A CHAPTER OF LOANS.
Augustus Brammel hated his partners with all his heart and soul. He
had never been very fond of them, but the result of this interview
gave an activity and a form to feelings which it required only
sufficient occasion to bring into play. Notwithstanding the polite
tone which Mr Bellamy had cunningly adopted in placing his mission
before him, even he, the ignorant and obtuse Brammel, could not fail
to see that he had been made the tool, the cat's-paw in a business
from which his partners shrank. Now, had the young man been as full of
courage as he was of vulgar conceit, he might, I verily believe, have
turned his hatred, and his knowledge of affairs, to very good account.
Lacking the spirit of the smallest animal that crawls, he was content
to eject his odious malice in oaths and execrations, and to submit to
his beating after all. No sooner was the meeting at an end, than he
left the Banking-house, and turned his steps towards home. He had
become--as it was very natural he should--a brute of a husband, and
the terror of his helpless household. He remembered, all at once, that
he had been deeply aggrieved in the morning by Mrs Brammel; that as
many as two of his shirt buttons had given way whilst he was in the
act of dressing, and unable to contain himself after the treatment of
Mr Bellamy, he resolved forthwith to have his vengeance out upon his
wife. But he had not walked a hundred yards, before his rancour and
fury increased to such a height, that he was compelled to pull up
short in the street, and to vow, with a horrible oath, that he would
see all his partners roasting in the warmest place that he could think
of, before he'd move one inch to save their souls from rotting. So,
instead of proceeding homeward, he turned back again, with a view to
make this statement; but before he could reach the Banking-house, a
wiser thought entered his head, and induced him to retrace his steps.
"He would go," he said, "to his father; and lay his complaint there.
He would impeach all his partners, acknowledge his errors, and promise
once more to reform. His father, easy old fool, would believe him,
forgive him, and do any thing else, in his joy." It was certainly a
bright idea--but, alas! his debts were so very extensive. Bellamy's
threatening look rose before him, and made them appear even larger and
more terrible than they were. What if his father insisted upon his
going to London, and doing any other dirty work which these fellows
chose to put upon him? Bellamy, he was sure, could make the old man do
any thing. No, it wouldn't do. He stamped his foot to the ground in
vexation, and recurred to his original determination. It was all he
could do. He must go to London, and take what indemnification he might
in the domestic circle previously to starting. And the miserable man
did have his revenge, and did go to London. He was empowered to borrow
twenty thousand pounds from the London house, and he was furnished by
Michael Allcraft with particulars explanatory of his commission. And
he walked into Lombard Street with the feelings of a culprit walking
up the scaffold to his execution. His pitiful heart deserted him at
the very instant when he most needed its support. He passed and
repassed the large door of the establishment, which he saw opened and
shut a hundred tines in a minute, by individuals, whose
self-collectedness and independence, he would have given half his
fortune to possess. He tried, time after time, to summon courage for
his entry, and, as he afterwards expressed it, a ball rose in his
throat--just as he got one foot upon the step--large enough to choke
him. Impudent and reckless us he had been all his life, he was now
more timid and nervous than an hysterical girl. Oh, what should he do!
First, he thought of going to a neighbouring hotel, and writing at
once to Allcraft; swearing that he was very ill, that he couldn't
move, and was utterly unable to perform his duties. If he went to bed,
and sent for a doctor, surely Allcraft would believe him; and in pity
would come up and do the business. He dwelt upon this contrivance,
until it seemed too complicated for success. Would it not be more
advisable to write to the London house itself, and explain the object
of his coming up? But if he could write, why couldn't he _call_? They
would certainly ask that question, and perhaps refuse the loan. Oh,
what was he to do! He could hit upon no plan, and he couldn't muster
confidence to turn in. The porter of the firm mercifully interposed to
rescue Mr Brammel from his dilemma. That functionary had watched the
stranger shuffling to and fro in great anxiety and doubt, and at
length he deemed it proper to enquire whether the gentleman was
looking for the doorway of the house of Messrs ---- and ----, or not.
Augustus, frightened, answered _yes_ at random, and in another instant
found himself in what he called "THE SWEATING ROOM of the awfullest
house of business he had ever seen in all his life." It was a large
square apartment, very lofty and very naked-looking. There was an iron
chest, and two shelves filled with giant books; and there was nothing
else in the room but a stillness, and a mouldiness of smell, that hung
upon his spirits like pounds of lead, dragging them down, and freezing
them. Yet, cold as were his spirits, the perspiration that oozed from
the pores of his skin was profuse and steady during the quarter of an
hour that elapsed whilst he waited for the arrival of the worthy
principal. During those memorable fifteen minutes--the most unpleasant
of his life--Augustus, for two seconds together, could neither sit,
stand nor walk with comfort. He knew nothing of the affairs of his
house; he was not in a condition to answer the most trivial business
question; he had heard that his firm was on the eve of bankruptcy,
(and, judging from the part he had taken in its affairs, he could
easily believe it;) he felt that his partners had thrown the odium of
the present application upon him, not having courage to take it upon
themselves; and he had an indistinct apprehension that this very act
of borrowing money would lead to transportation or the gallows, should
the business go to rack and ruin, as he could see it shortly would.
All these considerations went far to stultify the otherwise weak and
feeble Mr Brammel; when, in addition, he endeavoured to arrange in his
mind the terms on which he would request the favour of a temporary
loan of only (!) twenty thousand pounds, a sensation of nausea
completely overpowered him, and the table, the chairs, the iron chest,
swam round him like so many ships at sea. To recover from his
sickness, and to curse the banking-house, every member of the same,
and his own respectable parent for linking him to it, was one and the
same exertion. To the infinite astonishment of Augustus Theodore, the
acquisition of these twenty thousand pounds proved the most amusing
and easiest transaction of his life. Mr Cutbill, the managing partner
of the London house, received him with profound respect and pleasure.
He listened most attentively to the stammering request, and put the
deputation at his ease at once, by expressing his readiness to comply
with Mr Allcraft's wishes, provided a note of hand, signed by all the
partners, and payable in three months, was given as security for the
sum required. Augustus wrote word home to that effect; the note of
hand arrived--the twenty thousand pounds were paid--the dreaded
business was transacted with half the trouble that it generally cost
Augustus Theodore to effect the purchase of a pair of gloves.
Mr Bellamy remained at the hall just one week after the receipt of the
cash, and then was carried to the north by pressing business. Before
he started he complimented Allcraft upon their success, trusted that
they should now go smoothly on, promised to return at the very
earliest moment, and gave directions on his route by which all
letters of importance might safely reach him. And Allcraft, relieved
for a brief season, indefatigable as ever, strained every nerve and
muscle to sustain his credit and increase his gains. As heretofore, he
denied himself all diversion and amusement. The first at the bank, the
last to leave it, he had his eye for ever on its doings. Visible at
all times to the world, and most conspicuous there where the world was
pleased to find him, he maintained his reputation as a thorough man of
business, and held, with hooks of steel, a confidence as necessary to
existence as the vital air around him. To lose a breath of the public
approbation in his present state, were to give up fatally the only
stay on which he rested. Wonderful that, as the prospects of the man
grew darker, his courage strengthened, his spirit roused, his industry
increased! And a bitter reflection was it, that reward still came to
him--still a fair return for time and strength expended. He could not
complain of the neglect of mankind, or of the ingratitude of those he
served. In the legitimate transactions of the house, he was a
prosperous and a prospering man. Such, to the outer world, did he
appear in all respects, and such he would have been but for the hidden
and internal sores already past cure or reparation. Who had brought
them there? Michael did not ask the question--yet. Never did three
months pass away so rapidly as those which came between the day of
borrowing and the day of paying back those twenty thousand pounds. The
moment the money had arrived, Michael's previous anxieties fled from
his bosom, and left him as happy as a boy without a care. It came like
a respite from death. Sanguine to the last, he congratulated himself
upon the overthrow of his temporary difficulties, and relied upon the
upturning of some means of payment, on the arrival of the distant day.
But distant as it looked at first, it crept nearer and nearer, until
at the end of two months, when--as he saw no possibility of relieving
himself from the engagement--it appeared close upon him, haunting him
morning, noon, and night, wheresoever he might be, and sickening him
with its terrible and desperate aspect. When there wanted only a week
to the fatal day, Michael's hope of meeting the note of hand was
slighter than ever. He became irritable, distressed, and
anxious--struggled hard to get the needful sum together, struggled and
strove; but failed. Hours and minutes were now of vital consequence;
and, in a rash and unprotected moment, he permitted himself to write a
letter to the London house, begging them, as a particular favour, just
for one week to retire the bill they held against him. The London
house civilly complied with the request, and five days of that last
and dreary week swept by, leaving poor Allcraft as ill prepared for
payment as they had found him. What could he do? At length the gulf
had opened--was yawning--to receive him. How should he escape it?
Heaven, in its infinite mercy, has vouchsafed to men _angels_ to guide
and cheer them on their difficult and thorny paths. Could Michael
suffer, and Margaret not sympathize? Could he have a sorrow which she
might chase away, and, having the power, lack the heart to do it?
Impossible! Oh! hear her in her impassioned supplications; hear her at
midnight, in their disturbed and sleepless bedchamber, whilst the
doomed man sits at her side in agony, clasps his face, and buries it
within his hand for shame and disappointment.
"Michael, do not break my heart. Take, dearest, all that I possess;
but, I entreat you, let me see you cheerful. Do not take this thing to
heart. Whatever may be your trouble, confide it, love, to me. I will
try to kill it!"
"No, no, no," answered Allcraft wildly; "it must not be--it shall not
be, dear Margaret. You shall be imposed upon no longer. You shall not
be robbed. I am a villain!"
"Do not say so, Michael. You are kind and good; but this cruel
business has worn you out. Leave it, I implore you, if you can, and
let us live in peace."
"Margaret, it is impossible. Do not flatter yourself or me with the
vain hope of extrication. Release will never come. I am bound to it
for my life; it will take longer than a life to effect deliverance.
You know not my calamities."
"But I _will_ know them, Michael, and share them with you, if they
must be borne. I am your wife, and have a right to this. Trust me,
Michael, and do not kill me with suspense. What is this new
affliction? Whatsoever it may be, it is fitting that I should know
it--yes, will know it, dearest, or I am not worthy to lie beside you
there. Tell me, love, how is it that for these many days you have
looked so sad, and sighed, and frowned upon me. I am conscious of no
fault. Have I done amiss? Say so, and I will speedily repair the
fault?"
Michael pressed his Margaret to his heart, and kissed her fondly.
"Why, oh why, my Margaret, did you link your fate with mine?"
"Why, having done so, Michael, do you not love and trust me?"
"Love?"
"Yes--_love_! Say what you will, you do not love me, if you hide your
griefs from me. We are one. Let us be truly so. One in our joys and in
our sufferings."
"Dearest Margaret, why should I distress you? Why should I call upon
you for assistance? Why drag your substance from you?--why prey upon
you until you have parted with your all? I have taken too much
already."
"Answer me one simple question, Michael. Can money buy away this
present sorrow? Can it bring to you contentment and repose? Can it
restore to me the smile which is my own? Oh, if it can, be merciful
and kind; take freely what is needful, and let me purchase back my
blessings!"
"Margaret, you deserve a better fate!"
"Name the sum, dear. Is it my fortune? Not more? Then never were peace
of mind and woman's happiness so cheaply bought. Take it, Michael, and
let us thank Heaven that it is enough. My fortune never gave me so
much joy as now. I do not remember, Michael, that you have ever
refused my smallest wish. It is not in your nature to be unkind. Come,
dearest, smile a little. We have made the bargain--be generous, and
pay me in advance."
He smiled and wept in gratitude.
Now Michael retired to rest, determined not to take advantage of the
generous impulses of his confiding wife; yet, although he did so, it
could not but be very satisfactory to his marital feelings to
discover, and to be assured of the existence of, such devotedness and
disregard of self and fortune as she displayed. Indeed, he was very
much tranquillized and comforted; so much so, in fact, that he was
enabled, towards morning, to wake up in a condition to review his
affairs with great serenity of mind, and (notwithstanding his
determination) to contrive some mode of turning the virtuous
magnanimity of his wife to good account, without inflicting any injury
upon herself. Surely if he could do this, he was bound to act. To save
himself by her help, and, at the same time, without injuring her at
all, was a very defensible step, to say the least of it. Who should
say it wasn't his absolute duty to adopt it? Whatever repugnance he
might have felt in asking a further loan from one who had already
helped him beyond his expectations, it was certainly very much
diminished since she had offered to yield to him, without reserve,
every farthing that she possessed. Not that he would ever suffer her
to do any thing so wild and inexcusable; still, after such an
expression of her wishes, he was at liberty to ask her aid, provided
always that he could secure her from any loss or risk. When Michael
got thus far in his proposition, it was not very difficult to work it
to the end. Once satisfied that it was just and honourable, and it was
comparatively child's work to arrange the _modus operandi_. A common
trick occurred to him. In former transactions with his wife, he had
pledged his word of honour to repay her. It had become a stale pledge,
and very worthless, as Michael felt. What if he put his _life_ in
pawn! Ah, capital idea! This would secure to her every farthing of her
debt. Dear me, how very easy! He had but to insure his life for the
amount he wanted, and let what would happen, she was safe. His spirit
rejoiced. Oh, it was joy to think that she could save him from
perdition, and yet not suffer a farthing's loss. Loss! So far from
this, his ready mind already calculated how she might be a gainer by
the arrangement. He was yet young. Let him insure his life at present
for twenty thousand pounds, and how much more would it be worth--say
that he lived for twenty years to come? He explained it to his
lady--to his own perfect satisfaction. The willing Margaret required
no more. He could not ask as freely as the woman's boundless love
could grant. He, with all his reasoning, could not persuade his
conscience to pronounce the dealing just. She, with her beating heart
for her sole argument and guide, looked for no motive save her strong
affection--no end but her beloved's happiness and peace. Woe is me,
the twenty thousand pounds were griped--the precious life of Mr
Allcraft was insured--the London house was satisfied. A very few weeks
flew over the head of the needy man, before he was reduced to the same
pitiable straits. Money was again required to carry the reeling firm
through unexpected difficulties. Brammel was again dispatched to
London. The commissioner, grown bolder by his first success, was ill
prepared for hesitation and reproof, and awkward references to "that
last affair." Ten thousand pounds were the most they could advance,
and all transactions of the kind must close with this, if there should
be any deviation from the strictest punctuality. Brammel attempted to
apologise, and failed in the attempt, of course. He came home
disgusted, shortening his journey by swearing over half the distance,
and promising his partners his cordial forgiveness, if ever they
persuaded him again to go to London on a begging expedition!
Oh, Margaret! Margaret! Oh, spirit of the mild and gentle Mildred!
Must I add, that your good money paid this second loan--and yet a
third--a fourth--a fifth? When shall fond woman cease to give--when
shall mean and sordid man be satisfied with something less than all
she has to grant?