FILTHY LUCRE
In the town of X---- there is a street called Greek Street. It is a
circle, or crescent, of pretty houses, which at one time were erected
and peopled by Greek merchants. In the middle of the street stands a
church with a façade of marble and a splendid gilt tower, whose bells
are the most tuneful in the whole town. It is said that when those
bells were cast the Greeks threw, with both hands, silver coins into
the liquid metal.
Old Francis Csanta was now the last of the race. Once he had been a
jovial fellow, a careless, free liver, towards ladies a gallant
cavalier, among men a desperate gambler. With years he became silent,
moody, miserly, avoided the company of his fellow man or woman, and
was a hater of music and all pleasure. The more he indulged in
solitude the worse his peculiarities grew. So soon as one of his
former friends, or relations, or boon companions died, he bought the
house in which they had lived. By degrees the whole street belonged to
him; only one house remained, and that next door to his own. This had
been occupied by a connection of his who had left one daughter.
Strangely enough, she had not followed the general custom of celibacy,
but had married, and was the wife of a music-master, who enjoyed the
Magyar name of Belenyi. This pair had in due course a son born to
them, to whom they gave the name of Arpad.
This vexed old Csanta sorely. Why should the last remaining Greek girl
have married--above all, married a music-master? Why should there be a
son? Why should that son be baptized Arpad? And why should these
annoying circumstances take place under his very nose? The house, too,
was an offence; the only house in the street that did not belong to
him. The church was his; no one went in except himself; the clergyman
said mass for him only. He was the patron, the congregation, the
curator, the vestryman, the supporter; he filled every office; he was
everything. When he was dead the church would be closed, the grass
would grow upon the threshold.
The generation in the next house showed no sign of dying; the boy
Arpad was as lively as an eel. At the age of five he threw his ball
over the roof, and it fell into the old Greek's garden, who there and
then confiscated it. The lad gave him much more annoyance.
About this time evil days came to the country. The Hungarians and the
Austrians killed one another. The reason of their so doing is hard to
find. Historians of the present day say that it was all child's play,
and that the cause lay in the refusal of the Hungarian sepoys--who are
Mohammedans--to bite off cartridges which had been prepared with the
fat of swine--the German method. Or did this happen in India? Nowadays
it is all uncertain; mostly what is known about it comes through the
songs of the poets, and who believes them?
What interests us in this old story is that it has to do with Ivan
Behrend, and how he came to dwell in the Belenyi's house. It so
happened that he was one of the regiment who repulsed an assault on
the town, and in consequence he was billeted on the music-master and
his wife. He was well liked. He was young then, and had good spirits.
One day the poor musician, coming home through the streets, was struck
by a shell, and brought into his house dead. Such things happen
occasionally in time of war. Little Arpad was an orphan, and then it
was that Ivan adopted him as his son. A short time after this Ivan
laid down his arms and retired into private life. Why he did so, and
where he went, is quite immaterial. Before he went Ivan gave the widow
Belenyi all the gold he had with him, so that with this money Arpad's
musical education might be paid for. He did not care for the gold, and
he could not have employed it better. If he had taken it with him, who
knows into what worthless hands it would have fallen?
He hadn't been long gone when a Hungarian government official stood in
the market-place of X----, and, to the accompaniment of much drumming,
gave out the government order that all German bank-notes should be
brought to the great square, and there made into a funeral-pile and
set fire to. Any one refusing to obey this order should be dealt with
accordingly. Every one knew what this meant, and all who didn't wish
_to be dealt with_ hastened to bring their bank-notes, which were then
and there burned.
The widow Belenyi had her little savings, a few hundred gulden. What
should she do? It went hard with her to see her money thrown into the
fire. She went to her rich neighbor and besought him to help her, and
to change her money into Hungarian bank-notes. The old Greek at first
refused to listen, but by-and-by he relented and did as she wished. He
even did more, for after a week had passed he came to her and said:
"I will no longer keep the money which your father lent to me at the
rate of six per cent. Here it is for you--ten thousand gulden; take
it, and make what you can of it." As he spoke he paid her the whole
sum in Hungarian bank-notes.
A week later another commandant arrived in the town; this one was a
German. The next morning more drumming was heard in the market-place,
and the order was given that all who possessed Hungarian bank-notes
must give them up to have them burned. Those who refused would be shot
or hanged.
The poor widow ran weeping to her neighbor, and asked what she should
do. The whole sum he had given her lay in her drawer untouched. If it
were taken from her she and her child must beg or starve. Why had he
given her this money? Why had he changed her German notes if he knew
that this was going to happen?
"How could I know it?" shrieked Csanta; and, still screaming, he went
on to lament over himself. "If you are beggared, so am I--ten thousand
times more beggared than any one. I haven't a copper coin in the
house. I don't know how I can pay even for a bit of meat. I shall have
a hundred thousand bank-notes burned. I am ruined! I am a beggar!"
And he fell to cursing both Germans and Hungarians, until the widow
Belenyi implored him not to shriek so loud, else he would be heard,
and, God help us all! hanged.
"Let them hear, then! Let them hang me! I don't care. I shall go to
the market-place and tell them to their faces they are robbers, and if
they won't hang me I'll hang myself. I am only considering whether I
shall suspend myself from the pump-handle or from the steeple of the
tower."
The widow besought him, for Heaven's sake, not to do such a terrible
deed.
"And what's to become of me? Am I to go round with a hat and beg for a
penny? Here, these are my last halfpence."
He drew a few coins from his pocket, and began to weep piteously; his
tears flowed in streams. The poor woman tried her best to console him.
She begged him not to despair; the butcher and the baker knew him, and
would trust him. She was tempted to offer him a piece of twenty
groschen.
"Oh, you will soon see!" sobbed the old man. "Come to-morrow morning
early, and you will see me hanging from a hook in the passage. I
couldn't survive this!"
What could she do? The poor soul carried her Hungarian bank-notes to
the commander, and saw them consumed in the market-place.
Oh, it was a laughable joke! To this day when people talk of it their
eyes fill with tears.
For the widow, and many like her, there followed months and years of
grinding poverty. She had lost all the capital saved for her by her
father; there remained nothing but the house. The front rooms she let
as a shop, and in the back she lived and eked out her miserable income
as best she could.
For a long time she looked with a frightened gaze at her neighbor's
passage, expecting to see the old man hanging from an iron hook; but
she was spared this sight. The old man had no notion of ending his
days. He had certainly lost a few thousand gulden, but these were only
the chaff; the corn was safe. He had a secret hiding-place to which he
could have access by a secret passage underneath his house; the cellar
was, in fact, underneath the water. A mason from Vienna had built it
for him, and the people of the town knew nothing of it. The cellar was
full of casks, and every cask was full of silver; the old man's cellar
concealed a treasure. By means of secret machinery constructed in his
bedroom the owner was able by touching a spring to open a sluice
concealed in the bed of the stream, and thus in a few minutes to
submerge his cave. No robber could have penetrated there. All the gold
and silver pieces which came into Csanta's hand found their way to
this subterranean hiding-place, and never saw the light of day again.
Meantime his neighbor, the widow, suffered the grip of poverty; she
sewed her fingers to the bone to keep things together and to earn
their daily bread. The gold pieces Ivan had given she wouldn't have
touched even to save herself from starvation; they were used for the
purpose for which he gave them--for Arpad's musical education, and
musical instruction was so dear. The child was a genius.
But living grew dearer, work harder to get. The widow was forced to
get a loan upon the house; she asked her neighbor, and he gave it
readily. The loan grew and grew until it reached a good sum of money,
and then Csanta asked it back. Frau Belenyi was not able to refund,
and the old man instituted proceedings, and as he was the only
mortgagee he got it for one-quarter its real value. The amount over
and above the debt and the costs were handed to the widow, and there
was nothing left but to leave. Madame Belenyi took her son to Vienna,
to begin in earnest his artistic education.
The old Greek possessed the whole street; there was no one left to
annoy him in his immediate neighborhood; he suffered neither from
children, dogs, or birds. And his treasure increased more and more.
The casks which filled the cellar that lay beneath the water were
filled to overflowing, and the contents were always silver.
One day Csanta received a visit. It was an old acquaintance, a banker
from Vienna, whose father had been a friend of the old man's, and at
whose counting-house he could always get exchange for his bank-notes
and other little accommodations. The visitor was Felix Kaulmann.
"To what circumstance do I owe the honor? What good news do you bring
me?"
"My worthy friend, I shall not make any preamble. Time is precious to
you, as it is to me, and therefore I go straight to the point. By the
authorization of the Prince of Bondavara I have been placed at the
head of a joint-stock company, who have just started some gigantic
coal-works, whose capital has risen from ten millions to eight hundred
and twenty millions."
"That is eighty-two millions more than you would require."
"The money is the least part. What I stand in need of is well-known
men for the administration, for the result of the whole undertaking
rests upon the zeal, the capability, the intelligence of the governing
body."
"Well, such men are not difficult to find if there is a prospect of a
good dividend."
"The dividend is not to be despised. The bonus to each member of the
administration will be, yearly, five or six thousand gulden."
"Really? What a nice income!--a stroke of luck for those who are
chosen."
"Well, I have chosen you for a member, my worthy friend."
"An honor, a great honor for me; but how much must I put down before I
am admitted?"
"Neither before nor after shall you be asked to put down anything. The
only condition is that every member of the administration must hold
one thousand shares."
"That means paying in a deal of money, my young friend."
"I didn't say a word of paying in; I only spoke of holding."
"But, my young friend, although I am only a provincial merchant in a
small way, I know that, so far as money is in question, to subscribe
is another word for payment."
"With this exception--if both subscriptions equalize one another. Ah,
I see you do not like even a question of subscribing. Well, listen. We
will suppose that you take one thousand shares in my coal company, and
at the same time I give you an undertaking to take over one thousand
shares at par from _you_; in this way we are even, and neither of us
loses a shilling."
"Hem! But what is the necessity for such a joke?"
"I will be frank with you. The world has its eyes fixed upon the
actions of important men; if these stir in any affair, the others stir
likewise. If on 'change it is known that you, my worthy friend, have
bought a thousand shares, a hundred small speculators will immediately
invest in shares. In this way you secure to yourself a sinecure which
will give you five or six thousand gulden, and I will secure for my
undertaking a splendid future. Now, have I not spoken the truth?"
"H'm! I will consider the affair. Meet me to-morrow at the
restaurant."
Csanta spent all the morning in the restaurant; he listened to all
that was said of the Bondavara speculation, and came to the conclusion
that he would risk nothing, since all danger was covered by Kaulmann's
bond. When Felix arrived he had made up his mind.
"Good! I shall draw the shares; but none of them shall hang round my
neck, for I don't like paper. Paper is only paper, and silver is
always silver."
"Don't be afraid, my friend, I shall retain all shares for myself. I
deposit the caution for you, and I pay the instalments."
Felix completely satisfied the old Greek as to his upright intentions
in the matter of the shares, and left in his hands the undertaking in
which he pledged himself to take them over at par.
Now began the manoeuvre behind the scenes. The agents, the makers of
books, the brokers rushed in; the Bondavara shares rose rapidly. The
syndicate had, all this time, never given a share into any one's hand.
The bears had not yet begun to dance. Herr Csanta had become a student
of the newspapers. True, his eyes never left one column, but that
contained for him the tree of all knowledge; it spoke golden truth.
With amazement he read how every day the value of the Bondavara shares
increased. The profit grew higher and higher; it went up in leaps and
bounds; sixteen, eighteen, at last twenty gulden over par. Those who
had put down two hundred thousand gulden had won in two weeks twenty
thousand gulden. A splendid speculation, indeed, in less than a
fortnight to make a fortune! Compare the case of an honest,
hard-working usurer like himself. What difficulties he had to go
through to extract twenty per cent. out of his miserable clients! The
work was hardly worth the gain; the fatigue of trapping some silly
idiot, the odium and hatred incurred by exacting his rights from some
miserable beggar with a family, or taking the pillow from under the
head of a dying man; these things go against the grain, but they must
be done if you want to fill your cellar with silver coins. And here a
wretched, good-for-nothing speculator, by merely a stroke of the pen,
makes in two short weeks a fortune. Luck is not evenly meted out to
mortals.
The time had come when Felix Kaulmann could demand from Csanta the
thousand shares upon which he could now make a profit of twenty
thousand gulden. No honest man could allow such an iniquitous robbery
of his rights, or, at least, not without making a struggle. It is only
a fool who allows himself to be made a tool of. A man may steal for
himself; to rob the widow and the orphan to fill another man's purse,
that is wicked and immoral.
When Felix Kaulmann came again to the town of X----, the old Greek
received him with great ceremony and seeming cordiality.
"I hope you bring good news, my dear young friend," he said, clasping
Kaulmann's hand in his.
"I have come about that little business of the shares," returned
Felix, with the air of a man of business. "You remember our
agreement?"
"What shares do you mean? Oh, the Bondavara! Is it pressing?"
"Yes, for the first instalment of interest is now due; two gulden each
bond, which, as the shares are in my name, will make an addition to my
savings."
"Oh, so you intend to call in the shares?"
"But that was our agreement."
"And if I do not wish to surrender more than five hundred?"
Kaulmann drew in his lips. "Well, I suppose I should be content."
"And if I do not wish to surrender any of the shares?"
Kaulmann looked at him uneasily. "Sir," he said, "I thought I was
dealing with an honest man. Besides, you forget I gave you a written
agreement."
"My friend, my good young friend, that is true. You gave me a written
agreement signed with your name, which covenanted that you were
obliged to take these shares from me at par; but I gave you no signed
document, and there is nothing that can force me to hand you over
these shares. There you have the whole thing in a nutshell."
"But, my good sir," repeated the banker, taking hold of the lapels of
the old Greek's coat, "listen to me. Don't you know that it is one of
the laws in the Chamber of Commerce that there is no need of written
indenture? If I take shares from you I have only to make a note in my
pocket-book. Surely you know that this is the law on 'change?"
"What do I know of the laws they make there? I never set my foot in
the place."
Kaulmann made an effort to laugh. "I must confess I have never been so
sold by any one. I have found my master. Will you give me none of the
shares?"
"Not half a one."
"Very good. Then you must count out the sum-total agreed upon."
"Certainly. I shall pay down the money."
"I mean the whole sum. Do you understand?"
"Undoubtedly. Don't be afraid; the money is ready; this house is bail
for more than that amount. If needs be I can pay you in gold, if needs
be in silver."
"Well," cried Kaulmann, bringing his clinched fist down on the table,
"I would never have believed that in this little town I should have
been so sold."
Csanta suspected that were he to fail in paying his first instalment
his shares might be annulled. He therefore lost no time in placing the
first thirty-five per cent. into the bank. But this was not an easy
task. To transport seventy thousand silver gulden to Vienna would
necessitate a conveyance, and not only a conveyance, but an escort of
gendarmes, and this paraphernalia would make people stare. Well, let
them stare!
When the old man descended into his cellar and looked at the casks
which contained the necessary sum, his heart beat, his limbs trembled.
These casks contained the treasure he had garnered up; his solid
capital. It was foolish, he knew, still he could not help tears coming
to his eyes as he chose seven casks from the twenty which should be
the first to go. He wept as he spoke to these children of his heart.
"You shall have no cause to reproach me, you who remain here," he
said; "those that are now leaving you shall soon return. They are
going on a safe journey, not on a wild, venturous sea, where there
would be danger of shipwreck, but on a safe railroad, to increase and
multiply. Once I have the shares in my hand, they shall not stay a
night in my possession. I shall sell them at once, and get back my
silver. The profits, too, I shall change into silver. Instead of seven
casks I shall return with nine."
In this way did the old Greek miser comfort himself for the temporary
loss of his silver pieces. He counted them that night when the day's
work was done, and then set about arranging the transport of his
treasure to Vienna.
The day before Csanta had decided upon this step the "bears" had begun
to explode their mine. It was, however, only a trial; they wanted
merely to show their teeth. Specie was in demand; if silver goes up,
paper securities fall. The seven casks from Csanta's cellar arrived
opportunely. Two wagons laden with leaden casks, and guarded by
gendarmes with drawn sabres as they went slowly through the streets,
attracted the attention of passers-by. When it came to be known that
these casks were full of silver, and that all this silver was to be
paid as the first instalment of some Bondavara shares, there was
considerable excitement. Peru and Brazil were opening their
floodgates. The firm of Kaulmann very naturally made as much as
possible of the event, as being a feather in their commercial cap. The
delivery arrived, as it happened, during the absence of the chief
cashier, which involved an immense amount of running hither and
thither in search of him, as it was necessary Csanta should receive
his receipt. In the afternoon the shares were handed over and the
silver was counted. All this made much stir and business in the
Kaulmann Bank. Kaulmann intrusted the conduct of the affair to his
most capable clerk. He instructed him how to act in regard to the
matter, and added that if the old Greek gave him a gratuity, he was to
kiss his hand, and to place himself altogether at his service. This
man's name was Spitzhase.
Later in the day Spitzhase brought Csanta his account, regularly drawn
up, together with the shares, and begged to inform his excellency
"that he had brought seven hundred gulden more than was necessary, for
the reason that since yesterday silver had risen one per cent."
"H'm!" thought Csanta, "this is an honest fellow; I shall give him a
gratuity." And he gave him a bank-note of twenty gulden.
Spitzhase overpowered him with thanks; then took his hand, and kissed
it.
"H'm!" thought Csanta, "I have given him too much; perhaps five gulden
would have been sufficient." Aloud, he said:
"I made a mistake. Give me that note back; I will give you another."
And he gave him a bank-note of the value of five gulden.
Spitzhase thanked him warmly, and kissed his hand.
"H'm! this is really a good fellow--quite after my heart. Give me back
those five gulden; here is another note. I made a mistake." And he
handed him a note of fifty gulden.
Spitzhase kissed both his hands, and showered blessings upon him.
Csanta was now convinced that he had made this man his friend for
life.
"If I had brought the silver to-morrow, I should have got more," he
said, reflectively.
"No, you may believe me, to-day was the right moment; to-morrow silver
will fall two per cent."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, I am acquainted with the weather on the stock-exchange."
"You are? Then why don't you speculate if you know so well the ins and
outs?"
"Because one must have money, and I have none. I can only dabble in
trifling matters."
"Are you well known on 'change?"
"I spend all my time there, except when I am asleep."
"Then take me to the stock-exchange. I should like to look about me."
Csanta meant, as soon as he could find a suitable purchaser, to sell
his Bondavara shares.
"One can go in the evening?" he asked, as they went along.
"That is the most lively time, particularly on a day like this."
Csanta was now introduced into the Temple of Mammon. Even outside the
door he could hear a strange noise and tumult of voices, and as he
stepped inside his head almost reeled at the strange spectacle. The
large hall was stuffed full of men, who circulated in a narrow circle.
Each one spoke, or rather shrieked, as if all were quarrelling. They
gesticulated with their hands, holding up pieces of paper in the air,
making signs and figures on their fingers, and screaming out names and
making offers until the noise was deafening.
Spitzhase, who was perfectly at home, led Csanta through the throng.
The old merchant was indignant at the manner in which he was pushed
and driven about, no one even begging pardon for his rudeness. He
would have liked to know what was meant by the words so constantly
repeated, "I give!" "I take!" His attention, however, was at once
riveted by another word which seemed to be in every man's mouth, and
which gradually became plainer: "Puntafar! Puntafar!" It dawned upon
him that it must be Bondavar. He stopped and timidly asked one of
those who were shrieking, "Who wants 'Puntafar'? What is the price at
which the Bondavara shares are selling?"
"Thirty over par."
Csanta's eyes blazed. "It is impossible; it cannot be!" he said.
"Yesterday they were at twenty."
"That was yesterday. To-day they are thirty. If you want to buy to
morrow you will have to pay thirty-five. The whole world is buying
the scrip. A rich nabob from India has brought all his silver here,
and bought Puntafar shares. The Dey of Morocco and a Russian prince,
who both own silver mines, have each ordered ten thousand shares. Even
the little folk, who have only a few hundreds, are tearing the shares
out of one another's hands; they won't have anything but Puntafar.
What will you take?"
Csanta had very little idea that he united in his own person the East
Indian nabob, the Dey of Morocco, and the Russian prince, as likewise
that it was he who had caused this uproar. Far from such an idea
crossing his mind, he believed that this man was making game of him.
"Oh, sir," he said, "thirty gulden exchange is too much. I can give
you a thousand Bondavara shares at five-and-twenty."
These words caused such a tumult as hardly ever had been heard on
'change. Every one crowded round Csanta; he was set upon from all
sides--behind, before, at his side, on his back--he was fairly mobbed.
People fought with one another over his head, and flourished their
fists in his face.
"Who is he? Who is he? A bear, a conspirator, a thief, an agent! Out
with him! Bonnet him! Pitch him out! Twenty-five, will he take? Give
him twenty-five blows on his back and tear his coat in pieces!"
Spitzhase could hardly manage to get him out. He was in a deplorable
condition when he issued forth, his hat smashed, his clothes all awry,
his face pale, his breath short. Once in the open air his rescuer
began to scold him.
"What the devil did you do that for? Just at the moment when the cabal
was silenced and trampled in the dust, to come forward as one of them
to run down your own shares!"
"I did not want to run them down; I only wanted to ascertain if it was
really the case that such an advance on the price could be realized."
"Oh, that's the way with you," returned Spitzhase, in an aggrieved
tone. "Well, I can tell you the exchange is not a good place to try
jokes in. It was all quite authentic. The Bondavara scrip is as sound
as ready-money. To-day it is thirty for scrip, eight-and-twenty for
gold; to-morrow it will be thirty-two, and so on--always getting
higher. If I had the money I would put in my last farthing. I know
what I know, and I have studied the weather on 'change, but what I
have learned from Kaulmann I cannot tell; my lips are sealed."
Upon this Csanta pressed the clerk very hard. "You can tell me," he
said; "I am already in the boat. What have you heard?"
"Well," said Spitzhase, lowering his voice and looking round
cautiously, "what you say is true; you are a large holder of stock, so
perhaps I may give you this hint. _Puntafar has not reached its
highest point yet._ Oho! they are very tricky who hold over. I am in
the secret, and there is a plan, the details of which I durst not
reveal, which will give such an impulse as will drive the shares still
higher. In six months one impulse will be given, in another six months
another. Oh, the world will open its eyes and its ears; but what I say
to you, you will see! In a year's time Puntafar will be at one hundred
over par."
"A hundred!" repeated Csanta, falling back against the wall in his
astonishment. But he soon recovered himself. He was angry with
Spitzhase for treating him as if he were a fool.
"I tell you what you are," he said; "you are a great boaster. Leave
me; I shall get home by myself." And he dismissed Spitzhase angrily.
The next morning his first word was to ask the waiter for the papers.
His eyes eagerly sought the exchange column, and there, just as
Spitzhase had prophesied, silver currency had dropped two per cent.
Bondavara stood at thirty to thirty-two florins, and what is written
is gospel truth.
"Not one shall I sell!" cried Csanta, clapping his hands.
And then he got up and dressed himself. Here was a stroke of luck. It
was like a fairy-tale; a man had only to leave the window open at
night and next morning his pockets are full of gold.
He was swallowing his breakfast when Spitzhase was ushered in, his
face beaming with triumph.
"Now, what did I tell you?" he cried, as he laid down the paper before
Csanta, pointing with his finger to the exchange column.
The old Greek said not a word of having read the good news; he nodded
his head as he answered, with great composure:
"Is it really true? Well, that is satisfactory."
"I rather think so; by the evening they will be up to thirty-two. Oh,
if I had only some money!"
"Well, here is another note for you. Go and buy yourself a share.
There, don't kiss my hand. I cannot allow it." But he did allow it.
"Don't sell the share," he went on; "keep it for yourself. When the
next instalment comes due I will pay it for you. For God's sake, don't
kiss my hand again! I will do more than that for you. If you kiss my
hand every time I shall have no hands left. Remember that I shall
expect you to show your gratitude in a more tangible manner. You must
let me know the first thing if the head of your bank is going to try
any tricks with the bonds. You will be sure to give me the first news
as to when I should sell. Do you understand me? Good! Now that you
have a share yourself you have an interest in the matter, and if we
sell our shares are we not entitled to a commission?"
Spitzhase kissed every finger of the old man's hand.
"I implore one thing of you, master," he said; "don't betray me to
Kaulmann. If he found out that I betrayed his secrets to any one he
would dismiss me on the spot."
"Don't be afraid. You have to do with an honorable gentleman,"
returned the Greek, with an air of dignity.
The honorable gentleman believed that he had won over the honest clerk
to betray the secrets of the honorable banker, his employer. It was an
honorable game all round. We shall see which of the honorable
gentlemen played it best.