THE BANKER.
The native of London is as proud of the City as if it were his own
property. He can afford to be called a cockney for having been born
within the sound of Bow bells, for there are merchant-princes, and the
peers and monopolists of the commerce of this world, who bear the
nickname as well as he.
And well may the Londoner be proud of his city in numerous respects. It
is the richest and the most powerful that the world has ever seen! The
dingy back parlours in Lombard Street, the upstairs business rooms in
Cheapside, and the warehouses with shutters half up the windows in Wood
Street and its neighbourhood, are the mysterious places in which the
springs of the finance and trade of a mighty empire are set in motion?
Half a dozen men in the City can command in an hour more wealth than
either Rome or Babylon had to boast of at the respective periods of
their greatest prosperity. And neither Rome nor Babylon possessed
drapers who cleared their fifty thousand a-year by selling gowns and
shawls, nor sugar-bakers with a million in hard cash, nor grocers with a
plum in each hand, nor brewers to whom the rise or fall of one halfpenny
per pot in the price of beer makes a difference of forty thousand pounds
_per annum_! Rome, Babylon, Thebes, and Carthage, could all have been
purchased by the East India Company--with perhaps a mortgage upon the
India Docks!
But the reader must not imagine that all which glitters is gold. Amongst
the most splendid establishments in London, and those most wealthy in
appearance, there are some in a hopeless state of insolvency. To one of
these we shall now introduce those who may choose to accompany us
thither.
The well-known banking-house of James Tomlinson was situated in Lombard
Street. The establishment was not extensive; nor were there a great many
clerks, because it did little agency business for country banks, but was
chiefly a house of deposit. It enjoyed a high reputation, and was
considered as safe as the presumed wealth, integrity, and experience of
its proprietor were likely to render it. It was moreover believed that
the father of James Tomlinson was a sleeping partner; and as the old
gentleman had retired from the business of oilman with an immense
fortune, the bank was presumed to possess every guarantee of stability.
It had existed for upwards of sixty years, having been founded and most
successfully carried on by an uncle of James Tomlinson. James himself
had originally entered the establishment as a clerk, whence he rose to
be a partner, and finally found himself at the head of the concern at
his uncle's death.
James Tomlinson was not an extravagant man; but he was not possessed of
the ability and experience for which the world gave him credit. In the
year 1826, and at the age of forty, he found himself at the head of a
flourishing and respectable establishment. He was indeed the sole
proprietor, for his father was in reality totally unconnected with it as
a partner. James was intimately acquainted with the mechanical routine
of the bank business; but he was deficient in those powers of
combination and faculties of foresight which were necessary to enable
him to lay out to the best advantage the moneys deposited in his hands.
With good intentions, he lacked talent. He was an excellent head clerk
or junior partner; but he was totally unfitted for supreme management.
Thus was it that in two or three years he experienced serious reverses;
and, although he carefully concealed the failure of his operations from
all human eyes, the very safety of his establishment was seriously
compromised. The French Revolution of 1830 ruined a Paris house to which
Tomlinson had advanced a considerable sum; and this blow consummated the
insolvency of his bank.
He was then compelled to make a confidant of his cashier, an old and
faithful servant of his uncle, and of frugal habits, and kind but
eccentric disposition. Michael Martin was this individual's name. He was
of very repulsive appearance, stooping in his gait, blear-eyed, and
dirty in person. He took vast quantities of snuff; but as much lodged
upon his shirt-frill and waistcoat as was thrust up his nose. Thus his
linen was invariably filthy in the extreme. His dress was a suit of
seedy black; and the right thigh of his trousers was brown and grimy
with the marks of snuff--for upon that part of his attire did he
invariably wipe his finger and thumb after taking a pinch of his brown
rappee.
Such was the individual whom Tomlinson took into his confidence, when
the affairs of the bank grew desperate. Old Martin was as close and
reserved as if he were both deaf and dumb; and he was moreover possessed
of a peculiar craftiness and cunning which admirably fitted him for the
part that he was now to enact. Although it was next to impossible to
retrieve the affairs of the bank, so great was the deficiency,--still
Michael Martin assured his master that it was quite probable that they
might be enabled to carry on the establishment for a length of
time--perhaps even many years, the chances that the draughts upon the
bank would not equal the deposits being in their favour.
Thus was this insolvent and ruined establishment carried on, with
seeming respectability and success, by the perseverance of Tomlinson,
and the skill and craft of old Martin.
We shall now introduce our readers into the parlour of the bank, at ten
o'clock in the morning after the incidents related in the preceding
chapter.
James Tomlinson had just arrived, and was standing before the fire,
glancing over the City Article of _The Times_. He was a fine, tall,
good-looking man, plainly dressed, and without the slightest affectation
either in manner or attire. The bluntness and apparent straightforwardness
of his character had won and secured him many friends amongst a class of
men who regard frankness of disposition and plainness of demeanour as
qualities indicative of solidity of position and regular habits of
business. Then he was always at his post--always to be seen; and hence
unlimited confidence was placed in him!
Having glanced over the newspaper which he held in his hand, he rang the
bell. A clerk responded to the summons.
"Is Mr. Martin come yet?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell him to step this way."
The clerk withdrew; and the old cashier entered the room, the door of
which he carefully closed.
"Good morning, Michael," said the banker. "What news?"
"Worse and worse," answered the old man, with a species of savage grunt.
"We have had a sad time of it for the last three months."
"For the last seven or eight years, you may say," observed Tomlinson,
with a sigh; and then his countenance suddenly wore an expression of
ineffable despair--as evanescent as it was poignant.
"At first the work was easy enough," said Michael: "a little combination
and tact enabled us to struggle on; but latterly the concern has fallen
into so desperate a condition, that I really fear when I come in the
morning that it will never last through the day."
"My God! my God! what a life!" exclaimed Tomlinson. "And there are
hundreds and thousands who pass up the street every day, and who say
within themselves. '_How I wish I was James Tomlinson!_' Heavens! I
would that I were a beggar in the street--a sweeper of a crossing--a
pauper in a workhouse----"
"Come--this is folly," interrupted the old cashier impatiently. "We must
go on to the end."
"What is the state of your book this morning?" demanded the banker,
putting the question with evident alarm--almost amounting to horror.
"Three thousand four hundred pounds, eighteen shillings, in
specie--sixteen hundred and thirty-five in notes," answered the cashier.
"Is that all!" ejaculated Tomlinson. "And this morning we have to pay
Greenwood the two thousand pounds he lent me six weeks ago."
"We can't part with the money," said the cashier rudely. "Greenwood
knows the circumstances of the bank, and must give time."
"You know what Greenwood is, Michael," exclaimed the banker. "If we are
not punctual with him, he will never lend us another shilling and what
should we have done without him on several occasions?"
"I know all that. But look at the interest be makes you pay," muttered
the cashier.
"And look at the risk he runs," added the banker.
"He finds it worth his while. I calculated the other day that we paid
him three thousand pounds last year for interest only: we can't go on
much longer at that rate."
"I had almost said that the sooner it ends the better," cried Tomlinson.
"What low trickery--what meanness--what abominable craft, have we been
compelled to resort to! Oh! if that affair with the Treasury three years
ago had only turned up well--if we could have secured the operation, we
should have retrieved all our losses, enormous as they are--we should
have built up the fortunes of the establishment upon a more solid
foundation than ever."
"That was indeed a misfortune," observed the cashier, taking a huge
pinch of snuff.
"And how the Chancellor of the Exchequer obtained his information about
me--at the eleventh hour--after all previous inquiries were known to be
satisfactory," continued Tomlinson, "I never could conjecture. At that
time the secret was confined to you and me, and my father, to whom I
communicated it, you remember, in that letter which I wrote to him
soliciting the fifty thousand pounds."
"Which sum saved the bank at that period," observed Michael.
"Never shall I forget the day when I called at the Treasury for the
decision of the government relative to my proposal," returned Tomlinson.
"The functionary who received me, said in so pointed a manner, '_Mr.
Tomlinson, you have not dealt candidly with us relative to your true
position; your secret is known to us; but rest assured that, although we
decline any negotiation with you, we will not betray you._' This
announcement came upon me like a thunder-stroke: I was literally
paralysed. The functionary added with a sort of triumphant and yet
mysterious smile, '_There is not a secret connected with the true
position of any individual of any consequence in the City which escapes
our knowledge. The government, sir, is omniscient!_' God alone can
divine the sources of this intimate acquaintance with things locked up,
as it were, in one's own bosom!" added the banker, thoughtfully.
"And this is not the only case in which such secrets have been discovered
by the government," said the old cashier, again regaling his nose with a
copious pinch of snuff.
"Yes, I myself have heard of other instances," observed the banker, with
a shudder. "I have known great firms expend large sums of money to
obtain particular information from Paris, Frankfort, and Madrid, by
means of couriers; and this information has been despatched by letter to
their agents at Liverpool and Manchester, and elsewhere, to answer
certain commercial or financial purposes. Well, that information has
been known to government within a few hours, and the government broker
has bought or sold stock accordingly!"
"But how _could_ the government obtain that information?" demanded
Martin. "Some treachery----"
"No--impossible! The government has gleaned its knowledge when every
human precaution against treachery and fraud was adopted. Look at my own
case!" continued Tomlinson. "You, my father, and myself alone, knew _my_
secret. On you I can reckon as a man can reckon upon his own self: my
father was incapable of betraying me; and I of course should not have
divulged my own ruin. And yet the secret became known to the government.
I shudder, Michael--oh! I shudder when I think that we dwell in a
country which vaunts its freedom, yet where there exists the secret,
dark, and mysterious element of the most hideous despotism!"
At this moment a clerk entered, and informed the cashier that he was
wanted in the public office.
As soon as Michael had disappeared, the banker walked up and down his
parlour, a prey to the most maddening reflections. There were but five
thousand pounds left in the safe; two thousand were to be paid to
Greenwood; and every minute a cheque, or two or three cheques might be
presented, which would crush the bank at one blow.
"One hundred and eighty thousand pounds of liability," murmured
Tomlinson to himself, "and five thousand pounds to meet it!"
Ah! little thought those who passed by the banking-house at that moment,
what heart-felt, horrible tortures were endured by the master of the
establishment in his own parlour!
At length Martin returned.
His countenance never revealed any emotions; but he took snuff
wholesale--and that was a fearful omen.
"Well?" said Tomlinson, in a hoarse and hollow voice.
"Alderman Phipps just drawn for twelve hundred pounds, and Colonel Brown
for eight hundred," replied the cashier.
"Two thousand gone in a minute!" ejaculated the banker.
"Shall I pay any more?" asked the cashier.
"Yes--pay, pay up to the last farthing!" answered Tomlinson. "An
accident--a chance may save us, as oftentimes before! And yet methinks,
Michael, that we never stood so near the verge of ruin as we do to-day."
"Never," said the old man coldly.
"And is there no expedient by which we can raise a few thousands, or
even a few hundreds, for immediate wants?"
"None that I know of," returned Martin, taking more snuff.
At that moment Mr. Greenwood was announced, and Michael withdrew from
the parlour.
"You have called for your two thousand pounds?" said the banker, after
the usual interchange of civilities.
"Yes: I require that sum particularly this morning," replied the
financier; "for I am pledged to pay fifteen thousand at twelve o'clock
to Count Alteroni."
"This is very unfortunate," observed Tomlinson. "I am literally in this
position--take the money, and I must stop payment the next moment."
"That is disagreeable, no doubt," said Greenwood; "but the count is
urgent, and I cannot put him off."
"My God!" cried Tomlinson; "what can I do? Greenwood--my good friend--I
know you are rich--I know you can raise any amount you choose: pray do
not push me this morning."
"What am I to do, my dear fellow?" said the financier: "I must satisfy
this count--and I really cannot manage without the two thousand. I could
let you have them again in a fortnight."
"A fortnight!" ejaculated the banker, clenching his fists; "to-morrow it
might be too late. Can you suggest no plan? can you devise no scheme?
Let me keep these two thousand pounds for six weeks longer--a month
longer; and ask me--ask me what you will! I am desperate--I will do any
thing you bid me!"
"Tell me how I can satisfy this ravenous Italian," said Greenwood, "and
I will let you keep the money for six months."
"You say you have to settle with this count for fifteen thousand
pounds?" inquired the banker.
Greenwood nodded an affirmative.
"And does he require it all in hard cash?"
"No--he will take the security of any responsible person, or apparently
responsible person," added the financier, with a significant smile,
"payable in six months."
Tomlinson appeared to reflect profoundly.
His reverie was interrupted by the entrance of old Martin, taking snuff
more vehemently than ever.
The cashier whispered something in the banker's ear, and then again
retired.
"Seven hundred and fifty more gone!" cried Tomlinson: "and now,
Greenwood, there remains in the safe but a fraction more than your two
thousand pounds. Dictate your own terms!"
This was precisely the point to which the financier was anxious to
arrive.
"Listen," he said, playing with his watch-chain. "This Count Alteroni
will accept of you as his debtor instead of me. Take the responsibility
off me on to your own shoulders, and I make you a present of the two
thousand pounds!"
"What!" ejaculated Tomlinson; "incur a liability of fifteen thousand to
this count! Greenwood, you never can be serious?"
"I never was more serious in my life," returned the financier coolly.
"If you fail before the six months have elapsed, fifteen thousand more
or less on your books will be nothing: if you contrive to carry on the
establishment until the expiration of that period, I will help you out
of the dilemma."
"You are not reasonable--you are anxious to crush me at once!" cried
Tomlinson. "Well, be it so, Mr. Greenwood! Take your two thousand
pounds----"
"And leave you to put up a notice on your doors--eh?" said Greenwood,
still playing with his watch-chain.
"Ah! my God--has it come to this?" exclaimed the banker.
"Ruin--disgrace--and beggary, all in one day! But better that than
submit to such terms those which you dictate."
With these words he rang the bell violently.
Old Martin immediately made his appearance.
"Mr. Martin," said Tomlinson, affecting a calmness which he was far from
feeling, "bring two thousand pounds for Mr. Greenwood."
"It can't be done," growled Michael, taking a huge pinch of snuff.
"Can't be done?" ejaculated the banker.
"No," answered the old man, doggedly: "just paid away four hundred and
sixty-five more. There is'nt two thousand in the safe."
Tomlinson walked once up the room; then, turning to Greenwood, he said,
"I will accept your proposal. Mr. Martin," he added, addressing the
cashier, "you can retire: I will settle this matter with Mr. Greenwood."
The old man withdrew.
"When, where, and how is this business to be arranged?" demanded
Tomlinson, after a short pause.
"The count is to call at my house at twelve. I have left a note to
request him to come on hither."
"You had, then, already arranged this matter in your mind?" said the
banker, ironically.
"Certainly," answered Greenwood, with his usual coolness. "I knew you
would relieve me of this obligation; because I shall be enabled in
return to afford you that assistance of which you stand so much in
need."
"I must throw myself upon your generosity," said Tomlinson. "It is now
twelve: the count will soon be here."
Half an hour passed away; and the Italian nobleman made his appearance.
"You see that I have kept my word, count," exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, with
an ironical smile of triumph. "Mr. Tomlinson holds in his hands certain
funds of mine, which, according to the terms of agreement between us, he
is to retain in his possession and use for a period of six months and
six days from the present day, at an interest of four per cent. If you,
Count Alteroni, be willing to accept a transfer of fifteen thousand
pounds of such funds in Mr. Tomlinson's hands from my name to your own,
the bargain can be completed this moment."
"I cannot hesitate, Mr. Greenwood," said the count, "to accept a
guarantee of such known stability at the name of Mr. Tomlinson."
"Then all that remains to be done," exclaimed the financier, "is for you
to return me my acknowledgment for the amount specified, and for Mr.
Tomlinson to give you his in its place. Mr. Tomlinson has already
received my written authority for the transfer."
The business was settled as Mr. Greenwood proposed. The count returned
the financier his receipt, and accepted one from the banker.
"Now, that this is concluded, count," said Mr. Greenwood, placing the
receipt in his pocket-book, "I hope that our friendship will continue
uninterrupted."
"Pardon me, sir," returned the count, his features assuming a stern
expression: "although I am bound to admit that you have not wronged me
in respect to money, you have dared to talk to me of my daughter, who is
innocence and purity itself."
"Count Alteroni," began Mr. Greenwood, "I am not aware----"
"Silence, sir!" cried the Italian noble, imperatively: "I have but one
word more to say. Circumstances have revealed to me your profligate
character; and never can I be too thankful that my daughter should have
escaped an alliance with a man who bribes his agents to administer
opiate drugs to an unprotected female for the vilest of purposes. Mr.
Tomlinson," added the count, "pardon me for having used such language
in your apartment, and in your presence."
Count Alteroni bowed politely to the banker, and, darting a withering
glance of mingled contempt and indignation upon the abashed and
astounded Greenwood, took his departure.
"He talks of things which are quite new to me," said Greenwood,
recovering an outward appearance of composure, though inwardly he was
chagrined beyond description.
Tomlinson made no reply: he was too much occupied with his own affairs
to be able to afford attention to those of others.
Greenwood shortly took his leave--delighted at having effectually
settled his pecuniary obligation with the count, in such a manner that
it could never again be the means of molestation in respect to
himself,--but vexed at the discovery which the Italian nobleman had
evidently made in respect to his conduct towards Eliza Sydney.
Immediately after Mr. Greenwood had left the bank-parlour, old Michael
entered. This time he carried his snuff-box open in his left hand; and
at every two paces he took a copious pinch with the fore-finger and
thumb of his right. This was a fearful omen; and Tomlinson trembled.
"Well, Michael--well?"
"Not a deposit this morning. Draughts come in like wild-fire," said the
old cashier. "There is but a hundred pounds left in the safe!"
"A hundred pounds!" ejaculated the banker, clasping his hands together:
"and is it come to this at length, Michael?"
"Yes," said the cashier, gruffly.
"Then let us post a notice at once," cried Tomlinson: "the establishment
must be closed without another moment's delay."
"Will you write out the notice of stoppage of payment, or shall I?"
inquired Michael.
"Do it yourself, my good old friend--do it for me!" said the banker,
whose countenance was ashy pale, and whose limbs trembled under him, as
if he expected the officers of justice to drag him to a place of
execution.
The old cashier seated himself at the table, and wrote out the
announcement that the bank was unfortunately compelled to suspend its
payments. He then read it to the ruined man who was now pacing the
apartment with agitated steps.
"Will that do?"
"Yes," answered the banker; "but, in mercy, let me leave the house ere
that notice be made public."
Tomlinson was about to rush distractedly out of the room, when the
cashier was summoned into the public department of the establishment.
Five minutes elapsed ere his return--five minutes which appeared five
hours to James Tomlinson.
At length the old man came back; and this time he did not carry his
snuff-box in his hand.
Without uttering a word, he took the "notice of stoppage" off the table,
crushed it in his hand, and threw it into the fire.
"Saved once more," he murmured, as he watched the paper burning to
tinder; and when it was completely consumed, he took a long and hearty
pinch of snuff.
"Saved!" echoed Tomlinson: "do you mean that we are saved again?"
"Seven thousand four hundred and sixty-seven pounds just paid in to
Dobson and Dobbins's account," answered the cashier, coolly and
leisurely, as if he himself experienced not the slightest emotion.
In another hour there were fifteen thousand pounds in the safe; and when
the bank closed that evening at the usual time, this sum had swollen up
to twenty thousand and some hundreds.
This day was a specimen of the life of James Tomlinson, the banker.
Readers, when you pass by the grand commercial and financial
establishments of this great metropolis, pause and reflect ere you envy
their proprietors! In the parlours and offices of those reputed
emporiums of wealth are men whose minds are a prey to the most agonising
feelings--the most poignant emotions.
There is no situation so full of responsibility as that of a banker--no
trust so sacred as that which is confided to him. When he fails, it is
not the ruin of one man which is accomplished: it is the ruin of
hundreds--perhaps thousands. The effects of that one failure are
ramified through a wide section of society: widows and orphans are
reduced to beggary--and those who have been well and tenderly nurtured
are driven to the workhouse.
And yet the law punishes not the great banker who fails, and who
involves thousands in his ruin. The petty trader who breaks for fifty
pounds is thrown into prison, and is placed at the tender mercy of the
Insolvents' Court, which perhaps remands him to a debtor's gaol for a
year, for having contracted debts without a reasonable chance of paying
them. But the great banker, who commenced business with a hundred
thousand pounds, and who has dissipated five hundred thousand belonging
to others, applies to the Bankruptcy Court, never sees the inside of a
prison at all, and in due time receives a certificate, which clears him
of all his liabilities, and enables him to begin the world anew. The
petty trader passes a weary time in gaol, and is then merely emancipated
from his confinement--but not from his debts. His future exertions are
clogged by an impending weight of liability. One system or the other is
wrong:--decide, O ye legislators who vaunt "the wisdom of your
ancestors," which should be retained, and which abolished,--or whether
both should be modified!
* * * * *
In the course of the evening the Earl of Warrington called upon Mrs.
Arlington, with whom he passed a few minutes alone in the drawing-room.
When his lordship had taken his departure, Diana returned to Eliza whom
she had left in another apartment, and, placing a quantity of letters,
folded, but unsealed, in her hands, said, "These are the means of
introduction to some of the first families in Montoni. They are written,
I am informed, by an Italian nobleman of great influence, and whose name
will act like a talisman in your behalf. They are sent unsealed
according to usage; but the earl has earnestly and positively desired
that their contents be not examined in this country. He gave this
injunction very seriously," added Diana, with a smile, "doubtless
because he supposed that he has to deal with two daughters of Eve whose
curiosity is invincible. He, however, charged me to deliver this message
to you as delicately us possible."
"These letters," answered Eliza, glancing over their superscriptions,
"are addressed to strangers and not to me; and although I know that they
refer to me, I should not think of penetrating into their contents,
either in England or elsewhere. But did you express to the earl all the
gratitude that I feel for his numerous and signal deeds of kindness?"
"The earl is well aware of your grateful feelings," replied Mrs.
Arlington. "Can you suppose that I would forget to paint all you
experience for what he has already done, and what he will still do for
you? He will see you for a moment ere your departure to-morrow, to bid
you farewell."
"I appreciate that act of condescension on his part," observed Eliza,
affected even to tears, "more than all else that he has ever yet done
for me!"
* * * * *
On the following day Eliza Sydney, accompanied by the faithful Louisa,
and attended by an elderly valet who had been for years in the service
of the Earl of Warrington, took her departure from London, on her way to
the Grand Duchy of Castelcicala.