CHAPTER XXVIII. WHAT PEOPLE SAID IN THE CITY. In the first place, people said in the City, and knew it for a fact, that the Bank of England had raised its rate of discount. The tightening of that financial screw of course had immediately produced a corresponding tightness in the money-market. Money was no longer to be had on easy terms "in the street;"-I wish that I knew when it was to be had on easy terms in the houses;-holders were firm, and wouldn't look even at the best of paper. Merchants reputed wealthy came with gloomy countenances out of the parlours of the great discount houses in Lombard and Throgmorton Streets, their still unnegotiated securities in their pockets. Things, to be brief, did not look at all well in the City. Things looked up the next day a little; then they looked straightforward; then sideways; then down again, and worse than ever. There could not be a panic, there could not be a crash, people said, because, you see, there had never been so much money in the country, or so many visitors in London. Trade was flourishing; gold was coming in from California; mechanics and labourers were in full work; many of the great houses which had begun to falter and tremble a little, gradually recovered themselves. The Bank screw was relaxed; the merchants reputed wealthy went into Lombard-Street parlours with hopeful, and came out with joyful, countenances; the Stock Exchange resumed its wonted joviality; there were no shadows but one-a great black Shadow it was where money-mongers most do congregate. Peace and prosperity in the world, commercial and financial, seemed to be returning; and yet,things did not look at all well in the City. Things had their worst aspect, the great Shadow had its blackest hue and hung like an imminent pall, in and over a place called Beryl Court. People—that is, the people who were supposed to know a thing or twotalked all day long about Beryl Court, and about Mammon, the proprietor and potentate thereof. And, while they talked, it was curious to mark that they did not seem to know on what particular peg to hang their conversation. They fastened, of course, as a preliminary peg, upon Sir Jasper Goldthorpe: but the baronet was convalescent; he had been to the Derby; he was at business the next day, and, in the evening, was to give a grand dinner-party to certain illustrious foreigners then sojourning in the British metropolis. The banquet was to be followed by a grand ball. It was during the day of which this was to be the triumphant conclusion that people in the City talked most about Sir Jasper Goldthorpe. Who were those people? I cannot with certainty determine, any more than I can fix with exactitude upon him who first states authoritatively that Consols shall be ninety-seven and an eighth; that French Three-per-cents shall be sixty-five and a quarter. Somebody must say so in the first instance, of course, in deference, perhaps, to somebody else. Somebody else agrees with him; a third assentient adds his voice, and the quotation of the Funds is stricken. But it may have been in Cornhill or in Capel Court, in Lombard or Old Broad Street, that a White Waistcoat (corpulent) brushes against a Blue Frock-coat (sparely built). To them enter a Drab Felt Hat; and a Brown Silk Umbrella with an ivory handle makes up a fourth. Says White Waistcoat, "I hear for a certainty that it's all over with him." "You don't say so," ejaculates Blue Frock-coat. "It's true I did hear some very queer rumours at the club this morning." "He can't last twenty-four hours. He must go; I know it for a fact," Brown Silk Umbrella adds, giving himself a thiwack on the pavement. "That's bad," joins in Drab Hat; "and, to tell the truth, I've heard a good deal about it myself since yesterday afternoon. They say it's been a long time coming. He was always a close customer, and kept things pretty snugly to himself; but the truth will ooze out somehow." "Ah," remarks White Waistcoat, "he'd better have taken partners." "He never would, though," Drab Hat continues, shaking a shrewd head inside it. "They might have known a great deal too much about the affairs of the House to be quite convenient." "How much will he go for?" "A couple of millions at least." "Say a million and a half." "I'll bet it's over two, and that there won't be half-a-crown in the pound assets. There never is in these great paper-crashes. Money will make money of itself, just by turning itself over; but when paper goes to the bad, it doesn't leave enough residue to light a rushlight with." "What's the secret? what has he been doing? He's been in no great speculations in our market lately?" "You don't know how many hundred he's been at the bottom of, and behind the scenes of. He was always such an old Slyboots. They say he bolstered up the Duffbury Bank for years." "Ah! I've heard that. He had something to do, too, with Jubson's patents for raising wrecks with spung-glass cables." "That big mill that was burnt down at Rochdale in May, and wasn't insured, was his property, so I've heard." "Hadn't he something to do with the Inland Heliogabalus Docks in Paris?" "Don't know; but I'm sure he had the concession of the Montevidean Railway. I saw it in Galignani. You know, the one that was to join the General South and Central American Trunk Line;-tunnel under Chimborazo, and run a branch to Tehucantepec." "Ah! that was a nice little spec; to say nothing of the Ulululu copper-mines." "And the Pitcairn's Island Packet-service." "And the loan to the Republic of Prigas." "And the Polar Circle Tallow-melting and Ice-preserving Company." "Pshaw! any one of these things might have turned up trumps,"-it was Silk Umbrella who speaks;-"it's all touch and go. It isn't that rock he's split upon. It's Paper; giving good money for bad bills, and lending huge sums to Houses that never existed." "And borrowing bigger sums to pay the interest," opines White Waistcoat. "It isn't that," breaks in Drab Hat, shaking the shrewd head inside again. "I'll tell you what it is. It's Austria." "Austria!" "Yes, Austria. Who lent the ready cash for the Austrians to get Lombardy back again, taking a million Cremona fiddles as security, which turned out to be Lowther-Arcade ones? Goldthorpe's House. Who kept up the war in Hungary, and was promised a lien on the crown of St. Stephen, till Kossuth ran away with it? Goldthorpe's House. Who filled the military chest for the Austrians who garrisoned Leghorn? who contracted for the new fortifications at Venice and Mantua? Who kept the Tyrol in order, and took the Archduchess Sophia's jewels out of pawn? Who, if he hadn't been sniffing after an English peerage, which he'll never get, and if he hadn't been-more's the shame-an Englishman, would have liked to go to Vienna, and be made a German baron of? I say, Goldthorpe's House, and Jasper Goldthorpe; and if he smashes to-day, it's his own fault for a fool, and the Austrian government's for a pack of rogues." "But they may cash up," interposes Silk Umbrella. "Cash up! They'll never cash up a farthing-piece; I know them of old, sir. They're on the verge of bankruptcy. To my certain knowledge Austria-" But I will not be so cruel to the reader as to repeat in detail all that the Drab Hat (who is in the Russia trade, by the by) has to say about Austria. He is the greatest authority extant as to the ways and means of that chronically embarrassed empire. It is edifying, but terrific, to hear him on Austrian finance. He is the only English politician who reads the Esterreichische Zeitung in the original. He is great upon the bygone horrors of the Spielburg; upon the wrongs of Silvio Pellico; upon the whipping of Madame de Maderspach; upon the execution of Ciceroacchio and Ugo Bassi. Austria is his bugbear, his nightmare. He is Prometheus with a double-headed eagle gnawing at his vitals. They say at his Club that it is for his sole use and benefit that the daily press entertain long-winded correspondents at Vienna; and, at all events, this is beyond doubt, that in all places save City marts and exchanges, where, being immensely wealthy, he is an oracle, and listened to with reverence, he is generally known as "the Austrian bore." In club reading-room, at social dinner-table, in gay saloon, people shudder and gather themselves up, and if possible fly from the face of this insatiate Austromane. Hence he likes the City much better than the West End, and thinks of becoming a member of a Club in Old Broad Street, and taking his name off the books in Pall Mall. "Would you believe it," he says to Silk Umbrella, "that only yesterday, as I was trying to explain the history of the Aulic Council to Dr. Skoggles at the Bonassus, that impudent fellow Scanderbeg, who's only a literary man, and hasn't got a penny in the world, told me that he wished the Aulic Council was at Jericho." White Waistcoat, Silk Umbrella, Blue Frock-coat, Drab Hat, all of them go their several ways, and by and by form into other groups with other articles of raiment with human beings within them; and the rumour swells and swells, and is a rolling stone that gathers moss, and a snowball that grows bigger, and an avalanche that comes tumbling, and a cataract that comes splashing, and a thunder-cloud that bursts, and a volcano that vomits forth its lava and sends up its scoriæ, and a tempest that tears up the golden trees by the roots and scathes the silver plains, and an earthquake that yawns sudden and tremendous and engulfs Mammon and his Millions for ever. "Have you heard the news," friendly George Gafferer asks Tom Soapley, with whom he is most intimate and friendly, and whom he cordially hates," have you heard the news, my dearest chick ?" It is half-past two o'clock in the afternoon, and George, who has always some business" in the City, although neither he nor any body else can tell what it is, has looked in at the Bay-Tree in quest of a chop and a glass of sherry, and finds Soapley there on the same errand. "What news?" "The great house of Goldthorpe has stopped payment,-stopped payment! gone to utter, hopeless smash! Sir Jasper Goldthorpe's cut his throat-his own throat, my chick; Lady Goldthorpe poisoned herself with naphtha-no, camphine-out of a lamp. Sir Jasper's ward-you know-Miss Hill,-all her savings are swallowed up; and they say that the head clerk in Beryl Court has bolted with ninety thousand, and that before Sir Jasper committed suicide he tried to set fire to the house in Onyx Square, only the flames were extinguished by Doctor Sardonix and the under-butler. And he was at the race only yesterday, looking better than ever, and was to have given a grand dinner and ball this evening, to which I was invited. I've got the card, as big as a pancake, at home, my dear chick." "I don't believe it," Soapley returns. "Sir!" George exclaims, drawing himself up. "I don't mean about the invitation,—I was invited myself" (both are lying)," but the smash. I can't believe it, my dear Mr. Gafferer;" Soapley never condescended to familiarity with his rival, and was always profoundly obsequious to him. "Sir Jasper Goldthorpe's position is too high in the City of London, his fortune is too ample, his means are too vast, for such a disaster to overtake him,—that is, taking human probabilities into consideration. Let us not, therefore, on the faith of an idle rumour rashly assume-' "Idle rumour! rashly assume!" cries George in amazement. "Why, it's as well known as the Royal Exchange. It's in the second edition of the Times." Soapley knows well enough that the intelligence of the catastrophe is to be found in the second issue of the morning journal. He has seen it perhaps before George; but it is Soapley's policy to deny all the rumours he has heard, and half the news. They may be contradicted, he reckons. There are such things as blunders, false statements, and hoaxes. The very opposite to what has been written or rumoured may be published to-morrow; and then the parties interested may say, "Such and such a report was flying about town, and the only man who wouldn't believe it was Tom Soapley. Shrewd dog!" By which means Thomas hopes, some day, to get made something by somebody. There was a considerable admixture of the fabulous in Gafferer's budget of intelligence, and not a tithe of what his idle tongue gave currency to had appeared in the paper; but in two particulars he was correct. The great house of Goldthorpe was bankrupt, and Magdalen Hill was a beggar. |