We shall never forget the excitement which seized upon the inhabitants
of the little village of Hardscrabble as the report spread through the
community that a real piano had actually arrived within its precincts.
Speculation was afloat as to its appearance and its use. The name was
familiar to everybody; but what it precisely meant, no one could tell.
That it had legs was certain; for a stray volume of some literary
traveler was one of the most conspicuous works in the floating library
of Hardscrabble, and said traveler stated that he had seen a piano
somewhere in New England with pantalets on; also, an old foreign paper
was brought forward, in which there was an advertisement headed
"Soirée," which informed the "citizens, generally," that Mr. Bobolink
would preside at the piano.
This was presumed by several wiseacres, who had been to a menagerie, to
mean that Mr. Bobolink stirred the piano with a long pole, in the same
way that the showman did the lions and rhi-no-ce-rus.
So, public opinion was in favor of its being an animal, though a
harmless one; for there had been a land-speculator through the village a
few weeks previously, who distributed circulars of a "Female Academy"
for the accomplishment of young ladies. These circulars distinctly
stated "the use of the piano to be one dollar per month."
One knowing old chap said, if they would tell him what so-i-ree meant,
he would tell them what a piano was, and no mistake.
The owner of this strange instrument was no less than a very quiet and
very respectable late merchant of a little town somewhere "north," who,
having failed at home, had emigrated into the new and hospitable country
of Arkansas, for the purpose of bettering his fortune and escaping the
heartless sympathy of his more lucky neighbors, who seemed to consider
him a very bad and degraded man because he had become honestly poor.
The new-comers were strangers, of course. The house in which they were
setting up their furniture was too little arranged "to admit of calls;"
and, as the family seemed very little disposed to court society, all
prospects of immediately solving the mystery that hung about the piano
seemed hopeless. In the meantime, public opinion was "rife."
The depository of this strange thing was looked upon by the passers-by
with indefinable awe; and, as noises unfamiliar sometimes reached the
street, it was presumed that the piano made them, and the excitement
rose higher than ever. In the midst of it, one or two old ladies,
presuming upon their age and respectability, called upon the strangers
and inquired after their health, and offered their services and
friendship; meantime, everything in the house was eyed with great
intensity, but, seeing nothing strange, a hint was given about the
piano. One of the new family observed, carelessly, "that it had been
much injured by bringing out, that the damp had affected its tones, and
that one of its legs was so injured that it would not stand up, and for
the present it would not ornament the parlor."
Here was an explanation indeed: injured in bringing out; damp affecting
its tones; leg broken. "Poor thing!" ejaculated the old ladies, with
real sympathy, as they proceeded homeward; "traveling has evidently
fatigued it; the Mass-is-sip fogs has given it a cold, poor thing!" and
they wished to see it with increased curiosity.
The "village" agreed that if Moses Mercer, familiarly called "Mo
Mercer," was in town, they would have a description of the piano, and
the uses to which it was put; and, fortunately, in the midst of the
excitement "Mo" arrived, he having been temporarily absent on a
hunting-expedition.
Moses Mercer was the only son of "old Mercer," who was, and had been, in
the State Senate ever since Arkansas was admitted into the "Union." Mo
from this fact received great glory, of course; his father's greatness
alone would have stamped him with superiority; but his having been twice
in the "Capitol" when the legislature was in session stamped his claims
to pre-eminence over all competitors.
Mo Mercer was the oracle of the renowned village of Hardscrabble.
"Mo" knew everything; he had all the consequence and complacency of a
man who had never seen his equal, and never expected to. "Mo" bragged
extensively upon his having been to the "Capitol" twice,--of his there
having been in the most "fashionable society,"--of having seen the
world. His return to town was therefore received with a shout. The
arrival of the piano was announced to him, and he alone of all the
community was not astonished at the news.
His insensibility was considered wonderful. He treated the piano as a
thing that he was used to, and went on, among other things, to say that
he had seen more pianos in the "Capitol," than he had ever seen
woodchucks, and that it was not an animal, but a musical instrument
played upon by the ladies; and he wound up his description by saying
that the way "the dear creatures could pull music out of it was a
caution to hoarse owls."
The new turn given to the piano-excitement in Hardscrabble by Mo Mercer
was like pouring oil on fire to extinguish it, for it blazed out with
more vigor than ever. That it was a musical instrument made it a rarer
thing in that wild country than if it had been an animal, and people of
all sizes, colors, and degrees were dying to see and hear it.
Jim Cash was Mo Mercer's right-hand man: in the language of refined
society, he was "Mo's toady;" in the language of Hardscrabble, he was
"Mo's wheel-horse." Cash believed in Mo Mercer with an abandonment that
was perfectly ridiculous. Mr. Cash was dying to see the piano, and the
first opportunity he had alone with his Quixote he expressed the desire
that was consuming his vitals.
"We'll go at once and see it," said Mercer.
"Strangers!" echoed the frightened Cash.
"Humbug! Do you think I have visited the 'Capitol' twice, and don't know
how to treat fashionable society? Come along at once, Cash," said
Mercer.
Off the pair started, Mercer all confidence, and Cash all fears as to
the propriety of the visit. These fears Cash frankly expressed; but
Mercer repeated for the thousandth time his experience in the
fashionable society of the "Capitol, and pianos," which he said "was
synonymous;" and he finally told Cash, to comfort him, that, however
abashed and ashamed he might be in the presence of the ladies, "he
needn't fear of sticking, for he would pull him through."
A few minutes' walk brought the parties on the broad galleries of the
house that contained the object of so much curiosity. The doors and
windows were closed, and a suspicious look was on everything.
"Do they always keep a house closed up this way that has a piano in it?"
asked Cash mysteriously.
"Certainly," replied Mercer: "the damp would destroy its tones."
Repeated knocks at the doors, and finally at the windows, satisfied both
Cash and Mercer that nobody was at home. In the midst of their
disappointment, Cash discovered a singular machine at the end of the
gallery, crossed by bars and rollers and surmounted with an enormous
crank. Cash approached it on tiptoe; he had a presentiment that he
beheld the object of his curiosity, and, as its intricate character
unfolded itself, he gazed with distended eyes, and asked Mercer, with
breathless anxiety, what that strange and incomprehensible box was.
Mercer turned to the thing as coolly as a north wind to an icicle, and
said, that was _it_.
"That _it_!" exclaimed Cash, opening his eyes still wider; and then,
recovering himself, he asked to see "the tone."
Mercer pointed to the cross-bars and rollers. With trembling hands, with
a resolution that would enable a man to be scalped without winking,
Cash reached out his hand and seized the handle of the crank (Cash, at
heart, was a brave and fearless man). He gave it a turn: the machinery
grated harshly, and seemed to clamor for something to be put in its maw.
"What delicious sounds!" said Cash.
"Beautiful!" observed the complacent Mercer, at the same time seizing
Cash's arm and asking him to desist, for fear of breaking the instrument
or getting it out of tune.
The simple caution was sufficient; and Cash, in the joy of the moment at
what he had done and seen, looked as conceited as Mo Mercer himself.
Busy indeed was Cash, from this time forward, in explaining to gaping
crowds the exact appearance of the piano, how he had actually taken hold
of it, and, as his friend Mo Mercer observed, "pulled music out of it."
The curiosity of the village was thus allayed, and consequently died
comparatively away,--Cash, however, having risen to almost as much
importance as Mo Mercer, for having seen and handled the thing.
Our "Northern family" knew little or nothing of all this excitement;
they received meanwhile the visits and congratulations of the hospitable
villagers, and resolved to give a grand party to return some of the
kindness they had received, and the piano was, for the first time, moved
into the parlor. No invitation on this occasion was neglected; early at
the post was every visitor, for it was rumored that Miss Patience
Doolittle would, in the course of the evening, "perform on the piano."
The excitement was immense. The supper was passed over with a contempt
rivaling that which is cast upon an excellent farce played preparatory
to a dull tragedy in which the star is to appear. The furniture was all
critically examined, but nothing could be discovered answering Cash's
description. An enormously thick-leafed table with a "spread" upon it
attracted little attention, timber being so very cheap in a new country,
and so everybody expected soon to see the piano "brought in."
Mercer, of course, was the hero of the evening: he talked much and
loudly. Cash, as well as several young ladies, went into hysterics at
his wit. Mercer, as the evening wore away, grew exceedingly conceited,
even for him; and he graciously asserted that the company present
reminded him of his two visits to the "Capitol," and other associations
equally exclusive and peculiar.
The evening wore on apace, and still no piano. That hope deferred which
maketh the heart sick was felt by some elderly ladies and by a few
younger ones; and Mercer was solicited to ask Miss Patience Doolittle to
favor the company with the presence of the piano.
"Certainly," said Mercer and with the grace of a city dandy he called
upon the lady to gratify all present with a little music, prefacing his
request with the remark that if she was fatigued "his friend Cash would
give the machine a turn."
Miss Patience smiled, and looked at Cash.
Cash's knees trembled.
All eyes in the room turned upon him.
Cash trembled all over.
Miss Patience said she was gratified to hear that Mr. Cash was a
musician; she admired people who had a musical taste. Whereupon Cash
fell into a chair, as he afterward observed, "chawed up."
Oh that Beau Brummel or any of his admirers could have seen Mo Mercer
all this while! Calm as a summer morning, complacent as a newly-painted
sign, he smiled and patronized, and was the only unexcited person in the
room.
Miss Patience rose. A sigh escaped from all present: the piano was
evidently to be brought in. She approached the thick-leafed table and
removed the covering, throwing it carelessly and gracefully aside,
opened the instrument, and presented the beautiful arrangement of dark
and white keys.
Mo Mercer at this, for the first time in his life, looked confused: he
was Cash's authority in his descriptions of the appearance of the piano;
while Cash himself began to recover the moment that he ceased to be an
object of attention. Many a whisper now ran through the room as to the
"tones," and more particularly the "crank"; none could see them.
Miss Patience took her seat, ran her fingers over a few octaves, and if
"Moses in Egypt" was not perfectly _executed_, Moses in Hardscrabble
_was_. The dulcet sound ceased. "Miss," said Cash, the moment that he
could express himself, so entranced was he by the music,--"Miss
Doolittle, what was the instrument Mo Mercer showed me in your gallery
once, it went by a crank and had rollers in it?"
It was now the time for Miss Patience to blush: so away went the blood
from confusion to her cheeks. She hesitated, stammered, and said, if Mr.
Cash must know, it was a-a-a-_Yankee washing-machine_.
The name grated on Mo Mercer's ears as if rusty nails had been thrust
into them; the heretofore invulnerable Mercer's knees trembled, the
sweat started to his brow, as he heard the taunting whispers of
"visiting the Capitol twice" and seeing pianos as plenty as woodchucks.
The fashionable vices of envy and maliciousness were that moment sown in
the village of Hardscrabble; and Mo Mercer, the great, the confident,
the happy and self-possessed, surprising as it may seem, was the first
victim sacrificed to their influence.
Time wore on, and pianos became common, and Mo Mercer less popular; and
he finally disappeared altogether, on the evening of the day on which a
Yankee peddler of notions sold to the highest bidder, "six patent,
warranted, and improved Mo Mercer pianos."