It takes a great deal of boldness, mixed with a vast deal of
caution, to acquire a great fortune; but then it takes ten times as
much wit to keep it after you have got it as it took to make it.
--_Mayer A. Rothschild_
[Illustration: MAYER A. ROTHSCHILD]
That the Jews are a joyous people and find much sweet solace in their
sorrowful religion is proven by one fact too obvious to be
overlooked--they reproduce.
Children are born of love and joy. The sorrows of Jewry are more
apparent than real. After every Black Fast, when the congregations used
to sit shoeless on the stone floors of the synagogues, weeping and
wailing on account of the destruction of Jerusalem, the youngsters, and
the grown-ups as well, were counting the hours before the Feast of
Pentecost would begin.
The sorrow over the loss of things destroyed a thousand years or so ago
is reduced by the lapse of years to rather a pleasant emotional
exercise.
Fasts were followed by feasts, also pro and con, as Mrs. Malaprop would
say; so that in the home of an orthodox Jewish family there was always
something doing. Fasts, feasts, flowers, sweetmeats, lights, candles,
little journeys, visits, calls, dances, prayers, responses, wails, cries
of exultation, shouts of triumph--"Rejoicing of the Law"--these
prevented monotony, stagnation and introspection.
And these are the things which have pressed their influences upon the
Jew until the fume and reek of the Ghetto, the bubble and squeak of the
rabble, and the babble of bazaars are more acceptable to him than the
breeze blowing across silent mesa and prairie, or the low, moaning
lullaby of lonely pine-forests.
The Jew is no hermit--if anything is going on, he is literally and
poetically in it.
The sense of separation is hell. If continued it becomes insanity. The
sense of separation is a thing that seldom presses upon the Jew, and
this is why insanity passes him by and seeks a Christian as a victim.
The Jew has an animating purpose that is a saving salt, even if this
purpose is not always an ideal one. His family, friends, clan, tribe,
are close about him.
Zangwill, himself a child of the Ghetto, comes to the rescue of the
despised and misunderstood Christian, and expresses a doubt as to
whether the Ghetto was not devised by Jews in order to keep Christians
at a safe and discreet distance.
For certain it is that the wall which shut the Jews in, shut the
Christians out. The contempt of the Christian for the Jew is fully
reciprocated. One-sided hate does not endure any more than does a
one-sided love.
The first Ghetto was at Venice. It came into being during the Italian
Renaissance, say about Fourteen Hundred Fifty. The Jews had settled in
one corner of the city, as they always have done, and are still prone to
do. They had their own shops, stores, bazaars, booths, schools and
synagogues. There they were packed, busied with their own affairs,
jostling, quibbling, arguing, praying, taking no interest in the social
life outside. Jehovah led them out of captivity in order that He might
make them slaves to Himself. He surely was a jealous God!
Of course, they traded with Christians, bought, sold, ran, walked with
them, but did not dine with Christians nor pray with them. There were
Jewish architects, painters, printers, lawyers, doctors, bankers, and
many of the richest and most practical men in Venice were Jews.
They made money out of the Christians, and no doubt helped the
Christians to make money, for, as I have said, things not founded on
reciprocity do not last long.
One fact that looks like corroborating proof of Zangwill's pleasantry is
that upon one of the Ghetto gates was a marble slab, warning all Jews
that if any of them turned Christian he would never be allowed again to
live in the Ghetto, nor would he be saluted or spoken to if he returned,
nor so much as be given a cup of water, but that the cord, scourge,
gallows, prison and pillory should be his portion.
It was a curse almost like that cheerful one visited upon Spinoza, the
lens-maker, when he forsook the synagogue and took up his home with the
Mennonites.
Children born and brought up in the Ghetto always felt a certain pity
for those who were obliged to live beyond the gates, in the great,
selfish, grasping, wicked world. Those inside the Ghetto were the
Chosen People of God; those outside were the Children of the Devil.
No matter who built the wall, it is a fact that the Government of
Venice, which was Christian and under the immediate jurisdiction of the
Church, kept guards at the gates and allowed no Jew to leave after a
certain early hour of the evening, nor on Sundays or holidays, or when
the Emperor visited the city. The only exception to this was on Holy
Cross Day, which occurred once a year. On this day all adult Jews were
ordered out and marched by the soldiers to some Christian Church, where
they were compelled to listen to the service and repeat the Apostles'
Creed. Robert Browning says that they were rounded up all right, but
when it came to saying the Creed they twiddled their thumbs and said Ben
Ezra's Prayer. It is also quite probable that they crossed their
fingers, for the Jews are a stubborn sort, given to contumacy and
contravention.
On all other days, any Jew who went out into the city had to wear a big
yellow O on his breast, and a yellow hat on his head. The Jewish women
wore the O and also a veil across which were yellow stripes.
These chromatic signs were changed a few times in the course of the
three hundred years that the Ghetto existed, and so were the hours in
which the Jews were allowed to come and go, but five o'clock in the
evening and seven in the morning were the regular closing and opening
times. The watchmen at the gates and the guards who rowed round and
round in their barcas were paid out of a special tax collected from the
Jews. It was argued that it was all a sort of beneficent police
protection, devised by kindly persons who loved their enemies, and did
good to those who despitefully used them.
The man who can not make a good argument for the Ghetto lacks
imagination.
Gibbon, who was a deist or monotheist and really liked the Jews,
intimates that it was lucky for the Christians that Constantine didn't
embrace Judaism instead of Christianity, for, if he had, the Jews would
have treated the Christians exactly as the Christians have since treated
the Jews. Of course, nobody claims that Christianity is the religion of
Christ--it is the religious rule of pagan Rome, with the Jewish Christ
as a convenient label. Just why Christians should worship a Jew, and
pray to a Jewess, and yet despise Jews, is a matter so subtle that it
has never been explained. Gibbon in this connection says at least one
irrefutable thing, and that is, that the Jewish people are men and
women. Christians are men and women, also. All are human beings, and it
is quite likely that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the
strong, but time and chance happeneth to them all.
I am not sure that Gibbon is right when he says that the Christians were
lucky in that Constantine did not turn Jew. To be persecuted is not
wholly a calamity, but to persecute is to do that for which Nature
affords no compensation. The persecutor dies, but the persecuted lives
on forever.
The struggle for existence which the Jew has had to make is the thing
that has differentiated him and made him strong. Those first
Christians--Primitive Christians--who lived from the time of Paul to
that of Constantine, were a simple, direct, sincere and honest
people--opinionated no doubt, and obstinately dogmatic, but with virtues
that can never be omitted nor waived. They were economical, industrious
and filled with the spirit of brotherhood, and they possessed a fine
pride concerning their humility, as most ascetics do. Humility is a form
of energy. It is simply going after the thing by another route, and
deceiving yourself as to the motive.
The Primitive Christians had every characteristic that distinguished the
Jew of the Middle Ages--those characteristics which invite persecution
and wax strong under it.
Poverty and persecution seem necessary factors in fixing upon a people a
distinctive and peculiar religion. Persecution and poverty have no power
to stamp out a religion--all they do is to stain it deeper into the
hearts of its votaries. Centuries of starvation and repression deepened
the religious impulses of the Irish, and it has ever been the same with
the Jews.
If the Jew is criticized in America, it is on account of that buttinski
bumptiousness upon which he has no monopoly, but which goes with the
newly-made rich of any nationality who have little to recommend them
beyond the walletoski.
There are no poor Jews natives of America, and it is worth while noting
that our richest citizens are not Jews, either. American-born Jews have
enough. The poverty-stricken Jews in this country come from Russia,
Bulgaria and Roumania; and their children will have money to loan, if
not to incinerate, because they possess the virtues that beckon all good
things in their direction.
America is the true Judaic Zion. Here there are nearly two million Jews,
and their religion is fast taking the form of a healthful Roycroftism.
The downfall of primitive Christianity dates from the day Constantine
embraced it, and thereby made it popular. Prosperity is a form of
disintegration--a ripening of the fruit. Things succeed only that they
may wither. The business of every great religion is to die, and thus
fertilize others. The Jew has survived every foe save success.
Civilization is now adopting him, and Liberal Judaism is fast becoming a
Universal Religion, taught in fact, if not in name, by priests,
preachers and muftis of all denominations. The end of the Jew is
near--he has ceased to be peculiar.
* * * * *
Wolfgang Goethe was born in the city of Frankfort in Seventeen Hundred
Forty-nine. Goethe gives us a very vivid description of Frankfort as he
remembered it in his childhood days. He describes it as a town within a
town, a fortress within a fortress. Then he tells us of a walled
enclosure in this walled city, which was to him a very terrible
place--it was the Ghetto, or Jews' Quarter. Through it ran the
Judengasse, or street of the Jews. It was a place packed with human
beings--houses, hallways, alleys, sidewalks and porches swarming with
children. Goethe tells how he at times would peep through the iron gates
of the Ghetto, but as a child he never ventured in. The children told
one another how human sacrifices were offered in the synagogues, and as
proof, pictures of Abraham and Isaac were brought forth--that proved the
point. There were plenty of men in the Ghetto who looked exactly like
Abraham--goodness gracious! In this Ghetto at Frankfort was born, in
Seventeen Hundred Forty-three, Mayer Anselm, afterward Mayer Anselm
Rothschild. When Goethe took his peep into the Ghetto, this lad was
about twelve years old--Goethe was six. Forty years later these men were
to meet, and meet as equals. The father of Mayer Anselm was Anselm
Moses. He could not boast a surname, for Jews, not being legal citizens,
simply aliens, had no use for family-names. If they occasionally took
them on, the reigning duke might deprive them of the luxury at any
time, without anesthetics.
If a man had two names, say, "Anselm Moses," it meant that his name was
Anselm and that he was the son of Moses. Mayer Anselm was the son of
Anselm. Rothschild means "Red Shield," and this was the distinguishing
sign on the house. All the people in that house were "Red Shields." The
house was seven stories high, and at one time a hundred people lived in
it.
Later, when the name became popular, all of the people in that house
called themselves "Rothschilds." In Goethe's time, there were just one
hundred sixty houses in the Frankfort Ghetto, and these were occupied by
two thousand three hundred Jews.
Goethe says that the practise of walling the Jews in was to facilitate
taxation--the Jews being honored by an assessment quite double that
which Christians paid. At one time any Jew who paid two hundred fifty
florins was exempt from wearing a yellow hat and the yellow O on his
breast.
Many private houses, everywhere, have walls around them, and the plan of
dividing different nationalities from each other, by setting apart a
certain section of the town for each, was a matter of natural selection,
everywhere practised. Mayer Anselm grew up with never a thought that he
belonged to a "peculiar people," nor did the idea of persecution ever
trouble him. The only peculiar people are those who do not act and
think as we do. Who are peculiar? Oh, the others, the others, the
others.
There was a big family for Anselm Moses to look after. All were hearty
and healthy. The Mosaic Law says nothing about ventilation, but outside
of this little lapse it is based on a very commonsense plan of hygiene.
One thing which adds greatly to the physical endowment of Jewish
children, and almost makes up to the child of the Ghetto for the lack of
woods and fields, is that he is not launched on the sea of life with a
limited supply of love. Jewish children do not refer to their father as
"the Gov'ner," and elderly women as "Salem Witches," because the Jews as
a people recognize the rights of the child.
And the first right of a child is the right to be loved.
In the average Christian household, until a very few years ago, the
child grew up with the feeling constantly pressed upon him that he was a
usurper and an interloper. Such questions as, "Where would you get
anything to eat if I did not provide it?" were everywhere flying at the
heads of lisping babyhood. The words "must" and "shall" were often
heard, and that obedience was a privilege and not a duty was nowhere
taught. All parents quoted Solomon as to the beauties of the rod; and
that all children were perverse, obstinate and stiff-necked was assumed
to be a fact. To break the will of a child was a very essential thing to
do.
The lack of the spirit of brotherhood that the Jew has encountered from
the outside world has found a balance in an increased expression of love
within his family. That most atrocious English plan of taking the child
from his parents at a tender age and placing him in a boarding-school
managed by holluschickies has never been adopted by the Jews.
Fear, repression and shock to vibrating nerves through threats,
injunctions and beatings have fixed in the Christian races a whole round
of "children's diseases," which in our ignorance we attribute to "the
will of God."
Let this fact be stated, that old folks who are sent over the hill to
the poorhouse have invited their fate. And conversely, elderly people
who are treated with courtesy, consideration, kindness and respect are
those who, in manhood's morning, have sown the seeds of love and
kindness. Water rises to the height of its source; results follow
causes; chickens come home to roost; action and reaction are equal;
forces set in motion continue indefinitely in one direction. The laws of
love are as exact as the laws of the tides that moan and cry and beat
upon the shores, the round world over. A family of ten children born and
reared in a noisome Ghetto, and all strong and healthy? Impossible, you
say, yet such is the fact, and not a rare exception either. Happiness is
the great prophylactic, and nothing is so sanitary as love, even though
it be flavored with garlic.
* * * * *
The father of Mayer Anselm was a traveling merchant--call him a pedler,
a Jewish pedler, and have done with it. He made trips outside of the
Ghetto, and used to come back with interesting tales of adventure that
he would relate to the household and neighbors who would drop in.
Not many Jews ventured outside of the Ghetto--to do so was to invite
insult, robbery and violence. However, to get out is to grow. This man
traded safety for experience and so got out and grew. He evidently knew
how to take care of himself. He was courageous, courteous, intelligent,
diplomatic. He made money. And always he wore the yellow hat and the
yellow patch upon his breast.
In the "Red Shield" there was usually at least one Rabbi. One of the
sons of Anselm Moses must be a Rabbi. The parents of little Mayer Anselm
set him apart for the synagogue--he was so clever at reciting prayers
and so glib with responses. Then he had an eczema for management, and
took charge of all the games when the children played Hebrew I-Spy
through the hallways and dark corners of the big, rambling and
mysterious "Red Shield."
Little Mayer must have been nine years old when his father first took
him along on one of his trips. It was a wonderful event--they were gone
three days, and when they returned the boy entertained the whole
Judengasse with tales, slightly hand-illumined, about the wonderful
things they had seen.
One thing he learned, and that was that Christians were not the drunken,
fighting, treacherous and bloodthirsty people he had supposed--at least,
they were not all bad. Not once were they insulted or molested.
They had called at the great house or castle of the Landgrave to sell
handkerchiefs, combs and beads to the servants, and accidentally they
had met the Landlord, himself. He it was who owned the "Red Shield." The
agent of the Landgrave came every month to collect the rent from
everybody. That word "Landgrave" simply meant "Landlord," a term still
used even in America, where there are, of course, no Lords, only
"ramrods."
The Landgrave had invited Anselm Moses into his library to see his
wonderful collection of coins, and Mayer Anselm, of course, slipped in,
too. To describe the wonders of that house would take a book as big as
the Torah--I think so!
The Landgrave had a son, aged eleven, going on twelve, and his name was
William. He wasn't so big as Mayer, and Mayer wouldn't be so old as
William for a year, and even then he wouldn't.
Children know nothing of social caste. Caste is a disease of grown-ups.
It is caused by uric acid in the ego. Children meet as equals--they
respond naturally without so much as a thought as to whether they ought
to love one another or not.
William got acquainted with Mayer by holding up a big speckled marble,
and then in a burst of good-fellowship giving the marble to the little
stranger boy, all before a word had been said. Then while the Landgrave
was showing his treasures to Anselm who himself was a collector in a
small way, the boys slipped out of the door, and William took Mayer to
see the stables. "What's it for?" asked William, pointing to the yellow
patch sewed tight to the breast of Mayer's jacket. "That?" answered
Mayer proudly, "why, that means that I am a Jew, and I live in the
Ghetto!" William gave a little start of alarm. He looked at the other
lad, so brown and sturdy and frankly open-eyed, and said slowly, "You
can't be a Jew, because--because Jews eat children!"
"I'm a Jew--my father is a Jew--all our folks are Jews--the Jews are the
Chosen People of God!" Little Mayer spoke slowly and with feeling.
"The Chosen People of God?" echoed William.
"Yes!"
They saw the horses, and Mayer looked at them with wondering eyes. There
were no horses in the Ghetto--just pushcarts and wheelbarrows. William
had been lame--hip disease, or something, and so had never been away
down to the city, except with a nurse, or in a carriage with his tutor.
The boys entered the house and the Landgrave was still explaining to
Anselm Moses how all coins made by the Assyrians were modeled by hand,
not stamped out with a die, as was done by the Greeks.
The boys hadn't been missed. "Can't I have one of those to wear on my
coat, too?" asked William, pulling at his father's sleeve, and pointing
to the yellow patch on Mayer's jacket.
"One of what, my son?" asked the Landgrave seriously.
"One of those yellow medals!"
The Landgrave looked at Mayer's yellow patch, and then involuntarily at
the badge worn by the boy's father.
The Landgrave's fine face flushed scarlet. His gaze met the steady,
manly look of Anselm Moses.
They understood each other. No one was near, save the two boys. They met
as equals, as men meet on the plain or desert. "It's all a mistake--a
foolish mistake, Anselm, and some day we will outgrow it. A man's a
man!"
He held out his hand. The Jew grasped it firmly and both men smiled--the
smile of friendship and understanding.
As the Jew and his son started to go, the Landgrave gave little Mayer a
big copper penny, and asked him to come back some day and play with
William.
And Anselm Moses, the Jew, took up his pack that he had left at the
servants' quarters, and holding the hand of little Mayer Anselm, they
walked out of the castle yard, down among the winding trees to the
road.
* * * * *
Mayer Anselm took to his father's business as a bird takes to the air.
From selling trinkets he began dealing in jewelry, old coins,
curiosities and paintings. He picked his customers, and knew the
weaknesses of each--certain things were bought for certain people.
The idea of becoming a Rabbi was abandoned--he wanted temporal power,
not spiritual. Money to the intelligent Jew is the symbol of power--of
independence. There may be men who love the money itself, but surely
this man didn't. He was daring in its use--he had the courage to take
risks. His was a quest for power.
When about twenty, he traveled as far as Hanover to visit a kinsman, and
there he served for several months in a bank. He had a mind like those
Japanese who travel to absorb, and waste no time in battling error.
Returning to Frankfort he transformed his father's little store into a
bank and filled the window with real money, to the great delight and
astonishment of the neighbors. From Hanover he brought a collection of
rare coins. The business his father had established gradually took on a
cosmopolitan look. The house of the Red Shield became a sort of center
of trade for the whole Judengasse.
And all the time the friendship with the Landgrave and his son had
continued. Commissions were given to Mayer to buy certain coins and
pictures. Finally he was entrusted to collect the rents of the Red
Shield. He did this so thoroughly and well, and was so prompt in his
reports, that he was finally named as custodian of the property. Other
property was given to him to look after.
Jews came to him for advice, and Christians counseled with him as to
loans.
He became known as the "Honest Jew," which title, we hope, carried with
it no reflection on his co-religionists. There are men--a very, very
few--who are thus honored with the title of "Honest John." Gamblers can
be recalled whose word was worth more than their bond. There are
horsemen--gamblers, too, if you please--who have little respect for the
moral code, but who never prove false to a trust.
Mayer Anselm had the coolness and the courage of a good gambler--in
business he surely was ever ready to back his opinion. He would pay five
hundred thalers for a jewel, give the man his price and pocket the gem
silently, while the hagglers and quibblers were screwing up their
courage to offer a hundred for it. But here was the difference--Mayer
Anselm knew what he was going to do with the jewel. He had a customer in
mind. He knew the customer, he knew the jewel, and he knew his own mind.
The Landgrave grew to lean on Mayer Anselm of the Red Shield. He made
him "Court Jew," or official treasurer of the principality. This carried
with it "the freedom of the city," and being a free man--no longer
technically a Jew--he had a name, and the name he chose was
"Rothschild," or the Red Shield, Mayer Anselm Rothschild.
He no longer wore the yellow badge of a despised race. Yet he refused to
leave the Ghetto. The House of the Red Shield was his birthplace--here
his parents had lived and died, here would he live and die. He was still
a Jew, earnest and zealous in keeping the Law, the "President" or head
of the synagogue.
He was happily married to Letizia--she had no other name--and babies
were coming along with astonishing regularity.
To him and his good wife were born five sons and five daughters. The Red
Shield was now his own property, he having purchased the freehold--a
thing he could not do until he had attained "the freedom of the city."
Then we get the rather curious condition of Mayer Anselm supervising the
municipal affairs of the whole city; and his sons, grown to manhood,
still wearing the yellow badge and obliged to keep within the Ghetto at
certain hours, on serious penalty.
And it is worth while noting that Mayer Anselm kept the laws of the
Ghetto, and asked no favor for himself beyond that granted to other
Jews, save that he did not wear the badge. Beyond this he was a Jew, and
his pride refused to allow him to be anything else. And yet he served
the Christian public with a purity of purpose and an unselfishness that
won for him the reputation of honesty that was his all his life.
By his influence the Ghetto was enlarged, several of the streets
widened, and all houses were placed under sanitary inspection. He
established a compulsory free-school system and maintained an
art-gallery in the Ghetto that was a center of education for the entire
district.
When this gallery was dedicated, Goethe came, and made a speech of
congratulation. He was the guest of the Red Shield. Afterward,
Rothschild returned the visit and spent several days at Weimar with the
great poet, and always they were on very friendly terms.
* * * * *
The son of the Landgrave became, himself, the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel,
and afterward Elector. He is also known as William the Ninth. He was a
booklover, a numismatist, and a man of many gentle virtues. I know of
only one blot on his official 'scutcheon, but this was so serious that,
for a time, it blocked his political fortune. In this affair, Rothschild
was co-respondent. Rothschild was Court Jew, and beyond a doubt attended
to all details.
During the American Revolutionary War, William the Ninth loaned twelve
thousand soldiers, a goodly portion of his army, to one George the Third
of England, to go and fight the American Colonies. This is the first and
only time that Germans have ever carried arms against Americans. These
Hessians were splendid, sturdy soldiers and would have been almost
invincible if fighting to protect their homes, but in America they were
only half-hearted.
The bones of many of these poor fellows were scattered through New
Jersey and Pennsylvania, and most of those who survived until Cornwallis
offered his sword to Washington--and had it refused--settled down and
became good Pennsylvania Dutch.
Around Reading and Lancaster are various worthy Daughters of the
Revolution, whose credential is that their grandsires fought with
Washington. The fact that the grandsires aforesaid were from Hesse,
sold at so much a head by a Governor in need of ready cash, need not
weigh in the scale. A woman's a woman for a' that.
The amount of money which the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel received from
the English Government for the use of his twelve thousand men was six
hundred thousand thalers; and while a thaler is equivalent to only about
seventy-five cents, it was then worth as much as an American dollar is
worth now.
These six hundred thousand thalers were a straight bonus, for the
English Government agreed to pay the Hessian soldiers the same as they
paid their own English soldiers, and to treat them in all other ways as
their own.
A second division of four thousand men was afterward supplied, for which
the Landgrave of Hesse was paid two hundred thousand thalers.
Alluring tales of loot were held out to the soldiers, also educational
advantages, somewhat after the style of the recruiting-posters in this
Year of Grace, Nineteen Hundred Thirteen, that seek to lead and lure the
lusty youth of America to enlist in the cause of Mars.
Of course the common people knew nothing of the details of this deal of
Hesse with England. The Americans were represented to them as savages
who had arisen against their masters, and were massacring men, women and
children.
To stop this bloodshed was looked upon as a duty for the sake of
humanity. Let it be stated that these Hessian soldiers were not sent to
America against their will. They voted by regiments to go to the defense
of their English Cousins. All of the officers were given a month's pay
as a bonus, and this no doubt helped their zeal. The soldiers were to go
simply until the war was over, which, it was represented, would be in
one year, or possibly less.
The money came so easily that the Landgrave of Hesse, in Seventeen
Hundred Ninety-four, supplied the English with a third detachment of
four thousand troops--this time, to fight the French.
It is not always the case that the terms of sale of human beings in
war-time are so well known as are these particular deals. The Hessian
officials kept no books. They made no records, and wrote no letters.
Boards of Investigation were powerless. The business was transacted by
personal messengers, who went to London and closed the deal by word of
mouth, and later brought back the coin. Wise men write few letters. What
would you? Is Farley a rogue and a varlet? However, things in
Threadneedle Street can not be done in secret.
England has a wonderful system of bookkeeping and bureaucraft--there are
spies upon spies, and checks and counterchecks, so that filching a large
sum from the Bank of England has been a trick never so far successfully
turned.
England's share in this transaction was not dishonorable--that is to
say, to buy a man is not so bad as to sell one. All she did was to hire
strike-breakers. English statesmen generally regarded the matter as a
bit of necessary war-time expediency. If the rebel Colonies could be put
down by hiring a few extra soldiers, why, hire them, of course.
Not so, said Edmund Burke, who gave the matter an unlooked-for publicity
by denouncing the Hessians as "hired assassins." He prophesied that the
Americans would not consider these hirelings as amenable to the rules of
civilized warfare, but would "welcome them with bloody hands to
hospitable graves"--a phrase so fine that it was, years after, seized
upon by Tom Corwin and applied to the conquest of Mexico.
Charles Fox took a like view of the situation, and between him and Burke
the word "Hessian" reached America with a taint upon it which a century
of use has not been able to disinfect.
The protest in the House of Commons did not directly avail, but there is
a suspicion that a wise protest against a great wrong never dies on the
empty air. Burke's accusation of barter and sale rumbled throughout
Europe, and created a sentiment of sympathy for America, especially in
France. Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Paine and Silas Deane made capital of
it, and repeated the words "hired assassins" and thereby helped us to
borrow money to fight said assassins. So much for the Law of
Compensation.
As for the Landgrave, there was a cool million in bullion in his
strongbox. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and calmly explained that
George Washington, the Rebel, had united with the Indian Savages and was
murdering all loyal English subjects in America, and for a few good
Germans to go to the rescue of England and help put down the
insurrection was a Christian act, and moreover, "it was nobody's
business but their own." He thought that this disposed of the matter,
but the ghost would not down.
In Eighteen Hundred Eight, an Imperial Decree was issued by the Emperor
to this effect: "Whereas, it seems that the House of Hesse-Cassel has
for some years persisted in selling its subjects to the English Crown,
to bear arms in quarrels that are none of ours, and that by this means
has amassed a large fortune, therefore this detestable avarice has now
brought its own punishment, and the Landgraviate of Hesse-Cassel from
now on ceases to exist, being incorporated with the Kingdom of
Westphalia."
* * * * *
Troubles, we are told, never come singly. Of this William the Elector
was convinced. The Emperor had cut off his official head with a stroke
of the pen. The money he possessed was to be taken by legal attachment,
its lawful ownership to be determined in the courts.
The lawsuit would have been a long and tedious one, but happily it was
not to be. Napoleon with his conquering army was sweeping Europe. The
Corsican was approaching Frankfort. The rumor was that the city was to
be wiped out of existence. Napoleon hated the Hessians--he knew all
about their having hired themselves out to fight the Americans. Aye! and
the French! The Hessians must be punished. Justice! The late Elector of
Hesse-Cassel was now only a private citizen, but his record was his
offense. Word had been brought to him that Napoleon had said he would
hang him--when he caught him. It is not at all likely that this would
have happened--Napoleon must have secretly admired the business stroke
that could extract so large a sum from England's exchequer. It was on
this same excursion that Napoleon placed a guard in Goethe's house to
protect the poet from possible harm. "If I were not Napoleon, I would be
Wolfgang Goethe," bluntly said the little man without removing his
cocked hat, when he met the King of Letters, thus paraphrasing his
prototype, Alexander. Goethe gave him a copy of his last book. "It lacks
one thing--your autograph!" said the man who was busy conquering a
world.
Goethe, being an author, had waited, expecting this, and so was not
disappointed. Frankfort was looted, but not burned. Money, jewelry and
portable wealth were all the French wanted. The Castle was used as a
stable, and the paintings and statuary served as targets for the
rollicking soldiers who had exploited the wine-cellars. The vast amount
of specie which it was reported the Elector possessed, was missing--the
strongboxes were empty. Soldiers were set to work digging all about the
house for signs of hidden treasure, but none was found. The Elector and
his family were distributed, as they say of the type in limited
editions. Gone--no one knew where!
The French visited the Ghetto, but by order of Napoleon, his soldiers
were never severe upon the Jews. The Jews had little or nothing to do
with politics, and Napoleon, with his usual nonchalance, said, "They
have suffered enough!" Napoleon called himself "The Protector of the
Oppressed," and tried occasionally to live up to his self-conferred
title.
The Red Shield received a call, and Mayer Rothschild handed over his
keys to the officer, in person. The house was searched, and cash to the
extent of ten thousand thalers appropriated. The officer gave Rothschild
a receipt for the amount, and assured the banker it was but a loan. He
thanked Rothschild for his courtesy. They drank a bottle of wine
together, and the Frenchman, with profuse apologies, excused himself,
having pressing duties to perform, and withdrew, first cordially shaking
hands. The French were convinced that when William the Elector fled, he
had taken with him his money. That he should have entrusted it to
another, and especially a Jew, seemed preposterous. Yet such was the
case. William had fled, disguised as a civil engineer, carrying with him
in his chaise an outfit of surveying-instruments. All of his money had
been turned over to Mayer Anselm Rothschild. The many biographers place
the sum anywhere from one to fifty million dollars. The fact seems to be
that it was a little less than two million. Not even a receipt was given
for the money, for such a document might have led to locating the gold.
The Elector would not even count it. He said: "If I do not come back, it
is yours--you helped me get it. If I return, you are an honest man--and
that is all there is about it." The Jew was touched to tears. The
obligation was one fraught with great risk for the money, and for
himself. But there was only one thing to do--assume the responsibility.
That this vast sum of money was given into the hands of Rothschild, no
one has ever denied. But as to how he secreted it from the French has
been explained by the very childlike tale that he buried it in the
garden back of his house. In the first place, there were no gardens in
the Ghetto, and in the second place, money buried in a garden yields no
return, and can not to advantage be left there forever.
At this time England was just becoming a Mecca for Jews, for no matter
how much the Corsican had to say about his regard for the Jews, they had
no regard for him. He stood for war and violence, and his soldiers, as a
rule, knew not their master's leniency for the Jew. Banks, vaults, and
the shops of jewelers stood small chance in the face of an advancing
army, drunk on success.
Many Jews, rich and poor, were fleeing to England. Rothschild had
special boats under his direction upon which he sold passages to his
brethren. Even before the treasure of the Elector was placed in his
hands he had inwardly planned for its transportation. England was then
the safest country in Europe. England, alone, was the one country that
had not been seriously threatened by revolution. And it was the one
country that was reasonably safe from the grasp of the French.
Rothschild's faith in England was proven when he sent all of his own
spare cash to London. That he would transport there the treasure of
William the Elector was the one purpose in his mind. And how to carry
it! You may send treasure by armed guards, in which case you invite
attack by advertising what you are doing. Or you can divide your money
up among poor travelers, and by sending your people at different times,
thus lessen the risk. Rothschild had been entrusting the safe
transportation of money to London in the care of Jews--poor Jews. And
now he picked his immigrants and took them into his confidence.
He was an honest man--the title of the "Honest Jew" was his by divine
right. To serve him was looked upon as a precious privilege. And now
almost every mother of a big family, bound for England and freedom,
carried around her ample waist a belt of gold. As soon as she and her
brood reached London, it was to be given to Nathan Rothschild, the son
of Mayer Rothschild, who was now established as a banker in London.
Rothschild trusted the poor and lowly, and in so doing his faith, so far
as we know, was never misplaced. It is not at all likely that the Jews
knew whose money it was they were carrying, nor did they know that
several hundred other Jews were being trusted in a similar way. All they
knew was that Mayer Anselm had come to them and asked them as a great
favor, as a friend, to carry this belt and give it to his dear son
Nathan, in England. Of course Rothschild's confidence was not misplaced.
A few years later this was the Rothschild method of transporting
treasure all over Europe--to dispatch, say, a hundred poor Jews at
different times, and mixed up among them was the treasure. Honest men
can safely trust others--honest men, as a rule, are safe even with
rogues. There is a spiritual law which governs here--ask Ben Lindsey!
And so the treasure which had originally come from England found its
way back to Britain. It was deposited among various banks and bankers,
to the personal credit of the House of Rothschild, drawing interest at
five per cent.
In the meantime Mayer Anselm remained at Frankfort, living in the Red
Shield, occupying the little shop which had been occupied by his father.
He smoked his big pipe, smiled, went to prayers--and waited. When the
French soldiers had gutted his safe, he sighed, shrugged his shoulders,
and said: "It is the Lord's will--those whom He loveth He chasteneth.
Blessed be the name of the Lord." He waited.
* * * * *
Rothschild brought his children up to economize time and money, and to
be useful. In childhood, all had served as clerks and helpers in the
little bank--the girls included. They were bankers by prenatal tendency
and by education. So strong was the banking instinct in the family that
three of the girls married men who afterward became bankers, probably
being led into the financial way they should walk through marital
influences. And so they were duly absorbed into the great House of
Rothschild. In order to facilitate the business of the Landgrave, who
had considerable property in Hanover, Rothschild sent his third son,
Nathan, there and established a bank. This boy Nathan was the financial
genius of the family. He was the only one of the five boys who surpassed
their father in initiative. And this is saying much, because the other
four were all strong and able men. Anselm, the oldest boy, took his
father's work and became head of the Frankfort house. Solomon managed
the branch at Vienna; Nathan founded the branch in Hanover, and turned
it over to one of his brothers-in-law and went to London; Carl did good
work in Paris, and James was at Naples and Rome. In addition to these
six principal banks, the House of Rothschild had agencies in more than
forty different European cities.
William the Elector had turned his money over to Rothschild in the year
Eighteen Hundred Six. He had remained in hiding for four years. The
French had placed a price upon his head on account of his having sold
his troops to the English to fight the French. He had not communicated
with Rothschild for fear of involving him.
And now behold! Like lightning put of a clear sky, came a pardon from
Napoleon, "for all alleged offenses," and a reinstatement of the House
of Hesse-Cassel to its former proud position. This whole procedure was
essentially Napoleonic. The Corsican killed or kissed, as the mood took
him. Napoleon hated the Emperor Frederick the Second, who had done the
deposing, and as a sort of insult or rebuke to that particular royal
party, he sought out the man's enemies and exalted them.
William came out of hiding, back to Frankfort, and was received by the
people with open arms. He sought out Rothschild at his office in the
Judengasse of the Ghetto. The banker received him with courtesy, but
without emotion.
"My money--my treasure, Mayer Anselm,--the French stole it from you, I
know," said William. "Spare me the details, I only come to you now for a
loan--you will not refuse me--we were boys together, Mayer Anselm, boys
together. I loved you. Fate has smitten me sore, but now I have my name
back and my broken estate--I must begin all over. The loan--you will not
refuse me?" The banker coughed gently, smiled, and answered: "I regret
I have no money to loan now, but the funds you deposited with me are
safe. The best I can do is to give you Exchange on London, with such
little ready money as you now require. I have been expecting you, so
here is the schedule. The principal, with interest at five per cent,
makes me your debtor for a little over two million thalers. My son
Nathan, in London, has the money subject to your check."
William stared, started, clutched the bars across the little window for
support, and burst into tears. He was taken to the residence part of the
house, and Letizia served him with tea and things Kosher. William became
calm, and then declared: "The principal, Mayer, I shall never touch. I
should not know what to do with it, anyway. Pay me two per cent interest
on it, and it is all I shall ever ask." And it was all done as William
desired. To his credit let it be said that he spent the money wisely and
well: he did much for the development of the economic and intellectual
improvement of the country.
* * * * *
Mayer Anselm died in Eighteen Hundred Twelve, aged sixty-nine. But long
before he passed out, he had fixed in the minds of his children the
wisdom of being loyal to the family interests. "One banking-house may
fail, but five standing true to each other, in different countries,
never can," he said.
Nathan had gravitated by divine right to the head of the concern. In
times of doubt all the others looked to him.
To Nathan Rothschild must be given the credit for a financial stroke
that lifted the Rothschilds absolutely out and away from competition.
It was in the spring of Eighteen Hundred Fifteen.
Napoleon had been banished to Elba, and now returned like a conquering
hero. His magnetic name was rolling opposition before him as the sun
dissipates the clouds. Europe was in a tumult of terror!
Would Napoleon do again what he had done before--trample the cities
beneath his inconsiderate feet and parcel out the people and the land
among his favorites?
England was shaken to her center. "This time Britain shall not go
unpunished," declared the Corsican.
Business was paralyzed. The banks were not loaning a dollar; many had
closed and refused to honor the checks of depositors. People with money
were hoarding it. England was trying to raise funds to strengthen her
defenses, and fit out her soldiery in better fighting shape, but the
money was not forthcoming. Government bonds had dropped to sixty-five,
and a new loan at seven per cent had met with only a few straggling
applications. This was the condition on the First of June, Eighteen
Hundred Fifteen. The Armies of the Allies were gathering gear for a
final struggle, but there were those who declared that if Napoleon
should walk out before certain divisions of this Army, wearing his
uniform of the Little Corporal, bearing no weapons, and address the
soldiers as brothers, they would throw down their guns and cry, "Command
us!"
Nathan Rothschild there in London made his plans. With him to think was
to act. There was no time to consult his brothers or his mother, as he
usually did on affairs of great moment. He called his cashier and gave
him quick and final orders: "I am going across to the Continent. I shall
see the downfall of Napoleon--or his triumph. If Napoleon goes down, I
shall send a letter to myself--a blank sheet of paper in an envelope.
When you get this, buy English bonds--buy quickly, but use a dozen
different men, so as not to stampede the market. We have a million
pounds in British gold--use it all, and buy, if necessary, up to five
points of par." He rode away on horseback. He left a man with a strong
and fast horse every forty miles from London to Dover, then from Calais
to Brussels. A swift-sailing yacht waited at Calais, with a reward of
one hundred guineas for the captain if he crossed the Channel inside of
four hours, after getting a special letter addressed to Nathan
Rothschild. There was a rich reward also for each rider if he rode his
forty miles in less than four hours. Rothschild watched away the night
of the Seventeenth of June, circling uneasily the outposts of Brussels.
He saw the Battle of Waterloo--or such of that mad confusion as was
visible. He saw the French ride headlong into that open ditch; and he
saw the last stand of the Old Guard.
Whether Napoleon was beaten or not no one could say. "He'll be back
tomorrow with reinforcements," many said. Nathan Rothschild thought
otherwise.
At nightfall he drew the girth of his saddle two holes tighter, threw
away his pistols, coat and hat, and rode away, on a gentle patter. After
two miles this was increased to a stiff gallop. He knew his horse--he
was turning off each mile in just five minutes. He rode sixty miles in
five hours, using up three horses. The messenger to whom he tossed his
saddlebags asked no questions, but leaping astride his horse, dived into
the darkness and was gone. Rothschild's men were twenty-four hours ahead
of the regular post.
When the news reached London that Wellington had won, the Banking House
of Rothschild had no cash, but its safe was stuffed with English
Securities.
Nathan Rothschild made his way leisurely back to London. On arriving
there he found himself richer, by more than five hundred thousand
pounds, than he was when he rode away.
* * * * *
In Eighteen Hundred Twenty-two, the Emperor of Austria conferred the
title of Baron on the sons of Mayer Anselm Rothschild.
It was the first and only time in history where five brothers were so
honored at one time.
Certain sarcastic persons have pointed out the fact that this wholesale
decoration was done immediately after the Rothschilds had floated a
rather large and risky loan for his Kingship. This is irrelevant,
inconsequential, and outside the issue. That the House of Rothschild
with its branches had an open sesame upon the purse-strings of Europe
for half a century is a fact. Nations in need of cash had to apply to
the Rothschilds. The Rothschilds didn't loan them the money--they merely
looked after the details of the loan, and guaranteed the lender that the
interest would not be defaulted. Their agencies everywhere were in touch
with investors. The nobility are a timid sort--they like to invest their
hard-earned savings outside of their bailiwick--nobody knows what will
happen!
The Rothschilds would not float a loan until they were assured that the
premises were not mortgaged. More than this, there was a superstition
all 'round that they were backed up by J. Bull, and J. Bull is a close
collector.
The Rothschilds made government loans popular--before this, kings got
their cash mostly by coercion.
For their services the Rothschilds asked only the most modest fee--a
fee so small it was absurd--a sixteenth of one per cent, or something
like that.
It is safe to say that only one Government in the world, at some time or
other from Eighteen Hundred Fifteen to Eighteen Hundred Seventy, never
courted the Rothschilds with "intentions."
America never quite forgot, nor forgave, that Hessian incident, and the
Rothschilds were never asked for favors by your Uncle Samuel.
There were four generations of Rothschilds, among whom there have been
very able men. This beats the rule by three generations, and the record
by one.
The Frankfort House of Rothschild was dissolved in Nineteen Hundred One.
The London firm still continues, but I am advised that the Rothschilds,
while interesting in a historic way, are no longer looked upon as a
world power.
Letizia, the mother of ten, is worthy of more space than I am able here
to give her. There are those who say she was the real founder of the
House of Rothschild. She died aged exactly one hundred, in the Red
Shield, where she was married and where all of her children were born.
She outlived the fall of Napoleon just forty years. She had a fine and
pardonable pride in her kingly sons.
Politics and world problems interested her. She was sane and sensible
and happy to the last.