Part 29
[1] and — was = and the food at their disposal (+und die ihnen zu Gebote stehende Nahrung+) was at least always sufficient (+ausreichend+).
[2] a monthly magazine, +eine Monatsschrift+.
[3] = they knew at last almost by heart.
[4] = friends or relations.
_Section 243._
HOW THE BANK OF ENGLAND WAS HUMBLED.
I.
Once, many years ago, a bill of exchange for a large amount was drawn[1] by Anselm Rothschild, of Frankfort, on Nathan Rothschild, of London. When the gentleman who held it arrived in London, Nathan was away, and he took the bit of paper to the Bank of England and asked them to discount it.
The managers were very stiff. With haughty assurance they informed the holder that they discounted only their own bills; they said they had nothing to do with the bills of private persons. They did not stop to reflect with whom they had to deal. Those shrewd old gentlemen in charge of the bank of the realm should have known and remembered that that bit of paper bore the signature of a man more powerful than they—more powerful, because independent of a thousand-and-one hampers that rested upon them. “Umph,” exclaimed Nathan Rothschild, when the answer of the Bank was repeated to him. “Private persons! I will let these important gentlemen know with what sort of private persons they have to deal.”
And then Nathan Rothschild went to work. He had an object in view[2]—to humble the Bank of England—and he meant to do it[3]. He sent agents to the Continent and through the United Kingdom, and three weeks were spent in gathering up notes of the smaller denominations of the Bank’s own issue[4].
One morning, bright and early, Nathan Rothschild presented himself at the Bank, and drew forth from his pocket-book a five-pound note, which he desired to have cashed. Five sovereigns were counted out to him, the officers looking with astonishment upon seeing Baron Rothschild troubling himself personally about so trivial a matter. The baron examined the coins one by one, and, having satisfied himself of their good quality, slipped them into a canvas bag, and then drew out and presented another five-pound note. The same operation was repeated, save that the baron took the trouble to take a small pair of scales from his pocket to weigh one of the pieces, for the law gave him that right.
[1] to draw a bill of exchange, +einen Wechsel ziehen+.
[2] +Er hatte sich das Ziel gesteckt.+
[3] +und er wollte alles daran setzen, dies Ziel zu erreichen.+
[4] in gathering — issue, +die auf kleinere Summen lautenden, von der englischen Bank in Umlauf gesetzten Banknoten aufzukaufen+.
_Section 244._
HOW THE BANK OF ENGLAND WAS HUMBLED.
II.
Two—three—ten—twenty—a hundred—five hundred five-pound notes were presented and cashed. When one pocket-book was emptied, another was brought forth; and when a canvas bag had been filled with gold, it was passed to a servant who was in waiting. And so he went on until the hour arrived for closing the Bank; at the same time he had nine of the employés of his house engaged in the same work. So it resulted that ten men of the house of Rothschild had kept every teller[1] of the Bank busy for seven hours, and exchanged _somewhere_ about £22,000. Not another customer had been able to get his wants attended to. The English like oddity. Let a man do anything original, and they will generally applaud. So the people of the Bank contrived to smile[2] at the eccentricity of Baron Rothschild, and when the time came for closing the Bank, they were not a tenth part so much annoyed as were[3] the customers from abroad[4] whose business had not been attended to. The bank officials smiled that evening, but—
On the following morning, when the bank opened[5], Nathan Rothschild appeared again, accompanied by his nine faithful helpers, this time bringing with him, as far as the street entrance, four heavy two-horse drays, for the purpose of carting away the gold, for to-day the baron had bills of a larger amount. Ah! the officers of the Bank smiled no more, and a trembling seized them when the banker monarch said, with stern simplicity and directness:
“Ah! these gentlemen refuse to take my bills! Be it so. I am resolved that I will not keep one of theirs. It is the House of Rothschild against the Bank of England[6].” The Bank of England opened its eyes very wide. Within a week, the House of Rothschild could be demanding gold which it did not possess. The gentlemen at the head of affairs saw very plainly that in a determined tilt[7] the Bank must go to the wall[8]. There was but one way out of the dilemma, and they took it. Notice was at once publicly given[9] that thenceforth the Bank of England would cash the bills of Rothschild _the same_ as its own.—TIT-BITS.
[1] = cashier, +Kassierer+.
[2] contrived to smile = smiled.
[3] they — were, +ärgerten sie sich nicht halb so sehr, wie+.
[4] ‘the customers from abroad’ seems to be used here in the sense of ‘the numerous customers’.
[5] = was opened.
[6] +Es handelt sich darum, ob das Haus Rothschild oder die englische Bank den Sieg davon tragen wird!+
[7] = struggle, +Kampf+, m.
[8] to go to the wall, +den kürzeren ziehen+.
[9] +Es wurde öffentlich angezeigt.+
_Section 245._
MORGAN PRUSSIA[1].
I.
Morgan, the gay and handsome son of a low Irish farmer, tired of home, went to take the chances of the world, and seek his fortune. By what means he traversed England, or made his way to France, is not told. But he at length crossed France, and, probably without much knowledge or much care whether he was moving to the north or the south pole, found himself in the Prussian territory. This was in the day of Frederick William I. (1713-1740), famous for his tall regiment of guards. He had but one ambition, that of inspecting twice a day a regiment of a thousand grenadiers, not one of whom was less than six feet and a half high. Morgan was an Irish giant, and was instantly seized by the Prussian recruiting sergeants, who forced him to “volunteer” into the tall battalion. This turn of fate was totally out of the Irishman’s calculation; and the prospect of carrying a musket till his dying day on the Potsdam parade[2], after having made up his mind to live by his wits and rove the world, more than once tempted him to think of leaving his musket and honour behind him, and fairly trying his chance for escape. But the attempt was always found impracticable; the frontier was too closely watched, and Morgan still marched up and down the Potsdam parade with a disconsolate heart, when one evening a Turkish recruit was brought in; for the king looked to nothing but the thews and sinews of a man, and the Turk was full seven feet high.
“How much did his majesty give for catching that heathen?” said Morgan to his corporal. “Four hundred dollars[3],” was the answer. Morgan burst out into an exclamation of astonishment at this waste of royal treasure upon a Turk. “Why, they cannot be got for less,” replied the corporal. “What a pity my five brothers cannot hear of it!” said Morgan, “I am a dwarf to any one of them, and the sound of half the money would bring them all over immediately.” As the discovery of a tall recruit was the well-known road to favoritism, five were worth at least a pair of colours to the corporal[4]. The conversation was immediately carried to the sergeant, and from him, through the gradation of officers, to the colonel, who took the first opportunity of mentioning it to the king. The colonel was instantly ordered to question Morgan; but he at once lost all recollection of the subject. “He had no brothers; he had made the regiment his father, and mother, and relations, and there he hoped to live and die.” But he was urged still more strongly, and at length confessed that he had brothers, even above the regimental standard, but that nothing on earth could stir them from their spades.
[1] +Morgan der Preuße.+
[2] +auf dem Paradeplatz zu Potsdam.+
[3] +Thaler.+
[4] five — corporal, +so würden fünf derselben dem Korporal wenigstens eine Fähnrichsstelle eintragen+.
_Section 246._
MORGAN PRUSSIA.
II.
After some time the king inquired for the five recruits, and was indignant when he was told of the impossibility of enlisting them. “Send the fellow himself,” he exclaimed, “and let him bring them back.” The order was given; but Morgan was broken-hearted “at the idea of so long an absence from the regiment.” He applied to the colonel to have the order revoked, or at least given to some one else. But this was out of the question, for the king’s word was always irrevocable; and Morgan, with a disconsolate face, prepared to set out upon his mission. But a new difficulty struck him. “How was he to make his brothers come, unless he showed them the recruiting money?” This objection was at last obviated by the advance of a sum equal to about three hundred pounds sterling, as a first instalment for the purchase of his family. Like a loyal grenadier the Irishman was now ready to attempt anything for his colonel or his king, and Morgan began his journey. But, as he was stepping out of the gates of Potsdam, another difficulty occurred; and he returned to tell the colonel that of all people existing the Irish were the most apt to doubt a traveller’s story, they being in the habit of a good deal of exercise in that style themselves[1]; and that when he should go back to his own country, and tell them of the capital treatment and sure promotion that a soldier met with in the guards, the probability was, that they would laugh in his face. As to the money, “there were some who would not scruple to say that he stole it, or tricked some one out of it. But, undoubtedly, when they saw him walking back only as a common soldier, he was sure they would not believe a syllable, let him say what he would about rising in the service.”
The objection was intelligible enough, and the colonel represented it to the king, who, doubly outrageous at the delay, swore a grenadier’s oath, ordered Morgan to be made a sub-lieutenant, and, with sword and epaulets, sent him instantly across the Rhine to convince his five brothers of the rapidity of Prussian promotion. Morgan flew to his home in the county _of_ Carlow, delighted the firesides for many a mile round with his having outwitted a king and a whole battalion of grenadiers, laid out his recruiting money on land, and became a man of estate at the expense of the Prussian treasury.
One ceremony remains to be recorded. Once a year, on the anniversary of the day on which he left Potsdam and its giants behind, he climbed a hill within a short distance of his house, turned himself in the direction of Prussia, and, with the most contemptuous gesture which he could contrive, bade good-bye to his majesty. The ruse was long a great source of amusement, and its hero, like other heroes, bore through life the name earned by his exploit—Morgan Prussia.—KING GEORGE THE FOURTH.
[1] they being — themselves, +da auch sie im Erzählen von dergleichen Geschichten eine große Fertigkeit besäßen+.
_Section 247._
THE TERRIBLE WINTER OF 1784.
About the middle of the month of April, in the year 1784, three hundred thousand miserable beings, dying from cold and hunger, groaned in Paris alone—in that Paris where, in spite of the boast that scarcely another city contained so many rich people, nothing had been prepared to prevent the poor from perishing of cold and wretchedness.
For the last four months, the same leaden sky had driven the poor from the villages into the town, as it sent the wolves from the woods into the villages.
No more bread. No more wood.
No more bread for those who felt this cold—and no more wood to bake it. All the provisions which had been collected, Paris had devoured in a month. The Provost, short-sighted and incapable, did not know how to procure for Paris, which was under his care, the wood which might have been collected in the neighbourhood. When it froze, he said the frost prevented the horses from bringing it; when it thawed, he pleaded want of horses and conveyances. Louis XVI., ever good and humane, always ready to attend to the physical wants of his people, although he overlooked their social ones, began by contributing a sum of 200,000 francs for horses and carts, and insisting on their immediate use. Still the demand continued greater than the supply.
At first no one was allowed to carry away from the public timber-yard more than a cart-load of wood; then that was limited to half the quantity. Soon long strings of people might be seen waiting outside the timber-yards, as they were afterwards seen at the bakers’ shops. The king gave away the whole of his private income in charity. He procured 3,000,000 francs by a grant and applied it to the relief of the sufferers, declaring that every other need must give way before that of cold and famine. The queen, on her part, gave 500 louis from her purse. The convents, the hospitals, and the public buildings were thrown open as places of asylum for the poor, who came in crowds for the sake of the fires that were kept there.
They kept hoping for a thaw, but heaven seemed inflexible. Every evening the same copper-coloured sky disappointed their hopes; and the stars shone bright and clear as funeral torches through the long, cold nights, which hardened again and again the snow that fell during the day. All day long, thousands of workmen, with spades and shovels, cleared away the snow from before the houses, so that on each side of the streets, already too narrow for the traffic, rose a high, thick wall, blocking up the way. Soon these masses of snow and ice became so large that the shops were obscured by them, and they were obliged to allow it to remain where it fell.
Paris could do no more. She gave in, and allowed the winter to do its worst. December, January, February, and March passed thus, although now and then a few days’ thaw changed the streets, whose sewers were blocked up, into running streams. Horses were drowned, and carriages destroyed, in the streets, some of which could only be traversed in boats. People went to the markets to see the fisherwomen serving their customers with immense leathern boots on, inside which their trousers were pushed, and with their petticoats tucked round their waists, all laughing, gesticulating, and splashing each other as they stood in the water.
These thaws, however, were but transitory; the frost returned, harder and more obstinate than ever, and recourse was had to sledges, pushed along by skaters, or drawn by roughshod horses along the causeways, which were like polished mirrors. The Seine, frozen many feet deep, had become the place of rendezvous for all idlers, who assembled there to skate or slide, until, warmed by exercise, they ran to the nearest fire, lest the perspiration should freeze upon them. All trembled for the time when, the water communications being stopped, and the roads impassable, provisions could no longer be sent in, and began to fear that Paris would perish from want.
The king, in this extremity, called a council. They decided to implore all bishops, abbés, and monks to leave Paris and retire to their dioceses or convents; and all those magistrates and officials who, preferring the opera to their duties, had crowded to Paris, to return to their homes; for all these people used large quantities of wood in their hotels, and consumed no small amount of food. There were still the country gentlemen, who were also to be entreated to leave. But M. Lenoir, lieutenant of police, observed to the king that, as none of these people were criminals, and could not therefore be compelled to leave Paris in a day, they would probably be so long thinking about it, that the thaw would come before their departure, which would then be more hurtful than useful.
All this care and pity of the king and queen, however, excited the ingenious gratitude of the people, who raised monuments to them, as ephemeral as the feelings which prompted them. Obelisks and pillars of snow and ice, engraved with their names, were to be seen all over Paris.
At the end of March the thaw began, but by fits and starts, constant returns of frost prolonging the miseries of the people. Indeed, in the beginning of April it appeared to set in harder than ever, and the half-thawed streets, frozen again, became so slippery and dangerous, that nothing was seen but broken limbs and accidents of all kinds. The snow prevented the carriages from being heard, and the police had enough to do, through the reckless driving of the aristocracy, to preserve from the wheels those who were spared by cold and hunger.—AFTER ALEXANDER DUMAS, “THE QUEEN’S NECKLACE.”
_Section 248._
A STORY WORTH READING.
I.
Soon after the promulgation of Methodism[1] in England it spread with great rapidity over the counties of Devon and Cornwall, and especially among the miners and lower orders. For a long period after its introduction the clergy and higher classes of society in the west of England manifested a dislike to the new doctrines which can scarcely be imagined in these days of modern toleration. It was thought by many young gentlemen good sport to break the windows and nail up the doors of a Methodist chapel[2]. The robbery of a Wesleyan preacher[3], as a spree, by two young gentlemen, became the subject of an investigation, and the frolicsome young men had to pay very dearly for their practical joke.
Among the uninstructed local preachers was one known by the name of “The Old Gardener.” This old man was no common character—indeed he was quite original, and by far the most popular preacher among the disciples of John Wesley in the vicinity.
He kept a small nursery garden about two miles from the town of St. A——, working hard at his occupation of gardener by day, and praying and preaching to his fellow-sinners, as he called them, in the evening. He lived in the poorest manner, giving away all the surplus of his earnings in charity, distributing Bibles, and promoting to the utmost of his ability the extension of Methodism. His complexion was a sort of dirty, dark, iron grey, and his whole appearance lean and grotesque. Although extremely ignorant, he possessed no small degree of cunning; of this the following incident affords ample evidence:—
“The Old Gardener” was once subjected to a burglary and attempt at robbery. He lived with his wife in a small and somewhat dilapidated cottage, not far from the high road. Three young “squires,” who all despised and hated Methodism, having heard that the old man had been recently making a collection to build a Methodist chapel, thought it would be a good frolic to rob him temporarily of the proceeds of this collection. The result of the frolic is best related in the words of one of the actors:—
“We set out,” said he, “upon our expedition with blackened faces, upon a dark night, a little before twelve o’clock. We had dined late, and all of us had Dutch as well as Cornish courage; yet I confess, when it came to the point[4], I felt myself a coward. I began to reflect that it was but a dastardly frolic to frighten the poor old man and his wife in the dead of night.”
“The clock struck twelve. ‘Now comes the watching time of the night,’ exclaimed Tom.”
“‘Don’t let us frighten the poor couple out of their wits,’ said I.”
“‘No,’ said Ryder, ‘we will be gentle robbers—gentle as Robin Hood and Little John.’”
“I said that I would rather return than proceed. ‘Recollect,’ said I, ‘the old fellow is an old soldier, as well as a saint, and fears nothing human.’”
“‘Nonsense,’ exclaimed Ryder, ‘here goes[5].’ He pressed the feeble door of the cottage in which the old man resided; it immediately gave way and flew open. We entered and found ourselves in a sort of kitchen. To our great surprise there was a light shining from an inner room. This made us all hesitate.”
[1] Nom. +die Lehre der Methodisten+.
[2] of a — chapel, +einer den Methodisten gehörenden Kapelle+.
[3] +eines wesleyischen Predigers.+
[4] +als es wirklich ernst wurde.+
[5] +komm nur!+
_Section 249._
A STORY WORTH READING.
II.
“‘Who is out there at this time of the night?’ exclaimed a hoarse voice from within. I knew it to be the unmistakable voice of ‘The Old Gardener.’”
“‘Give us your money, and no harm shall befal you,’ said Tom, ‘but we must have your money.’”
“‘The Lord will be my defence,’ rejoined ‘The Old Gardener.’ ‘You shall have no money from me; all in the house is the Lord’s—take it if you dare.’”
“‘We must and will have it,’ said we, as we entered the inner room, after taking the precaution of fastening the chamber-door as we entered.”
“We soon wished we had suffered it to remain open, as you will see.”
“Now, consider us face to face with ‘The Old Gardener,’ and a pretty sight was presented. Three ruffians (ourselves) with white waggoners’ frocks and blackened faces; before us ‘The Old Gardener,’ sitting on the side of his bed. He wore a red worsted nightcap, a checked shirt, and a flannel jacket; his iron grey face, fringed with a grizzly beard, looking as cool and undismayed as if he had been in the pulpit preaching.”
“A table was by the side of the bed, and immediately in front of him, on a large deal table, was an open Bible, close to which we observed, to our horror, a heap of gunpowder, large enough to blow up a castle. A candle was burning on the table, and the old fellow had a steel in one hand and a large flint in the other. We were all three paralysed. The wild, iron-faced, determined look of ‘The Old Gardener,’ the candle, flint and steel, and the great heap of powder, absolutely froze our blood, and made cowards of us all. The gardener saw the impression he had made.”
“‘What! do you want to rob and murder?’ exclaimed he; ‘I think you had better join with me in prayer, miserable sinners that you all are! Repent, and you may be saved. You will soon be in another world.’”
“Ryder first recovered his speech.”
“‘Please to hear me, Mr. Gardener. I feel that we have been wrong, and if we may depart we will make reparation, and give you all the money we have in our pockets.’”
“We laid our purses on the table before him.”
“‘The Lord has delivered you into my hands. It was so revealed to me in a dream. We shall all soon be in another world. Pray, let us pray.’”
“And down he fell upon his knees, close to the table, with the candle burning, and the ugly flint and steel in his hand. He prayed and prayed. At last he appeared exhausted. He stopped and eyed the purses, and then emptied one of them out on the table. He appeared surprised, and, I thought, gratified at the largeness of its contents.”
“We now thought we should have leave to retire; but, to our dismay, ‘The Old Gardener’ said:
“‘Now, we will praise God by singing the 100th Psalm.’”
“This was agony to us all. After the Psalm, the old man took up the second purse, and while he was examining its contents, Ryder, who was close behind Tom and myself, whispered softly:
“‘I have unfastened the door, and when you hear me move, make a rush.’”
“‘The Old Gardener,’ then, pouring out the contents of the second purse, exclaimed:
“‘Why, there is almost enough to build our new house of God. Let me see what the third contains.’”
“He took up the third purse.”
“‘Now,’ whispered Ryder, ‘make a rush.’”
“We did so; and at the same moment heard the old fellow hammering away at his flint and steel. We expected to be instantly blown into fragments. The front door, however, flew open before us: and the next moment we found ourselves in the garden. The night was pitchy dark. We rushed blindly through brambles and prickly shrubs, ran our heads against trees, and then forced our way through a thick hedge. At last, with scratched faces, torn hands, and tattered clothes, we tumbled over a bank into the high road.
_Section 250._
A STORY WORTH READING.
III.