THE MORAL MERCHANT CALLS A MEETING OF HIS
CREDITORS.
The office of Mr. Zachariah Blemish was situated in one of the busiest
and most respectable portions of the City. There was an air of
business about it which unmistakeably stamped its character; its
polished mahogany panels seemed absolutely to twinkle with riches. The
spirit of pounds, shillings, and pence peeped out of its every corner,
and appeared to be cunningly busy over the sum of multiplication--a
sum which may be said to comprise the whole duty of mercantile man.
The swing-door of the office had a hard time of it--from morn till
night it creaked upon its hinges, complainingly. If ever door had
occasion to growl that door had. If ever door bemoaned its hard fate,
or protested against being worked to death, that door did. Sometimes
it sent forth a piteous wail; sometimes a long-sustained groan;
sometimes an agonised little squeak, as much as to say, "Now it is all
over with me!" But it wailed, and groaned, and squeaked in vain. There
was no rest for it. For weeks, and months, and years, it had been
flung open with ferocity, and slammed to with vindictiveness; for
weeks, and months, and years, it had been pushed and banged with
venomous cruelty. But a day came when it rested from its labours, and
when its wails, and groans, and squeaks, ceased to be heard.
It is surprising what consternation the simple closing of a door can
produce. If the swing-door of the office of Mr. Zachariah Blemish had
been aware of the dreadful tremor that thrilled through commercial
circles on the day that it hung quiescent on its hinges, it would have
squeaked of its own accord with fiendish satisfaction. If it could
have seen the dismal faces of those ruthless men who had for years so
cruelly pushed, and slammed, and banged it, it would have laughed in
its baized sleeve, vindictively. But it had no means of satisfying its
vindictive feelings, for it was shut out from the busy world, and a
gloomy shade encompassed it.
There was great dismay in the City. The office of Mr. Blemish shut up!
What could it mean? Was it a temporary suspension, or a total smash?
Why, everybody thought he was rolling in wealth. Everybody asked
questions of everybody else. Quite a crowd was congregated outside the
office during the whole day; and the outer door was stared at with
feelings somewhat akin to awe, as if, like the Sphinx, it contained
within its breast the knowledge of an awful mystery. Among the crowd
were many members of the Moral Boys' Bootblacking Reformatory, who
stood and stared with the rest, wondering what heroic deed their Moral
President had performed. In the midst of the general wonderment came
whispers of disastrous speculations; losses in sugar, losses in flour,
losses in saltpetre, losses in quicksilver, losses by underwriting,
and losses by guarantying. Ships had been wrecked, cattle stations had
fallen in value, large firms in India had failed, debtors had
absconded. But still, these were trifles to a man of such immense
wealth as Blemish was reputed to be. And such a moral man, too.
Later in the day, it was reported that a meeting of creditors had been
called, and a dark rumour was circulated that the estate would not pay
a shilling in the pound. What were his liabilities? Some said fifty
thousand pounds, some said a hundred thousand, some said half a
million. The smaller sums were soon indignantly rejected, and the
liabilities were fixed, to the satisfaction of everybody, at half a
million. No--not to the satisfaction of everybody; not at all to the
satisfaction of his creditors, who were furious. They were a numerous
class, but they were small in number compared to those who were not
his creditors. With the public, Mr. Zachariah Blemish had never been
so popular as he was now. If he had made his appearance in the
streets, he would have been stared at and adulated more than ever. For
had he not failed for half a million of money? What a rich, unctuous
sound the words had, as they were pronounced! They rolled deliciously
round the tongue. Half-a-million of money!
Certainly, he was a public benefactor. If he had poisoned his wife,
and murdered every one of his ancient clerks--if he had enticed a
dozen inoffensive (and of course lovely) females into his office, and
killed them then and there with a deadly vapour--if he had been for
years quietly strangling unsuspicious strangers, and hiding their
remains in his cellar until it was so full that it could not hold
another limb--if he had been the author of any or all of these
highly-spiced sensations, he could not have been more popular than he
was in the present circumstances of his position. He had provided the
public with something to talk about, something that it could take home
to its wife, and moralise over, and dilate upon virtuously. It was not
every day that a man failed for half-a-million of money, and
especially so good a man as Mr. Blemish.
Great was the marvel how he had managed to keep his state unknown and
unsuspected for so long a time. For the rumoured losses had not come
upon him at once. People had heard him speak, upon various occasions,
of losses upon shipments here, of losses upon consignments there, of
debtors absconding heavily in his debt, &c., &c.; but he had spoken
upon those subjects so pleasantly, that it rather enhanced his credit
than otherwise. The impression conveyed was, that those losses had
been sustained, but that, large as they were, they were too trifling
to a affect the position of such a merchant as Blemish. How had he
managed to sustain his credit through all those losses, which now, it
was seen, must have been enormous? Why at the time the great banquet
was given to him, he must have been hopelessly insolvent! He was
certainly a marvellously clever man. He was undoubtedly a very great
genius; for he had failed for half-a-million of money!
And Mr. Blemish himself--how did he bear the publication of his
downfall? Was he pale, anxious, nervous, humbled, crestfallen? Was he
crying and fretting inwardly at his displacement from the pedestal
upon which public opinion had seated him? Not at all. He was
comfortably located in one of the cosiest rooms of his mansion, in
handsome dressing-gown and slippers. He was smoking a fragrant Havanah
cigar, and drinking iced claret, which he poured from a costly jug, a
portion of one of the numerous testimonials presented to him in the
course of his moral career. From where he was sitting, he commanded a
view of his garden, wherein were blossoming the choicest exotics. His
face was as ruddy and as fat as ever--he looked like a man at peace
with himself and with all the world. And yet to-morrow he was to meet
a host of furious creditors, men whom he had deceived, robbed,
swindled, perhaps ruined. He had given instructions that he was at
home to nobody except a legal friend, and he was passing the afternoon
luxuriously, and enjoying his leisure as such a moral man as himself
deserved to enjoy it.
In the evening he had a long consultation with his lawyer, the most
eminent man in the profession. Long statements of accounts were
examined and discussed; as to what might be said of this item, and of
that. The conversation sometimes assumed an anxious turn, but leisure
was found for a little pleasantry. "Do you think it is all right?"
asked the honest merchant, the slightest dash of nervousness in his
voice. "Quite right," replied the honest lawyer, cheerfully. Then a
few documents were burnt, Mr. Blemish devoting an unusual amount of
care to so trivial an operation. After which the honest merchant and
the honest lawyer shook hands, without any apparent reason, and smiled
approvingly at each other. The lawyer being gone, Mr. Blemish retired
to rest, and slept as men sleep whose consciences are at ease. When he
rose in the morning, he indulged, as usual, in his shower bath, and,
strengthened for the battle, issued forth to meet his foes.
Such foes! Such fierce, malignant foes! The meeting had been called in
the commercial room of a great hotel; and the atmosphere of the room
was surcharged with scowls. The creditors were broken into knots of
three and four each, all of whom were recounting their special
grievances with glib volubility. Black looks and savage growls
fraternised in the cause against the common enemy. Although each
sufferer put forward his case as the worst and blackest, there were no
particular distinguishing features in them. All the creditors had
believed Blemish to be a man of vast means; all had been eager to
swell the amount of his indebtedness to them; and all discovered that
they had been diddled. That was the word--Diddled. They had no pity
for each other. A dreadful selfishness was rampant among them. It was
all ME. He deceived ME: he told ME this: he led ME to believe that. It
was more than human nature could stand. They lashed themselves into a
fury. They ground their teeth, they clenched their fists, they
anathematised the name of Blemish. That is, when Blemish was not
present; when he made his appearance amongst them, the storm, if it
had not passed over, was lulled. The great merchant had contrived to
make himself look a shade paler than usual. When he entered the room
he bowed gravely to the assembled throng, and said that it would
perhaps be as well that they should at once proceed to business. The
common sense of the proposal striking every one present, they seated
themselves immediately round the long table, and waited in anxious
expectation; Mr. Zachariah Blemish being at the head, supported on his
right by his legal adviser, who had before him a formidable pile of
papers. After a short pause the great merchant said, that no one
regretted more than himself the occasion which had called them
together. A sarcastic creditor begged Mr. Blemish's pardon: he (the
sarcastic creditor) regretted it a great deal more than Mr. Blemish
did or could. The interruption was received with approval by the few,
with disapproval by the many--by the latter not out of sympathy for
Mr. Blemish, but in consequence of their anxiety to hear what he had
to say. That gentleman cast a reproachful glance at the sarcastic
creditor, a glance which said, "_I_ am the sufferer in this affair, if
you please; be good enough to understand that;" and, having thus
asserted himself, a victim, whose calamity deserved the respect of
every right-minded man, Mr. Blemish proceeded to say that he hoped
they would hear him and his legal adviser with patience. He felt how
important it was that, at this serious crisis in his career, a proper
humility should be exercised towards each other by all parties
interested. And, taking into consideration this and the past teaching
of his life--which he hoped had been strictly moral--he felt himself
called upon, before laying the state of his affairs before the
meeting, to pray (and here he raised his eyes devoutly to the ceiling)
that their proceedings might be conducted with Christian toleration,
and that wisdom would descend upon and guide their deliberations.
After giving utterance to this pious expression of his wishes, he
closed his eyes, and, slightly raising his hands, appeared to pray
for a few moments; and having (like a clergyman bestowing a
benediction upon his flock) invoked the blessing of Providence upon
his creditors, he motioned to his lawyer, who, shuffling his papers in
a business-like manner, opened the ball in a dry matter-of-fact voice.
It was not his business, the lawyer said, to make remarks which would
not be considered pertinent to the subject. He believed that the
position in which Mr. Zachariah Blemish found himself, commanded the
sympathy of every section of the community. (Most of the creditors
looked extremely dubious.) Mr. Blemish, a gentleman, a merchant, and a
Christian, by his conduct, earned the esteem of all whom he had come
in contact, and he trusted to be always able to retain that esteem.
His connection with various movements which had for their object the
improvement of his fellow man generally--he might mention, among
others, the Moral Boys' Bootblacking Reformatory and the Murray Cod
Association (Pooh! pooh! from the sarcastic creditor, of which the
lawyer took not the slightest notice)--his connection with such
associations was enough to prove the kind of man he was. But the
profession of which he (the speaker) was a member, could not
unfortunately, while in the performance of its duties, take into
consideration anything which touched the sympathies. At the present
moment he felt this most keenly--for he deeply sympathised with Mr.
Blemish's position. But confining himself to hard matter-of-fact, he
could not but see that his client had done everything for the best,
and that it was only the force of circumstances that had brought him
to this pass. Mr. Blemish had struggled for a long time against
reverses--against falling markets, against losses by defaulting
debtors--but he was unable to hold out any longer. It might be asked,
why he had not placed himself in the hands of his creditors before his
position had become so desperate as it was now. For it was desperate;
there was no denying it. The answer was simple, and easily to be
understood. There were in the room many creditors who were merchants.
Those men knew how the slightest rumour affected credit, and it was
for their sake, as much as for his own, that he had exercised a wise
and judicious reticence as to his affairs. Mr. Blemish was always in
hopes of being able to redeem his position. There was no chance of
effecting this object if his credit were impaired; and so Mr. Blemish
carried on business until he was compelled to succumb. He would not
detain them any longer with remarks and explanations, but would at
once proceed to figures.
Which he did; disclosing in the process a very disastrous state of
affairs indeed. Mr. Blemish owed over a hundred thousand pounds, and
his assets, in round numbers, showed a total of some thirty odd
thousand. But in those assets there were debts that were bad; some
very doubtful; many which it would take considerable trouble and
expense to collect. Having fully explained everything, the lawyer sat
down with the concluding remark, that Mr. Blemish placed himself
unreservedly in the hands of his creditors.
First, a long pause ensued. Then, as if set in motion by a
suddenly-loosed spring, everybody spoke at once. One asked the meaning
of this: another the meaning of that. Indeed, they asked so many
questions at once, that the unfortunate Mr. Blemish raised hands
deprecatingly. When the meeting, in obedience to this deprecating
motion, became a little less noisy, Mr. Blemish suggested that,
perhaps, it would be as well that he should retire. They would be able
to discuss more freely in his absence. One of the creditors, a man
with pimples covering his face, said it was a very sensible
suggestion, and that as many unpleasant things might possibly be said
which Mr. Blemish would not like to hear, the moral merchant would act
wisely by retiring. When he had closed the door behind him, Babel was
let loose. The creditors stormed, and fumed, and threatened all manner
of things. Some suggested that he should be arrested; others that he
should be forced into the Insolvency Court, where vengeance could be
wreaked upon him. There were many shades of opinion represented. All
the creditors were not violent and unreasonable. There was the meek
creditor, who put in mild suggestions, and who was quite ready to vote
with the majority, and retire into private life afterwards,--a sort of
man who could be induced to sign any document, one way or another,
with less than half an ounce of persuasion. There was the sarcastic
creditor, with whom everything was absurd, ridiculous, nonsensical; he
was so persistent in "pooh-poohing" every suggestion, that he soon
made himself the most unpopular creditor in the room. There was the
creditor who swore frightful oaths, who banged the table, who got red
in the face; and who suggested that the insolvent should first have
his nose pulled, and then be kicked down stairs. There was the foreign
creditor, who fumed in imperfect English, declaring that the insolvent
was "von dam rascal," and vowing in incomprehensible lingo, that
Blemish had swindled him, "picked my pocket, sare," of fourteen
hundred pounds not more than a month ago. There was the silent
creditor, who did not speak, but was ready to accept any cash
composition, however small; he sat quite still, did the silent
creditor, for he intended to call a meeting of _his_ creditors the
very next week, and he was taking mental notes of the behaviour of
those present to whom he was indebted. There was the turbulent
creditor, who would not be quiet, but who was starting up every other
minute with some red-hot impracticable suggestion. And there was the
friendly creditor (who had been quietly assured by Blemish's lawyer
that he should be paid in full), pouring oil upon the troubled waters,
and using all his powers of persuasion to allay the torrent of angry
feeling.
When the storm subsided, the pimply-faced man was voted to the chair,
and the conversation became more reasonable. A great many present,
while regretting the state of affairs, thought it would be a pity to
put the estate into the Insolvency Court, where it would be eaten up
with expenses. It might serve the purpose of unpleasantly exposing Mr.
Blemish; but the dividend would be much decreased. Half a loaf was
better than no bread. The meek creditor agreed that it would be unwise
to put the estate into the Insolvency Court. Mr. Blemish owed him two
thousand pounds, and he would like to get as much as he could for it.
The friendly creditor judiciously favoured this current of opinion;
and he said, that it would perhaps be as well to ask Mr. Blemish if he
had any proposition to make. Of course, why had they not thought of
that before? Mr. Blemish was at once called in, and in reply to their
questions, he said that there were three courses open to the
creditors. The first was, that the estate should be wound up in the
Insolvency Court; he knew, and they all knew, what would be the result
of that proceeding--a long delay, and a loss of fifty per cent, on the
realisation of the estate. But, if they resolved upon this, he would
at once file his schedule; he was entirely in their hands. The second
course was, that the creditors should accept an assignment in
satisfaction of their claims; the estate, judiciously administered,
might turn out better than he expected. The third course was, their
acceptance of a proposal which he was happy to say he was in a
position to make--for he was not without friends. He had not passed
his long career in vain. There were many gentlemen who were ready to
assist him in his hour of need; and it was their kindness and faith in
his integrity which enabled him to offer to his creditors four
shillings and ninepence in the pound, payable half in cash, one-fourth
at six months, and one-fourth at twelve months, by guaranteed bills.
If this were accepted, he could still carry on business, and if
prosperity crowned his efforts, he would make it his special aim to
pay all his creditors twenty shillings in the pound. When Mr. Blemish
had made his statement, he was requested again to retire, and the
debate was resumed. But most of the creditors, as prudent businessmen,
felt that to accept the four and ninepence in the pound was the best
they could do; and it was ultimately proposed that Mr. Blemish should
be asked if he would increase his offer to five shillings. No, Mr.
Blemish said, sadly; he could not do it; threepence in the pound extra
would amount to more than his friends were willing to advance. A great
deal of discussion and temporising ensued; until at last Mr. Blemish,
on his own responsibility, increased the offer to four shillings and
tenpence halfpenny. The meeting was adjourned till the following day,
when the composition was accepted. The deeds of release were drawn up
in a singularly short space of time (in truth they had been prepared
before the meeting, a blank being left for the composition sum), the
money was paid, the bills were accepted and endorsed; and Mr.
Zachariah Blemish was a free man, purged of every worldly debt.
Purged of every worldly debt. Happy man! Mr. Zachariah Blemish held
his head very high indeed that afternoon, for he did not owe a
shilling in the world. Positively, not a shilling, if we except his
butcher and baker, and other domestic purveyors. There is not the
slightest doubt that he did not even owe a shilling to those worthy
gentlemen to whom he had referred as being willing to assist him in
his hour of need, and who had such faith in his integrity. Strange,
inexplicable mystery!
It was, doubtless, the high exultation produced by his being
free from the thraldom of debt that induced him to stroll into a
jeweller's shop, and to purchase a diamond bracelet for a hundred
guineas--purchase it, and pay for it, too! This he intended as a
present to his wife, to mark the commencement of his new career. It
was a white day for him, and he celebrated it accordingly. What a
sacrifice for a beggared man to make! A diamond bracelet for his wife
on the day of his ruin! A model of a husband!
Sitting that evening in his arm-chair, near the window overlooking his
garden of roses, Mr. Zachariah Blemish said to his wife--
"Mrs. Blemish, I think of building another wing to the house. The
architect has told me that it will not cost more than a couple
of thousand pounds. It will include a billiard-room, and a new
dining-room, which will be a great convenience. We are a little bit
cramped in our old one."
Marvel of marvels! What a man of faith was here! No sooner down than
he was up again, challenging the world to come on!
The next day his office was opened, and his clerks returned their
stools at their desks, and went on with their journalising and their
posting. The swing-door recommenced its life of toil, and wailed, and
squeaked as before. And Mr. Zachariah Blemish moved amongst his
fellow-men, with his usual affability. His linen was as spotless and
as snowy as ever; his face was still smooth, and fat, and ruddy. And
his reputation--let the truth be told--his reputation, in the eyes of
the world, was as spotless as his linen. If there was any difference
in the behaviour of his fellow-citizens towards him, it was that they
cringed and bowed to him a shade more sycophantishly than before.
Great was Blemish, the Moral Merchant!