THE CRISIS.
Michael was half mad in the midst of his troubles; and, in truth, they
gathered so thickly and rapidly about him, that he is to be admired
for the little check which he contrived to keep over his reason,
saving him from absolute insanity and a lunatic asylum. Mr Bellamy,
although away, made free with the capital of the bank, and applied it
to his own private uses. Mr Brammel, senior, after having, for many
years, made good to Allcraft the losses the latter had sustained
through his son's extravagance, at length grew tired of the work, and
left the neighbourhood, in disgust, as Michael thought, but, in sad
truth, with a bruised and broken heart. At last he had dismissed the
long-cherished hope of the prodigal's reformation, and with his latest
hope departed every wish to look upon his hastening decay and fall. He
crawled from the scene--the country; no one knew his course; not a
soul was cognizant of his intentions, or could guess his
resting-place. Augustus Theodore did not, in consequence of his
father's absence, draw less furiously upon the bank! He had never
heard of that father's generosity--how should he know of it now? And,
if he knew it, was he very likely to profit by the information?
Michael honoured his drafts for many reasons; two may be mentioned,
founded on hope and fear--the hope of frightening the unfortunate
Brammel senior into payment when he met with him again, the fear of
making Brammel junior desperate by his refusal, and of his divulging
all he knew. Could a man, not crazy, carry more care upon his brain?
Yes, for demands on account of Planner poured in, the very instant
that fortunate speculator had taken his lucky leave of the
establishment--demands for which Michael had rendered himself liable
in law, by the undertaking which he had drawn up and signed in his
alarm and haste. Oh, why had he overwhelmed himself with partners--why
had he married--why had he taken upon himself the responsibility of
his parent's debts--why had he not explained every thing when he might
have done it with honour and advantage--why had he not relied upon his
own integrity--and why had he attempted, with cunning and duplicity,
to overreach his neighbours? Why, oh why, had he done all this? When
Michael was fairly hemmed in by his difficulties, and, as it is
vulgarly said, had not a leg to stand upon, or a hole to creep
through, then, and not till then, did he put these various questions
to himself; and since it is somewhat singular that so shrewd a man
should have waited until the last moment to put queries of such vast
importance to himself, I shall dwell here for one brief moment on the
fact, be it only to remind and to warn others, equally shrewd and
equally clever, of the mischief they are doing when they postpone the
consideration of their motives and acts until motives and acts both
have brought them into a distress, out of which all their
consideration will not move them an inch. "Why have I _done_?" was,
is, and ever will be, the whining interrogative of stricken
_inability_; "Why am I about _to do_?" the provident question of
thoughtful, far-seeing _success_. Remember that.
I am really afraid to say how much of poor Margaret's fortune was
dragged from her--how little of it still remained. It must have been a
trifle, indeed, when Michael, with a solemn oath, swore that he would
not touch one farthing more, let the consequences be what they might.
Could it be possible that the whole of her splendid inheritance had
shrunk to so paltry a sum, that the grasping man had ceased to think
it worth his while to touch it? or did the dread of beholding the
confiding woman, beggar'd at last, induce him to leave at her disposal
enough to purchase for her--necessary bread? Whatever was his motive,
he persisted in his resolution, and to the end was faithful to his
oath. Not another sixpence did he take from her. And how much the
better was he for all that he had taken already? Poor Michael had not
time to enquire and answer the question. He could not employ his
precious moments in retrospection. He lived from hand to mouth;
struggled every hour to meet the exigencies of the hour that followed.
He was absorbed in the agitated present, and dared not look an inch
away from it. Now, thanks to the efforts of her people, England is a
Christian country; and whenever fortune goes very hard with a man who
has received all the assistance that his immediate connexions can
afford him, there is a benevolent brotherhood at hand, eager to
relieve the sufferer's wants, and to put an end to his anxiety. This
charitable band is known by the name of _Money-lenders--Jewish_
money-lenders; so called, no doubt, in profound humility and
self-denial, displayed in the Christian's wish to give the _honour_
of the work elsewhere, reserving to himself the labour and--the
profit. When Michael needed fresh supplies, he was not long in
gathering a gang of harpies about him. They kept their victim for a
while well afloat. They permitted their principal to accumulate in his
hands, whilst they received full half of their advances back in the
form of interest. So he went on; and how long this game would have
lasted, it is impossible to say, because it was cut short in its
heighth by a circumstance that brought the toppling house down, as it
were, with a blow and a run.
When Allcraft, one morning at his usual hour, presented himself at the
bank, his confidential clerk approached him with a very serious face,
and placed a newspaper in his hand. Michael had grown very timid and
excitable; and when the clerk put his finger on the particular spot to
which he desired to call his superior's attention, the heart of the
nervous man leapt into his throat, and the blood rushed from his
cheek, as if it were its duty to go and look after it. He literally
wanted the courage to read the words. He attempted to smile
indifferently, and to thank his servant as courteously as if he had
given him a pleasant pinch of snuff; but at the same time, he pressed
his thumb upon the paragraph, and made his way straight to his snug
and private room. He was ready to drop when he reached it, and his
heart beat like a hammer against his ribs. He placed the paper on the
table, and, ere he read a syllable, he laboured to compose himself.
What could it be? Was the thing exploded? Was he already the common
talk and laugh of men? Was he ruined and disgraced? He read at
length--_The property and estates of Walter Bellamy, Esq., were
announced for sale by auction._ His first sensation on perusing the
advertisement was one of overpowering sickness. Here, then, was his
destruction sealed! Here was the declaration of poverty trumpeted to
the world. Here was the alarum sounded--here was his doom proclaimed.
Let there be a run upon the bank--and who could stop it now?--let it
last for four-and-twenty hours, and he is himself a bankrupt, an
outcast, and a beggar. The tale was told--the disastrous history was
closed. He had spun his web--had been his own destiny. God help and
pardon him for his transgressions! There he sat, unhappy creature,
weeping, and weeping like a heart-broken boy, sobbing aloud from the
very depths of his soul, frantic with distress. For a full half hour
he sat there, now clenching his fists in silent agony, now accusing
himself of crime, now permitting horrible visions to take possession
of his brain, and to madden it with their terrible and truth-like
glare. He saw himself--whilst his closed eyes were pressed upon his
paralysed hands--saw himself as palpably as though he stood _before_
himself, crawling through the public streets, an object for men's
pity, scorn, and curses. Now men laughed at him, pointed to him with
their fingers, and made their children mock and hoot the penniless
insolvent. Labouring men, with whose small savings he had played the
thief, prayed for maledictions on his head; and mothers taught their
little ones to hate the very name he bore, and frightened them by
making use of it. Miserable pictures, one upon the other, rose before
him--dark judgments, which he had never dreamed of or anticipated; and
he stood like a stricken coward, and he yearned for the silence and
concealment of the _grave_. Ay--the grave! Delightful haven to
pigeon-hearted malefactors--inconsistent criminals, who fear the puny
look of mortal man, and, unabashed, stalk beneath the eternal and the
killing frown of God. Michael fixed upon his remedy, and the delusive
opiate gave him temporary ease; but, in an another instant, he derived
even hope and consolation from another and altogether opposite view of
things. A thought suddenly occurred to him, as thoughts will occur to
the tossed and working mind--how, why, or whence we know not; and the
drowning man, catching sight of the straw, did not fail to clutch it.
What if, after all, Mr. Bellamy proposed to sell his property _in
favour of the bank_!! Very likely, certainly; and yet Allcraft,
sinking, could believe it possible--yes possible, and (by a course of
happy reasoning and self-persuasion) not only so--but _true_. And if
this were Mr. Bellamy's motive and design, how cruel had been his own
suspicions--how vain and wicked his previous disturbance and
complaints! And why should it not be? Had he not engaged to restore
the money which he had borrowed; and had he not given his word of
honour to pay in a large amount of capital? At the memorable meeting,
had he not promised to satisfy Allcraft of the justice of his own
proceedings, and the impropriety of Michael's attack upon his
character? And had not the time arrived for the redemption of his
word, and the payment of every farthing that was due from him? Yes; it
had arrived--it had come--it was here. Mr Bellamy was about to assert
his integrity, and the banking-house was saved. Michael rose from his
chair--wiped the heavy sweat-drops from his brow--dried his tears, and
gave one long and grateful sigh for his deliverance from that state of
horror, by which, for one sad, sickening moment, he had been
bewildered and betrayed. But, satisfied as he was, and rejoiced as he
pretended to be, it could hardly be expected that a gentleman
possessed of so lively a temperament as that enjoyed by Mr. Allcraft
would rest quietly upon his convictions, and take no steps to
strengthen and establish them. Michael for many days past had had no
direct communication with his absent partner, and, at the present
moment, he was ignorant of his movements. He resolved to make his way
at once to the Hall, and to get what intelligence he could of its lord
and master, from the servants left in charge of that most noble and
encumbered property. Accordingly he quitted his apartment, threw a
ghastly smile into his countenance, and then came quickly upon his
clerks, humming a few cheerful notes, with about as much spirit and
energy as a man might have if forced to sing a comic song just before
his execution. Thoroughly persuaded that the officials had not
obtained an inkling of what had transpired in his _sanctum_, and that
he left them without a suspicion of evil upon their minds, he started
upon his errand, and waited not for breath until he reached his
destination. He arrived at the lodge--he arrived at the Hall. He rang
the loud bell, and a minute afterwards he learned that Mr Bellamy was
within--had made his appearance at home late on the evening before,
and, at the present moment, was enjoying his breakfast. Michael, for
sudden joy and excitement, was wellnigh thrown from his equilibrium.
Here was confirmation stronger than ever! Would he have returned to
the estate upon the very eve of disposing of it, if he had not
intended to deal well and honestly in the transaction? Would he not
have been ashamed to do it? Would he have subjected himself to the
just reproaches and upbraidings of his partner, when, by his absence,
he might so easily have avoided them? Certainly not. Michael Allcraft,
for a few brief seconds, was a happier man than he had been for years.
His eyes were hardly free of the tears which he had shed in the
extremity of his distress, and he was now ready to weep again in the
very exuberance and wildness of his delight. He presented his card to
the corpulent and powdered footman; he was announced; he was ushered
in. Walter Bellamy, Esquire, sitting in state, received his friend and
partner with many smiles and much urbanity. He was still at breakfast,
and advancing slowly in the meal, like a gentleman whose breakfast was
his greatest care in life. Nothing could be more striking than the air
of stately repose visible in the proprietor himself, and in the
specious and solemn serving-man, who stood behind him--less a
_serving_-man than a sublime dumb waiter. Michael was affected by it,
and he approached his colleague with a rising sentiment of
awe--partly, perhaps, the effect of the scene--partly the result of
natural apprehension.
"Most glad to see you, my very good friend," began the master--"most
glad--most happy--pray, be seated. A lovely morning this! A plate for
Mr. Allcraft."
"Thank you--I have breakfasted," said Michael, declining the kind
offer. "I had no thought of finding you at home."
"Ay--a mutual and unexpected pleasure. Just so. I had no thought of
coming home until I started, and I arrived here only late last night.
Business seldom suites itself to one's convenience."
"Seldom, indeed--very seldom," answered Michael, with a friendly
smile, and a look of meaning, which showed that he had taken hope from
Mr Bellamy's expression--"and," he continued, "having returned, I
presume you spend some time amongst us."
"Not a day, my friend. To-morrow I am on the wing again. I have left a
dozen men behind me, who'll hunt me over the country, if I don't
rejoin them without delay. No. I am off again to-morrow." (Michael
moved uneasily in his chair.) "But, how are you, Mr Allcraft? How are
all our friends? Nothing new, I'll venture to say. This world is a
stale affair at the best. Life is seen and known at twenty. Live to
sixty, and it is like reading a dull book three times over. You had
better take a cup of coffee, Mr Allcraft!"
"Thank you--no. You surprise me by your determination."
"Don't be surprised at any thing, Mr Allcraft. Take things as they
come, if you wish to be happy."
Michael, very uneasy indeed, wished to make a remark, but he looked at
the man in crimson plush, and held his tongue. Mr Bellamy observed
him.
"You have something to say? Can I give you any advice, my friend?
Pray, command me, and speak without reserve. As much as you please,
and as quickly as you please, for I assure you time is precious. In
half an hour I have twenty men to see, and twice as many things to
do."
Again Michael glanced at the stout footman, who was pretending to
throw his mind into the coming week, and to appear oblivious of every
thing about him.
"I have a question to ask," proceeded Michael hesitatingly; "but it
can be answered in a moment, and at another opportunity--in a little
while, when you are _quite_ at leisure."
"As you please; only remember I have no end of engagements, and if I
am called away I cannot return to you."
Poor Michael! His expectations were again at a fearful discount. The
language and demeanor of Mr Bellamy seemed decisive of his intentions.
What could he do? What--but fasten on his man, and not suffer him to
leave his sight without an explanation, which he dreaded to receive.
Mr Bellamy continued to be very polite and very talkative, and to
prosecute his repast with unyielding equanimity. At the close of the
meal the servant removed the cloth, and departed. At the same instant
the landed proprietor rose from his chair, and was about to depart
likewise. Michael, alarmed at the movement, touched Mr Bellamy gently
on the sleeve, and then, less gently, detained him by the wrist.
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Bellamy, turning sharply upon his
partner: "What do you mean? What is your object?"
"Mr Bellamy," said Allcraft, pale as death, and much excited; "you
must not go until you have satisfied me on a point of life and death
to both of us. Your conduct is a mystery. I cannot explain it. I know
not what are the motives which actuate you. These are known to
yourself. Let them be so. But I have a question to ask, and you must
and shall answer it."
"_Must_ and _shall_, Mr Allcraft! Take care--pray, take care of your
expressions. You will commit yourself. When will you cease to be a
very young man? I will answer voluntarily any questions put to me by
any gentleman. _Must_ and _shall_ never forced a syllable from my lips
yet. Now, sir--ask what you please."
"Mr Bellamy," continued Allcraft, "your property is announced for
public sale."
"It is," said Bellamy.
"And the announcement has your sanction?"
"It has."
"And with the sum realized by that sale, you propose to"--
Michael stopped, as though he wished his partner to fill up the
sentence.
"Go on, sir," said the proprietor.
"With the sum thus realized, I say, you propose to make good the
losses which the bank has suffered by your improvidence?"
"Not exactly. Is there any thing else?"
"Oh, Mr Bellamy, you cannot mean what you say? I am sure you cannot.
You are aware of our condition. You know that there needs only a
breath to destroy us in one moment for ever. At this very time your
purpose is known to the world; and, before we can prevent it, the bank
may be run upon and annihilated. What will be said of your
proceedings? How can you reconcile the answer which you have just now
given to me, with your vaunted high sense of honour, or even with your
own most worldly interests?"
"Have you finished, sir?" said Bellamy, in a quiet voice.
"No!" exclaimed Michael, in as angry a tone of indignation: "no! I
have not finished. I call upon you, Mr Bellamy, to mark my words; to
mark and heed them--for, so Heaven help me, I bid you listen to the
truth. Quiet and easy as you profess to be, I will be cozened by you
no longer. If you carry out your work, your doings shall be told to
every human soul within a hundred miles of where you stand. You shall
be exhibited as you are. If every farthing got from the sale of this
estate be not given up to defray your past extravagance, you shall be
branded as you deserve. Mr Bellamy, you have deceived me for many
years. Do not deceive yourself now."
"Have you finished, sir?" repeated Mr Bellamy.
"Yes--with a sentence. If you are mad--I will be resolute. Persist in
your determination, and the bank shall stop this very night."
"And let it stop," said Bellamy; "by all means let it stop. If it be a
necessary, inevitable arrangement, I would not interfere with it for
the world. Act, Mr Allcraft, precisely as you think proper. It is all
I ask on my own account. I have unfortunately private debts to a very
large amount. What is still more unfortunate, they must be paid. I
have no means of paying them except by selling my estate, and
therefore it must go. I hope you are satisfied?"
Michael threw himself into a chair, and moved about in it, groaning.
Mr Bellamy closed the door, and approached him.
"This is a very unnecessary display of feeling, Mr Allcraft," said the
imperturbable Bellamy; "very--and can answer no good end. The thing,
as I have told you, is inevitable."
"No--no--no," cried Allcraft, imploringly; "Not so, Mr Bellamy. Think
again--ponder well our dreadful situation. Reflect that, before
another day is gone, we may be ruined, beggared, and that this very
property may be wrested from you by our angry creditors. What will
become of us? For Heaven's sake, my dear, good sir, do not rush
blindly upon destruction. Do not suffer us to be hooted, trampled
upon, despised, cursed by every man that meets us. You can save us if
you will--do it then--be generous--be just."
"As for being _just_, Mr Allcraft," replied Bellamy composedly, "the
less we speak about that matter the better. Had _justice_ been ever
taken into account, you and I would, in all probability, not have met
on the present business. I cannot help saying, that, when you are
ready to justify to me your conduct in respect of your late father's
liabilities, I shall be more disposed to listen to any thing you may
have to urge in reason touching the produce of this estate. Until that
time, I am an unmoved man. You conceive me?"
"Yes," said Michael, changing colour, "I see--I perceive your drift--I
am aware--Mr Bellamy," continued the unhappy speaker, stammering until
he almost burst with rage. "You are a villain! You have heard of my
misfortunes, and you take a mean advantage of your knowledge to crush
and kill me. You are a villain and I defy you!"
Mr Bellamy moved leisurely to the fire-place, and rang the bell. The
stout gentleman in plush walked in, and the landed proprietor pointed
to the door.
"For Mr Allcraft, William," said the squire.
"Very well!" said Michael, white with agitation; "Very well! As sure
as you are a living man, your ruin shall be coincident with mine. Not
a step shall I fall, down which you shall not follow and be dragged
yourself. You shall not be spared one pang. I warn you of your fate,
and it shall come sooner than you look for it."
"Pooh, pooh; you have been drinking, Mr. Allcraft."
"You lie, sir, as you have lied for months and years--lived upon lies,
and"--
"You need not say another word. You shall finish your sentence, sir,
elsewhere. Begone! William, show Mr. Allcraft to the door."
William pretended to look very absent again, and bowed. Michael stared
at him for a second or two, as if confounded, and then, like a madman,
rushed from the room and house.