A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP.
The most remarkable circumstance in that meeting of the partners,
which ended in Brammel's first visit to London, was the behaviour of
our very dear friend and ally--the volatile Planner--volatile, alas!
no longer. His best friend would not have recognized him on that
deeply interesting occasion. He was a subdued, a shaken man. Every
drop of his brave spirit had been squeezed out of him, and he stood
the mere pulp and rind of his former self. He who, for years, had been
accustomed to look at men, not only in the face, but very
impertinently over their heads, could not drag his shambling vision
now higher than men's shoe-strings. His eye, his heart, his soul was
on the ground. He was disappointed, crushed. Not a syllable did he
utter; not a single word of remonstrance and advice did he presume to
offer in the presence of his associates. He had a sense of guilt, and
men so situated are sometimes tongue-tied. He had, in truth, a great
deal to answer for, and enough to make a livelier man than he
dissatisfied and wretched. Every farthing which had passed from the
bank to the _Pantamorphica_ Association was irrecoverably gone. The
Association itself was in the same condition--gone irrecoverably
likewise. Nothing remained of that once beautiful and promising
vision, but some hundred acres of valueless land, a half-finished and
straggling brick wall, falling rapidly to decay, the foundations of a
theatre, and the rudiments of a temple dedicated to Apollo. Planner
had gazed upon the scene once, when dismal rain was pouring down upon
the ruins, and he burst into bitter tears, and sobbed like a child at
the annihilation of his hopes. He had not courage to look a second
time upon that desolation, and yet he found courage to turn away from
it, and to do a thing more desperate. Ashamed to be beaten, afraid to
meet the just rebuke of Allcraft, he flung himself recklessly into the
hands of a small band of needy speculators, and secretly engaged in
schemes that promised restitution of the wealth he had expended, or
make his ruin perfect and complete. One adventure after another
failed, cutting the thread of his career shorter every instant, and
rendering him more hot-brained and impatient. He doubled and trebled
his risks, and did the like, as may be guessed, to his anxieties and
failures. He lived in a perpetual fear and danger of discovery; and
discovery now was but another name, for poison--prison--death. Here
was enough, and more than enough, to extinguish every spark of joy in
the bosom of Mr Planner, and to account for his despondency and
settled gloom. And yet Planner, in this, his darkest hour, was nearer
to deliverance and perfect peace, than at any previous period of his
history. Planner was essentially "a lucky dog." Had he fallen from a
house-top, he would have reached _terra firma_ on his feet. Had he
been conducted to the gallows, according to his desserts, the noose
would have slipped, and his life would certainly have been spared.
It happened, that whilst Michael was immersed in the management of his
loans, a hint was forwarded to him of the pranks of his partner; a
letter, written by an anonymous hand, revealed his losses in one
transaction, amounting to many hundred pounds. The news came like a
thunderbolt to Allcraft. It was a death-blow. Iniquitous, unpardonable
as were the acts of his colleague--serious as was the actual sum of
money gone; yet these were as nothing compared with the distressing
fact, that intelligence of the evil work had already gone abroad, was
in circulation, and might at any moment put a violent end to his own
unsteady course. He carried the note to Planner--he thrust it into his
face, and called him to account for his baseness and ingratitude. He
could have struck his friend and partner to the earth, and trod him
there to death, as he confronted and upbraided him.
"Now, sir," roared Allcraft in his fury--"What excuse--what lie have
you at your tongue's end to palliate this? What can justify this? Will
you never be satisfied until you have rendered me the same hopeless,
helpless creature that I found you, when I dragged you from your [§]
beggaring. Answer me!"--
There is nothing like a plaintive retort when your case is utterly
indefensible. Planner looked at the letter, read it--then turned his
eyes mildly and reproachfully upon his accuser.
"Michael Allcraft," he said affectingly, "you treat me cruelly."
"I!" answered the other astounded. "I treat _you_! Planner, I
intrusted you years ago with a secret. I paid you well for keeping it.
Could I dream that nothing would satisfy your rapacity but my
destruction? Could I suppose it? I have fed your ravenous desires. I
have submitted to your encroachments. Do you ask my soul as well as
body? Let me know what it is you ask--what I have to pay--let me hear
the worst, and--prepare for all my punishment."
"I have listened to all you have said," continued Planner, "and I
consider myself an ill-used man."
Michael stared.
"Yes--I mean it. I have worked like a negro for you Allcraft, and this
is the return you make me. I get your drift; do not attempt to
disguise it--it is cruel--most, most cruel!
"What do you mean?"
"Have I not always promised to share my gains with you?"
"Pshaw--_your_ gains--where are they?"
"That's nothing to the point. Did I not promise?"
"Well--well."
"And now, after all my labour and struggling, because I have _failed_,
you wish to turn me off, and throw me to the world. Now, speak the
truth, man--is it not so?"
Oh! Planner was a cunning creature, and so was Michael Allcraft. Mark
them both! This idea, which Planner deemed too good to be seriously
entertained by his colleague, had never once occurred to Michael; but
it seemed so promising, and so likely, if followed up, to relieve him
effectually of his greatest plague, and of any floating ill report,
that he found no hesitation in adopting it at once. He did not answer,
but he tried to look as if his partner had exactly guessed his actual
intention. Such [§]* gentlemen both!
*Transcriber's Note: Original cut off between [§]s--Section
completed with best guess of correct wording.
"I thought so," continued the injured Planner. "Michael, you do not
know me. You do not understand my character. I am a child to persuade,
but a rock if you attempt to force me. I shall _not_ desert the bank,
whilst there is a chance of paying back all that we have drawn."
"_We_, sir?"
"Yes--we. You and I together for our schemes, and you alone for
private purposes. You recollect your father's debts"--
"Planner, do not think to threaten me into further compromise. You can
frighten me no longer--be sure of that. Your transactions are the
common talk of the city--the bank is stigmatized by its connexion with
you."
"Curse the bank!" said Planner fretfully. "Would to Heaven I had never
heard of it!"
"Leave it then, and rid yourself of the annoyance. You are free to do
it!"
"What! and leave behind me every chance of realizing a competency for
my old age! Oh, Michael, Michael--shame, shame!"
"Competency! Are you serious? Are you sane? Competency! Why, the
labour of your life will not make good a tithe of what you have
squandered."
"Come, come, Michael, you know better. You know well enough that one
lucky turn would set us up at last. Speak like a man. Say that you
want to grasp all--that you are tired of me--that you are sick of the
old face, and wish to see my back. Put the thing in its proper light,
and you shall not find me hard to deal with."
"Planner, you are deceived. Your mind is full of fancy and delusion,
and that has been your curse and mine."
"Very well. Have your way; but look you, Michael, you are anxious to
get rid of me--there's no denying that. There is no reason why we
should quarrel on that account. I would sacrifice my prospects, were
they double what they are, rather than beg you to retain me. I did not
ask for a share in your bank. You sought me, and I came at your
request. Blot out the past. Release me from the debt that stands
against my name, and I am gone. As I came at your bidding, so, at your
bidding, I am ready to depart."
"Agreed," said Allcraft, almost before the wily Planner finished. "It
is done. I consent to your proposal. A dissolution shall be drawn up
without delay, and shall be published in the next gazette."
"And publish with it," said Planner, like a martyr as he was, "the
fate of him who gave up all to his own high sense of honour, and his
friend's ingratitude."
So Planner spake, scarcely crediting his good fortune, and almost mad
with joy at his deliverance. He had no rest until the seals were fixed
to parchment, and the warrant of his release appeared in public print.
Within a week, the fettered man was free. Within another week, his
bounding spirits came like a spring-tide back to him, and in less than
eight-and-twenty days of freedom and repose, he recovered quite as
many years of sweet and precious life. He made quick use of his wings.
At first, like a wild and liberated bird, he sported and tumbled in
the air, and fixed upon no particular aim; a thousand captivating
objects soon caught his eagle eye, and then he mounted, dazzled by
them all, and soon eluded mortal sight and reach. But, glad as was the
schemer, his delight and sense of freedom were much inferior to those
of his misguided and unlucky partner. Michael breathed as a man
relieved from nightmare. The encumbrance which had for years prevented
him from rising, that had so lately threatened his existence, was
gone, could no longer hang upon him, haunt and oppress him. What a
deliverance!--Yet, what a price had he paid for it! True, but was not
the money already sacrificed? Would it have been restored, had the
luckless speculator himself remained? Never! Well, fearful then as was
the sum, let it go, taking the incubus along with it. Allcraft took
care to obtain the consent of Bellamy to his arrangement. He wrote to
him, explaining the reasons for parting with their partner; and an
answer came from the landed proprietor, acquiescing in the plan, but
slightly doubting the propriety of the movement. As for Brammel, he
consented, as he was ready to agree to any thing but a personal visit
to the great metropolis. And then, what was Michael's next step? A
proper one--to put out effectually the few sparks of scandal which
might, possibly, be still flying about after the discovery of
Planner's scheme. He worked fiercer than ever--harder than the
day-labourer--at his place of business. It was wise in him to do so,
and thus to draw men's thoughts from Planner's faults to his own
unquestioned merits. And here he might have stopped with safety; but
his roused, suspicious, sensitive nature, would not suffer him. He
began to read, then to doubt and fear men's looks; to draw conclusions
from their innocent words; to find grounds of uneasiness and torture
in their silence. A vulgar fellow treated him with rudeness, and for
days he treasured up the man's words, and repeated them to himself.
What could they mean? Did people smell a rat? Were they on the watch?
Did they suspect that he was poor? Ah, that was it! He saw it--he
believed he did--that was equivalent to sight, and enough for him. Men
did not understand him. He would not die so easily--they must be
undeceived. Miserable Allcraft! He speedily removed from his small
cottage--took a mansion, furnished it magnificently, and made it a
palace in costliness and hospitality. Ah! _was_ he poor? The trick
answered. The world was not surprised, but satisfied. There was but
one opinion. He deserved it all, and more. The only wonder was, that
he had hitherto lived so quietly, rich as he was, in virtue of his
wife's inheritance, and from his own hard-earned gains. His increasing
business still enlarged. Customers brought guests, and, in their turn,
the guests became good customers. It was a splendid mansion,
with its countless rooms and gorgeous appointments. What
pleasure-grounds--gardens--parks--preserves! Noble establishment, with
its butler, under-butler, upper-servant, and my lady's (so the working
people called poor Margaret) footman! In truth, a palace; but, alas!
although it took a prince's revenue to maintain it, and although the
lady's purse was draining fast to keep it and the bank upon its legs,
yet was there not a corner, a nook, a hole in the building, in which
master or mistress could find an hour's comfort, or a night's
unmingled sleep. As for the devoted woman, it made very little
difference to her whether she dwelt in a castle or a hovel, provided
she could see her husband cheerful, and know that he was happy. This
was all she looked for--cared for--lived for. _He_ was her life. What
was her money--the dross which mankind yearned after--but for its use
to him, but for the power it might exercise amongst men to elevate and
ennoble _him_? What was her palace but a dungeon if it rendered her
beloved more miserable than ever, if it added daily to the troubles he
had brought there--to the cares which had accumulated on his head from
the very hour she had become his mate? Michael Allcraft! you never
deserved this woman for your wife; you told her so many times, and
perhaps you meant what was wrung from your heart in its anguish. It
was the truth. Why, if not in rank cowardice and pitiful ambition,
entangle yourself in the perplexities of such a household with all
that heap of woe already on your soul? Why, when your London agents
refused, in consequence of your irregularity and neglect, to advance
your further loans--why take a base advantage of that heroic
generosity that placed its all, unquestioning, at your command? Why,
when you pretended with so much ceremony and regard, to effect an
insurance on your worthless life, did you fail to pay up the policy
even for a second year, and so resign all claim and right to such
assurance, making it null and void? Let it stand here recorded to your
disgrace, that, in the prosecution of your views, in the working out
of your insane ambition, no one single thought of her, who gave her
wealth as freely as ever fount poured forth its liberal stream,
deterred you in your progress for an instant; that no one glow or gush
of feeling towards the fond and faithful wife interposed to save her
from the consequences of your selfishness, and to humble you with
shame for inhumanity as vile as it was undeserved. It is not
surprising, that after the taking of the great house the demands upon
the property of Margaret were made without apology or explanation. He
asked, and he obtained. The refusal of aid, on the part of the London
house, terrified him when it came, and caused him to rush, with a
natural instinct, to the quarter whence he had no fear of denial and
complaint. He drew largely from her resources. The money was sucked
into the whirlpool; there was a speedy cry for more; and more was got
and sacrificed. It would have been a miracle had Allcraft, in the
midst of his crushing cares, retained his early vigour of mind and
body, and passed through ten years of such an existence without
suffering the penalties usually inflicted upon the man prodigal of the
blessings and good gifts of Providence. In his appearance, and in his
temperament, he had undergone a woful change. His hair--all that
remained of it, for the greater part had fallen away--was grey;
and, thin, weak, and straggling, dropped upon his wrinkled
forehead--wrinkled with a frown that had taken root there. His face
was sickly, and never free from the traces of acute anxiety that was
eating at his heart. His body was emaciated, and, at times, his hand
shook like a drunkard's. It was even worse with the spiritual man. He
had become irritable, peevish, and ill-natured; he had lost, by
degrees, every generous sentiment. As a young man he had been
remarkable for his liberality in pecuniary matters. He had been wont
to part freely with his money. Inconsistent as it may seem,
notwithstanding his heavy losses through his partners, and his fearful
expenditure, he was as greedy of gain as though he were stinting
himself of every farthing, and secretly hoarding up his chests of
gold. He would haggle in a bargain for a shilling, and economize in
things beneath a wise man's notice or consideration. For a few years,
as it has been seen, Allcraft had denied himself the customary
recreations of a man of business, and had devoted himself entirely to
his occupation. It was by no means a favourable indication of his
state of mind, that he derived no satisfaction at the grand mansion,
either alone or in the mere society of his wife. He quitted the bank
daily at a late hour, and reached his home just in time for dinner.
That over, he could not sit or rest--he must be moving. He could not
live in quiet. "Quietness"--it was his own expression--"stunned him."
He rushed to the theatre, to balls, concerts, wherever there was
noise, talk, excitement, crowds of people; wherever there was release
from his own pricking conscience and miserable thoughts. And then to
parties; of course there was no lack of them, for their society was in
great request, and every one was eager for an invitation in return to
_Eden_--such being the strange misnomer of their magnificent
prison-house. And, oh, rare entertainments were they which the
suffering pair provided for the cold-hearted crew that flocked to
partake of their substance! How the poor creature smiled upon her
guests as they arrived, whilst her wounded heart bled on! How she
sang--exquisitely always--for their amusement and nauseous
approbation, until her sweet voice almost failed to crush the rising
tears! How gracefully she led off the merry dance whilst clogs were on
her spirits, weighing upon every movement. Extravagant joyousness!
Dearly purchased pleasure! Yes, dearly purchased, if only with that
half hour of dreadful silence and remorse that intervened between the
banquet and the chamber--not of sweet slumber and benevolent repose
but of restlessness and horrid dreams!