has discovered a trace of gold. WHETSTONE. Gold and Violet found together, good ! Why, science is a fortune-teller. Go on ! SCYTHE. It is the most refrangible of the seven primary colors of the solar spectrum. WHETSTONE. What 's refrangible ? BLUEGRASS. I know ! WHETSTONE. Steady there, Bluegrass ! 42 of Cornville. SCYTHE. Let me illustrate. You discover by a violet light a beau- tiful fish in the water, and you wish to catch it. Now, you must throw your hook, dart, or net, not directly at it, but a considerable space this side, according to the depth. WHETSTONE. That 's fishing under difficulties. Do you mean to say that a man can't see straight in a violet light ? BLUEGRASS. I know ! let me explain. WHETSTONE. Listen to the Professor ! SCYTHE, Violet light passing from one medium into another of a different density becomes most refractory, and turned out of a direct course at an angle : in other words, you must angle for your fish. See my Tables on Molecular Structure, Density, etc., determined by angles of refraction. WHETSTONE. So if I get the hang of the angles and depth, I 'm all right, am I? 43 The Merchant Prince SCYTHE. In a scientific sense, you are. WHETSTONE. Oh, ho ! then I 'm pretty well posted on Violet. Now for the next point : Professor, what is love ? SCYTHE. With the passionless precision of science, I say unto you, Mayor Whetstone, though she you love is the most sym- metrical duplex pyramidal aggregation of atoms in the human saccharine conglomeration, shun love, and court science ; for by spectroscopic analysis of the light proceeding from the eyes of jealous lovers, I have seen their spleen turning a dark green. WHETSTONE. I did n't know it was so bad as that ! Major, how do you regard love, from the heights of romance ? BLUEGRASS. A region of enchantment. WHETSTONE. Yonder valley with verdure clothed would be a capital place for my emporium for porpoises, or so-called sea-pigs. BLUEGRASS. I implore you, Mayor Whetstone, do not project across 44 of Cornville. my mental line of sight that animal, either in its terrestrial or marine form. WHETSTONE. He fills his destiny to the full ; and besides, he is the most intelligent of animals. It is a historical fact that he was taught to play whist fifty years before the clever dog. BLUEGRASS. He jars on the landscape, and is a discord amidst the dulcet harmony of the waves. WHETSTONE. What would you have ? The good pig eats all he can while he can ; therefore he eats like a pig. Major Bluegrass, let me hear no more of your disparaging comments on the honest and assiduous pig, the most useful and business-like of all our domestic animals. He can nobly hold up his head and represent corn converted. And while he turns the cornfields into bank-notes, shall we blame him if he does not serenade us with the notes of a silver flute ? SCYTHE. I wish to make a moral observation upon a physical basis: Major, if the formula of your destiny were identical with the pig's, you would give rise to more discordant vocalization than even that disgruntled animal. 45 The Merchant Prince BLUEGRASS. He may be the most useful animal upon this magnificent star of ours ; but though his good points were as many as his bristles, they could not excuse his shortcomings. The lim- ited geographical prospects of his pen should make him deeply contemplative of the stars ; instead of which he roots deeply in the earth. Hence he takes a step backwards, and, instead of increasing his wit, he increases only his weight. SCYTHE. Man is like a reversed vegetable that has swallowed its roots and walked off on its branches. Why, what is that at my feet ? Let me pick it up tenderly. Hurrah ! I 've got a geologic pebble ! See, Mayor Whetstone, what a rare, grand specimen for the prehistoric museum of the Cornville Academy ! WHETSTONE. What 's it worth ? SCYTHE. Worth ! Mercenary man ! Let us reverently take off our hats in its presence. It 's worth more than all the prop- erty in Cornville. See, Major, see ! BLUEGRASS. Put it in your pocket, or some one will claim it. 46 of Cornville. SCYTHE. Unfeeling man ! No one shall claim it. You saw me pick it up. You are my witnesses. BLUEGRASS. To what geologic family does it belong ? SCYTHE. It is a genuine relic of the cosmic dust. Hurrah ! I 've got a geologic pebble ! See the fluted sheets of color per- vading its interior ! It must have been suspended in the pre- Adamite fires for ages. Gentlemen, remember you have seen no meteors in the sky. [Taking out his note-book and writing. Enter SMALL BOY, crying. BOY. Give me my marble ! SCYTHE. Why, boy, this is no marble. 'T is a very rare specimen of the dewdrop form of crystallization, precipitated during the prevalence of the primeval sand-storms, formed by the cooling of the stony vapors. BOY. Give me my marble, or I '11 call my mother ! 47 The Merchant Prince WHETSTONE. Professor, you may have picked up the wrong specimen. SCYTHE. There can be no mistake. Let me examine it with my microscope. [Examining itJ\ I clearly recognize the uni- formity of its circular strata of color, which could be formed only as it revolved on its own incandescent axis in super- heated fires. Boy, look through this glass, and then see if you have the youthful cheek to say it is I tremble to say it your marble. BOY [looking at it through the glass] . That 's my colored marble ; I was playing with it. [To WHETSTONE and BLUEGRASS.] Make him give it back to me, won't you ? It has a nick and the first letter of my name on it. SCYTHE [surprisedly, re-examining /V] . Why, boy, I cannot afford an unscientific controversy with you or your mother. Alas ! take it. [Giving marble to the BOY.] And when again you play with it, remember [Exit BOY, hastily. ,] Thus do my hopes of a pre-Adamite museum wither. It was a unique specimen of the circular group of crystallization dreamed of by science, but hitherto undis- covered. Major, here comes your seamaid. 48 of Cornville. Enter CATHARINE in disguise, with a basket of fish. CATHARINE. Good afternoon, gentlemen landsmen ! I have fish in my basket ; will you buy ? I have your fortunes in my keeping ; will you have them ? BLUEGRASS. I salute you, by the sea, as a near relative in the fields of romance to the milking-maid of our inland pastures. CATHARINE. I take you to be landsmen, and, therefore, good fresh men. I am a fortune-teller with varied fortunes. Each summer, for a month, to these shores I come to renew and perfect the spirit's vision, which, even like natural sight, is cleared by good free air and sunshine ; and as men with glasses have seen ten hundred living things upon a pin's point, so I, with spiritual lenses, have seen the past, present, and future, each in proper order, marshalled upon a space no larger than a spectacle glass. WHETSTONE. Pardon me, your name and home ? CATHARINE. My name is Catharine, and my home is wherever I am. I come from the city, where there are more sharks in one day than you will see here in a year, and where people in 4 49 The Merchant Prince despair come to me for the fortune fate has denied them. I am more pitiful than fate ; and their pleased looks give me a joy greater than does their pittance. Hence, poor souls, I give them precious pictures of future good, which, believing in, they achieve, and thus their griefs assuage. BLUEGRASS. We all, to-day, bear our fortunes lightly. CATHARINE. And may you at nightfall bear them as lightly ! Fine weather makes quick friends. Come, then, gentlemen, will you buy ? Each one in his own humor. If there be a true merchant among you, I will tempt him with the fish's weight ; if there be a moralist, with the fish's moral ; if there be a scientist, with the fish's complicated structure; if there be a poet, with the fish's most poetical history j if there be a gourmand, with the fish's flavor. Each one shall see in the fish he buys, his own humor. He shall have both weight and moral ; for a good moral without weight is immoral, and a good weight without a good moral is a dull measure. You shall pay me for the weight, for that the fish had in the sea ; but for the moral, that is in my humor, and gain has taken a vacation. Every one has his pastime, and no one is so poor but he has his humor. Mine is to see men buy a fish, each in his own humor ; for by the fish's scales will I weigh him. 50 of Cornville. SCYTHE. How came your hair so white at your age ? CATHARINE. With losing of my husband, and giving of good fortunes. But come, gentlemen ; fair weather makes quick friends, but unfair questions, like unfair weather, part them. Will you buy ? BLUE GRASS. Let us buy. WHETSTONE. Let us first learn the price of the fish. BLUEGRASS. It sounds to me like a romance. Come, let us all sit here in pleasant converse ; the night is afar, and while we buy we '11 enjoy the aroma of the salt-sea zephyrs blown from off the invisible flower-beds of the sea. WHETSTONE. Stop your perpetual romance ! BLUEGRASS. Romance that is not perpetual, but goes by fits and starts, is not worth the reality it feeds upon. 5 1 The Merchant Prince WHETSTONE. I 'd put the price on everything, trees, fences, houses, the baby's rattle, and in its first primer a price-list of its expenses. BLUEGRASS. Hercules Whetstone, Mayor of Cornville, there are some things upon this magnificent star of ours that are not in the market, things so high that you cannot reach and put a price upon them in the cold-blooded shambles of merchandise. WHETSTONE. There you go again, trying to throw star-dust in your benefactor's eyes. Oh, why did I make you editor of my Cornville Eagle ? BLUEGRASS. Because your Eagle was asleep, and I was the only one who could wake him up and make him soar into a higher circulation. He looked like a whipped buzzard that had dulled his talons upon old newspapers; but I put new life into him ; and now that I have made you the proprietor of a newspaper which is a household word, and which will be in every scholar's library at the close of human learning, you scoff at me. Such is glory in a commercial age ! Columbus may discover, but the merchant Americus gives his name to two continents. SCYTHE. Good woman, some undesirable chemical change may take 52 of Cornville. place in your fish. I would advise you to put some s.alt on them. I am a chemist. CATHARINE. The fish are dead ; they cannot hear. SCYTHE. Mayor Whetstone, why do you not change the Eagle to the Hawkeye Review of Western Science ? BLUEGRASS. Strip that proud bird of his plumage, and in less than seven revolutions of this magnificent star of ours he will have fewer followers than a vanquished rooster. WHETSTONE. Major, I cannot resist you. You are my true, my great and only editor. Give me your hand ; let us be friends. BLUEGRASS. Now let us go on with our romance. [T0 CATHARINE.] Bring on your fish ! CATHARINE. There are as queer fish inside as outside the basket, I '11 warrant you. [She presents the basket to WHETSTONE ; he selects a codfish.] That is a fish in weight and look of much import, the codfish. He is an aristocrat among the shoals and schools, and he has done much to build up our own 53 The Merchant Prince aristocracy. [She presents the basket to SCYTHE, and he selects a Holothurian.] SCYTHE. Why, madam, this is a rare fish, a Holothurian, vulgarly called a sea-cucumber, from its resemblance to that common garden vegetable. I '11 mount its skeleton at once. It is the fish of science, and has the power of analysis ; for 't is written that when attacked, for self-protection it will divide itself into many pieces, or turn itself inside out. She presents the basket to BLUEGRASS, and he selects a flying-fish. BLUEGRASS. How beautiful ! CATHARINE. Yes, 't is a flying-fish, which, rising above the heavy and obscurer element of its kind, and using its fins as wings, in aerial courses, sparkling like a jewel, beholds the glittering and sunlit scenery of the upper air. There is much similarity between these excursions and the poet's fancies. And as these lower creatures in their airy flights excite the wonder- ment of fishes and please men, so may human excursions in the higher element of fancy excite the wonderment of men and please the gods. BLUEGRASS [/' admiration^. Madam, consider yourself engaged as sea-side corres- pondent of the Cornville Eagle : topic, sea-fish and their 54 of Cornville. morals. Please accept my card, and draw upon me for a month's salary. [Gives bis card. SCYTHE [writing in his note-boot] . Item, this is important. In evolution, the grasshoppef sprang from the flying-fish. WHETSTONE. What birds are those flying above the waves and darting like flying squirrels ? CATHARINE. They are the larks of the sea, and in the wake of a ship are wider awake than your land larks. BLUEGRASS. Madam, with your permission, upon the first streak of dawn our common meadow-lark has been known to climb the heavenly vaults above this magnificent star of ours like a morning-glory of song. WHETSTONE. Professor Scythe, explain. SCYTHE [examining the birds with bis glass], Leaving, for a rr oment, grave mysteries of the deep upon the floor of the abysmal sea, we ascend to trace in the flight of a simple bird its name and family. The wings of the bird 55 The Merchant Prince are the pre-Adamite forefeet of an animal which, through ceaseless efforts of evolution, became crowned with feathers. From the movements of these feathered forefeet we can tell all about the bird. Now, Mayor Whetstone, take this glass. [He gives glass to WHETSTONE, who follows the movements of the bird with ;'/.] Now watch closely the parabola of dip or curve of flight that puts it in the great family of web-footed water-fowls. See the unwavering scoop, the practiced and web-footed ease with which it grazes a wave. We have before us a genuine sea-gull. / WHETSTONE. Major, put that in the Eagle, and see how it looks in print. Something 's bitten me ! it must be one of your sea-fleas. [Looking up his sleeve. BLUEGRASS. Sea-flea ; do you see it ? CATHARINE. To see a flea, you must flee the sea, unless perchance you may see a deep-sea flea such as I have at the bottom of my basket. [Takes out a lobster. ,] This is the wicked flea the fisherman pursues. He will give a biting relish to your codfish. [Offers lobster to WHETSTONE, who draws back. WHETSTONE. Is he dead ? 56 of Cornville. CATHARINE. Such is his seeming. WHETSTONE. What a monster ! [Observing the lobster.] Professor, what 's his scientific history ? SCYTHE \weariedly\ . I don't Jcnow. WHETSTONE. Don't know ! Professor, it cost me a heap of money to build my nursery of learning, the Cornville Academy, and I 'm going to make it the biggest paying institution on this broad continent. I 've advertised you in letters big as fence- posts as our own prided prince of science, engaged at an enormous salary. There are already applications for next term from over five hundred anxious fathers of wonderful sons. Can I afford to disappoint them ? No. Can you stand there and calmly tell me you cannot give me so simple a thing as the history of a deep-sea flea ? SCYTHE [looking at lobster with his glass] . In the race for life, he first made his appearance m the epoch of the mammoth, anterior to the gigantic antediluvians, before the apparition of man upon the earth, and at a season in the progressive series of pre-Adamite evolution soon after the separation of the crocodile branch from the main stem, about forty-five millions of years ago. 57 The Merchant Prince WHETSTONE. Astonishing ! so long as that ? SCYTHE. I will not in detail give his scientific biography. It is sufficient that during this period he gorged himself with the blood of these primeval mammoths, which accounts for his size, and often, frenzied by the harrowing appetite of this parasite, these gigantic and prehistoric brutes made the pri- meval forests for a hundred miles ring with their helpless bel- lowings. But I will not further excite your pity for the remote ages. WHETSTONE. Go on, Professor, go on ! SCYTHE. This was the summer of his race ; but, alas ! then came the glacial period. He was frozen up with the mammoths, and remained so for probably twenty millions of years ; but such was his tenacity of life, that when the world thawed out, he again appeared, his skin somewhat hardened by exposure, a fact which you will recognize, but otherwise cheerful, and in his usual health. Well may his kind be grateful ; for, wrapped in ice for aeons of time, he was the slender thread upon which their future hung. WHETSTONE. But why did he take to the sea ? 58 of Cornville. SCYTHE. After the apparition of man upon the earth he was driven into the sea by the excited inhabitants. WHETSTONE. Major, this is truly wonderful. The Academy will succeed. BLUEGRASS. 'T is the very romance of science. WHETSTONE. But, Professor, what was the glacial period ? SCYTHE. Well, sir, the glacial period was an epoch when, from a business point of view, ice was cheaper than dirt. Had the apparition then occurred, man could have gone all over the globe on skates. But as it was a vast ball of ice, he would probably have slipped off into space, and nothing more would have been heard of him. And so this star of ice for count- less ages rolled on through the sky like a big snow-ball ; but at last the great electric sun struck the earth on the equator, which accounts for the equatorial bulge which exists to this day. Then commenced the greatest drama of the elements ever witnessed upon our planet. The vast ice-fields were riven in twain, with terrific reports which reverberated through the heavenly spaces, and to which our present thunder is but as an elemental whisper. Icebergs formed, and in fantastic 59 The Merchant Prince and sublime shapes, towering mountain high and illuminated by the sun, floated down towards the equator. WHETSTONE. Go on, don't stop ; go on. SCYTHE. Then commenced the great oscillation of the land-masses; then the eruptive rocks and sedimentary strata were moved from their foundations. Then occurred the geologic epoch of the denudation and washdown of hills and mountains, and then were formed the ocean floors, the islands, and the con- tinental areas which we inhabit. WHETSTONE. Put that in the Eagle. [The lobster clings to him.~^ Hello ! What 's the matter now ? Professor ! Major ! Woman ! Take off" your flea ! BLUEGRASS. Be a hero ! WHETSTONE. Great thunder ! take him ofF. He has claws to his eyes. \_Takes off' his coat, with the lobster clinging to /V.J Major, this is your fault. Don't speak to me again until you apolo- gize. Come, Professor. [Exeunt SCYTHE and WHETSTONE carrying his coat with lobster clinging to it. 60 of Cornville. CATHARINE. Fair is your prairie wit, and these sea-scenes have keen spices which well try its mettle. He that is young and fresh shall have the salt of experience. Many that come here to be salted by the sea are seasoned by love. Would you be so seasoned? BLUEGRASS. If it be a fair, good seasoning. CATHARINE. At yonder villa by the sea I well know Mademoiselle Ninon, a French maid who is in friendly service to one Violet. She has a dainty wit, with a foreign flavor that will season you well. BLUEGRASS. Acquaint us. I would be so seasoned. CATHARINE. To-day she comes that I may tell her fortune. Be at the masquerade to-night ; wear a blue ribbon, there you shall meet her. Trust me. Fare thee well. [Exit CATHARINE. BLUEGRASS. This is genuine romance. 'Tis sweeter than ambrosia. Oh, why was I so long pent up in the heart of a continent ? 61 The Merchant Prince Farewell, dull facts of business which have stung me sharper than thistles. Roll on, magnificent star, and bring night and romance. [Exit. SCENE II. Portico of the Dolphin Inn. Enter WHETSTONE and BLUEGRASS in conversation. WHETSTONE. Northlake is a most melancholy man. I believe if he had a warehouse full of anchors, and the market for anchors was booming, he 'd be hopelessly unhappy. Said I to him, to-day: Northlake, don't look so confoundedly gloomy ; cheer up ! the day I marry your niece Violet, you shall have five hundred thousand dollars. BLUEGRASS. His villa looks like the residence of a prince. WHETSTONE. So it does ; but it is covered with a mortgage from cellar to roof. One month ago Northlake was a rich man, but, leaving his books and plunging into speculation, he lost not only his fortune, but also that of his niece Violet, who is an orphan, and whose fortune was intrusted to his keeping. Her loss seems to trouble him most. 62 of Cornville. BLUEGRASS. When did you become acquainted with him ? WHETSTONE. Last summer, when they were travelling in the West. I had some business with him, and I then got a glance at his niece. I have since corresponded with him. When I met him to-day he had a book in his hand. I asked him, What 's that book ? He replied, It 's a work on speculative philosophy. Said I, Throw it away, and study the market quotations and crops ; that 's the kind of speculative philoso- phy you need. BLUEGRASS. What did he say to that ? WHETSTONE. He opened his book and commenced reading. Said I: Close your book. I don't understand it, and I don't want to. I 've made you a business proposition that 's worth more than all your books. I 've got the booty, and you 've got the beauty. Is it a trade ? Enter PUNCH, who tries to overhear the conversation. BLUEGRASS. How did that impress him ? 63 The Merchant Prince WHETSTONE. He replied, You shall have her, but you must first woo her as a tender and gallant lover should, and thus win also her dower of tenderness and fancy. BLUEGRASS. How did that strike you ? WHETSTONE. Oh, said I, I '11 show my good points. I 'm rich, noble, and good ; she '11 have me. BLUEGRASS. How did that affect him ? WHETSTONE. Come, Whetstone, said he, you 're a practical man. The most practical man in love is the most fanciful. Come to the masquerade to-night in a heroic character. And I 'm going. BLUEGRASS. What kind of a hero will you assume to be ? WHETSTONE. Oh, any kind, just so it 's a hero. I can outdo any of them. 64 of Cornville. BLUEGRASS [perceiving PUNCH]. Hello ! my friend, can you tell us where to get masquer- ade suits ? PUNCH. Yonder, gentlemens. [Pointing to a neighboring shop."] I recommends him. He is a good neighbor and an honest man. Good day, gentlemens. [PUNCH slips into his shop by a side door. WHETSTONE Dreading the sign over the door]. Peter Punch. Masquerade Suits and Unk-Weed Lini- ment. For sale or rent. That 's a queer sign ! BLUEGRASS. They are well suited ; for the liniment is a lining under the suits. [They enter the shop by front door. SCENE III. A costumer's shop. PUNCH arranging his costumes. Enter WHETSTONE and BLUEGRASS. PUNCH. Walk into mine shop, gentlemens. You do me great / honors. WHETSTONE. Are you not the same man we met outside ? S 65 The Merchant Prince PUNCH. Did he say I was honest ? WHETSTONE. You have it. PUNCH. Mine good friends, that was mine brother. WHETSTONE. Why, you have the same marks. What are you up to ? PUNCH. Mine friend, we were born twins ; our own father could n't tell us apart. BLUEGRASS. Nature must have been in a proud mood when she dupli- cated you. WHETSTONE. What 's your name ? PUNCH. Peter Punch. WHETSTONE. What 's your brother's name ? PUNCH. Peter Punch Number Two. We are twins ; I swears it. Mine friends, these are my beautiful suits ; and in this bottle 66 of Cornville. is the wonder of seven hemispheres, the sublimely famous and justly celebrated unk-weed liniment. By your firesides, rub it in well. With one wing of medicinal gum, and the other of healing balsam, it flies to its proud home in the bones. Gentlemens, rub it in well. There it works its marvels. This, gentlemens, is the unk-weed art gallery [pointing to two pictures^. This one is before taking ; that one, after taking. Gentlemens, rub it on your skins inside, and put one of my suits on the outside, and then you do marvels. I swears it. WHETSTONE. Which do you sell or rent, the suits, or the liniment ? [PUNCH winks an eye."] Why do you wink? PUNCH. Goodness gracious ! you surprises me so. Mine eyelid slips down. Gentlemens, I cannot rent the wonderful unk-weed. BLUEGRASS. Peter Punch, you are a compound fraction. Give your doctor fraction a quick drop, and your tailor fraction a fresh seaming. We have good sound characters, but you and your tailor's goose may mend them. I wish to cast upon a French maid a romantic spell, something in the aurora borealis fashion. PUNCH. Gentlemens, I have n't got it [winding his eyi\. 67 The Merchant Prince BLUEGRASS. Why do you wink ? PUNCH. " Mine friend, it is my little weakness. I swears it. BLUEGRASS. Try to keep your blind up. It makes me suspicious that something wrong is going on inside. Peter, have you a rain- bow suit ? PUNCH. Mine dear friend, I 've just what will suit you. I made it for a gentlemans just like you, but it rained and he did n't call for it. BLUEGRASS. He was only a fair-weather beau ; but I '11 be a rainbow as well. [PUNCH shows him the suit. ~\ That will suit. Now show me a mask. [PUNCH shows him a mask.~\ Why, it has a nose upon it like a barn-gable. PUNCH. Mine friend, a big nose makes a strong character [laying bis finger along his nose"] . BLUEGRASS. Its cheeks are smooth as a boy's. 68 of Cornville. PUNCH. Mine friend, how would a rainbow look with a beard on it ? Oh, mine friend ! t BLUEGRASS. Come out from under your disguise, Peter Punch. You have the eternal fitness of things under your thumb, and that makes a good tailor and a shrewd philosopher. PUNCH. I thank you, gentlemens. WHETSTONE. Show me some clothes worn by kings, princes, and poten- tates. PUNCH. Mine friend, let me take your measure. \_He takes WHET- STONE'S measure with a tape-line. ~\ WHETSTONE. Do you think you can take my measure for a suitable character suit with your puny tape-line? Put up your line, and search Flatpuddle Smith's Biography of Great Men, although I must say there are in that book some of the big- gest measures of the littlest men on earth ; and besides, old Heavyweight, who made his fortune putting sand in sugar, is on the first page. They asked for sugar, and he sandpapered them. It '11 go rough with him. Peter Punch, listen to my 69 The Merchant Prince measure. I 'm a merchant prince, Mayor Whetstone, from Cornville, near the capital of Illinois, called Hercules after my grand-uncle Hercules, who drove the Indians down the Mississippi. PUNCH [presenting a robe~\. This is the robe that Julius Caesar wore when he did thrice refuse the crown up at the Capitol. WHETSTONE. Why did he refuse it ? Did n't it fit him ? I don't want that. PUNCH presenting a suit], This is a suit worn by a shepherd boy as he tends his flocks, young Norval's suit. WHETSTONE. Confound you ! Do you think I want to be a shepherd boy, and herd sheep ? PUNCH [presenting another suif\. This is the suit of a Highlander. WHETSTONE. That 's high-sounding. Let me see it. What 's this ? PUNCH. That goes around the waist like a petticoat. 70 of Cornville. WHETSTONE. Where 's the other part ? PUNCH. There is none. WHETSTONE. Take back your Highlander. [PuNCH winks.'] Stop winking ! PUNCH. Goodness gracious ! you surprises me so. But here, mine friend. This is a suit of King Richard the Lion-Heart, who slew thousands of Saracens in one day. WHETSTONE. Why did n't they stop him, the old villain ? Peter Punch, you may as well put down both shutters over your eyes. Business is closed. [Going. PUNCH. Wait, wait, mine dear friend ; I have a beautiful suit of armor, magnificent ! I saves it for you. I keeps it wrapped up. It is the suit of a grand knight-errant. [Takes covering from mounted suit of armor. ~\ WHETSTONE. Ah, that's something like the thing. The business we are on is a sort of a night errand. What line of business was he in ? Did he travel much at night ? 7 1 The Merchant Prince PUNCH. Mine friend, you is mistaken. The knight-errant was a great man who went around foreign countries clad in a suit of mail, rescuing beautiful damsels, over seven hundred years ago. WHETSTONE. So long ago as that ? His clothes must be a little rusty ; but you can rub them well. You don't say the suit is seven hundred years old ? PUNCH. Over seven hundred years, mine friend \winking\. WHETSTONE. Major, what would they say if they knew of this in Cornville ? So the old rascal used to go around in the night, rescuing beautiful damsels ; and they called them night errands ! Did n't he rescue the ugly damsels too? PUNCH. History is silent, mine friend. WHETSTONE. Well, I do declare! I'll keep up his trade. I'll build up the old industry on these shores, and I '11 make it hum. PUNCH. I have English, French, Spanish, and other cheaper kinds ; but I '11 give you the suit of a grand German knight- errant, because he was a great Teuton. 72 of Cornville. WHETSTONE. What is the rent to-night for the so-called Teuton knight errant ? PUNCH. You shall have him cheap. I will calculate. One cent a year, one dollar for each hundred years, seven dollars, mine friend. WHETSTONE. Isn't that tooting it rather high for a night errand? PUNCH. Mine friend, the Teuton knight-errant was the most sub- stantial and high-toned. WHETSTONE. Substantial and high-toned ! I '11 invest. I '11 wake up your old Teuton knight-errant, and make him hum. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A street. Evening. JACK, disguised as an ape, on bis way to the masquerade. Enter FOPDOODLE and TOM, his valet. FOPDOODLE. By Jove, what is it ? Tom, my man, stand firm. Audacious creature ! So much hair on it, you know. I 'd kindly thank you for your card. 73 The Merchant Prince JACK. Apes and conundrums, having been made before pockets, do not carry their cards. Did you ever husk an ear of corn ? FOPDOODLE. Audacious beast ! Fopdoodle 's no farmer. JACK. Then how do you expect to husk me by the ear ? For the ear of an ape stands higher than a vegetable. FOPDOODLE. What a misapplication of terms ! JACK. Why did you not bring your shell with you ? FOPDOODLE. What shell ? JACK. The shell of a goose-egg. Go get it, and put yourself in it, or I '11 make an omelet of you by assault and battery. [Moving around FOPDOODLE. FOPDOODLE. By Jove, you 're a ferocious ape. I '11 have you arrested. Ho, there ! Oh., policeman, come at once, I pray you, and quell this riot. Come, I command you. But he don't 74 of Cornville. come. What an abominable government we do have ! If we had a king, then I 'd be protected, a nice, sweet king ! Then, you know, I 'd go to court ; then I 'd be My Lord Fopdoodle. Oh, I 'd dearly love a king. JACK. What would you do if an enemy arose ? FOPDOODLE. Why, then the king would say: Upon the breeze that blows upon the borders of my land, I sniff the enemy. My lord, my good and trusty Lord Fopdoodle, hasten. Gather two hundred thousand men or so of our confiding yeomanry and stanchest citizens. Go put the enemy down. And I would do it. JACK. But suppose he would n't stay down ? FOPDOODLE. Tom, my man, stand firm. When a king puts an enemy down, he puts him under ground. JACK. How would you raise the cash ? FOPDOODLE. If I saw the treasury running low, I 'd rise and thus address the throne of majesty : Of late, most able king, thy servant, 75 The Merchant Prince Lord Fopdoodle, whom thou hast ennobled, hath observed sundry of his former friends, shopkeepers, swelling with wealth and aping his nobility. I '11 strip them of their tow- ering ambition by taking off the goods from their top shelves. And then the king would say, Good my lord, thou art aright ; go thou and do it. And I would go and do it. JACK. Would you have any whims ? FOPDOODLE. Would n't I have whims ! Tom, my man, stand firm. Thousands of them. If a king and his lords can't have their whims, they 're not so good as other people are. Some day, when the king was in a right good humor, I would say: Your valiant Majesty, an ape doth offend me much. I have a whim. I crave a boon, my liege, a boon, my sovereign ; and he would say, I'll grant it thee. Then I would say, I thank thee, good my sovereign. I would that all the apes in thy kingdom were destroyed. And he would say, Take this my signet ring, and let them perish. JACK. And you would kill poor Jack ? FOPDOODLE. Are you Jack ? Mr. Northlake's own son Jack, and cousin to beautiful Miss Violet? Why, Jack, I could love even an ape if he were cousin to the beautiful Miss Violet. 76 of Cornville. JACK. Would you cozen an ape ? FOPDOODLE. [Aside] I '11 steal into Miss Violet's secret heart through this half-open, half-witted gate of a cousin. [Aloud] I 'm in love. Help me, Jack. About the king, good Jack, I was but joking ; and if I were married to Miss Violet, and were the king's lord, I would not hurt a hair on an ape's body. Oh, she's a sweet conundrum; a rose is a conundrum, why, I 'm a sweet conundrum myself. Jack, you 're a stun- ning good fellow, an awfully good ape. Let me stroke ape's hair. JACK. Paws off! You Miss my cousin, but she '11 not miss you. I represent to-night a missing link which were well found in you. I 'm in full dress, Nature's regulation costume for the ape; but you commit a barefaced outrage with your ape's nature minus the hair. Meet me at the masquerade. [Going. FOPDOODLE. Tom, my man, stand firm! Don't go, Jack. I'll go too. [Exeunt. 77 The Merchant Prince SCENE V. VIOLET'S boudoir, dimly lighted. Enter NORTHLAKE, with domino on his arm, reading a book. NORTHLAKE. Not yet ! still in her dressing-room. To-night 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 '11 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 aerial 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 '11 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, 78 of Cornville. Make haste ; the hours halt not for lagging maids, Nor fortune either. VIOLET [within]. Patience, my good uncle, NORTHLAKE. What is this vaunted love that so doth set 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 79 The Merchant Prince 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 '11 knock upon the door \knocking\. Fair Violet, Make haste, or we '11 be late. VIOLET [within"]. Presently, good uncle. NORTHLAKE. Dimly these lights do burn, as if this boudoir A cloister were j 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 80 of Cornville. 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]. My lady does demur to wear ze dress, And says she 'd rather be plain Violet. NORTHLAKE. Thy scruples, Violet, are pretty whims ; But more become a simpering maid than thy Chaste self. \_Asidi\ Alas, the plague of poverty ! \_Alou