to Mary of Buttermere and her story. Describing various dramas
he has seen at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, the poet mentions one
written around the story of Mary of Buttermere. _Notes and
Queries_, Tenth Series, i. pp. 7, 70, 96.
NOTE IV.--_The Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey._ Edited by
David Masson. A. & C. Black (1889-90); _vide Literary Reminiscences_,
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, vol. ii. pp. 138-225.
The description of ‘The Hadfield Affair’ occupies pp. 174-184,
and its numerous errors were the subject of a smart attack by a
correspondent in _Notes and Queries_ (First Series, vol. viii.
p. 26), July 9, 1853.
NOTE V.--_The Tourist’s New Guide._ By William Green. In two volumes.
Kendal (1819), vol. ii. pp. 180-5, 221. _Seventy-eight Studies from
Nature._ By William Green. Longman (1809) p. 7.
The various descriptions of Mary Robinson are so conflicting
that it is difficult, until one reads the impressions recorded
from year to year by Wm. Green, to form an estimate of her
personal appearance. It has been shown that Joseph Budworth,
who first saw her in 1792, when she was fourteen, raves of
her charms, and his second visit to Buttermere six years
later did not disillusionise him. De Quincey, however, denies
that she was beautiful, and does not praise even her figure.
Yet he seems to be unconscious that he is describing, not
the world-renowned ‘Maiden of Buttermere’ but a matron of
thirty-five, who was now the wife of a prosperous farmer,
and who had drank deeply of life’s sorrows. Mr Frederick
Reed of Hassness, Buttermere, writing in August 1874 (_Notes
and Queries_, Fifth Series, ii. 175), thirty-seven years
after her death, states that “she was not the beauty she is
represented to have been. She carried herself well, but got
to be coarse-featured.” Still, as it is improbable that Mr
Reed saw her till she was past her prime, his criticism is of
little value. Sara Nelson, too, who was born during the year of
Mary’s great trouble, did not meet her till her good looks had
vanished. The _Morning Post_ of October 11, 1802, contains the
following description from the pen of Coleridge:--“To beauty in
the strict sense of the word she has small pretensions, being
rather gap-toothed and somewhat pock-fretten. But her face is
very expressive, and the expression extremely interesting, and
her figure and movements are graceful to a miracle. She ought
indeed to be called the Grace of Buttermere rather than the
Beauty.”
William Green tells us that he first saw Mary Robinson in
1791, the year before she was noticed by Captain Budworth.
“At that time,” says he, “she was thirteen; and to an open,
honest, and pleasant-looking face, then in the bloom of
health, was added the promise of a good figure. Her garb,
though neat, was rustic; but through it, even while so young,
appeared indications of that mild dignity which was afterwards
so peculiarly attractive.” He saw her next in 1794. “The
infantine prettiness of thirteen was now matured into beauty;
her countenance beamed with an indescribable sweetness, and the
commanding graces of her fine person were equalled only by her
innate good sense and excellent disposition.” After remarking
that Captain Budworth’s panegyric seemed to have had no ill
effect upon her mind, he proceeds: “Like some other mountain
rustics, observed by the writer during his residence amongst
these thinly populated wilds, Mary’s beauty was ripened at
an early period; for this was, probably, the period of its
perfection.” Green did not see her again till 1801. “She was
then twenty-three, and though greatly admired for her general
appearance and deportment, was on the whole infinitely less
interesting than seven years before that time.” In 1805, the
date of his next visit to Buttermere, he noted a further
change. “Her features were pervaded by a melancholy meekness,
but her beauty was fled, and with it, that peculiar elegance of
person, for which she was formerly celebrated.” The next time
the artist saw her was in 1810. “She was no longer the Beauty
of Buttermere, but Mrs. Harrison, the bulky wife of a farmer,
blessed with much good humour, and a ready utterance.” This
was about the time when De Quincey saw her. Gillray’s sketch,
November 15, 1802, corroborates Green’s description.
The _Dictionary of National Biography_ gives the date of
publication of _The Tourist’s Guide_ as 1822. This is an error.
It was published in 1819. The same monograph does not mention
Green’s _Survey of Manchester_.
NOTE VI.--_East Cheshire._ By J. P. Earwaker, 1880, vol. ii. p. 136.
Gives the following extract from the register of baptisms at
the parish church of Mottram-in-Longdendale:--
“1759. May 24, John, son of William Hadfield, and Betty, his
Wife.” The church register confirms this reference.
John Hadfield’s father, who lived at Crodenbrook or
Craddenbrook, Longden, must have been a man of means, for in
1760 he gave £20 to the poor.
NOTE VII.--_Dic. Nat. Biog._ This excellent sketch is only marred by
the misspelling of Hadfield’s name, and the error in the date of his
birth.
A FAMOUS FORGERY
THE CASE OF HENRY FAUNTLEROY, 1824
_Part I.--The Criminal and his Crime._
“Then, list, ingenuous youth....
And once forego your joy,
For your instruction I display
The life of Fauntleroy.”
_The Dirge of Fauntleroy_, JAMES USHER, 1824.
In the year 1792--not one of the least disastrous in our annals of
commerce--a small party of capitalists established a private bank under
the name of Marsh, Sibbald & Company of Berners Street. The chief
promoters--William Marsh, a naval agent, and James Sibbald of Sittwood
Park, Berkshire, a retired official of Company John--were gentlemen
of substance and position; while their managing partner, William
Fauntleroy (previously employed at the famous house of Barclay), was a
man of ability and business experience. Four years later, a younger son
of Sir Edward Stracey, a Norfolk baronet, who married eventually the
niece of Sir James Sibbald, was admitted into the firm.
[Illustration: _HENRY FAUNTLEROY._]
Although never a bank of great resources, it appears to have made a
fair return to its proprietors, and because of its connection with two
baronets--one of whom became Sheriff of his county--it was regarded
as a house of repute. In the spring of 1807 the firm received a
severe blow through the death, when only in his fifty-eighth year, of
the active partner, William Fauntleroy, in whom his colleagues placed
implicit trust. Luckily, however, it was possible to fill his place,
for his second son Henry, who had been employed as a clerk for seven
years, although only twenty-two, was fit and eager for the post. None
of the members of the firm were able to devote much attention to their
bank, and thus, by a strange chance, the sole control was left in the
hands of young Fauntleroy.
A remarkable man in every respect, this youthful manager, who carried
with ease the burden of a great business on his shoulders. During
the second decade of last century no figure was better known to
those familiar with the west end of Oxford Street. Neat and elegant
as Brummell, grave and industrious as Henry Addington, he seemed a
model for all young men of commerce. Each morning at the same hour,
the front door of No. 7 Berners Street, where he lived with his
mother and sister, was thrown open, and the banker would step briskly
into the adjoining premises--the counting-house of Messrs Marsh,
Stracey, Fauntleroy & Graham. For he was a partner, also, as well as
absolute manager, this solemn young gentleman whose air of ponderous
respectability won the confidence of all.
At first sight, his cleanly-chiselled features seemed to express merely
gentleness and simplicity, but a second glance would reveal a picture
of resolution and strength. In fact, the massive brow, the broad
cheekbones, and the firm, bold contour of the chin suggested a strange
likeness--one that he sought to emphasise by the close-cropped hair
made to droop over his forehead. It was his foible, this belief that
he bore a resemblance to the great Buonaparte--whose bust adorned his
mantelpiece--and the final catastrophe that overwhelmed him should
discourage any latter-day egoist who prides himself upon a similar
likeness.
Springing from an industrious Nonconformist stock (for his father
had been the architect of his own fortunes, while his elder brother
William, who fell a victim to consumption at an early age, was a youth
full of the promise of genius), the temperament of Henry Fauntleroy
appears to have been as complex a piece of mechanism as Nature ever
enclosed within a human tenement. The love of toil, and an indomitable
perseverance, seemed to be the guiding principles of his life. Not only
did his fine courage never waver amidst the terrors of the financial
tempest, through which he stood at the helm of his frail bark, but he
gave no sign to his colleagues of the misgivings that must have lurked
within his mind. For commerce had fallen upon evil days. On every side
he beheld the crash and wreckage of his fellows, but, inspired by the
confidence which only the knowledge of power can bestow, he resolved
to continue his struggle against the storm. With a brain capable of
grappling with huge balance-sheets, an almost superhuman dexterity in
figures being his natural gift, the work of three men was the daily
task of this Napoleon of commerce. Although the members of his firm
were compelled to dive deeply into their pockets during these hazardous
years, to meet losses occasioned by the failure of clients engaged in
building speculations, the Berners Street Bank was handled so skilfully
that it managed to weather the storm.
In spite of his vast abilities, there was nothing of bombast in
Fauntleroy’s nature, nor did external evidence show that he was engaged
in deadly warfare against the unpropitious fates. A gentle, unassuming
man, with a quiet charm of address, he won universal regard from all
with whom he came into contact. The gift of friendship, the infectious
knack of social intercourse, was part of his character. Naturally, the
circle in which he moved was composed of persons of refinement and,
in some cases, of eminence in the commercial world. While his hand
was ever open to the cry of distress, his board always had a place
for those who had gained his esteem. All the leisure he could snatch
seemed devoted to simple pleasures--a choice little dinner to a few
kindred spirits, a holiday at his suburban villa, or a week-end visit
to his house in Brighton. Though his earnest, florid face might be seen
often beneath the hood of his smart cabriolet, this carriage was used
principally in journeys between Berners Street and the City. In short,
few business men in London were held in greater respect than this
hard-working young banker, who was so like the Emperor Napoleon.
Yet there was another side to the picture. Although ostensibly he lived
this simple and strenuous existence, a few bosom companions knew him
in another guise. Unknown to the world, those week-end parties at his
villa in the suburbs were tainted and ungodly. The sweet girl who sat
at the head of his table as mistress of his home had lost her maiden
innocence while her fresh young beauty was in its bud, lured by the
sensuous Fauntleroy almost from school. All her pretty friends belonged
to the same frail sisterhood, Cyprians beyond question, though modest
perhaps in demeanour and speech. And with these ‘Kates and Sues’ of
the town came Fauntleroy’s intimates, ‘Toms and Jerries’ unmistakably,
though possibly only in travesty, becoming sober men once more in
business hours.
Or one might have seen him driving past the fetid Pavilion at
Brighton in his smart carriage, with its fawn-coloured lining, and
have recognised in the shameless features of the flashy lady at
his side the notorious ‘Corinthian Kate’ herself--in real life Mrs
‘Bang’ most ‘slap-up of ladybirds’ Then, again, at his luxurious
seaside home in Western Place, with its conservatories and sumptuous
billiard-room-draped as a facsimile of Napoleon’s travelling tent--his
Kate’s dear friend Harriet Wilson, or other illustrious fair ones,
would come to amuse his bachelor companions. Thus, in his leisure
moments, the industrious Fauntleroy enjoyed secretly the life of an
epicure and sensualist. Deep-buried in his soul the love of vice was
ever present. “There only needed one thing to complete your equipage,”
he writes, in plain _double entente_ that indicates his ruling passion,
to his friend Sheriff Parkins, “instead of the man at your side, a
beautiful angel!”
Marriage had meant no sowing of wild oats to Henry Fauntleroy. A
mystery surrounds his union to the daughter of a naval captain named
John Young. It is known only that, although a son was born, the match
from the first was an unhappy one, and an early separation took
place. During the year of Waterloo a liaison with a married lady, who
had a complacent or shortsighted husband, increased the habits of
extravagance which in the end brought the banker to ruin. Later, the
pretty young girl Maria Fox, who had been educated at a convent in
France, consented to become the mistress of his suburban home. Thus
the double life continued; while to those who knew him only in Berners
Street, Mr Fauntleroy appeared the most righteous and respectable of
men.
What was the nominal income of the young bank manager it is impossible
to ascertain; but whatever the sum, it is certain that before very long
his expenditure began to exceed his means. Probably he took the first
step on his downward march during the year of the hejira to Elba. The
strength and weakness of his character combined to make the position
of Tantalus unendurable. Nothing seemed more certain than that the
Berners Street house, which had never recovered from its unfortunate
speculations, would return large profits if its capital was sufficient
to meet all claims. Thus Fauntleroy decided not to take his colleagues
into his confidence. Such a step would have caused the business to be
wound up, and he would have lost his handsome salary. As one of his
most severe critics has pointed out, “he had not enough moral courage
to face the world in honest, brave poverty.” On the contrary, his
courage took another form. Confident that he must conquer evil fortune,
the self-reliant man resolved to commence a life-and-death battle with
fate, alone and unaided. And his choice was the frightful expedient of
forgery!
The methods of Fauntleroy were of unparalleled audacity. Then,
as now, clients were in the habit of placing the certificates of
their securities in the hands of their bankers for safe custody.
So, by boldly forging the signature of the proprietor upon a power
of attorney, he was able to sell any particular investment that he
desired. Naturally, his depredations were confined to Government
securities--Consols, Long Annuities, Exchequer Bills--and thus in
effecting the fraudulent transfers his negotiations were with the
Bank of England. For a period of almost ten years this incomparable
swindler maintained the credit of his house in this manner, selling
stocks belonging to his clients to the value of hundreds of thousands
of pounds. As the proprietors received their dividends as regularly
as ever--for Fauntleroy took care that their pass-books were credited
with the half-yearly payments--they never knew that their investments
had been abstracted. On the death of an owner the stolen stock was
replaced, and thus the trustees were unaware of the theft. So the
frauds went on, each forgery being shrouded by another, until the total
deficit of the Berners Street Bank exceeded half a million!
Narrow escapes were inevitable. On one occasion he was handing over a
power of attorney for the transfer of stock to one of the clerks in
the Consols Office at the Bank of England, when the person whose name
he had forged entered the room. Yet Fauntleroy’s _aplomb_ did not fail
him. As soon as he perceived the new-comer, he requested the clerk
to return the document, with the excuse that he wished to correct an
omission. Then, having secured the paper, he went to greet the friend
whom he was about to rob, and they strolled out of the bank together.
Another day, one of his lady clients instructed a London broker to sell
some stock for her. Finding no such investment registered in her name,
the man called at Berners Street to make inquiries. To his surprise
the plausible banker informed him that the lady had already desired
him to effect the sale. “And here,” continued the smiling Fauntleroy,
producing a number of Exchequer bills, “are the proceeds.” Although his
customer protested that she had never authorised the transaction, the
matter was allowed to drop. While a friend was chatting in his private
office he is said to have been imitating his signature, which he took
out to the counting-house before his companion had departed. One of
the last occasions when he visited the Bank of England was on the 5th
of January, the day on which Thurtell and Hunt were tried for the
Gillshill murder. While the clerk was crediting the dividend warrants
due to his firm, the banker conversed about the crime. It was noted
as a strange coincidence that the same clerk was one of the witnesses
against him.
One day in September 1824, Mr J. D. Hulme, an official of the Custom
House, wishing to examine a list of investments belonging to an
estate of which he had become a trustee, paid a visit to the Bank of
England. To his amazement he found that a sum of £10,000 in Consols
was missing, and inquiry proved that the stock had been sold by the
Berners Street manager under a power of attorney. On the advice of
Mr Freshfield, solicitor of the bank, an application was made to Mr
Conant of Marlborough Street, who was induced to grant a warrant for
the arrest of the suspected man. At last the wily Fauntleroy had been
caught napping; for although he was aware that there was a risk of
exposure, and had made preparations to reinvest the stolen Consols, he
had not yet been able to complete the transaction.
During the whole of Thursday night, Samuel Plank, chief-officer of
Marlborough Street, finding that the banker was away from home, paraded
Berners Street watching for his return. On the next morning, the 10th
of September, at his usual hour, the grave, neatly dressed forger
walked into his place of business. A mean trick marked the arrest.
Mr Goodchild, the other co-trustee of the plundered estate, entered
the counting-house a few moments before Plank, and proceeded into the
private office, while the constable, pretending to cash a cheque,
remained at the counter. When through the half-closed door of the inner
room he saw that the victim and decoy were closeted together, the
police-officer pushed past the astonished clerks, explaining that he
wanted to speak to their employer. As Fauntleroy raised his eyes from
his desk, and saw a warrant in the intruder’s hand, he realised that
the visit of his friend was merely a device to place him in the hand of
the law.
“Good God!” exclaimed the doomed man. “Cannot this business be settled?”
And tradition relates that he offered Plank a bribe of ten thousand
pounds to allow him to escape. But the officer proved incorruptible,
and soon the banker was standing in the presence of his astonished
friend, Magistrate John Conant, who, though sore distressed, was
compelled to commit him to Coldbath Fields prison.
“I alone am guilty,” cried the wretched Fauntleroy, in a burst of
penitence. “My colleagues did not know!”
Like the great model whom he had striven to emulate, the vain man had
found his Moscow. No longer was he the dandy banker of Berners Street,
whose friendship had been sought by so many rich men from the City.
The days of the lavish Corinthian, the associate of ‘bang-up pinks
and bloods’ had passed away for ever, and he had become a criminal,
standing beneath the shadow of the gallows!
While Mr Freshfield, with the aid of the constable, proceeded to
execute his right of search, the members of the firm were summoned to
town. At first the catastrophe was not appreciated to the full extent.
On the following morning the bank opened its doors, and customers paid
and drew their cheques as usual. However, before the close of the day
the proprietors sent an announcement to the press that “in consequence
of the extraordinary conduct of their partner,” they had determined for
the present to suspend payment.
During the whole of Monday, the 13th of September, an excited throng
took possession of Berners Street--neighbouring tradesmen trembling for
their deposits; men from the City dismayed by the wildest rumours. A
force of police was deemed necessary to prevent a riot. “Arrest of Mr
Fauntleroy, the well-known banker!” The amazing tidings was upon every
lip. A similar sensation had not been experienced in the memory of
man. Since the days of Dr Dodd, half a century before, none so high in
the social scale had been accused of such a crime. All the week, panic
reigned in business houses. It was whispered that the defalcations
would reach half a million pounds: that the greatest commercial
scandal of the age would be disclosed. One day, it was said that
Fauntleroy had arranged a plan of escape; on another, that he had cut
his throat with a razor.
In the presence of a crowd of his creditors, the forger--crushed,
despairing, overwhelmed with the deepest shame--was brought up for his
first examination at Marlborough Street on the following Saturday.
Although not more than forty, his hair, prematurely grey, made him look
much older. During ten long years of torture the slow fires of suspense
must have burnt deep into his soul, and the reality of this fatal
hour would seem less cruel than the dreaded expectation. One observer
states that “his expression is of pure John Bull good-nature”; another
declares that he had “a mild Roman contour of visage”; while his dress
was the inevitable blue tail-coat and trousers, with half-boots and a
light-coloured waistcoat--the morning attire of all gentlemen of the
period from Lord Alvanley and Ball Hughes down to Corinthian Tom.
On the Friday week following his first examination, the forger stood
once more in the dock at Marlborough Street. Two maiden ladies, Miss
Frances and Miss Elizabeth Young, whose small fortune had been stolen,
gave testimony against the prisoner. Pained to see the man whom they
had honoured and trusted in this terrible position, the tender-hearted
women were tearful and distressed. Since the maiden name of Mrs Henry
Fauntleroy was the same as theirs, rumour leapt to the conclusion that
these witnesses were the sisters of the prisoner’s wife. When the
unfortunate banker was seen to flush deeply as Miss Young appeared in
the witness-box, the error was confirmed.
It was not until the 19th of October that the accused went through his
third and last examination. Although well-groomed and immaculate as
ever, he was a mere shadow of the placid, inscrutable man of business
who had borne his guilty secret so boldly and so long. There was
“rather a ghastly than a living hue upon his countenance,” remarks the
stylist who reports for _The Times_. All the necessary charges being
proved, he was committed to Newgate, his removal being postponed until
Thursday, the 21st of October, on the application of his solicitor.
Meanwhile the London press had revelled in the case. Scarcely a day
passed without a reference to the forger or to the forgery, and there
was the greatest strife among the various newspapers to secure the
most lurid reports. Many times we have the amusing spectacle of two
journals belabouring each other like the envious editors in _Pickwick_.
Even the recent crime of John Thurtell--for in this wonderful fourth
year of his Gracious Majesty King George IV. the lucky public was
satiated with melodrama, while Jemmy Catnach’s pockets were overflowing
with gold--did not offer such chances of sensational reports. It was
announced to an amazed public that Fauntleroy had squandered the
proceeds of his forgeries in riot and dissipation. One-half of his
private life was disclosed to public ears; and though some of the
newspapers were merciful, just as others were hostile to the prisoner,
one and all, with very few exceptions, probed deep into his murky past.
Happily, there is no evidence to justify the supposition that the
partners in the Berners Street bank--and in particular Mr J. H.
Stracey, who thirty years later succeeded to the baronetcy held in turn
by his father and his two brothers--were responsible for the dastardly
attacks upon the defenceless man. Even had he given no public denial
to the charge, such an assumption is impossible in the case of an
honourable man like the late Sir Josias Stracey. Moreover, the identity
of the person who inspired the disgraceful accounts in _The Times_ and
other journals is easy to discern.
This spiteful enemy bursts upon the stage of the sad tragedy of
Fauntleroy like the comic villain of melodrama--too contemptible to
hate, but with a humour too crapulous for whole-hearted laughter.
Joseph Wilfred Parkins--elected Sheriff of London on the 24th of June
1819--appears to have been one of the most blatant humbugs that ever
belonged to the objectionable family of Bumble. Tradition relates that
he was the son of a blacksmith who lived on the borders of Inglewood
Forest in Cumberland; but Parkins, too proud to know from whence he
came, preferred to pass as a bastard of the Duke of Norfolk. In his
early youth, we are told that “he was apprenticed to a breeches-maker
in Carlisle, but his dexterity as a workman not being commensurate
with his powers of digestion, a separation took place.” Afterwards he
sailed to Calcutta, where, assisted by letters of introduction from his
patron the Duke, he established a lucrative business. In other ways,
according to account, he was a success in India, where he became famous
for hunting tigers with English greyhounds, and once shot a coolie for
disobeying his orders, two miles and a half distant, right through
the head, across the Ganges, and through an impenetrable jungle! On
another occasion he claimed to have ridden stark naked in mid-day, on
a barebacked horse without bridle, fifty miles in six hours, for a
wager, and to have trotted back for pleasure without even a drink of
water. When he returned to his native land with the treasures of the
East, it was inevitable that such a man should win notoriety. Having
failed to gain the affections of Queen Caroline, who preferred Alderman
Wood for a beau, he devoted himself to Olive Serres, ‘Princess of
Cumberland’ and became her champion and literary collaborator. One of
the achievements on which he most prided himself was the refusal to
marry a daughter of Lord Sidmouth, who was most eager to become his
father-in-law. Sometimes we behold him fawning upon Lord Mayor Waithman
and Orator Hunt. At others, no one excels him in hurling abuse at these
same celebrities. During a portion of his career a charmer named Hannah
White caused him much trouble. Probably he enjoys the unique honour of
being the only Sheriff of London upon whom the Court of Common Council
has passed a vote of censure for his conduct while in office.
For some years this great Parkins was a familiar friend of Henry
Fauntleroy. “I have been looking out for you in town these three or
four days,” the banker writes to him in May 1816, “as we have a dance
this evening, and lots of pretty girls, and I know you are an admirer
of them.” However, just after the arrest, the ex-Sheriff suspected
his former associate unjustly of a breach of faith, and thus became
his most deadly enemy, placing his intimate knowledge of his friend’s
habits at the service of the hostile press. In order to exhibit the
bankers depravity, he published a communication from the fair but frail
Corinthian Kate, known in real life as ‘Mother Bang’ but the context
chiefly serves to indicate that Parkins treasured a grudge because his
friend had never introduced him to the lady. Even after the criminal
had received sentence his animosity did not cease. “The penalty for
forgery should be the gallows,” he declared at a meeting of the Berners
Street creditors, “until the law discovered a worse punishment.”
When the only son of the condemned man, a youth of fifteen, wrote
to the papers, pleading that mercy should be shown to his father,
the vindictive ex-Sheriff declared in the columns of the _Morning
Chronicle_ (as it proved, falsely) that the boy was not the author
of the appeal. Nor did he scruple to print private letters from Mrs
Fauntleroy to her husband in order to show that she was an ill-used
wife.
Great indulgence was shown to the banker--for a forger always was
treated with lenience--during his term of imprisonment at the Old
Bailey. The same consideration--which aroused the ire of Parkins to
boiling point--had been paid to him while he was under the care of Mr
Vickery, ex-Bow Street runner, at that time the Governor of Coldbath
Fields bridewell. On this account there arose a very pretty quarrel, at
which, of course, the newspapers assisted, between John Edward Conant
of Marlborough Street and an elderly magistrate of Hammersmith named
John Hanson. The latter was accused of intruding into Fauntleroy’s room
at the House of Correction, when the following conversation is said to
have taken place:
“You are the banker from Berners Street, aren’t you?” demanded the
visitor.
“Yes, I am that unfortunate person, sir,” answered the prisoner.
“Oh, then you’d better look to your soul,” was the reply. “Look to your
Bible. Read your Bible.”
Although poor old Hanson, who was struck off the list of visiting
justices in consequence of his officiousness, made many earnest
protests that he had been misrepresented, and although Fauntleroy
acquitted him of all intent to offend, it would appear that his
observations were superfluous, whatever their precise form.
At Newgate the kind-hearted Mr Wontner--keeper of the gaol from 1822
till his premature death at the age of fifty in 1833--allowed the
unfortunate banker every privilege that lay in his power. Thus his
prison was no gloomy dungeon, but a large and well-furnished room,
occupied by a turnkey named Harris, who removed into an adjacent
apartment, and who, together with his wife, watched over and attended
to the wants of his charge. Convinced that his case was hopeless, it
is said that Fauntleroy resolved to plead guilty; but, urged by his
friends, and by his solicitors, Messrs Forbes & Harmer, he was induced
at last to abandon the intention.
James Harmer, who conducted his defence, was the great criminal
lawyer of his day--a prototype of Mr Jaggers--the prince of Old
Bailey attorneys. Among his clients were such diametrically opposite
characters as Joseph Hunt of Gillshill fame, and lusty Sam Bamford
of Middleton. The incidents of Mr Fauntleroy’s case offered many
opportunities for his versatile talents; and although he failed to
teach good manners to _The Times_ newspaper, he did much service to his
age, by means of a side issue, in getting Joseph Parkins indicted for
perjury. Yet the greatest abilities could do little to extenuate the
Berners Street forgeries. Still, whether or not he had a weakness for
scented soap, Harmer never fought in kid gloves, as the unfortunate
Messrs Marsh, Stracey, & Graham--whom he was compelled to damage in the
interests of the man he defended--found to their cost. Those inclined
to accuse Charles Dickens of exaggeration should bear in mind that
murderer Hunt, who chose Jaggers Harmer as his solicitor, escaped the
hangman’s rope, while Thurtell, who employed another lawyer, was handed
over to Thomas Cheshire.
The trial of Fauntleroy on Saturday, the 30th of October, did not
attract the mob of respectables that officialdom had anticipated. A
guinea entrance-fee proved prohibitive. Press and law students alone
furnished their crowds, and the private galleries were patronised but
poorly. Joseph Parkins, eager to witness the humiliation of the man
whom he had chosen to regard as an enemy, was an early arrival, taking
his place at the barristers’ table in front of the dock, where, in full
view of the prisoner, he could gloat over his misery. Luckily, Sheriff
Brown, whose humanity--like that of his colleague John Key--was
in advance of the age, witnessed the manœuvre, and, appreciating the
motive of the truculent nabob, sent an officer of the court to tell
him that his seat was engaged. Parkins, whose fierce eyes, glaring
from beneath bushy, overhanging brows, seemed to inflame his combative
features and fiery locks, turned in outraged dignity upon the official.
[Illustration:
_James Harmer, Esqʳ._
_Solicitor._
_Engraved by T. Wright from a Drawing by A. Wivell._
_London, Published August 1ˢᵗ, 1820, by A. WIVELL, 105, Great
Titchfield Street._]
“Do you know to whom you speak, sir?” he articulated.
“Know you?” was the reply. “To be sure I do. Come, be off!”
So the ‘XXX Sheriff’ was forced to make his exit by climbing
ignominiously over seats and benches, to the infinite mirth and
advantage of the gentlemen of the press.
At ten o’clock Justice Park and Baron Garrow come into court, followed
by the Attorney-General, the great Sir John Copley, soon to be Lord
Lyndhurst, who, instructed by Mr Freshfield, solicitor to the bank,
has charge of the prosecution. John Gurney, afterwards a judge, who,
like Scarlett and Adolphus, is one of the great criminal barristers of
his day, defends the prisoner. The buzz of many voices is hushed into
silence as Fauntleroy is placed at the bar. Jaggers Harmer accompanies
him. For a moment he is dazzled by the glare from the inverted mirror
above the dock. Making a feeble attempt to bow to his judges, he almost
falls back into the arms of the attendants. With closed eyes and bent
head, shrinking from the universal gaze, he stands with trembling
fingers resting on the bar--a picture of unutterable shame. Thin and
worn are his features, and his face is pale as death, while his hair,
thrown into contrast by his full suit of black, has become white as
though sprinkled with powder.
The Attorney-General proceeds with the first indictment, that which
charges the prisoner with transferring under a forged deed £5450 Three
per cent. Consols, belonging to Miss Frances Young. During the speech
there comes a disclosure amazing to everyone in court save the man in
the dock and those who defend him. In a private box found at Berners
Street after his arrest, a document has been discovered containing a
list of stolen securities. Upon this paper, written and signed by the
hand of Fauntleroy, and dated the 7th of May 1816, are these words,
which, as Sir John Copley reads them, bewilder all his hearers:--
“In order to keep up the credit of our house I have forged powers of
attorney, and have thereupon sold out all these sums, without the
knowledge of my partners. I have given credit in the accounts for the
interest when it became due. The Bank (of England) began first to
refuse our acceptances, and thereby to destroy the credit of our house;
they shall smart for it.”
Attorney-General and rest of the world are much puzzled, concluding
that but for unaccountable negligence the prisoner would have destroyed
this seemingly incriminating document; as though a forger would not
prefer that his frauds should be thought to have been actuated rather
by devotion to his business and revenge against the unpopular Old Lady
of Threadneedle Street than merely for the sake of self-aggrandisement.
“The Bank of England shall smart for it!” Were the story credible--were
Fauntleroy, in fact, a small defaulter--we may well believe that
another fierce outcry would have arisen against the wicked old harridan
of the City.
There is little difficulty in proving the indictment, while the poor
wretch in the dock sits huddled in his chair, trying vainly to conceal
his face with his handkerchief. A couple of his own clerks swear that
the signature to the deed is a forgery. Tear-stained Miss Young, whom
most regard as the sister-in-law of the accused man, proves that her
slender store of investments has been pilfered. Officials of the
Bank show that the unhappy prisoner was the thief. There crops up
a curious instance of the _naïveté_ of British jurisprudence. For
Threadneedle Street has been obliged to refund the stocks belonging to
Miss Young in order to make her ‘a competent witness’ lest it might
seem that she has a motive in affirming or denying the forgery of the
power of attorney. Thus the Old Lady confesses that she has bribed a
witness in order that this witness may not be suspected of trying to
obtain a bribe!
[Illustration: _FAUNTLEROY’S TRIAL AT THE OLD BAILEY._]
When Fauntleroy is called upon for his defence, he manages to stagger
to his feet. The law of England will not allow his counsel to speak
for him. Drawing a paper from his bosom, and wiping away the tears
that stream from his eyes, he adjusts his glasses. Then, in a clumsy,
insincere manner, like a schoolboy’s recitation, he begins to read
a long apology. It is apparent that he has not written the speech
himself, and it makes no impression. Commencing with a complaint
against the false and libellous accounts in the press, he sketches
the history of the Berners Street Bank in order to show that it has
received the benefit of the whole of his forgeries; describing how he
alone has borne the burden of the business and the anxiety of perilous
speculations, while his partners have given him no assistance. All his
frauds were accomplished to cover commercial losses, the withdrawal
of borrowed capital, and the overdrafts of two of his colleagues. To
every one of the charges of prodigality he offers an emphatic denial.
In conclusion, he makes a pathetic vindication of his conduct towards
his wife, declaring that not only are the statements published in the
newspapers false, but that she has had always the best of feeling
towards him.
Although just and merciful, the address of the judge is hostile to the
prisoner, and the jury, who retire at ten minutes to three, return in
less than a quarter of an hour with a verdict of guilty. Exhausted
with his long ordeal, poor Fauntleroy is incapable of exhibiting
emotion. A vacant expression is stamped on his pallid features, and
when Justice Park tells him that the trial is over he sinks listlessly
into his chair. Raising him in his arms, Governor Wontner supports him
from the dock.
On the following Tuesday, when the convict is brought up to hear his
doom in the New Court, Messrs Broderick and Alley move an arrest of
judgment on certain technical points of law. Justice Park, who is said
to have been acquainted with the prisoner, does not attend, but neither
Baron Garrow nor the Recorder will accept the empty but ingenuous
arguments of counsel. The prisoner reads a paper, stating that when he
committed the forgeries he had expected to repay the money when his
house prospered. Thus he begs for mercy from the Crown. Sentence of
death is the reply.
After the publication of Fauntleroy’s defence, the press attacks--as
no doubt Jaggers Harmer had foreseen--are turned against the unlucky
partners. All the statements of the condemned man find acceptance, like
the protests of every criminal, and it is believed that his colleagues
must be guilty of complicity in the frauds. From _The Times_ comes a
demand that Messrs Marsh, Stracey, and Graham shall be examined before
the Privy Council! A petition for reprieve is promoted by the creditors
of the Berners Street house, on the plea that Fauntleroy’s evidence
is necessary to elucidate the intricate accounts. Another lies at the
office of Harmer’s paper, the _Weekly Dispatch_.
Condemned convicts are quartered still, and for many years afterwards,
in the part of the prison known as the Press Yard--a walled quadrangle,
where they are allowed to herd together indiscriminately during certain
hours, adjacent to a three-storied building containing a day-room
and the cells in which they are locked at night. Being a person of
consequence, the miserable banker does not share this ignominy, but
returns to the same apartment that he had occupied before his trial.
Since the use of fetters had been abolished in Newgate, he is not
required to endure even the ‘light manacles’ which some of the papers
state he is wearing.
Remaining faithful to the end, although so deeply wronged, his poor
wife is a constant visitor. His brother John, a London solicitor, and
his fifteen-year-old son, reported variously as being educated at
Winchester and Westminster (afterwards at Skinner’s, Tonbridge), come
frequently to the prison. The beautiful Maria Fox, a mere schoolgirl
when first she became his mistress, and who appears to be deeply
attached to her protector, brings her two baby daughters to Newgate.
Few men in their last hours have witnessed more terrible examples of
the ruin they have wrought than the weak and self-indulgent Henry
Fauntleroy.
Gentle Mr Baker, the white-haired layman of the map office in the
Tower, whose work in the foul dungeon was scarcely less admirable
than that of Elizabeth Fry, seems to be more successful in winning
the affections of the condemned man than Ordinary Cotton; and the
efforts of this good Samaritan are aided by a clergyman from Peckham,
named Springett, to whom Fauntleroy had been introduced by a friend.
These two are his constant companions during the remainder of his
imprisonment. Most of his old associates prove loyal, in spite of his
infamy and disgrace, for the fearful penalty of the forger is thought
to atone for the greatest of frauds.
Meanwhile, exertions for a reprieve continue. The condemned banker is
not included in the Recorder’s report on the 20th of November at a
meeting of the Council, over which the King is said to have presided,
and the case is argued twice before the Judges on the 23rd and 24th of
the month. George IV., the only one of the four who was a gentleman,
a scholar, or a man of artistic taste, the only one whose foolish
egotism did not embroil the country in a costly and bloody war, was
also the only one with a merciful heart. His first great fault, for
which neither contemporaries nor posterity have forgiven him, was
infidelity to a dull, silly, uncleanly wife, whom he was compelled to
marry against his will, and who was nothing loth to pay him back in his
own coin. His next, that, like the Duke of Wellington and his brother
William, he was a lion among the ladies. George IV. is inclined to save
Fauntleroy from the scaffold, just as he wished to save all except the
murderer.
Every effort fails, however, and on Wednesday night, after a meeting
of the Privy Council, the Recorder sends his report to Newgate. At
half-past six the Rev. Cotton, whose duty it is to break the news of
their fate to the prisoners, proceeds to Fauntleroy’s room. The banker,
who is reading, looks up as the Ordinary enters, and, observing that he
is deeply affected, “Ah, Mr Cotton, I see how it is,” he exclaims. “I
expected nothing less than death, and, thank God, I am resigned to my
fate.” During the rest of the day he seems more concerned for the doom
of Joseph Harwood--a lad of eighteen, condemned to die the next morning
for stealing half a crown from the pocket of a drunken Irishman--than
for his own dismal situation. Worn out with suspense, he does not awake
until a late hour on Thursday, and thus sleep spares him the anguish of
hearing the awful bell that is added to the torments of those who go to
the scaffold innocent of murder.
On Friday, Miss Fox comes to bid him farewell, bringing with her, so
_The Times_ reports, “two lovely babes, both girls, of the ages of
eighteen months and three years, and both also in deep mourning.”
Another occasion, indeed, for the modern reader to exclaim--“Cruel,
like the grinding of human hearts under millstones.” One of that time
thinks so--Edmund Angelini, a crazy teacher of languages, who the same
day makes application to the Lord Mayor that he may be allowed to mount
the scaffold instead of Fauntleroy.
On Saturday, the miserable wife pays her last visit. Previously she
has made a desperate attempt to reach implacable Peel--fainting in his
hall--which brings from the Home Secretary “a kind message.” Afterwards
she strives to speak with Lady Conyngham, who pleads inability to
assist, conscious, no doubt, that although she can mould divine right,
her charms are powerless against the incorruptible calico-printer.
Angelini, still filled with lust for the rope, but whose logic has made
no impression on the Lord Mayor, comes hammering at Newgate door, and
succeeds in gaining an interview with Ordinary Cotton, whom, perhaps,
he regards--judging by appearances--as Jack Ketch’s commanding officer.
With the Sabbath comes gala-day and the ‘condemned sermon’ The partners
of Jaggers Harmer, by name Forbes and Mayhew, are humane enough to
sit with Fauntleroy in the ostentatious sable pew reserved for doomed
convicts, and the good Samaritans Baker and Springett, supporting their
charge with kind hands, take their seats with the dismal company.
Abductor Wakefield has left a graphic picture of an entertainment
similar to this. The rude, unsightly chapel, near akin in more than
appearance to the dissecting-room in Old Surgeons’ Hall, and with no
more semblance of holiness than the court at Bow Street, is packed
with prisoners, gay and careless sight-seers, the pomp of sheriffdom
and attendant lackeys. Hymns are bellowed, in hideous blasphemy,
beseeching divine mercy to show good example to the creatures it has
moulded in its own image. Prayers are mumbled, and heeded as little by
the gallows-gazing throng as the showman’s horn by children who pant
eagerly for the puppet-show. The hangman’s prologue--the sermon--is
what all desire, and everything else is of no account. At last the Rev.
Cotton, smug and resolute in white gown, mounts the lofty pulpit, and
the Sheriffs attempt to screw their courage to face the ordeal. The
Ordinary is in his finest form. On the previous Sunday he had shattered
the nerves of the boy Harwood, and had sent ‘a female’--condemned to
die for a paltry theft--into hysterics a fortnight ago. Scenes like
these make the condemned sermon attractive. To-day the discourse is
a stupid plagiarism of the Jacobite doctrine of passive resistance,
but the bank’s charter, and not divine right, is Cotton’s fetish.
While lauding the humanity of “the greatest commercial establishment
in the world,” he displays his want of accuracy and legal knowledge
by praising the directors for having replaced the stolen investments,
as they had not yet done, but were bound by law to do. “I deprecate
that feeling,” he declaims, “which is artfully and improperly excited
in favour of those who have no extraordinary claim to mercy. When
monstrous crimes have been committed we have a right to call for
judgment on criminals, and to consign them to the fate the law demands.
Offences are sometimes brought to light which require the most severe
chastisement the law can inflict, and discoveries of such a nature
have been made in reference to the unhappy individual to whom I shall
more particularly address myself,” etc., etc. Upon the limp, shrinking
figure in the large black pew, whose poor throbbing brain is pierced
through and through by the barbed words of the holy man, all eyes are
turned, save a few blinded with tears, or those wretches of both sexes
who testify by sobs and howls that a like fate is their portion. Even
in the leathern faces and soulless eyes of the grim turnkeys there
glimmers a tiny spark of emotion. It is pleasant to remember that
the Rev. Cotton, harmless and worthy gentleman in other respects,
received strong censure from those in authority for his eloquence at
the expense of Fauntleroy, and was accused of “harrowing the feelings
of the prisoner unnecessarily.” Still, it would have been wiser to have
attacked the system rather than the man.
Less gruesome even than the loathsome chapel is the condemned cell on
the fatal night. All day the doomed banker has been calm and resigned,
bidding adieu to his brother and his son, and explaining to his
solicitors intricate details in the books of the bank. Late in the
evening Mr Wontner comes to visit him as usual, and tries to persuade
him to take something to eat, but the wretched man protests he ‘loathed
food’ For hours he continues to pace the room, leaning on the arm of Mr
Springett. Although he declares that he shall never sleep until after
that ‘awful moment’ about three o’clock he is induced to lie upon the
bed. The clergyman, who leaves the chamber for a few moments, finds
him, when he returns, sitting by the fire and greatly terrified. Early
in the morning he is able to accept a cup of tea and a biscuit. Before
six o’clock Baker has resumed his work of mercy, and a little later
conscientious Ordinary Cotton joins the sad company. Neat and precise
as ever, the forger has made as careful a toilet as if he was to attend
a social gathering, attired in a suit of black, with knee-breeches,
silk stockings and dress shoes, and a white handkerchief around his
neck. To Mr Baker he gives a few pounds to distribute among the needy
people in the prison, and leaves a ring for Mrs Harris, the wife of the
turnkey, to whom, and also to her husband, he gives thanks for their
kindness.
Fauntleroy is spared a visit to the Press Yard, or to the adjacent
apartment, where the manacles of prisoners are knocked off previous to
the march to the scaffold. About 7.30 they conduct him to the ‘Upper
Condemned Room’ and here his favourite hymn is sung--“God moves in a
mysterious way”--and he partakes of the sacrament. From the numerous
conflicting reports it may be gathered that Sheriff Brown and his
ghastly train--for Alderman Key did not care to be present--attend
their victim at a quarter to eight. At the end of the long stone
chamber, dimly lighted by two candles, a small group is huddled before
the fire--the Rev. Cotton administering platitudes, Baker and Springett
on each side of the prisoner with their arms linked in his. Fauntleroy
is standing firmly in easy pose, although his senses seem benumbed
as if under the influence of a narcotic, and he bows slightly to the
Sheriff, who addresses him in a few kindly words. The Ordinary--clever
stage-manager--seizes the opportunity to draw the criminal a pace
or two apart, and the officers, taking the signal, come behind, and
commence to place their ropes around his arms. For a moment he seems
terrified, and like a hunted animal shrinks for refuge to his two
faithful friends, who gently place his hands across his breast, while
the attendants pinion his elbows with their cords.
The clock of St Sepulchre--ominous name!--strikes the hour. With a
solemn inclination of his head towards the convict the Sheriff moves
forward, followed by the white-robed Cotton. Then comes the hapless
banker, supported by Baker and Springett. With tightly closed eyes and
mechanical steps, as though his nerves were dead and his senses steeped
in torpor, he moves almost as an automaton. Through the long vaulted
passages, where the tread of footsteps seem to beat a funeral march to
the grave, down cold, steep stairs and along damp, cavernous windings,
amidst a gloom made more fearful by the red glare of scanty lamps, the
procession crawls onward. As it reaches the gate of the long corridor
leading into the high, square lobby, from whence the Debtors’ Door
opens upon the street, the Ordinary commences the service for the
dead. At the sound of the harsh words the wretched sufferer starts,
and clasps and unclasps his hands. No other sign of emotion marks his
bearing; and even when the boom of the passing bell smites the startled
ears of his companions, and their footsteps, as though stayed, pause
for a moment involuntarily, he shows no sign of consciousness.
Across the lofty stone hall, and under the gate of the slaughter-house,
the Sheriff and the Ordinary pass onward. There is a rush of chill,
moist air through the open door, the bare wooden stairs reverberate
with the tread of feet, and in another moment Fauntleroy, still
supported by his friends, is standing upon the platform in the open
street beneath the frowning wall of Old Bailey. Instantly every head
in the dense crowd is uncovered. Yet this is not a token of respect
for a dying man, but a time-honoured custom, so that the view of those
in the rear may not be obscured. With eyes still closed, and his face
turned towards Newgate Street, Fauntleroy moves under the cross-bar.
Physical exhaustion is fast conquering him, and the officials hasten
their task. In a moment the cap is slipped over his head, while Baker,
accustomed to these scenes, speaks to him in earnest prayer. The halter
is placed round his neck, and the loathly creature, whose expert hands
have finished pawing their victim, glides swiftly from the scaffold.
The Rev. Cotton continues to read from his book, but his eyes steal
sideways furtively, and he throws a glance of meaning upon the man who
has descended. An instant later, the Ordinary passes a handkerchief
across his lips. It is the signal! There is a crash of falling timber,
and to those in the street Fauntleroy appears to drop through the
platform as far as his knees, and hangs swaying from the strong black
beam which holds the cord that is gripping him by the throat. The
bowstring of the unspeakable Turk is a more artistic but not a more
cruel death.
The performance was an immense success, for a more stupendous throng
had never gathered round the black walls of Newgate. Over one hundred
thousand persons were said to have witnessed the entertainment, and
reserved seats in the houses commanding a view of Debtors’ Door
had been booked far in advance. At the ‘King of Denmark’ in the
Old Bailey the sum of fourteen shillings was charged for a place;
while at Wingrave’s eating-house and at Luttman’s, which were
exactly opposite ‘the drop’ the price was as high as one pound.
“Many respectable-looking females,” says the _Morning Post_, “were
present at the windows, all attired in deep black.” A line of large
waggons, hackney-coaches and cabriolets, all of which reaped a rich
harvest, stretched from the corner of Giltspur Street and Newgate to
Skinner’s Street, Snowhill, and every housetop was overflowing with
holiday-makers.
It was a bitterly cold morning, with icy rain-storms and a chill
mist, so the resolute thousands thoroughly deserved the enjoyment for
which they set at defiance all the ills of the flesh. Most careful
precautions were taken to avoid a repetition of the Haggerty-Holloway
tragedy, when the mob saved James Botting--that worthy soul whose
latter days were distressed by visions of ‘parties’ in nightcaps with
their heads on one side--an infinite deal of trouble by trampling
to death some fifty of its fellows. Six huge barriers stretched
across Newgate Street at the corner of the prison, and there were two
intermediate ones, to break the press, between that place and the
scaffold; more were erected at the Ludgate Hill termination of Old
Bailey, and within the barricade around the fatal platform were four
hundred constables.
[Illustration: _CATNACH’S BROADSIDE OF FAUNTLEROY’S EXECUTION._]
Sad to relate, the object-lesson was a failure in one instance, for
Henry Norman, a fine-looking lad of fifteen, was charged at the
Guildhall the next morning with picking a pocket, the owner of which
was gloating over the spectacle of the strangled banker. It speaks
highly for the integrity of our modern police force that, in these days
of exclusive hangings, a nimble-fingered Robert has never tried to
filch the watch of an impressionable Under-Sheriff. Or if he has, the
public has not heard of it.
In these record-breaking times it is a common occurrence for a trusted
attorney to embezzle half a million pounds, but before the achievements
of Henry Fauntleroy all previous forgeries sink into insignificance.
Poor Dodd surrendered all he stole, and Wynne Ryland’s fraud was, in
its way, as artistic a performance as those of Thomas Chatterton, while
a brief career of crime--as in the case of Henry Savary of Bristol, who
was lucky enough to escape the gallows--ruined the brothers Perreau.
James Bolland and John Rouvelett were low-born fellows; and although
the public welcomed each as a first-class criminal, neither gained
the same prestige as a forger of gentle birth. In a small way, Henry
Cock, the lawyer, anticipated the Berners Street frauds, and two other
cases bear some resemblance. Henry Weston, a man of good family and
social position, who was hanged at the Old Bailey on the 6th of June
1796, disposed of stocks amounting to twenty-five thousand pounds in
a similar manner to Fauntleroy; and Joseph Blackburn, one of the most
respected of Leeds attorneys, who suffered a lingering death at York on
the 8th of April 1815, committed innumerable frauds for a great number
of years by transferring and altering the denominations of the old
familiar blue stamps.
“Fauntleroy’s doom was so thoroughly recognised as well merited,”
writes Mr Thornbury, sternly, about forty years after the event, “that
although in 1832 every other kind of forger was exempted by law from
the gallows, the hands of the hangman still hovered over the forger of
wills and powers of attorney to transfer stock.” Yet, since the penalty
was never inflicted, this argument appears superfluous.
Fauntleroy certainly is the prince of forgers, as truly as Jack
Sheppard is the greatest of prison-breakers and George Barrington the
finest genius among pickpockets. Although driven to crime in the first
instance by moral cowardice and craving for self-indulgence, he must
have possessed an almost Napoleonic confidence that his abilities would
conquer misfortune. Too proud to surrender the terrible struggle, he
refused to adopt the easy alternative of flight to France with his
ill-gotten gains. When one tries to realise the stupendous task of
manipulating figures of such magnitude for so many years, the brain
reels. The regular payment of huge dividends lest the victims should
become aware of their loss, the constant replacement of stock when
discovery seemed to threaten, the repeated buying and selling in
order to rob Peter to-day to pay Paul to-morrow, the daily juggling
with the books, and adjustment of balances, added to the incessant
vigilance lest the errors of a few figures should mean betrayal to
partners or clerks--all these wonderful transactions show an example
of mathematical legerdemain such as the world has seldom seen. When it
is borne in mind that the man was playing for nearly ten years with
sums amounting in the aggregate to half a million sterling, his title
to the incomparable forger of all time cannot be challenged. But like
many another who has contributed to the public amusement, his memory
soon faded from the minds of all save his creditors. Scarcely had the
curtain been rung down on the tragedy of Fauntleroy, when it rose again
upon the entrancing drama of accommodating Miss Foote and wayward Mr
‘Pea-green’ Hayne.
Occasionally, but not often, we hear mention of the banker’s name, and
there was a recent reference to it in one of the delightful novels of
Anthony Hope.
“It is no longer a capital offence,” declares ribald Arty Kane,
referring to forgery, and addressing charming Peggy Ryle; “you won’t be
hanged in silk knee-breeches like Mr Fauntleroy.”
_Part II.--Some Details of the Forgeries._
[Sidenote: The Berners Street bankruptcy.]
No complete balance-sheet of the Marsh-Stracey bankruptcy appears
to exist. The books of the firm seem to have baffled both the
Commissioners and the assignees; and so artfully had Fauntleroy
concealed his frauds, that even skilled accountants did not succeed
in unravelling the whole of their mysteries. Contemporary newspapers
furnish many important clues, but their statements, when not
conflicting, are neither lucid nor exhaustive. Yet, although many
details must remain obscure, it is possible to form a rough conception
of the result.
[Sidenote: The position of the bankrupts.]
Since we know that the first dividend of 3s. 4d. in the pound
(distributed to the creditors on the 7th of February 1825) absorbed
a sum of £92,486, it is clear that Messrs Marsh, Stracey & Company
required a grand total of £554,916 to pay twenty shillings in the
pound. Practically these figures are substantiated by the preliminary
accounts presented at the meeting of the Commissioners on the 18th of
December 1824, which state that the claims against the firm--excluding
any liability to the Bank of England--amount to £554,148.
This estimate, however, is the only one of any accuracy made at the
time, for the assets expected to be realised fell very short of the
original calculation. A second dividend of 3s. 4d. was received by
the creditors on the 30th of August 1825, and between that date and
the appointment of the official assignee a further sum of £46,243 was
distributed. Thus the total of the first three dividends--which were
equivalent to 8s. 4d. in the pound--amounts to £231,215.
The bankruptcy return of Patrick Johnson (official assignee), published
in 1839, shows that assets were collected subsequently amounting to
£160,930, and thus the creditor side of the Berners Street ledger
appears to have reached a total of £392,150.
From this balance of £160,930--realised by the official assignee after
the payment of the first three dividends--further distributions of 5d.
and 1s. (being 9s. 9d. in the pound in all) were made respectively on
the 23rd of December 1833 and the 9th of September 1835, and absorbed
further sums of £11,560, 15s. and £27,745, 16s.
During September 1835 the claim of the Bank of England against Messrs
Marsh, Stracey & Company was compromised for a payment of £95,000
in cash; and a further sum of £11,000 for the expenses of working
the Commission of Bankruptcy from the 16th of September 1824 to the
end of the year 1833 must also be deducted. Therefore a balance of
£15,628--less any further costs--appears to have remained for payment
of a final dividend. Although many of the newspapers state that this
was made on the 7th of October 1837, unfortunately none of them give
any particulars. Yet it may be conjectured that the unfortunate
customers of the Berners Street Bank, after waiting for thirteen years,
could not have received more than 10s. 6d. in the pound.
The following rough balance-sheet will explain the above account:--
_Dr._ _Cr._
First div. 3s. 4d., Feb. 7, First div., £92,486 0
1825, £92,486 0 Second div., 92,486 0
Second div. 3s. 4d., Aug. Third div., 46,243 0
30, 1825, 92,486 0 Received by the official
Third div. 1s. 8d., (paid assignee at 84 Basinghall
before Dec. 28, 1832), 46,243 0 Street from Dec. 28,
Fourth div. 5d., Dec. 23, 1832, to Oct 7, 1837, 160,930 0
1833, 11,560 15 /
Fifth div. 1s., Sept. 9, /
1835, 27,745 16 /
Bank of England, Sept. /
1835, 95,000 0 /
Expenses of Administration /
up to Dec. 24, 1833, 11,000 0 /
Balance (including all costs /
from Dec. 24, 1833, to /
Oct. 7, 1837, and out of /
which the final dividend /
was made on Oct. 7, /
1837,) 15,628 9 /
----------- -----------------------
£392,150 0 £392,150 0
----------- -----------
[Sidenote: The private estates of the partners.]
The private estates of Messrs Stracey and Graham paid twenty shillings
in the pound before the end of 1833; and upon that of Mr Marsh, the
senior partner, who appears to have been indebted to the firm for a
loan of £73,000, excluding his overdraft on his private account, a
distribution of 17s. 6d. had been made before 1834. Little was received
on Fauntleroy’s estate, as it was claimed almost entirely by the
creditors of the Berners Street Bank.
[Sidenote: Losses under Fauntleroy’s management.]
It is now possible to form an estimate of the extent to which Messrs
Marsh, Stracey & Company were defaulters, and what were the losses
under the Fauntleroy régime. The total receipts set against the claims
of the creditors and the money stolen from the Bank of England, show a
deficiency of £522,980. Thus:--
_Dr._ _Cr._
Claims of the creditors (to pay Total receipts £392,150
20s. in the £) £554,916 Deficiency 522,980
Gross loss of the Bank 360,214
-------- --------
£915,130 £915,130
-------- --------
[Sidenote: How the losses were incurred.]
Although it would be difficult, with any degree of accuracy, to
apportion under the separate charges this adverse balance of over
half a million pounds, and although much must be left to conjecture,
it is possible to explain some of the ways in which this vast sum was
dissipated. At the outset, the suggestion--arising out of one of the
pleas of Fauntleroy, and believed at the time--that the overdraft
on loans to two of the partners was responsible for a deficit of
£100,000, is refuted by the fact that both Messrs Marsh and Graham
refunded eventually their obligations to the full extent. In like
manner, the belief that large sums were lost owing to the necessity of
reinvesting constantly the various stocks sold by Fauntleroy in order
to avoid detection, overlooks the fact that, on the other hand, these
transactions must have afforded similar opportunities for making a
profit. It is probable that many such losses did occur; but since we
may believe that the Berners Street Bank prior to the forgeries was
earning an income of £7000 a year, it is likely that such an astute
manager as Henry Fauntleroy would be able to cancel many of these
losses through reinvestment by the profits he earned on the immense
capital he had secretly appropriated.
[Sidenote: (_a_) Loss of £160,000 in building speculations.]
[Sidenote: (_b_) £90,000 lost by paying dividends on the stolen stocks.]
Although the forger’s estimate of the result of his building
speculations is extravagant, the newspapers of the 20th of December
1824 make it clear that the Berners Street house must have lost in this
manner £160,000. It is certain also that immense sums were absorbed
by the payment of dividends to the proprietors whose stocks had been
stolen. Nearly £7000 per annum must have been required for this
purpose from the year 1816, and the sum would accumulate at compound
interest, until, as some say, an annual fund of £16,000 was required.
Setting aside all excessive calculations, we have the great authority
of the historian of the Bank of England that £9000 to £10,000 a year
was thus expended during the progress of the forgeries. Further than
this, notwithstanding that the partners in the bankrupt firm were
not entitled to any fraction of profit, the testimony of almost the
entire press credits each of them with receiving an income of over
£3000. At the examination of William Marsh, reported in the newspapers
of the 1st of March 1825, it was proved that he was indebted on his
private account for an overdraft of £26,000. As there is no reason to
believe that Mr Stracey or Mr Graham had enjoyed a smaller income, a
further deficit of nearly £80,000 is the result. And finally, as will
be shown, there is an overwhelming weight of evidence to prove that
the iniquitous Henry Fauntleroy, during the nineteen years he was a
partner, dissipated at least £100,000. In addition, the repayment of
the capital of Sir James Sibbald (who died the 17th of September 1819),
which formed a large portion of £64,000--the capital of the firm in
1814--would swell the adverse balance still further. Leaving this
out of the question, the facts stated above explain the deficit of
£430,000; and with the material at our disposal any further solution
would involve a more elaborate use of the methods of conjecture.
[Sidenote: (_c_) Loss of £80,000 through payments to Messrs Marsh,
Stracey & Graham.]
[Sidenote: (_d_) Fauntleroy spent £100,000.]
[Sidenote: To what extent did Fauntleroy participate in the proceeds of
his forgeries?]
When Fauntleroy made his famous declaration from the dock, he was
endeavouring to refute the extravagant assertion that he had spent a
sum of over four hundred thousand pounds in riotous living; and thus,
led to the opposite extreme, he made the mistake of attempting to
convey an erroneous impression of his frugality. Thus the statement
that he had never enjoyed any advantage beyond that in which all his
partners had participated seems to hint economy; but as Mr Marsh had
overdrawn his loan account by £70,000, the proposition is irrelevant
to the argument. Then, again, he confesses that the Brighton villa
cost £400, but he is not candid enough to admit the expenses of his
other establishments. The stern reality--that a thief cannot justify
the expenditure of one pennyworth of stolen property--never entered
his mind. Utterly false, however, is his answer to the charges of
profligacy--outrageous though they were.
“It has been cruelly asserted,” he declares, “that I fraudulently
invested money in the Funds to answer the payment of annuities
amounting to £2200 settled upon females. I never did make such
investment.”
No single tenet in Father Garnet’s doctrine of equivocation
puts greater stress upon the truth. Whoever made the necessary
investments--and the forger was shrewd enough not to let the
transaction appear in his own name--there is certain evidence that
he provided lavishly for his mistress Maria Fox. The lie is merely
concealed in subtle language.
“Neither at home nor abroad,” continues Fauntleroy, “have I any
investment, nor is there one shilling secretly deposited by me in the
hands of any human being.”
Such an assertion goes far beyond the sophistry of the most misguided
seventeenth-century Jesuit, for the Commissioners of Bankruptcy were
soon to discover that he had squandered thousands on his friend Mrs
Disney. His one denial in unequivocal terms is a deliberate falsehood.
“Equally ungenerous and untrue it is,” the forger proceeds, “to charge
me with having lent to loose and disorderly persons large sums of money
which never have and never will be repaid. I lent no sums but to a very
trifling amount, and those were advanced to valued friends.”
No doubt this last declaration had reference to the rumour that he had
squandered money upon the notorious Mary Ann Kent, ‘Mother Bang’--who
figures as ‘Corinthian Kate’ in _Life in London_--and its truth or
falsehood must depend upon the exact definition of the term ‘large
sums’ The criminal who had dealings with huge balance-sheets, naturally
had a magnificent sense of proportion.
[Sidenote: Fauntleroy’s expenditure.]
Fortunately, there is evidence of some of the ‘prodigal extravagance’
that was laid at his door. The total loss of the Bank of England owing
to the forgeries was £360,214, and the original claim of the directors
against the Berners Street establishment was £250,000. So it seems that
the balance was believed to have been spent wholly by Fauntleroy, and
not placed to the credit of the partnership. The sworn testimony of Mr
Wilkinson, an accountant employed by the assignees to examine the books
of the bankrupts--although inclined to favour Messrs Marsh, Stracey &
Company--supports this assumption in the most decisive manner. Thus, in
spite of his defence, it would appear that during his management the
forger appropriated for himself a sum of over £100,000. These figures,
moreover, are endorsed by the fair-minded James Scarlett, who made the
same statement as Wilkinson in his speech for the defendants in the
case of Stone and Others _v._ Marsh, Stracey & Company, which was heard
on the 2nd of March 1826. To disregard such unanimous testimony is
impossible.
[Sidenote: How did Fauntleroy spend the money?]
[Sidenote: (_a_) Domestic expenditure £2000 a year.]
It is quite credible that for a period of seventeen years (from 1807
to 1824) a man of Fauntleroy’s habits should expend an average income
of £5000. Had each of his three establishments--in Berners Street, in
Brighton, and at Lambeth--cost him as much as his moderate estimate of
one--and none of them could have been less expensive--the total reaches
£1200 a year. In addition to this, it is known that he allowed an
annuity of £400 to his wife. Thus, as he kept horses and carriages both
at London and the seaside, his lowest annual domestic expenditure must
have been at least £2000, or £34,000 over the period. Although the
house at Fulham was one of his later extravagances, there were others
that had taken its place previously.
[Sidenote: (_b_) Freehold property £10,000.]
The villa, land and furniture at Brighton, sold after his death,
realised nearly £7000--the residence alone is said to have cost him
this amount; and since he was the owner of a mews and six houses in
Bryanston Square, and two other houses in York Street, his freehold
property, on a moderate estimate, must have been worth £10,000.
[Sidenote: (_c_) Maria Fox £10,000.]
From the reports of the trial of Maria Fox at the Lewes Assizes in
April 1827, we gather that Fauntleroy settled on his youthful mistress
£6000, besides an annuity of £150, “of which the assignees,” said John
Adolphus, her counsel, “through the advice of a worthy gentleman, Mr
Bolland, were not so cruel as to deprive her.” Thus another £10,000 is
added to the banker’s debt.
[Sidenote: (_d_) Mrs J. C. Disney, £10,000.]
During the month of December 1824 the London papers are full of
insinuations with regard to Fauntleroy’s improper connection with a Mrs
James C. Disney, and the letter from the lady’s husband, which appeared
in the _New Times_ on the 24th of December, substantiates unwittingly
much of the truth of the story. It is certain that the creditors of
Marsh, Stracey & Company recovered large sums from this Mrs Disney, who
had been the recipient of Fauntleroy’s bounty to an extent exceeding
the limits of platonic love, and according to _The Times_ the amount
refunded was £10,000. Although many reports state that she received
twice this sum, it is sufficient for the purpose to accept the lesser
figures.
Thus there is almost complete evidence that Fauntleroy’s expenditure
under three heads--domestic expenses, freehold property, and the two
mistresses above mentioned--absorbed a sum of £64,000. It is not
unreasonable to suppose that the man who could squander this money in
less than seventeen years, while his firm was in so dire a plight,
was capable of spending double the amount. It is improbable that his
various establishments cost him no more than £2000 a year; and if
_The Times_ of the 1st of December is to be believed, he confessed
that he had enjoyed a very much larger income. The age of pinks and
bloods was as extravagant as our own, and many luxuries of life were
more expensive. Fauntleroy was a patron of ‘Corinthian Kate’; and if
Pierce Egan is an authority, we may conjecture--in spite of her denial
to Joseph Parkins--that the unfortunate banker found her an expensive
luxury. Like the great man whom he took a pride in fancying he
resembled, it is notorious that the forger had a weakness for what his
contemporaries termed ‘ladybirds’ and was in this respect a dissipated
and worthless fellow. Moreover, he was celebrated for his costly
dinners and rare wines--there is the grisly story of the friend who
urged him as a last request to tell where he purchased his exquisite
curaçoa--and he seems to have denied himself no luxury. Although it is
not possible to give a complete explanation of Fauntleroy’s expenditure
during the years of his race to ruin, it is satisfactory to know some
portion of the details, and they show, through all possible coats of
whitewash, that he was guilty of the most prodigal extravagance.
[Sidenote: The conduct of the partners.]
Since the partners of the Berners Street Bank were censured for gross
negligence in two courts of law, it is not surprising that their
creditors should have treated them with intolerance. At first the
public had regarded them as unfortunate dupes, and it was not until
Fauntleroy had made his defence that a popular outcry arose. It seemed
incredible that three men of the world should have thrown the heavy
burden of managing a firm, weighed down by embarrassments, upon the
shoulders of a youth of twenty-two, and equally preposterous that, in
the face of losses reaching into hundreds of thousands, the young
man’s colleagues should have remained easy, trusting, asleep. Yet, in
spite of the onslaught of the London press, and the clamour of the
noisy creditors, headed by Joseph Parkins and his fellows, beneath
the roof of the ‘Boar and Castle’ and the ‘Freemasons’ Tavern,’ it
is certain that Messrs Marsh, Stracey & Graham were innocent of all
guilty complicity in their partner’s frauds. The statements that had
aroused the storm against them proved to be baseless or exaggerated. It
has been shown that the Berners Street Bank did not lose £270,000 in
building speculations between 1810 and 1816, as Fauntleroy suggested,
and to meet the loss that did occur a large sum was raised by the
supporters of the firm, to which William Marsh contributed £40,000.
Thus, considering the reticence of their manager, there was good reason
why the partners should believe that they had weathered the financial
panic which brought to ruin so many of their contemporaries.
Modern commerce estimates more accurately the value of youth than the
age of Mr Walter the Second; and as young Fauntleroy, who was one of
the smartest bank managers in London, accepted his responsibilities
with zest and cheerfulness, it is not surprising that he became the
autocrat of the firm. Moreover, the juggler who could deceive the
clerks working at his elbow day by day would have no difficulty in
satisfying the periodical curiosity of sleeping-partners. Fat profits
rolled into their coffers, and, like many another good easy man, they
did not pause to look a gift horse in the mouth. Fools they were, and
must remain, but in the end the world ceased to suspect their honour.
Still, their credulity was remarkable. All three of them appear to have
been the instruments of most of the frauds, attending at the Bank of
England to make the transfer under the forged powers of attorney, and
instructing brokers to dispose of the stolen stocks and bonds. In one
particular, however, the conduct of Marsh and Stracey appeared dubious.
On the day of Fauntleroy’s arrest the daughter of the former cashed
a cheque for £5000, while the latter drew out over £4000 in the name
of his father. The trick was discovered, and restitution made to the
creditors.
[Sidenote: The Bank of England’s claim.]
As might be supposed, the Bank of England received little sympathy
either from the press or from the people. The directors never disputed
their obligation--as managers of the public debt--to refund to the
rightful proprietors the whole of the stocks that had been stolen,
but they made every effort to enforce their claim against the Berners
Street firm--amounting to a quarter of a million--which they contended
that Fauntleroy had placed to the credit of his house. It was soon made
clear by law that Messrs Marsh, Stracey & Company were responsible to
the stockholders, who had been defrauded by their managing partner,
and thus were equally responsible to the Bank, whose debt was similar
to that of the stockholders. The chief obstacle to the enforcement of
the Bank’s claim lay in the fact that the proprietors of the stolen
stocks were clients, and, as a natural consequence, creditors also
of Marsh, Stracey & Company. Being aware that the directors were
legally compelled to replace their missing Consols and Exchequer
Bills, they raised a great clamour against the claim of the Bank, for
naturally they perceived that if it was enforced the cash balances in
their Berners Street pass-books would be diminished. This difficulty
compelled the Bank to seek the consent of the Courts to permit them
to claim from the bankrupts the lump sum that had been restored to
the stockholders, so that it would not be necessary to bring forward
reluctant persons to prove each separate debt. Lord Chancellor
Lyndhurst ruled, however, that each transaction must be established to
the satisfaction of the Commissioners of Bankruptcy in the usual way,
and thus the Bank was driven to depend upon the stockholders. Since the
claim of half a million was compromised for a payment of £95,000, we
may conclude that the majority of the Berners Street creditors were not
disposed to assist the rival claimant to a share of their dividends.
[Sidenote: The transfer of stock.]
Much has been written of the lax methods of transferring stock in
vogue at the Bank of England. As the frauds were so slovenly that
Fauntleroy’s clerks had no difficulty in detecting their employer’s
handwriting in the signature attached to the forged power of attorney
produced at the trial, it is plain that the crimes could not have
continued for so many years unless a most careless system had
prevailed. The Berners Street swindle showed that it was possible
for any applicant with whom the clerks at the Consols Office were
acquainted to complete the transfer of another person’s securities,
provided only that he possessed a knowledge of the exact value of the
particular stock he wished to appropriate. A power of attorney seems
to have been as readily acted upon as obtained, and no comparison of
the real owner’s signature appears to have been made. This danger was
pointed out subsequently at a meeting of the Court of Proprietors, and
a shareholder made the wise suggestion that when any transfer was made
immediate notice should be sent to the proprietor of the stock.
Yet checks and precautions did exist at the Bank of England in the days
of Henry Fauntleroy. The purchasers of securities were recommended
to protect themselves from fraud by accepting themselves--that is to
say, by signing--all transfers of stock made to them, thus giving the
officials of the Bank the opportunity of comparing the handwriting of
the proprietor whenever necessary. Still, the investing public rarely
complied with this regulation, and Fauntleroy must have been aware
that there was no danger of detection on this account.
Although forgery of such a description is more difficult in these days,
yet prudence should neglect no safeguard that does not impede the
business of everyday life. A signature, however much resemblance it
has to its original, may still be a forgery, and personal attendance
might be simulated by a bold and plausible scoundrel. The most sure
precaution is the one suggested on the 17th of September 1824 by the
nameless proprietor, that whenever a transfer is lodged immediate
notice shall be sent to the holder of the stock.
FAUNTLEROY AND THE NEWSPAPERS
1. _The Morning Chronicle._
Under the leadership of the famous John Black, this paper had
become a somewhat fat and stodgy production, savouring of the
‘unco guid’ It is fierce in its attacks upon Fauntleroy’s
partners for their indolence and carelessness, and pleads that
mercy shall be shown to the offender. Special prominence is
given to the pious conversations alleged to have taken place
in Newgate between the prisoner and his spiritual advisers
Messrs Springett and Baker. Since this paper is not hostile
to Fauntleroy, it is strange that it should publish (November
11) a vile communication from his enemy J. W. Parkins, an
ex-Sheriff of London, in which the writer tries to show that
the prisoner who is awaiting his trial has been a brutal
husband. The first announcement that the Bank in Berners Street
had suspended payment appears in the columns of the _Chronicle_
on Monday, September 13.
2. _The Morning Post._
Although the _Morning Post_ makes a point of pluming itself
on its humanity towards Fauntleroy, its attitude is wholly
inconsistent and double-faced. Having copied from _The Times_ a
column of disgraceful news concerning the private vices of the
dishonest banker, it turns round and upbraids its contemporary,
a few weeks later, for supplying the information. Foolish
letters upon all kinds of subjects from Fauntleroy’s bitter
enemy, J. W. Parkins--Sheriff of London 1819-20--disfigure
this paper constantly. The _Post_ gloats over the scene at the
Debtors’ Door, and is glad that there was no pardon.
3. _The Morning Herald._
This journal is opposed to the death penalty for forgery, and
inserts several letters, urging that the convict should be
reprieved, but it admits, after the execution, that while the
law remained unaltered there were no special circumstances in
the case to warrant mercy. The report of the trial on November
1, which holds up to ridicule the absurd and indecorous conduct
of ex-Sheriff Parkins previous to the meeting of the Court,
furnishes a striking proof of his malice against his former
friend Henry Fauntleroy. During April 1823 the notorious
Parkins made a somewhat feeble attempt to assault Mr Thwaites
of the _Morning Herald_ in his office, which is the reason, no
doubt, why the editor handles him so roughly.
4. _The Times._
The attitude of the greatest paper in the world towards the
unfortunate banker is a black record in its history. Although
the man was a sensualist and a forger of the highest degree,
it is not creditable to British journalism of those days that
a leading newspaper should take infinite pains to rake up
every scandal of his past life, and to prejudice the public
mind against him before he was brought to trial. A more
deliberate attempt to condemn a man unheard has never been
made in the press. It is amazing that an editor of the calibre
of Thomas Barnes should have printed the article of September
24 and the disgraceful letter signed “T.” of September 25,
which compares Fauntleroy to Thurtell, the cut-throat. The
reproof administered by James Harmer on September 27, although
fully deserved, was not sufficient to restrain the licence of
Mr Walter’s reporters. _The Times_ proceeds to wrangle with
the _Brighton Gazette_ as to whether the banker had been a
libertine, and on October 9 publishes a statement about his
lenient treatment at Coldbath Fields prison, for which it
is compelled to apologise to Mr Vickery, the Governor. More
innuendoes follow concerning Fauntleroy’s moral character,
and on October 19 (before his trial!) it is reported that the
printers at the ‘One Tun’ tavern in Covent Garden were making
bets as to whether he would be hanged.
Almost as repulsive are the leaders written after the culprit’s
execution. “If forgery had not been capital before,” says this
truculent journal, “the most humane legislators would have
doubted whether, if carried to a similar extent, it should
not be rendered capital in future.” Yet Samuel Romilly had
been in his grave only six years, and James Mackintosh and
William Ewart were left to continue his brave work. Finally,
on December 4, comes a blast of thunder that Dennis or the
editor of the _Eatanswill Gazette_ might have envied. “We are
not anxious to extend the narrative of Mr Fauntleroy’s life
by a description of his personal habits, but, if provoked, we
can lay before the public such a detail of low and disgusting
sensuality, as would appear incredible to those who were not
as degraded in body and mind as he was. This narrative would
involve persons who hold themselves rather high, and who have
presumed to talk big with reference to our accounts of their
wretched friend and associate. Let them be quiet; if we find
that in public or private (and we have channels of information
they dream not of) they have the impudence to disparage our
motives or deny our statements, we will hold up their names and
actions to public scorn and astonishment and disgust.”
5. _The Morning Advertiser._
This journal, then as now the organ of the licensed
victuallers, is hostile to Fauntleroy, but moderate in the
reports it publishes about him.
6. _The New Times._
As might be expected, this paper deals some nasty raps at
that from which its editor seceded. It is very critical of
the conduct of Fauntleroy’s partners, with whose explanations
before the Commissioners of Bankruptcy it is dissatisfied, but
does not make the reckless charges against them that appear
in some journals, such as the _Sunday Times_ and _Morning
Chronicle_.
7. _The British Press._
Gives more complete information than any other paper of
the details of Marsh, Stracey & Company’s bankruptcy. The
reports of the proceedings before the Court of Commissioners,
and of the meetings of the Berners Street creditors, which
are criticised at large, throw much light upon the endless
ramifications of the Fauntleroy forgeries. This journal alone
makes an attempt to ascertain whether the statement of the
criminal banker was endorsed by the books of his firm. “I
declare,” says Fauntleroy in his defence, “that all the monies
temporarily raised by me were applied, not in one single
instance for my own separate purposes or expenses, but in
every case they were immediately placed to the credit of the
house in Berners Street, and applied to the payments of the
pressing demands upon it.... The books will confirm the truth
of my statement ... the whole went to the general funds of the
house.”
The value of this assertion may be tested by reference
to the columns of the _British Press_ of the following
dates:--September 20, 29, October 6, November 13, 15, 17, 22,
23, 30, December 10, 13, 17, 20, 28 (1824), January 17, 19, 20,
February 2, March 1, 19, April 11, July 25, August 31 (1825).
For further particulars of the bankruptcy consult _The Times_,
_Morning Post_, and _Morning Chronicle_ of December 24, 1833;
and September 10 and 11, 1835. Also _John Bull_, September
20, 1835; the _Weekly Dispatch_, September 17, 1837; and _The
Times_, October 7, 1837.
8. _The Examiner._