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THE MONEY-LENDER.
CHAPTER I.
Antonio and old Shy lock, hoth stand forth!
Shakspeaue.
Every social epoch has its distinctive vices, as epidemics prevail
at different seasons, and in sundry; localities. As surely as the ca-
nals of Batavia, the jungles of Sierra-Leone, or the Campagna of
Rome, generate malaria and disease, is the infancy of a nation,
" ere human statutes purge the general weal," distorted hy the
convulsions of bloodshed and rapine ; while in the national corrup-
tion succeeding the over-ripeness of civilization, are engendered
the colder-blooded crimes of treachery and fraud. According to a
genealogical tree, not recorded in the Herald's Office, the prodigal
and the wanton are parents of the swindler,—the forger,—the
usurer.—Though the knife of the guillotine and bolt of the gal-
lows be of iron, the mainspring influencing their action is formed of
a more precious metal.—The root of the evil is—Gold!
The first fifteen years of the present century constituted a stir-
ring epoch. The swell of the waters of strife had not subsided
after the recent revolutionary storm; and the gallant vessels of the
various states of Europe were still in peril of a shock. On all
sides, resounded the " ha, ha !" of the trumpet, and neighing of the
war-horse. A sword was in every hand, and angry passions con-
tended in every breast.
At such periods, the minds of men wax fierce and reckless.
The coveter of other men's goods hardens into the highway rob-
ber; the coveter of other men's lives, attacks by open violence
rather than by poison or stealth: " I dare not," no longer " waits
upon I would." The social body is in a state of terrible excite-
ment.—Its very virtues are ferocious;—what can be expected of
its vices ?—
Yet the unnatural calm that succeeds to this enthusiasm of atro-
city, an inglorious sloth of national soul and body arising from
prolonged peace and prosperity, has results almost equally perni-
cious. As the glaring summer heats bring forth the noisome in-
sect or fatal reptile race, a brood of despicable vices and grovel-
ling crimes is hatched into existence by the sunshine of aimless
prosperity. As in the becalming of the ocean, described by Cole-
ridge, lo!
Slimy things do crawl with legs,
Upon the slimy sea I—
6 THE MO.NEY-LENDEB.
Even " creeping things" acquire force, when " innumerableand
by the time the swords of legions of disbanded mercenaries have
been converted into the implements of the housebreaker and the
pickpocket, and the gold-shed of luxury has exercised as harden-
mg an influence over the human heart as the bloodshed of a more
turbulent period, we begin almost to regret the times when per-
petual terror of body begat a more urgent terror of peril to the im-
mortal soul.
While the ascendancy of Napoleon diffused throughout Europe
a panic almost rivalling the Eeign of Terror, the generous affec-
tions remained in play, to contravene the frenzy of national viru-
lence and party hatred. Most people had some near and dear
connectioninvolved in the dangers of the war; and even the frivolous
classes .blushed to surrender themselves to the mere vanities of
life, when the next courier might bring tidings of the sacrifice of
thousands of human beings, or of the one individual dearer than
all beside. The service of plate,—the gaudy equipage,—the dia-
mond coronet,—lost a portion of tbeir value. A death's-head was at
every banquet,—a memento mori at every ball,—a premonitory
knell in every ear!—
But the moment these anxieties abated, and
Grim-visaged war had smoothed his wrinkled front,
what tenfold requital did the worldlings yield themselves for pre-
vious self-denial!—What an uproar of rejoicing, what_ prodiga-
lity of pleasure, what cost, what splendour, what riot, what
intemperance, celebrated the ratification of peace! England
thought no further of her legions of dead, or millions wasted;
and not content with hanging up her conquered banners in tri-
umph, or chanting her Te Deums with grateful solemnity, suf-
fered her anthems to be overpowered by a Bacchanalian roar, and
the senseless giggle of fashionable levity.
Intoxicated by the brilliancy of a congress of kings in their ca-
pital, the English hurried to the continent to keep up the fever of
excitement, and from that moment the manners of the day ac-
quired a looser tone, a more epicurean luxury. London grew
ashamed of its homeliness, and began to affect airs of virtu and
graces of savoir vivre. New customs were introduced, and
splendid enervation prevailed. To that epoch may be retraced the
ruin of many a princely fortune. Not only were millions left_ be-
hind "by our migrant aristocracy in foreign capitals, or the gaming-
tables of Paris, Spa, or Baden; but, on their return to England,
their residences, whether in London or the provinces, afforded dis-
graceful evidence of the new disorder of things. Foreign servants
abounded in every noble household; foreign tradesmen were es-
tablished in every street. Everything worn, eaten, said, or done,
was a la this, or a la that; and money rose proportionately in
value, and timber fell. Unlike the ancient retainers or hereditary
purveyors- of graver times, these strangers came like locusts into
the land, to plunder, devour, and take flight again; and thencefor-
ward, multiplied advertisements of family estates to be sold, fa-
mily mansions to be let and " money to be advanced to nobde-
the money-lender.
7
men or gentlemen" on the most disinterested terms, attested
the progress we were making in national refinement.
Among the latter, and singularly familiar to the young spend-
thrifts of the universities and the guards, were the manifestoes
of a certain A. 0., to whom reference was to be made by letter,
addressed to the Hungerford Coffee-house. There was a tone of
respectability in the phrasing of these advertisements. They had
the air of proceeding from some gentleman with a large floating
capital, and no great faith in government securities, anxious to
obtain good interest and a safe investment for his money;—perhaps
for the benefit of a deserving wife and numerous family. People,
reduced for the first time to the shame of borrowing, said to them-
selves, "A. 0. is my man!" There was far less humiliation in
addressing a letter to the Hungerford Coffee-house, than in being
seen entering the doors of notorious money-brokers in Cork-street,
or Pall-mall.
But it was observed that no man after a similar application, was
ever known to refer his friend to the same source of relief. No one
talked about A. 0.,—no one admitted that he had any cognizance
of this mysterious personage. Or if, in an orgie of thoughtless boys
about to repair to the gaming-table, of confessing the ill-luck of
the previous night and its results, some novice suggested the well
advertised name of A. 0., every one present appeared anxious to
change the conversation. Each had instantly some pet usurer to
recommend.
vn ' 1 ' 1 heard to say, " Beware of A. 0.!"
most hardened thirsters after the pocket's blood, to pronounce its
direful initials. • However prompt to revile the originators of other
advertisements of a similar description, as legitimate descendants
of Barabbas, no one whispered a syllable against A. 0. Discrimi-
nating persons may perhaps infer that most of these cautious friends
Were in his power!
At a dinner at the Guards' Club, in St._ James's-street, early in
the autumn of 1822, it was observed that discussions having arisen
concerning recent losses at play, at Graham's renowned Temple of
Chance, where, at that moment, fortunes were lost and won with
fearful rapidity, the countenance of a young officer, who had
hitherto listened to such allusions with perfect unconcern, became
singularly agitated. It was noticed with the more surprise, because
Basil Annesley never entered the doors of Graham's, and bore no
relationship to any one of the parties whose affairs were thus freely
canvassed.
" Four thousand on Thursday night, and three thousand last
week!" observed Colonel Loftus.—" Poor Sir Grinsel! I'm afraid
'tis all up with him. He told me himself he had raised twelve
thousand last month; and that he had not a resource left. Mort-
gaged to the last guinea,—every stick on his Irish estates gone!—
Poor Sir Grinsel!"
" He has latterly had . recourse to A. 0.," added Captain Blen-
cowe, in a grave under tone;—" so one can understand the sort of
straits to which he must be reduced,"
name,—so averse were even the
8 TEE MONEY-LENDEE."
" A. 0.!—Why, surely, that is the person to whom my uncle,
the Duke of Rochester, is said to owe thirty thousand pounds ?"
cried a youngster who had lately joined, and was fond of citing his
" uncle the duke," (a weakness of course hoaxed out of him before
he had been six months in the regiment.)
" Ay, and out of whose clutches half the fellows you meet every
day in St. James's-street would be right glad to extricate them-
selves," retorted Captain Blencowe. "A. 0. is the last resource of
ruined men ;—the executioner who gives the coup de grace."
" What the deuce do you mean by the coup de grdce ?"■—demanded
the lad so proud of being nephew to a duke.
" The coup de grdce is the stroke given to a victim on the wheel,
to put him out of his pain," replied a grey matter-of-fact old
colonel, who officiated as dry-nurse to the subalterns.
" I meant that A. 0. was the blackguard who aims the first blow
at ruined men;—the sort of fellow to fiing a stone at the drowning
dog scarcely able to keep his head above water."
" It was he, I fancy, who arrested Eggerstone," observed Colonel
Loftus.
" And it was a writ obtained by A. 0. that drove Frederick
Lumley to Brussels !" rejoined Captain Blencowe. " A man must,
in short, have exhausted all other resources, to have recourse-to
him. However, it must be added that he is unfailing at a pinch.
The brute is always flush of cash; and, if one chooses to rush into
the jaws of a shark with one's eyes open, one is more to blame than
the creature that follows its instincts by closing upon one. I once
borrowed money of A. 0. I had tried every other quarter. A
minor with only personal security to offer, the case seemed hope-
less. However, the cormorant was tempted by thirty per cent.,
and the attestation of my honest countenance and promissory note ;
and to my dying day, never shall I forget the joy with which I
found myself redeemed from the thraldom of the debt, within the
year, by the generosity of an old aunt, who was good enough to
die for the purpose."
" Within a year what had you to fear from him ?"
" Nothing to fear—much to endure /—I had made the interest of
that accursed five hundred pounds payable monthly, out of the
allowance which my skin-flint of a Scotch guardian doled out to
me in like manner ; and every third of the month was I visited by
a hateful nightmare in the shape of A. 0. I think I see the door
of my room opening to admit him."
" But why not make it payable at your banker's, or agent's r"
" He conditioned that it should be paid from hand to hand. I
suspect he chose to have an eye upon the morals and health of his
debtor ; for one day, when he made his appearance, as usual, and
the effects of a gin punch party at Limmer's the previous night
were only too visible in my face, I remember his fixing his keen
eyes into me, like the talons of a bird of prey, and inquiring the
nature of the disorder that made me so ghastly just as a ghoul
might be supposed to investigate the state of the corpse upon which
it was about to make its loathsome repast!"
THE MONEY-LEffEEK. 9
"Pine him, fine him!—'Pon my soul, Blencowe, you are too
had!" cried several voices.
" You positively make me sick with your ghoul and your A. 0.!"
added the Duke of Rochester's nephew.
" He did me /" retorted the captain, earnestly ; "the very recol-
leGtion sickens me now. Loftns, the claret!—Something too much
of this !"—and the wine was passed round, and the table soon re-
sumed its tone of wonted hilarity.
All this time, Basil Annesley had been peeling his walnuts as
assiduously as though they were destined for some fair neighbour
at a dinner-party, instead of for his listless self. In point of fact,
he knew not that he had so much as a walnut on his plate. Tlirough-
out the discussion he had been all ear; and chose an occupation
enabling him to listen with his face depressed, to conceal his deep
interest in the matter.
But the very means he took to disguise his emotion, caused it to
be noticed. Basil Annesley was one of those open-spirited fellows
who confront the observation of society with an ever frank and
fearless countenance; and to find his forehead, usually held so
high, thus pertinaciously incumbent, and his voice, usually so free
in discussion, thus perseveringly silent, excited surmises in the
mind of Loftus, who sat opposite to him, as well as in that of the
grey-headed colonel.
"What is the meaning of all this? Has poor Annesley been
playing?" was the secret conjecture of both. " Another victim to
ecarte or hazard! Another victim for the remorseless claws of
A. 0.!"
Yet Annesley had never been noticed to enter a gambling-house.
The play of fashionable London was not then concentrated into so
decided a focus as it has since become. But in a community so
small as that to which Basil was attached, a man addicted to any
Sosser vice is soon convicted; and he had hitherto passed for a
ly's man—an Almack's pet—rather than for a fellow likely to be
carried away by the dissipations of roue life.
It was only a year since Basil Annesley joined the Guards. On
quitting Harrow, he had completed his education at a foreign
university ; and soon afterwards, as the son of the late Sir Bernard
Annesley, one of the bravest victims of the Peninsula war, had
obtained a commission from the 'generous patronage of the royal
commander-in-chief. Of the state of his fortunes little was authen-
tically known. Prom the period of the general's death his mother
had resided in retirement. Ho one knew whether she was rich or
poor. Basil never mentioned her name. It was concluded that he
spent the periods of his leave of absence from his regiment with
Lady Annesley, but on his return he made no allusion to the visit.
His habits of life induced the inference that his allowance was less
than liberal; but though lively and oj)en on indifferent subjects,
Basil was too reserved concerning his family affairs, and too self-
possessed in his good breeding, for his brother officers to hazard
offending him by betraying impertinent curiosity.
Still, the grey-headed, colonel, known in the regiment by the name
JO THE MONEY-LENDEK.
of Old Carrington and the character of an officious hore, meditated on
the present occasion some investigation of the origin of the young
ensign's embarrassment; when, just as he was turning towards him
for a re-introduction of the subject of A. 0., Basil Annesley,
throwing his napkin on the back of his chair, rose and hurried out
of the room.
Now Old Carrington was gouty, and the active movements of a
lad of twenty soon distanced those of a man who to twenty
added five-and-twenty years more, many of them years of active
service ; so that before the "Waterloo Colonel was able to crook his
finger round the button of his ensign, Basil had cast his eyes over
the advertisements of the Morning Post, and ascertained, to a
letter, the address of the money-lender to whom Wilberton's
uncle, the Duke of Rochester, was said to owe thirty thousand
pounds.
In another half-hour, he had not only reached his lodgings, but
finished and sealed a letter to A. 0. Instead of placing it on the
chimney-piece, however, to attract the notice of his servant (as was
his custom with those destined for the twopenny post), Basil
Annesley not only left it upon the table, but placed the blotting-
book in which he had been writing, over it, like a tombstone, as if
'—" look on't again he dare not!"
A letter entreating a personal interview with a money-lender!—
an abject letter from him, the proud-spirited son of a proud-hearted
mother! What would that mother think of him ? coydd she sup-
pose that, disregarding her solemn charges, her affectionate adju-
rations, he had, within so short a time of entering the army, in-
yolved himself in debt to a degree requiring the intervention of an
usurer ?
Poor Basil threw himself at full length on the sofa of his chamber,
with his hands clasped over his head, and his eyes fixed vacantly
upon a staring print of the Hetman's Daughter; which in a gaudy
frame graced the opposite wall, as likenesses of Cerito or Rachel
embellish the bachelor lodgings of the present day; revolving
within himself, with desperate self-recrimination, all that had
passed between him and Lady Annesley on the chapter of finance,
at their last interview.
It was impossible to conceive a greater contrast, than between
the noisy and public life he was* leading in town, and_ the mono-
tonous seclusion of Barlingham Grange. Situated within a mile of
the New Forest, the ancient mansion inhabited by the widow of Sir
Bernard Annesley resembled rather a moated farm-house than the
cottages of gentility to which widows of moderate means are apt to
retire to meet the exigencies of a small establishment. Concealed
within the intricacies of a wooded country, attainable only by a
detestable cross-road, or rather cross-lane cutting across the Forest
from Lyndhurst, Barlingham Grange, or as it was abbreviated by
the cottagers in the neighbourhood, The Grange, was excluded
from all communication with the active world; and Lady An-
nesley was _ so cold in her deportment, and so wedded to the soli-
tude in which she had resolutely ensconced herself, that, but for
the affectionate fervour of Basil's nature, it must have appeared
THE MONEY-EENDEB, 11
a penance to him rather than a schoolboy's holiday, to Journey
twice a year from Harrow into Hampshire, and return thither for
a couple of months, between the period of his quitting Heidelberg
and entering the army.
Accustomed, however, to ascribe the melancholy reserve of his
surviving parent to affliction for the loss of his father, Basil
respected her austere melancholy; and though in his boyhood
there had been moments when, weary of hinging stones into the
old moat to startle the dab-chicks from the reeds, and of contem-
plating the dilapidated pointed gables of the old red-brick man-
sion, he had almost wished he might never again set eyes on Bar-
lingham,—when he returned thither to be folded with momentary
warmth to the heart of his grave mother, and submit anew to the
cross-questioning of her venerable maid Dorcas, and the maun-
during of the old gardener (the only male domestic of that primi-
tive establishment), he could not forbear feeling that, after all,
home was home,—a mother, a mother; though the former ex-
hibited the uttermost stagnation of earthly dulness, and the latter
a reserve according better with the measured affections of more
distant relationship.
But Lady Annesley was no longer young. Though still exhibit-
ing traces of beauty of the highest order, she had long passed her
fiftieth year; and those eager demonstrations of maternal affection
which burst from the hearts of younger mothers, were not to be
expected of a widowed matron, in whom a life of utter seclusion
confirmed the tendencies which had led to its adoption. Nor was
Basil an only child. She had a daughter, twelve years older than
himself; a daughter who, having married young and settled in the
North, was now the mother of a numerous family of her own; and
as from the period of her marriage Lady Annesley and Mrs. Yernon
had been never known to meet, it might be inferred that the ma-
ternal sensibilities of Sir Bernard's widow were of no very vivid
nature. She had evidently never recovered the shock of his uu •
timely death.
Still, in spite of appearances, Basil thought otherwise. Un-
demonstrative as she was, there were moments when he had de-
tected his mother's eyes suffused with tears when fixed, as if
furtively, upon his face. On one occasion, when she had taken
leave of him with her usual serenity on his departure for Harrow,
having been compelled to return a quarter of an hour afterwards in
search of a letter addressed to Dr. Butler which he had left behind,
he found her, on re-entering her cheerless sitting-room, with her"
face buried in the cushions of her sofa, sobbing as though her
heart would break. Yet when aware of his presence, as if irritated
that he should have been a witness of her grief, she only chided
his carelessness, and did not renew her parting caress.
He could scarcely remember his sister. She had been brought
up by her father's family. Basil was only seven years old at the
period of her marriage; and whenever, in earlier life, he ex-
pressed to his mother a wish to see Helena again, Lady Annesley
replied, " that they were not likely to meet, Mr. Yernon being an
odd. man;" an equivocal phrase, implying little or much, according
12 THE MONEY-LENDEE,
to tie acceptation of tie learer. Basil lad taken it for granted
tlat lis brotler-in-la-w was a brute, wlo, on account of his sister's
want of fortune, tyrannized over ler, and kept her apart from her
family. But as Mrs. Vernon, during their two or three interviews,
lad not deigned to bestow on him a single sisterly caress, he felt
little indignation in ler behalf; and lad, in fact, almost ceased to
recal to mind the existence of this estranged relative.
"It is really disgraceful that Helena should exhibit such unnatu-
ral indifference!" he once observed to his mother.
" The result of bringing up a child under another's roof. _ Bar-
lingham was never ler home, and she las forgotten tlat it is that
of ler mother and brother."
A hectic flush tinged Lady Annesley's pale cheek at the obser-
vation, and Basil instantly repented his words; for he lad now
begun to surmise tlat the solitude in which they lived, and the
adoption of his elder sister by his uncle, had a common origin in
the straitened means of his mother. It appeared strange, indeed,
that Admiral Annesley should not have selected, as the object of
his favour, the son rather than the daughter of lis deceased
brother. But this might be easily accounted for. At the period of
Sir Bernard's death, Basil was of an age to require the affectionate
services of a mother; while Helena was nearly sixteen, and her
education completed. Moreover he flattered himself that Lady
Annesley's partiality for ler boy was not without its influence in
the selection.
A portion of Basil's uncertainties concerning lis mother, how-
ever, were now at an end. During lis sojourn at Heidelberg, his
developed intelligence enabled him to detect in her grave and
earnest letters, a tone of maternal affection, subdued as by an
effort of reason. And on his return from Germany, his demon-
strations of grateful tenderness availed in some measure to thaw
the icy self-restraint of the widow. If she did not treat him, more
fondly during the two months he spent at Barlingham, she treated
him more openly. She avowed to him that she was not on friendly
terms with his father's family,—not even on friendly terms with
ler daughter!
"It matters not with whom the fault," said she, in answer to
Basil's interrogatories. '' Suffice it that the Annesley family include
the son so dear to me in their displeasure against myself; and are
consequently little likely to make overtures of kindness towards
you. Oblige me, therefore, dearest Basil, by abstaining from all
' further reference to the subj ect."
On another point she had been equally candid. She informed
him that she was poor,—very poor; that her income of eight hun-
dred a year, derived in a great measure from her pension as tie
widow of a general officer, would only enable ler to make him an
allowance of three;—that, the little she could lay aside, was form-
ing into a fund for his future promotion; and that necessity, as
well as choice, lad induced ler to convert ler retreat into a
hermitage.
"All my desire,—all my ambition,—dearest Basil," said she, " is
your advancement in life. My fate las been a sad one. I was
THE MONEY-lENDER. 13
wedded against my inclinations. Your father's family caballed
against me while he lived, and cast me off at his death; yet cir-
cumstances forbad me to refuse their offer of adopting Helena; for
whom, indeed—but no matter ! My happiness has been in you,
Basil; my consolation in you. For you have I lived; for you I
hope, and am happy. Deficient as you may have sometimes fan-
cied me in tenderness, so dear have you ever been to me, that, had
I lost you, I would not, I could not have survived. In your well-
being, my existence is bound up. Become what I expect of you,—
a man,—a man of honour,—a prudent man, endowed with the
esteem of society, and my old age may still enjoy the peace and
honour denied to my youth. But falter in the path,—disgrace
yourself, and I become a widow indeed!"
A warm embrace sealed the compact between them, which Basil
long promised himself to hold sacred; and again and again, previous
to his embarkation in London life, had poor Lady Annesley dwelt
solemnly upon the fact, that possessing only a life income, should
he involve himself in debt, she would be unable to afford him
relief.
" Think," she had said to him at parting, " think, dearest Basil,
what would be the distress, the despair, of this tranquil little
household, over which the quiet years have been rolling away
unfelt, should any mischance befal you!—Govern your conduct, my
dear son, by the conviction that disgrace to you would convey death
to your mother !"—•
And after all this, with the impression still strong on his mind of
the noble dignity of that mild woman, and the strong motherly
love mysteriously concealed under her solemn deportment, he had
done evil,—he was in debt,—he had already referred himself for
relief to the interposition of the Money-Lender!
CHAPTER II.
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ?
Shakspeabe.
Long and tedious did the hours appear to Basil Annesley, which
served on the morrow to convey his letter to the Hungerford Coffee-
house, and bring back a reply from the individual so bitterly
contemned by his club.
Three times in the course of the day did he return home to his
lodgings, in hopes the post might have brought an answer, which, he
trusted, would afford a first step of extrication from the difficulties
in which he had involved himself. Still he was disappointed. On
his table were divers notes and letters—some of invitation—some
indited with the clerkly precision announcing, only too painfully
to the conscious debtor, strong hints that his " earliest convenience "
must convey a settlement to some expectant creditor.—But not a
syllable from A. 0.
In the evening, he had an engagement. One of his brother
officers had exacted a promise that he would accompany him to a
14 THE MOifEY-IiEHAEK.
private box at Covent Garden, as tbe escort of his' mother and
sisters ; and, just as, full-dressed, but with his spirits in complete
dishabille, he was quitting his lodgings to repair to Lady Maitland's
box, the double rap of the last evening post caused the door of his
small dwelling to vibrate, and Basil to recoil a step, or two in the
passage, while his servant brought in the shabby-looking missive,
which was to convey tidings of life or death to the delinquent.
The interview was accorded. " The following day, at noon —■
the place, obscure and strange enough,—a street in St. Agnes le
Clare, Old-street-road. Basil, however, was as much enchanted as
though the rendezvous were assigned, by some delicate hand-
writing, in the heart of May-fair_; and he proceeded in towering
spirits to keep his appointment with the Maitlands.
As he walked towards Arlington-street, where he was to join the
party, there arose before his mind's eye a vision which, for some
days past, he had sedulously banished ; a vision of the low-browed
sitting-room at the Grange, with its deeply embayed Elizabethan
windows and spacious projecting chimney,—its antique furniture
and grave aspect,—with the figure of his stern mother, in her cus-
tomary weeds of solemn black, seated in her high-backed, ebony
chair, with her hands folded upon her knee; again disappointed of
the letter from her son, which Dorcas had entered the room to
inform her was not brought back by the little messenger de-
spatched for the twentieth time to Lyndhurst, for the purpose of
daily inquiry.
"If I can arrange matters, to-morrow, with this fellow,"
thought Basil, as he hastened lightsomely along, " I will write, to-
morrow, to my poor mother. For the last three weeks, I have not
dared take up my pen for any ordinary purpose of communioa-
tion; lest all should end in my being forced to reveal to her the des-
perate situation in which I have placed myself. My poor mother!
Even now I dare not think of her !■—What treachery,—what in-
fatuation! So self-denying as her life,—so watchful as her
maternal vigilance has been—to be thus rewarded !—But if I can
only prevail upon this damnable A. 0. to accept the interest and
personal security he took from Blencowe, I might, in the course of
the next eighteen months, pay off both debt and interest, and dare
once more to look her in the face!"
That night, on their return from the play, Lucy Maitland noticed
to her sister and brother that she had never seen Mr. Annesley in
such spirits.
"You have often told me your friend could be pleasant enough
when he liked," said she, addressing John Maitland. " To-night,
he was really most agreeable."
" Admit also that his gaiety was well-timed!" observed her
elder sister. " Because Miss O'Neill had reduced the whole house
to silence and tears, Mr. Annesley scarcely left us a minute's respite
from his pleasant anecdotes."
" Annesley had too much respect for the fashionability of my
sisters, to fancy they went to the theatre for the sake of anything
to be seen there," replied John Maitland, coolly. " He concluded,
as I did, that your object was to enjoy our society, in a closer and
THEMONEY-EENEEE. 15
dote incommodious place than your own drawing-room; and
rewarded you for submitting to such, very bard seats and so stifling
an atmosphere, by talking all the nonsense in his power."
So little impression, meanwhile, had the amusements of the
evening made upon Basil, that his first impulse, on returning home,
was to take from his pocket the unsightly letter of A. 0., in order
to ascertain, with greater accuracy, the name of the street to which
he was to repair on the morrow. He searched first in one waist-
coat-pocket, then in the other, and_ finally in those of his coat and
great-coat, and all with the same infructuous result! In his im-
patience, he flung down on the table his handkerchief and gloves,
his opera-glass, and a small gold pencil-case he carried in his
waistcoat-pocket. But this eagerness did not enable him to recover
the lost treasure.—Not a vestige of his^ letter !
Though certain of having received it in the hall, and thrust it
into his pocket preparatory to leaving the house, he now, in the
perplexity of vexation, began to open his desk and dressing-box,
in the hope of finding it there; though aware that he had not re-
turned into his sitting-room after the arrival of the post. Still, the
result was the same; and he was forced to end with the conclusion
which had first presented itself, that his pocket had been picked in
coming out of the theatre, and this document, valueless to any but
himself, mistaken for higher game. '
How irritating !—This trivial occurrence might be the means of
deferring the promised interview for four-and-twenty hours ! Nay,
A. 0. might, perhaps, fancy himself hoaxed by a second application;
or, at all events, resent having his time thrown away by waiting at
home for one who had no scruple in disappointing him ; and refuse
a second rendezvous. He had been told, only too often, that A. 0.
was not a person to be trifled with.
He began, accordingly, to ransack his brain for reminiscences
of the address contained in the letter. St. Agnes le Clare, Old-
street-road, he perfectly remembered ; for there was a novelish
sound in the first name, a something of Miss Owenson or Mrs.
Opie,—singularly discordant with the secondand, by amemoria-
technical process, the impression remained with him. But what
was the name of the street ?—It was that of some noble _ family.
It was not Howard, or Percy, or Paget. It was something con-
nected with Wiltshire—he remembered it had brought Wiltshire
into his mind. He would examine the Court Guide, and see
whether any streets in the neighbourhood of Old-street-road ap-
peared to bear reference to Wiltshire.
But alas! the Court Guide disdained all mention of St. Agnes
le Clare.—The Court Guide rejected A. 0. and all his parish; and
poor Basil was launched once more upon his sea of troubles.
Of one things he was certain. The interview was appointed at
noon the following day; and the latest effort of his determination
before he committed his head to a restless pillow, was to repair to
Old-street-road, at an early hour next morning, and try whether,
by exploring the neighbourhood, he might not accidentally touch
the silent chord of memory.
It is not, however, a pleasant thing for a denizen of the West
16 THE UONET-LEVDEE.
End to arise from a warm bed at nine o'clock on a misty November
morning, and after seeing the opposite shops opened by yawning
shopboys, or damsels in curl-papers, and swallowing a hasty, com-'
fortless breakfast, for which the baker had not brought the rolls,
or the newspaper-boy the Morning Post, jumble off in a hackney-
coach towards the far East; to be deposited, in a degree of bewil-
derment worthy of Robinson Crusoe, upon the pavement of Fins-
bury.
It was the first time Basil Annesley had visited that terra incog-
nit a. lie had been quartered in the Tower, but knew nothing of
the wilds of Moorgate; and, being fay from a dressy man, and on
the present occasion attired with especial plainness, could not con-
ceive it possible that the stare bestowed upon him by the aborigines
proceeded from the striking difference between the cut of his great-
coat and that of the tailors of the Barbican. He fancied that the
curiosity he excited must be of the same mysterious nature as that
which fixed his eager gaze upon every corner of every street, in
succession, in the hope of stumbling upon the auspicious dwelling-
place of A. 0.
It was now only ten o'clock; but in that commercial neighbour-
hood, the world was in full activity. People were going their ways
and executing their business; as if it were a matter of no possible
moment that the sun entertained no intention of looking down
upon their proceedings. The shop-windows were dim with fog.
The passers-by trudged along with their chilly hands thrust into
their pockets, their eyes riveted on the cheerless pavement, their
noses red Avith cold, and their faces screwed into a grimace. The
streets Avere defiled by a thick coating of black greasy mud; and
the skies and atmosphere seemed composed of a dilution of the
same uninviting material.—Poor Basil's spirits were becoming
depressed by the temperature of the day, and the complexion of
the objects around him.
" I fancy I may as well give it up," muttered he, shrugging his
shoulders, after peeping into a variety of streets, whose names
brought back no token to his mind. "Hoav I could be such an ass
as to trifle Avith a document of so much importance, is inconceiv-
able. Had it been one of Esther's letters, I should have hurried
back to my room, and locked it in my desk before I went out."
At that moment, as he was raising his eyes to heaven in token
of wonderment at his OAvn inadArertency, they lighted upon a name
at the turn of the next crossing, which brought an instantaneous
flush of colour to his cheeks:—" Pattlet Street !"—Wiltshire for
ever !—He had found it!—
But no ! on examination, the thing was impossible. The street
into which he now eagerly hastened his steps, could not be the
abode of such a man as the renoAvned and redoubtable A. 0. It
was one of those wretched outlets abounding in the suburbs of
London, of which the first house or two aspires to three stories,
the folloAving ones to two, while the others are of the anomalous
kind whereof the roofs maintain a condescending level with the
hats of passengers.
This long looked-for Paulet-street consisted of houses of regular
THE MONEY-LENDEB. 17
one-windowed frontage and miserable aspect;—tbe street-door
nearly as large as the house, and the parlour-window closely ad-
joining it, and partially screened by a ragged and discoloured muslin
blind, containing square patches of paper;—in some instances an-
nouncing " Lodgings for single men;"—in others, " Manglin' done
here;"—or," "Wanted a child to dry nurse,"—or, " Lighornbonets
clealied inquire wethin."
In more than one window stood a dead geranium, with its earthen
pot standing in a cracked plate, which the hard-working inmate
of the house had found no leisure to notice or remove; in one, a
bird-cage, not remorselessly exposed, however, to the inclemency
of the day, for it contained no bird. The canary, its former in-
mate, had long been starved to death; and the cage was placed on
the window-ledge to be out of the way.
In such a, neighbourhood, woman appears to be a more than
usually fruitful vine.—Children abound in the street, perhaps be-
" cause, like the bird-cage, put out of doors to make room within;
and on many a door-step sat the dirty ragged sister of twelve
years old, officiating as nurse to the dirty ragged infant of twelve
months, whom she fondled, rather with the hope of deriving warmth
for herself, than of conferring it on the squalling child.
Basil Annesley turned discomfited away. But that he still believed
Paulet-street to be the place, he would not have abided a moment
in a spot so uninviting. In such a street, the cheer of a passing
equipage is unknown ; even carts appear to shun its broken pave-
ment. The barrow of the cat's-meat man or knife-grinder supplies
' the only rumble of wheels familiar to those miserable flags. A
butcher's boy with a tray, or a milk-woman with her pails, would
be a pleasant1 incident as inferring that the inhabitants had their
turn of food and comfort. But alas! as if their time were not
more valuable than that of the rich and idle, they are compelled
to go in search of those common articles of sustenance, duly brought
to the area-gates of wealthy men. Even the more considerable
streets adjoining Paulet-street, not wider indeed, but darker and
dingier from the greater altitude of the houses, exhibited samples
of trade indicative of the outscourings of civilization;—the old
clothes' emporium of Nathan the Jew; the shop of the dealer in
marine stores, with its rusty iron and "broken flint'glass," its
wax-ends, and other incongruous perquisites, pickings, and steal-
ings ;—the piece-shop, with its harlequinade of shreds and patches,
and its black-doll suspended from a string before the door, bobbing
grotesque curtseys in the wind;—the chandler's, with its wicker-
basket of stale eggs, its snuff, tobacco, brown sugar and rushlights,
commingled in unsavoury contact;—or the huckster's, with its
frost-bitten turnip-tops, and sacks of potatoes,—that manna of
modern starvation, exemplifying to the pauper-population of our
times the virtue of the text, that "man shall not live by bread
alone."
" I might have spared myself this fool's errand," murmuredBasil
to himself as, within a door or two of the junction of Paulet-street
with one displaying these grander adjuncts, he passed before the
cracked door-step of a house, dirtier and more disconsolate-looking,
B
18 THE MONEY-LENDEB.
though larger than its neighbours ; and so deficient either of ragged
muslin curtain, or notice of " manglin'," or " cleanin',"—broken
flower-pot, or empty bird-cage,—that it had the air of being unin-
habited. The mists upon its filthy windows superseded all necessity
for curtains, if, indeed, aught within were calculated to attract the
curious eye.
Just, however, as Basil threw a hasty glance upon the streaky
C -green door of No. 11, Paulet-street, it revolved slowly upon its
ges ; and lo ! there issued forth an old man, spare and stooping,
who, but for his decrepid gait, had probably been above the middle
size. His hat was napless, his brown great-coat threadbare; and
the worsted gloves drawn over his bony hands so coarse and cum-
brous, that, after fumbling for some time with his key in locking
the house-door after him, he dropped it on the step instead of con-
veying it into his pocket.—His fingers were probably benumbed
with cold.
The key fell almost at the feet of Basil; who, perceiving that the
poor old man was making sundry efforts to recover it, good-
naturedly stooped and placed it in his hand. Unused probably to
acts of courtesy, the old fellow made almost as hard an effort to look
Tip into Basil's face with thanks, as he had previously done to reach
forth his hand towards his key; and when the eyes of young
Annesley and those of the squalid stranger met, the impression ap-
peared to be mutually startling. For a moment they stood, their
looks steadily fixed upon each other, as though—
They shared between themselves some separate fate,
"Whose darkness none beside might penetrate.
Even when a few mumbled words of thankfulness on one part, and
civility on the other, had passed between them, and they went their
several ways, Basil, on turning back for a last view of the strange
proprietor of that den of desolation, found that he, too, had paused
by the way, and was gazing back wistfully upon himself.
It was a relief to return once more to the haunts of a gayer
world. Never before had Bond-street appeared so brilliant to
Annesley, as when, having alighted in Oxford-street from his
hackney-coach, he hurried back on foot to Ms lodgings. The pros-
perous, thriving, well-dressed population of the West End seemed
to comfort Ms eyes. At Basil's age, it is natural to turn with joy
from the spectacle of Lazarus with his sores, to the auspicious
prosperity of the man clothed in purple and fine linen.
"No use to avow my carelessness : I will write as though for the
first time, or as if his letter had not reached me," said he, as he
prepared to commence a fresh negotiation with A. 0.; and more
anxious than ever were the moments that intervened before a
second answer was vouchsafed to his application.
It seemed as though the disingenuousness of the Money-lender
was to keep pace with his own. Again an appointment was made;
but no mention of St. Agnes le Clare, nor a syllable about Old
street-road. A. 0. consented to see B. A. on the morrow,—but
it was at No, —, Greek-street, Soho; and tliis time, Basil kept a
1se money-lendeb. 19
check on his infirmities of memory by carefully depositing the
memorandum in his desk.
The mercury of his elastic nature rose once more under the influ-
ence of this slight encouragement.—It is amazing in what unsub-
stantial indications the sanguine find grounds for hope.—As the
powers of the microscope convert the green mould of some decaying
object into verdant forests and bowers of bliss, the eye of youth
discerns promise in the veering of a cloud, and its buoyant heart
dances for joy at the broken strain of distant and unattainable
music.
To contend, however, with the dreariness of a London November
requires, on the part of a mere lover of pleasure, the utmost efforts
of a sanguine temperament. The Western world seems laid under
an interdict; the social frame broken up. No brilliant equipage—
no laughing faces—no merry balls—no gaudy crowds—no gleaming
windows lighted up for festivity, as he dashes along the streets at
night. May-fair looks gloomy as if on the eve of a universal
interment. The great mansions of the squares are as closely
shuttered as if legions of dead lay coffined within; and the winter
aspect of our metropolis is as indicative of depopulation as the
summer ones of every other city in Europe. We prefer our woods
when leafless, and our gardens when bereft of fruits and flowers.
We repair from the country to town just as the former is putting
on her robe of beauty, and the latter becoming insupportable
from heat a.nd dust.
" How cursedly boring is all this!" said Captain Blencowe,
shrugging his shoulders, to Basil, whom, later in the day, he
persuaded to take a turn with him in his cab in Hyde Park, where
they found only avfew venerable dowager carriages taking their
daily airing, and looking like so many mourning-coaches washed
with yellow.
"The air is mild this afternoon," replied Annesley, whose
bosom's lord was sitting lightly on his throne, refreshed by the
change of scene.
"Air?" reiterated Blencowe, with contempt; " thank Heaven,
I get my long leave next week, and shall be off to Melton. What
is a man to do with himself in town at this time of year ?"
" I seldom find my day hang heavy," replied Basil.
" Ay, ay ; you are new to it all. You will tell a different story
when you have had as much of it as I have. I vow to Cod I don't
know a soul in London at this moment."
" There are the Maitlands, who "
" The Maitlands!—two marrying girls and a double-marrying
mother! By the way, Basil, you certainly do find occupation for
your time. But you keep your own secret. I suppose it is useless
asking what takes you so often to the neighbourhood of South
Audley-street. Well, well! I will say no more about it. I forgot
that, at your age, such an inquiry is a leading question, to
which your complexion has a prompt reply. I only wish South
Audley, or any other street, contained anything or any lady to
palliate the accursed dulness of a London winter. The advertise-
ments of the Times assure us every other evil is remediable—that
b 2
20 THE MOHEY-EENDEB.
there exists cores for the tooth-ache and smoky chimneys. If they
would only tell one in what part of the metropolis antidotes are
Bold against' ennui ! "
"They do!" observed Basil, pointing laughingly to the vast
playbills displayed in red and black variegation at the door of an
oilman's shop they were passing in Piccadilly, on their way back to
St. James's-street. But at that moment the attention of his com-
panion was attracted towards another object, a plain dark chariot,
with the wheel of which their own was nearly locked by a concussion
of coal-carts and stage-coaches, opposite Hatchett's; Dexterous
coachmanship alone emancipated them from the collision.
" A lucky escape!" cried Blencowe, as his noble horse, roused by
the incident, started off towards St. James's-street. " It would
have been no joke had I smashed his panel."
" Whose panel?"
" Did you not see who was in that carriage ?"_
" A grave old fellow, who looked like a physician. "Who was it ?"
"Neither more nor less than the renowned A. 0., of whom we
were talking the other day at the Club."
Basil Annesley started. He almost fancied this might be another
of Blencowe's leading questions, addressed to his complexion. _
" I feel when I see that man," said Blencowe, with an air of
disgust too earnest to be assumed, " as if looking at a rattlesnake
in a cage. I always wonder who is to be the next victim. Even
if asleep one knows that the reptile's fangs are brewing their
fatal venom, and that some fated wretch may fall a victim to their
next incision."
Luckily for Basil, this terrible prognostication escaped him. He
was reflecting upon the absurdity of having gone to seek for the
proprietor of that plain, but handsome equipage, in the squalid
recesses of Paulet-street, St. Agnes le Clare !
The post of the following day brought him a letter from his
mother. Lady Annesley appeared unusually depressed. There
had been sickness in her household. The old gardener was on his
death-bed.
"You may have sometimes found Barlingham desolate," wrote
the recluse; " but at this moment it is so thoroughly saddened
that I shall exonerate you, my dearest son, from your promised
Christmas visit. I would not willingly expose your young heart
to the sight of our sorrow or the hazard of our sickness."
After perusing such a letter, Annesley thanked Heaven he had
not followed up his momentary project of avowing his embarrass-
ments to his mother; and, with redoubled eagerness, he started in
pursuit of the Money-lender.
During his sojourn in London, he had probably traversed Greek-
street fifty times, without noting more than that it contained the
usual double lines of tedious unmeaning brick houses peculiar to
English streets; diversified only by varieties of insurance plates,—
the Phoenix or the Sim, or exhibiting the interesting F. P., prating
of the whereabout of their fire-plugs.
But now, every house appeared instinct with meaning. Its
glaziers' or grocers' shops were not as the shops of other glaziers
THE MONEY-IEHDEB. 21
and grocers; and on arriving within a few doors of the number
specified by A. O.'s communication, he began to count the houses,
the earlier to familiarize himself with the l> complement extern" of
the Money-lender's habitation.
It was one of those square roomy mansions, which still announce
that Soho was a fashionable quarter of the town, at the moment
When the higher classes, taking sudden fright at the insalubrity of
the banks of the river (till the reign of the Second James, their
favourite residence,) migrated as far as possible from the influence
of its miasma. But though spacious, the house in question was
nearly as cheerless to look at as the den in Paulet-street, The
windows of its vast frontage were closed by shutters, the paint of
which was probably coeval with the edifice, if indeed its complexion
could be conjectured through panes of glass so encrusted with the
unmolested dust of years, that some winged seed might have taken
root in the soil, had the well-trimmed parterres of the adjoining
Sooty Eden of Soho-square produced specimens of vegetation so
volatile as the thistle.
The door, ill-fitted to its shrunken case, was of a dingy, ochrous
complexion, and even the worn-out and broken cane blinds of the
parlour were so closely surmounted by closed shutters, as to pre-
elude all idea that the house was inhabited. It sounded hollow as
the grave, when, in spite of appearances, Basil hazarded a modest
knock and gentler ring.
Promptly, however, as at some well-lackeyed lordly mansion,
the summons was answered. An old woman of crippled shape,
and having a complexion many degrees darker than her tawny
front and the dirty fly-cap that surmounted it, opened, and held,
wide open the door, not as if awaiting his inquiries, but as though
he were expected, and had only to enter. A glance at his feet, as
hinting a hope that the door-scraper had not been overlooked, was
all she vouchsafed him.
" In the back parlour," croaked her discordant voice, before he
recovered self-possession to ask a question. It was clear he was
to make his own way in this desolate temple of echoes.
"With his heart beating more irregularly than he would have
cared to own to his friend Blencowe, Basil accordingly advanced
along the wide but bare and dirty passage, and knocked at the
second door, which was slightly ajar. No one replied. He pushed
it open, and went in.
CHAPTER III.
Let him who wants to know the value of money, try to borrow some.
COLTON.
The chamber into which Basil had thus unceremoniously intro«
duced himself, though empty, had all the appearance of having beetf
recently occupied. Volumes of sulphurous yellow smoke ascended
from a black mass of coals in the rusty grate, interspersed with
damp shavings, in token that some effort at least had been made to
22 THE MONEY-IENDEE.
ignite them; and an old-fashioned bureau standing open against
the wall, exhibited files of papers, and one or two open letters,
besides a compact phalanx of diminutive rouleaux, apparently of
sterling value. •
To these objects, however, after a cursory glance round the room,
Basil paid not the slightest attention. Throwing himself into a
roomy arm-chair, of which the horse-hair stuffing protruded at
intervals through the well-worn black leather covering, and the
channelled mahogany arms promised anything but a pleasant
lounge, he contemplated with listless gaze the old-fashioned
parlour, with its bare boards; whereof the knots stood prominent
from the softer level of the wood, worn down by much friction;
even as the more obstinate defects of a human character become
more remarkable when its weaker qualities have subsided under
the pressure of years. The walls were_of wainscot, diversified by
heavy festoons of flowers and fruit, dividing the compartments,
and indicating oaken panelling. But the wood being concealed by
an ignominious coating of paint which appeared to have been con-
tending for nearly a century with that yellow London smoke,
of which the adjoining fireplace furnished so satisfactory a
specimen—the original richness of efiect was lost.
The only object serving by way of decoration to that dingy
wainscot, was a paper almanack nailed up by tacks at the corners,
beside the bureau. The only object adorning the floor, was a
square of discoloured drugget, constituting a sort of dais that
extended from the fireplace beyond the bureau; a straw chair
pushed back from which, had evidently been in recent use.—Such
was the official residence of the redoubtable A. 0.
Lor some minutes, young Annesley sat motionless, -with eyes
apparently intent upon the cheerless objects around him, but in
reality labouring to resume his self-possession. At length he grew
impatient, and started up. But instead of approaching the bureau,
containing the only desultory objects of interest in the room, he
took his stand mechanically on the drugget before the fireplace, as
though the latter had emitted warmth, or the former comfort. To
approach a depository of written papers belonging to another, would
have appeared criminal to a mina so honourable. Far better bear
the impatience or listlessness of ennui, than relieve the tediousness
of the moment by a breach of confidence. At last, after exhibiting
the ordinary symptoms of youthful petulance,—venting a few ejacu-
lations against the smoky fireplace,—and tapping, first with one
foot, then with another, on the sonorous floor ill covered with that
thin and scanty drugget,—he was about to fall with indignation
upon the thin green cord serving as bell-rope, in order to summon
the old woman in the dirty fly-cap, and ascertain why his dignity
was thus trifled with, when lo, just as he placed his hand upon the
string, a slight sound, proceeding from the furthest corner, induced
him to turn round, and there, as if issuing from the wainscot, he
discerned the unknown proprietor of that dreary apartment. One
of the carved panels probably concealed a door through which he
had, unobserved, effected his entrance.
Involuntarily, Basil advanced towards the new comer, as though
it were his business to do the honours of the place. But when
ThE MONEY-LENDEB. 23
within a few paces of his host, who stirred not a step to meet him,
the young man stopped short; startled out of all self-possession by
a single glance at tne figure presented to his observation.
There was nothing, however, very remarkable' in the person of
A. 0.—though, above the middle height, a certain ignoble character
of form and gesture deprived him of the advantages usually
inseparable from a commanding stature. His dress, if neither
coarse nor rusty, was of an inferior cut; and though his dark eyes
might have passed for intelligent in the head of any other man,
there was a discrepancy between the blackness of their tint,
enhanced by the profuse black eyelashes and eyebrows by which
they were overhung, and the scanty grey curls, almost approaching
to white, that figured on either side a head, the crown of which was
bare and lustrous. It was, in short, a face and figure, which, in
squalid attire, with a heard and a slouched hat, would have passed
muster among the itinerant dealers in old clothes, whose cries dis-
turb the inhabitants of the West End, at an hour when none but
Jews, fish-women, chickweed-boys, scavengers' carts, and letter-
carriers, are astir in the slumbering streets of the more civilized
quarters of the town.
It was not, however, the Israelitish type of the individual before
him, which arrested the courtesies of Basil Annesley. From the
first he had heard A. 0. classed among the " Jews," and expected
nothing better than to find the outward man of the Money-lender
accordant with that inward specification. His amazement arose
solely from the discovery that the decently-attired and robustjman
before him was no other than the threadbare and decrepit indi-
vidual whose key he had restored to him in Paulet-street, JSt Agnes
le Clare; though as different in form and seeming as both the one
and the other from the well-dressed gentleman in the brown chariot,
pointed out to him by Captain Bleneowe, in Piccadilly, as the great
and influential A. 0.
Startled by a transmutation so little short of magical, young
Annesley became perplexed and incoherent in the exordium to
which he now attempted to give utterance. He scarcely knew
whether it would be better to announce or pass over his discovery.
It was essential to him to propitiate the Money-lender. Was this
object likely to be accomplished by the detection and development
of one of those strange mysteries, in which it seemed his pleasure
to envelop his proceedings ?—_
While Basil was still debating within himself, this urgent point,
the singular master of that singular house keeping his eye fixed
upon the intruder with the same scrutinizing interest which had
marked their first encounter, relaxed the spasm of catalepsy into
which his sudden apparition appeared to have startled his visitor,
by advancing towards the bureau, abruptly turning round the straw
chair placed before it, and, while appropriating it to his own use,
motioning to Basil to resume the great elbow-chair in which he had
already ensconced himself. His first words decided the question
which still agitated the mind of young Annesley.
" Unless I am mistaken, young man," said he, coolly, " we have
met before ?"—
" And so recently: that I can scarcely account for my own uncer-
24 *HE MONETrLEjSTDEG,
tainty on the subject," was Annesley's frank rejoinder. " Yet there
is so little analogy between "
" Fine feathers make fine birds,—foul feathers foul ones," inter-
rupted A. 0. in the same hard but measured voice, looking down as
he spoke upon the sleeve of a coat which, unless in a smoky back-
parlour in Soho, could scarcely have pretended to the designation
of fine.
"I had, however, little suspicion," he resumed, "that in the gay
young gentleman who took compassion on the predicament of a
bungling old man, the other morning, I beheld the identical B. A.;
an appointment with whom had enticed me, in inclement weather
and to no purpose, to that remote quarter of the town."
" The distance was as inconvenient to me as to yourself," replied
Annesley, recovering his self-possession under the influence of his
discovery that the man before him was either an impostor or a
mountebank. " It was you, sir, who wrote to me, assigning another
house than your own for our interview."
" I have houses in various quarters of the town," replied the
Money-lender, unabashed by his retort;—"'in St. James's, to
transact business with spendthrift lords, and lend my aid towards
patching the ragged vesture of fools of quality;—in Finsbury, for
such as honour me by an appeal to my strong-box, but not with the
disclosure of their names.—It is my rule to place confidence only
in those who show confidence in me."
" In addressing myself to one known to me only by the initials
of A. 0., I did not feel bound to disclose more than my own of
B. A.," replied the young soldier, gravely.
"Mine are pretty universally known to express my real name,"
replied the Money-lender. " I am called Abednego Osalez. And
now permit me to inquire your motive for repairing to so obscure
ancl troublesome a quarter of the town for the despatch of business
which your letter described as pressing,—yet, after all, leaving it
undone?"
" May I first inquire, in my turn," replied Basil, encouraged
rather than daunted by his sang froid," why, after sending me on
that occasion to the extremity of the city, you condescend, on my
second application, (conceived in precisely the same terms,) to
receive me here ?"
" Perhaps," replied the Money-lender, evidently in conceit with
the client who had unwittingly obliged him under his garb_ of
misery,—" perhaps, because your carelessness on that occasion
induced me to suppose your exigencies less urgent than I implied
from the terms of your original letter. The man who could afford
to wait, had claims to higher consideration. And now, I am surely
entitled to as frank an answer."
The double mystery was now succinctly and readily explained.
From Basil's avowal of having had his pocket picked, the Money-
lender probably deduced an inference that it was because, unused
to be the depository of valuable effects, he was thus careless; for
his momentary goodhumour seemed overcast.
" This is the first time, I fancy, we have done business together?"
said he, starting from his reverie, and abruptly addressing young
THE MONEY-IENDEK. 25
Annesley, who replied by an affirmative bow, " Do you bring me
no letter of recommendation from one of my clients ?"
" From no one," 1m replied, instinctively recalling to mind the
unsatisfactory terms in which these very clients treated him in his
absence.
" It is merely my newspaper advertisements, then, which have
attracted your notice ?"—
"Not altogether," replied Annesley. "More than one of my
brother officers have been extricated from pecuniary difficulty by
your assistance.—From them, I became aware of your mode of
business ; and "
" Did they not also add," interrupted the Money-lender, "that
you should not apply to me unless your case were desperate ? Did
they not tell you, ' if any other ear .My resource be open to you,
beware of A. 0. ?' Did they not call me shark, cormorant, vulture,
usurer, Jew ?—You know they did!—Not a mess of any regiment
in the service in which I am not thus opprobriated."
Basil, already repenting his indiscretion in having allowed the
words "brother officers" to escape him, as too clearly indicative
of his social position, would not, by an affirmative reply, hazard
the exposure of his friends to the vindictive reprisals of such an
enemy as A. 0.
"You are cautious, young gentleman!" observed the Money-
lender, whose large dark eyes seemed to penetrate the most hidden
thoughts of his companion. " Caution, however, is not the parent
of confidence. You come to me in the hope of opening my strong-
box ; and will scarcely accomplish the exploit with close lips and
a closer heart. A calling such as mine necessitates some degree of
mystery. But when once a hona fide negotiation commences, all
must be above-board—all truth and daylight. I have told you my
name is Abednego Osalez—I now ask the favour of your own."
Basil hesitated. He could not bear to disgrace the honourable
patronymic borne by the object of his filial veneration, by inscrip-
tion in the registers of a Jew.
"You will be pleased to remember," resumed the Money-lender,
" that no act can be authentic between u§, unless the business be
negotiated under our real names. If, therefore, you scruple to
intrust me with yours, this' interview has already lasted too long."
Apprehending, from his decided mode of uttering these words,
that the peremptory Jew was about to rise and dismiss him, the
agitated applicant murmured, in a low voice, " My name, sir, is
Annesley."
" Annesley f" reiterated the Money-lender, as if requiring him
to be more articulate.
• " Basil Annesley!"
The Jew rose with some precipitation from his seat, and, for a
moment or two, occupied himself in turning over the papers lying
open on his bureau, as if in search of writing-materials, to enable
him to take notes of the business of his new client.
"You have lately, I believe, entered the Grenadier Guards ?"
said he, still addressing Annesley, but without turning round.
"I have been rather more than a year in the army."
26 THE MOHEY-LENDEE.
" And during- that short space of time you haye contrived t-
embarrass yourself ?"
" Many contrive to do so in less than a twentieth part of it!'
replied Basil, as if resolved not to be browbeaten by a stranger.
. "Not the well-conditioned son of a mother in straitened circum-
stances," replied the insolent Jew, who seemed endowed with an.
intuitive insight into the position of his client.
" I applied to you, sir, as a Money-lender, not as a counsellor,
said Basil, haughtily, rising in his turn. "My. business may bo
briefly explained. I am, as you seem to be aware, the only son
of the late Sir Bernard Annesley. I have immediate necessity for
a sum of three hundred and fifty pounds. My allowance of three
hundred a year "
" She allows you three hundred a year ? Too much!—too much
for her to give, or you to receive," muttered the Jew, in indistinct
tones, of which, however, not a syllable escaped the ear of
Annesley.
" I observed, sir, that my allowance of three hundred a year and
my pay," persisted Basil, not noticing his interruption, "would
enable me "to pay off, by monthly instalments, both interest and
principal, in the course_o'f the next two years and a half."
"And should you die in the interim, young gentleman, what
security have I, pray, for my money ?" demanded the usurer, with
a sneer.
"I could effect an insurance on my life, assigning you the
policy," said Basil, in a less-assured voice.
" You have very soon become familiar with the expedients^ of
embarrassed men," murmured the Jew, still without turning
towards him, but apparently engrossed by the arrangement of his
papers.
" I was informed by a brother officer that such was the mode in
which you arranged a similar matter for himself," replied Basil,
with increasing hesitation.
" Captain Blencowe, eh? Ay, I remember. Six years ago,
however. Your friend has a good memory; so have I; and I
admit that he redeemed the debt like a gentleman some time
within the term of his acceptance."
" I should be glad to convince you that you would obtain in
myself a client equally honourable," rejoined Basil, somewhat
reassured.
" The will may not be wanting; but I doubt the means. Young
Blencowe belonged to a moneyed family. I knew with whom I
had to deal. "Were you to fail me, I might put the whole Annesley
family into thumbscrews without eliciting so much as a ten-pound
note for your behoof. Persons of my occupation, sir, are forced to
keep a pretty accurate tariff of the fortunes and conseiences< of
those likely to come within their line of business. I had a relative
of yours—one of the Yorkshire Annesleys—two years in the King's
Bench at my expense."
"But I conclude he_paid you at last?" demanded Basil, too
ignorant of the connectionskips of his father's family to refute the
accusation.
THE MONEY-LENDER. 27
" "With Ms life. He died in prison, leaving me tlie creditor of
heirs who were penniless!"
Strange to tell, there was a tone of triumph rather than of
vexation in the Money-lender's mode of alluding to this frustration
of his interests.
"But I, who am hoth young and solvent," persisted Basil, " do
not intend to defraud you either by living or dying. I give you
my word of honour as a gentleman that "
" The word of honour of a gentleman has no value, and should
have no mention, in a money-dealing transaction," interrupted
the Jew. "The affair between us is simply one of speculation.—■
You want money—I have to sell it to you,—as much as possible to
my own advantage.—I must, therefore, either have good security
and fair interest; or, without security, such interest as may induce
me to incur the risk."
" I have already offered you the latter alternative," said Basil,
bluntly.
"I have been offered five hundred per cent, by needy men,
before now," replied the Money-lender, with a curl of the lip ; " ay,
and without swallowing the bait. The promise of a stranger is
not worth its weight in gold. In the first place, Mr. Annesley,
have you even so much as reflected upon the amount of the interest
of your debt, and keeping up the policy of insurance, besides the
expense of the execution of the deed, added to the sinking fund for
the gradual defrayment of the three hundred and fifty pounds r"
demanded the pragmatical Jew.
"I am in the receipt of four hundred and thirty pounds a year,"
replied Basil, evasively.
"And for what purpose is it assigned your" retorted the Money-
lender. " To afford you a becoming position in the world.—What
right, therefore, have you to alienate this provision, so as to deprive
yourself of the necessaries of your sphere of society, and become
exposed to the shame of petty embarrassments ?"
"None!" replied Basil, astounded at the inexplicable liberties
taken by his new acquaintance, yet not daring to resent remon-
strances indicative of favourable dispositions towards Mm. " But
the shame to wMch I may expose myself by the limitation of my
income, is surely nothing compared with that which would befal
me, a month hence, when my acceptances fall due, and I am un-
able to meet them."
" But you are still a minor ?" remonstrated the Jew.
" Those who were satisfied with my endorsements, asked no
questions; contenting themselves with the engagement of a gentle-
man, the son of a man of honour," replied Basil, with firmness.
At that moment, the Money-lender accidentlaly let fall a paper he
held in his hand; and the mechanical courtesy with which Basil
started forward to assist in recovering it, probably tended to recal
to the recollection of A. 0. the kindness displayed by the young
guardsman towards the old pauper of Paulet-street. On turning
to receive it from Ms extended hand, the countenance of the Jew
had relaxed into a more Christian-like expression.
" At least," said he, fixing Ms dark eyes approvingly on the in-
28 THE MONEY-LENDEH.
genuous countenance of young Annesley—"at least, there was
value received for these bills of exchange?—You are not applying
to me for the means of covering another usurious transaction ?—Do
not deceive me, young sir. Through my extensive connexions with
the monied world, I have the means of ascertaining the truth."
" I have no disposition to deceive you, Mr. Abednego'Osalez,"
replied young Annesley, with, some hauteur. "But if I came not
hitherto seek a counsellor, still less am I disposed to find a confessor
in my man of business. The purpose for which I require these
funds, regards you as little as the mode by which you have acquired
them regards myself. I ask no questions :—let me advise you to
be equally discreet."
"No occasion for you to ask questions!"—said his singular com-
panion, continuing to examine his papers, and file them carefully,
all the time he was speaking. " The world has explanations stereo-
typed to your hand. Everybody knows the Money-lender to be a
Jew,—the Jew, a usurer,—the usurer, a criminal in the eye of the
law. Christ drove the money-changers from his Temple—man ex-
pels them from his tribunals.—The Jew is one who must have ac-
quired his funds by extortion and fraud;—one who probably began
life as a corsair — pickpocket—resurrection-man—assassin,—no
matter what amount of obloquy you heap upon his head!—He
cannot have too narrowly escaped the hands of the hangman—he
cannot be too grossly stigmatized. He has caused the ruin of
thousands—
And if a man have need of poison now,
Here lives the caitiff wretch would sell it him.
Admit that I portray myself as you have heard me portrayed ?
—"Why, therefore, institute inquiries into my conduct or its mo-
tives f'—
Basil Annesley was startled out of all self-possession by this
strange appeal. From the first words uttered by his new acquaint-
ance, he had been impressed by the superiority of his tone and
phraseology to his garb and mode of life. But now, the eloquence
of his words and energy of his gestures, were characteristic of the
scholar and the gentleman, rather than of the vulgar Jew—the
jobbing money-broker.—Poor Basil almost quailed under the glances
of the excited man who gave utterance to this vivid apostrophe.
"I have, I admit, heard you ungraciously spoken of," said he,
with a degree of frankness rivalling that of his interlocutor.
" That what was told me exercised no very important influence
over my opinions may be inferred from my presence here."
"You are here simply because your position is desperate!"
coolly rejoined A. 0. " You are here because there is no hope else-
where. You may also, perhaps, have heard from Captain Blen-
cowe, and other victims who have escaped without serious injury
from my clutches, that even the crocodile of the shores of Pactolus
is sometimes moved to a caprice of pity; and are willing to try
whether anything in your youth and inexperience may reach his
milder mood."
" My youth and inexperience at least encourage you to trifle ■with
THE MONEY-IEITDEK. 29
me !" cried Basil, witli a rising colour, more enraged by the ironical
smile pervading the countenance of A. 0., than by his words.
And, having snatched his hat from the window-seat, he was pre-
paring without ceremony to quit the room.
" In money-dealings, Mr. Annesley," said his companion, undis-
mayed by this tacit threat of breaking up the conference, "you
will find the command of your temper five per cent, in your favour.
You cannot afford to quarrel with me. At this moment, I am the
necessary evil that must redeem you from the still greater of imme-
diate dishonour. Do me the favour, sir, to sign this paper," said
he, placing in the hands of Basil, one which, during their confer-
ence, he had been quietly preparing. " It is, as even your slight
knowledge of business must assure you, of no legal value. It is
the obligation of a gentleman, and must derive its sole importance
from a gentleman's signature. It will neither enable me to imprison
my debtor, nor molest him. But it will remind Sir Bernard Annes-
ley's son, that, within three years after attaining his majority, he
has engaged to pay me back a sum of four hundred pounds;
whereof the interest, at five per cent., must be quarterly forth-
coming."
Basil took the promissory note into his hands, and seeing that it was
phrased strictly according to the announcement of A. 0., conceived
himself well off at having so small a bonus as fifty pounds de-
manded of him as the penalty of the transaction. But what was
his amazement when, on taking his place at the bureau, to sign
the paper, he found lying before him a printed cheque of one of
the first banking houses of the West End, bearing the signature
Abednego Osalez, and directing the firm in question " to pay to Mr.
Annesley or bearer the sum of four hundred pounds !"
Scarcely able to believe the evidence of his eyes—Iris cheeks
flushed by the excitement of the moment—his heart throbbing
almost to agony with the consciousness of release from the first
great embarrassment of his life, Basil, ere he accepted one docu-
ment or executed the other, was eager in expressions of astonish-
ment and gratitude to one whom he could scarcely regard in any
other light than that of a benefactor. But on turning round for
the purpose, he found that A. 0., instead of remaining behind his
chair to watch his proceedings, was at the door, parleying with
the unsightly crone who officiated as his clerk of the presence.
" Tell him I am engaged. Say it is impossible for me to see him
this morning !" said the Money-lender, in the imperative tone he
had assumed in the earlier part of his colloquy with Basil.
" I have told him so already, sir ?" croaked the old woman,
" but he will not be denied. He has got out of his cabriolet, and
is now on the door-steps awaiting."
" Let him wait!" said the money-lender. "If he persist ii
coming in, show him into the front parlour, and open one of th<
shutters, till I am ready to receive him. You perceive, Mr.
Annesley, that I am waited for. I dispense, therefore, the effusions
of thankfulness expanding upon your lips," resumed A. 0., turning
towards Basil, who stood transfixed beside the bureau, the cheque
in one hand, and the promissory note in the other.
30 the money-lestdeb.
" Have you signed it ?" continued he, pointing to the latter
document. "Be quick, if you have carefully perused the terms.
Never, while you live, put your name to a paper of which you have
not, to a syllable, mastered the contents. Nay,—spare me your
declarations of confidence: you may have less grounds for gratitude
than you suppose. Remember the fable of the little fish thrown
back by the wary angler into the river, to become a bigger. Be
not too sure that the Money-lender is not facilitating your first
ingress into his net, in order to secure your return."
Basil Annesley, who had now both read and signed the promis-
sory note, and placed the printed cheque in his pocket-book, smiled
at this sinister prognostication.
"I do not choose you to be ruined_by anybody but myself,"
observed the Money-lender with a smile: " in proof of which, let
me advise you to place that pocket-book in a securer place than
the one from which you own my letter to have been subtracted.
Above all, deposit this very morning the money you are about to
receive, with your banker, so as to be ready for the exigencies
which well, well! I will cut short my lecture !"—said he,
interrupting himself when he saw the colour rising in the cheeks
of Basil. "You receive sterling advice, I perceive, less thankfully
than sterling coin."
" The gentleman is in the parlour, sir," said the, old woman,
again thrusting in her dingy face and dingier cap.
"So much the better," replied the Money-lender, with a bitter
sneer. " It may serve to bring so fine a gentleman to his senses, to
make acquaintance with the mice and spiders of my desolate habi-
tation."
In another moment, Basil Annesley, still misdoubting whether
he were awake or asleep, had shaken hands with the new acquaint-
ance who had acted by him the part of an old friend; and was
once more in the street.
A few paces before hi™, stood a plain but handsome cabriolet, of
which the tiger who held the reins wore a plain undress livery.
But the horse of which the little fellow was in charge was not to be
mistaken. It was one renowned in the glories of Hyde Park;—a
celebrated cab, announcing that the fine gentleman just then cool-
ing his heels in the dismantled dining-room of A. 0. was no less a
personage than his Grace the Duke of Rochester.
CHAPTER IV.
My spirits leap aloft like sparkling waters
Flung from a fountain—buoyant—free—and filling
The common air with freshness.—Marlowe.
That day was a day of overflowing joy to Basil Annesley. Had
the pavement intervening_ between Soho square and St. James's-
street, been tesselated with gems, like the sanctuaries of the
Alhambra, or of Aladdin's palace, instead of displaying the half-
frosty, half-filthy flagstones of one of the least inviting quarters of
THE MONEY-LENEEB,. 31
the "West End, he could not have felt more elated, or have made his
way more lightsomely of foot, than on his road to Herries and
Farquhar's, where, after receiving his four hundred pounds, he paid
the first half year's interest thereon in advance, to the account of
Abednego Osalez, Esq., in order that, for twelve months to come,
he might he conscience-clear as regarded the Monejj-lender.
Let him who, after labouring under the pressure of pecuniary
embarrassments, finds himself suddenly and unexpectedly released
from thraldom, declare whether any, earthly triumph can exceed
that soul-stirring emancipation.
The king may make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that—
but, far surpassing any ennoblement recorded in the peerage, is
the creation of a free man out of a wretch on whose shoulder the
gripe of the bailiff has been felt by agonizing anticipation.^
As regarded Annesley's fee-lings, he was now out of debt; for
he was in debt only within limit of his means. Foiir-and-twenty
hours before, he had looked forward to the dreadful 28th of
December which was to find him in possession of three hundred
pounds, or steep him in shame to the very lips, as a criminal to the
day of execution. He would not have felt half so overjoyed at
being declared heir-apparent to the Duke of Rochester, as to know
that four hundred pounds were that day placed to his credit at
Coutts's.
_ How little,—how very little,—do those real potentates of modern
time3 who sway the destinies of nations and individuals with a rod
of gold, and issue their decrees in bank notes and Exchequer
bills,—the bankers of money-spinning Europe,—conjecture the
fearful nature of the passions imprisoned in that Pandora's box,
their iron safe;—a world of magic spells, compassed within the
simple parchment covers of the books of their constituents ;—the
fiat of life and death occasionally inscribed on one of the printed
cheques which their clerk mechanically cashes, enregistering the
number of the notes he gives in exchange with as cool deliberation
as though the heart of the expectant " bearer" throbbed not with
ecstasy at the sight of those bringers of glad tidings to his neces-
sitous household. The whole romance of civilization is in fact
comprised within the magic initials of L. S. D.—Money is indeed
nower;—the " Open Sesame" to the seemingly impervious rock of
human destiny.—Of all the masquerading guises in which false
Philosophy loves to parade herself, contempt of money, the ladder
by which almost every earthly advantage is attainable, is surely
the most absurd.
Poor Basil, among the rest, had often blazoned forth his con-
tempt of riches; labouring to reconcile his mother to her straitened
means by assurances of his indifference to the dross of this world ;
nay, had even deceived himself by frequent protestations of indif-
ference to the gorgeous gewgaws of opulence.—He fancied himself
content, nay, proud and happy, to be poor. Yet the possession of
a paltry four hundred pounds was driving him half out of his wits
for joy.
32 THE MONEY-LENDES.
For though the origin of his embarrassments was of a nature far
from dishonouring to his head or heart, it was one he dared not
have disclosed to his austere mother. Almost, indeed, would he
have preferred to pass in her eyes for the dupe of the gaming-
table, or for a frivolous spendthrift ruined by idle extravagance,
than expose the truth.
Not one guinea of the money had been applied to his own use.
The necessities of another had caused him to pledge his honourable
name beyond his power of redemption. And yet, he had not even
enjoyed the happiness of claiming sympathy from that other in
his embarrassment. He had been forced to pretend opulence at
the moment of signing the bills of exchange, and indifference on
the subject ever since, lest the obligation should afflict the delicate
and high-minded individual whom his interference had been the
means of rescuing from the utmost extremity of distress.
There was only one drawback on his exulting happiness :—his
mother's illness. Even this, however, was less acutely felt than
when sinking under the apprehension that his difficulties might
shortly aggravate the evil; and now, disregarding her prohibition,
and forestalling his purposed Christmas visit, he readily obtained
a few days' leave of absence; and, armed with a thousand little
tokens of kindness for the invalids, hurried to Barlingham._ In-
stead of affording Lady Annesley time to renew her prohibition,
he chose to take her by surprise.
Few are the contingencies in this world which justify taking
people by surprise. Husbands and wives have often had to rue
the officious affection which impelled them prematurely into each
other's presence; and the best household, the most united family,
the most attached circle of friends, cannot be too accurately ap-
prized of the exact moment at which the absent one is likely to
rush once more into their arms.
Poor Basil reached the Grange, his heart overflowing not simply
with the milk of human kindness, but with its cream. Late in
the evening he reached Lyndhurst by the coach; and, preferring
to restore circulation to his chilly limbs by a walk of a mile and a
half across the fields, to a three miles' jumble in a postchaise,
through one of the most unsatisfactory lanes that ever besloughed
the wagon of the despairing farmer, he accepted the offer of a
countryman to accompany him with his valise, and cheerfully cut
across to Barlingham by a way familiar to him from boyhood.
To beguile the dreariness of his lonely walk, he almost uncon-
sciously burst forth into a song, the produce of one of the olden
poets.
Truce to thy fond misgivings
These fruitless tears give o'er,
No absence can divide us, love,
No parting part us more!
Mountains and seas may rise between,
To mock our baffled will;
But heart in heart, and soul in soul
"We bide together still.
THIS MONEY-XENDEK. 33
Where'er I go, or far or near,
I cannot be alone;
Thy voice is ever in mine ear,
Thy hand is in mine own;
Thy head upon my pillow rests,
Thy words my bosom thrill,
And heart in heart, and soul in soul,
We bide together still.
And when stern Death shall work his worst,
And all our joys are done,
E'en by the mystery that unites
The dial and the sun,
Though one exist in heavenly bliss
One in this world of ill,
Yet heart in heart, and soul in soul,
We'll bide together still.
"As his voice died away, the loneliness seemed drearier than
before. The weather was frosty. Not a breath was stirring; the
moon had risen; and, under its influence, and that of the bitter-
ness of the weather, the landscape exhibited a ghastly and death-
like appearance. The fields were free from all transit of living
thing. Not so much as a plough left upturned in the furrows, for
the readier re-commencement of the morrow's labours, as at more
propitious seasons of the year. Not so much as a stoat,-or urchin,
stealing in quest of midnight prey from hedge to hedge.
When, at last, Basil came in view of the Grange, standing black
and desolate in the moonlight, in the centre of its open square of
dark and leafless trees, it was like approaching the uninhabited
eastle of some fairy tale. Not so much as a dog gave tongue as
they crossed the little bridge leading from the moat to the chief
entrance; and, lest Lady Annesley should be alarmed by the un-
wonted sound of the door-bell at so late an hour, her son made his
way round to the postern leading to the offices, and entered the
kitchen with a degree of humility most vexatious to his temporary
esquire of the body; who had anticipated that, in escorting to the
Grange the heir-apparent of the family, he should force a triumphal
entry, drums beating and colours flying. Basil's hurried injunc-
tionto the two astonished women-servants, who screamed aloud on
beholding, him, to take care of his valise and its bearer, while he
made his way into the hall, scarcely reconciled poor Hodge to
the indignity of stealing into the house like a thief in the dark.
Leaving the Hampshire bumpkin to the consolations of a blazing
fire and substantial supper, young Annesley seized the candle pre-
sented by the blushing, curtseying handmaiden of old Dorcas ; from
whom he had already extracted that his mother and her waiting-
woman were in attendance upon old Nicholas, who had been removed
to a bedroom on the first floor, having, it was feared, not many
days to live.
" My lady has ordered tea in half an hour in her sitting-room,"
added the damsel. " Shall I acquaint her, sir, that you axe here ?
Or would you rather I should go and make a fire, Mr. Basil, in
your own room?"
C
34 THE MONEY-LENDER.
Young Annesley accepted the latter alternative. < Unwilling to
startle the dying man by too sudden an appearance in his chamber,
he determined to wait the coming of his mother in her own
apartment.
The sitting-room usually occupied by Lady Annesley during
the winter months, was a small chamber on the first fioor, adjoining
her bed-room. The ceiling, as in all the rooms in the Grange, was
not only low, but traversed and deformed by heavy beams; and
the fioor of stucco, or composition. Such a chamber, however,
its embayed windows being thickly curtained, and its floor con-
cealed by a carpet, is more easily rendered warm and comfortable
for the long cheerless winter evenings, than one of nobler propor-
tions; and. the rich saloons of many a lordly castle might have
found scope for envy, during that bitter weather, in the little snug-
gery to which, when Basil made his way into the sanctuary, a
blazing wood-fire was affording the cheerful glow so welcome to the
eye of the benighted traveller.
This room was, of all the house, the one least familiar to Basil.
It was four years since he had spent a winter at the Grange. His
return from Germany had chanced in the summer season; and the
preceding Christmas, having recently joined his regiment, he had
been forced to pass in town. During his holidays, Lady Annesley
usually inhabited her drawing-room, on the ground-floor, as con-
taining her musical instruments, and the book-cases calculated to
afford amusement or instruction to her son; and it was only on
occasion of some brief interview between them, that she ever re-
ceivedhim in what she called her dressing-room, though the cere-
monies of her simple toilet were performed in the sleeping-room
adjoining. It possessed, accordingly, all the charm of prohibition
in the eyes of young Annesley. It was the blue chamber of the
Grange; the only one into which he was not permitted to penetrate
uninvited.
On the present occasion, he felt privileged. His visit was as the
return of the prodigal son; and he chose to anticipate the favours
reserved for such an incident. Moreover, Hannah had informed
him that the only fire then burning was in my lady's room; and
the temperature of that December night was so little to be trifled
with, that he entertained no scruple about invading the forbidden
precincts.
"I don't wonder my mother is so fond of it," was Basil's ejacu-
lation, as, stationed upon the Persian rug before the fire, he cast
his eyes around the cheerful chamber in which Lady Annesley had
assembled such remnants of antique furniture as she had found at
the Grange;—the old carved chairs and tables, and a twisted legged
cabinet or two, imparting to the place the Elizabethan character
he had recently observed in London as the height of the fashion.
Erom the carved ebony desk, on which Lady Annesley's handker-
chief was still lying, to the priedieu in a recess near the fireplace,
which was fitted up as an oratory, everything was so strictly in
keeping as the bower chamber of a ladye-fair of the sixteenth
century, that it might have served as a study for Cattermole, or as
the oriel of sweet Anne Page.
THE MOHEY-LENDEE* 85
" And yet, what titter solitude,—what isolation from her caste
and kind," was his second reflection, on recalling to mind that this
snuggery, so charming as a retreat from the severity of a winter's
night, was Lady Annesley's abode from year's-end to year's-end,
season after season. " A woman must have either a very good,_ or
a very bad conscience, to find happiness in such complete alienation
from society."
That the former alternative was the origin of his beloved mother's
retreat, was so naturally his conviction, as to excuse the second
conjecture, though breathed only to himself. It was not with him
there, however, as in the den of the Money-changer. He felt it no
treachery to examine, more leisurely than his mother's presence on
the spot had ever yet enabled him, the objects around him. They
were part and parcel of his mother, even as he, her only son, was a
Eortion of herself; and the time must come, though he had never
azarded the anticipation, when they would become his own.
In the tediousness, therefore, of waiting for Lady Annesley's
appearance, he cast his eyes from the heavy Persian carpets muf-
fling the floor, to the bronze lamp, brightening every nook of the
antiquated chamber. On the chimney ledge of carved Portland
stone, against which he was leaning, stood two old agate chalices of
great beauty; and between them, on a slab of green jasper, an
antique bronze of considerable value, though exhibiting only an
unsightly reptile, formed of that matchless metal of Corinth, of
which all modern imitations fail to acquire the glowing tinge,
.arising from the admixture of the more precious metals in the out-
pourings of the rich old city, from whose burning ruins fused forth
the metal unwittingly created by the spoliating hand of man.
On the wall opposite the fireplace hung a fine portrait, well
known to artists as one of the chef d'osuvres of Sir Joshua: a
likeness of Lord L., the father of Lady Annesley, wearing nu-
merous foreign orders, commemorative of the distinctions of his
diplomatic career. A marble statuette of a child, on an isolated
pedestal of giallo antico, filled one corner of the room (the others
being completed with hanging shelves of carved ebony, filled with
books); a female child of exquisite grace and beauty, evidently the
work of a first-rate hand, which Basil fancied he had heard whis-
pered by Dorcas in his boyhood, to be an early portrait of his sister,
Mrs. Yernon.
All these obj ects he had noticed before. But upon Lady Annesley's
desk lay a square book, covered with dark velvet, and having golden
clasps of great beauty and value, like the mass-books of wealthy
Catholics: inducing the renewal of a suspicion he had sometimes
entertained, that his mother was secretly attached to a faith which
was that of neither her husband nor her ancestors.
Curious to determine whether it were, indeed, a Livre d'heures,
he opened the clasps; when, to his utter surprise, he found that
the seeming book was a picture-case, containing on one side the
enamelled portrait of a man, on the other, under a glass, a lock of
glossy hair of raven blackness.
Basil stood utterly confounded. His late father, as he knew from
portraits and tradition, was fair as a Saxon. His grandfather,
C 2
36 THE MOMJY-IiENDEfi.
Lord L., was now looking- Mm in the face, in attestation that he
had no affinity with the individual depicted in that mysterious
miniature. Lady Annesley was one of three daughters—his co-
heiresses; nor, as well as Basil could recal to mind, had she a
single male relation near enough to account for his picture being in
her possession. What was the meaning of all this ?—He fixed Ms
eyes searcMngly upon the portrait, as if to interrogate its right
and title to be found in his mother's keeping.
The. face was one of more interest than beauty: dark, Mgh-
browed, with a profusion of black hair, and eyes that derived a
deeper shade from the reflection. The mouth was of rare beauty,
yet unpleasing expression—tempered by an infusion of scorn little
m accordance with the mourntul character of the eyes; and, on
the whole, it was one of those countenances wMch fascinate the
attention even while impressing the beholder with an unfavourable
opinion of the original. The age of the person represented could
not exceed five-and-twenty, and the dress was that worn by
English gentlemen at the commencement of the reign of Greorge III.
The more the attention of Basil became riveted upon the picture,
the stronger was his impression that some mysterious interest must
he connected with an object, wMch he had attained^ the age of
twenty years without perceiving in his mother's possession. In Ms
boyish days, in those holidays of affection, when the secret treasures
of a mother are brought forth to amuse a sick child or console an
afflicted one, he had often been allowed to admire the contents of
Ms mother's cabinets;—curious shells, rare minerals, antique rings,
the old-fashioned repeater, with its massive chain and enamelled
gewgaws. Hay, there was a valuable miniature of Lady Annes-
ley's mother, the Lady L., in her black lace hood and point
stomacher, set in diamonds and enamel, with an L. and coronet
flourished in seed-pearls upon the braid of hair forming the reverse,
which had actually been allowed him as a plaything, in the con-
valescence succeeding a dangerous illness. Yet of the miniature
in the velvet cover, he had never been suffered to obtain a glimpse.
He had just replaced it on the desk and himself upon the
hearth-rug, when the door opened, and Lady Annesley made her
appearance.
Prepared to find her as gratified by his visit as he was pleased
with his own alacrity in paying it, Basil was moved almost to awe,
by the rigid coldness of her mode of receiving him. After re-
buking Ms disobedience in being there, she coolly informed Mm
that, with dangerous illness in her household, Ms presence would
he an inconvenience.
" In that case, I will be off to-morrow," replied Basil, trying to
recover, or conceal his chagrin. " But, at least, dearest mother,
forgive me so far as to bear with me tMs one Mght. I could not
endure the anxiety of supposing you ill, without bringing my own
eyes to verify the state ot your health."
" Another time, honour me with your confidence so far as to be-
lieve that I tell you the exact truth," said Lady Annesley, sternly.
" I have been ill,—I am well again ;—unless, indeed, the vexation
of being thus broken in upon, should produce a recurrence of my
indisposition."
THE M0NEY-1ENDEE. §7
While expressing bis hopes that he might not have so great an
evil on his conscience, Basil saw the eyes of his mother wander
froin his face to the desk, and from the desk back again to his
varying countenance ; as if trying to decipher whether he had
found time to examine the scattered contents of her chamber.—The
confusion painted in Basil's face, was, however, just as likely to
arise from her ungracious mode of reception, as from consciousness
of having indulged a prying curiosity.
The entrance of Hannah with the rich old-fashioned tea-service,
which having placed on the table, she was hurraing away again,
encouraged young Annesleyto ask permission to visit the bedside of
the poor old invalid, before the night became too far advanced to
admit of disturbing him.
" Dorcas is with him night and day. He has all the attendance
he requires," was Lady Annesley's frigid reply.
" But as a satisfaction to myself, and, if I may be permitted to
say so, to him. Poor Nicholas was always so fond of me," pleaded
Basil.
"He is past deriving pleasure from the presence even of those
who are dearest to him," persisted Lady Annesley. " Let me beg
you rather to ascertain that your things have been safely deposited
in your room by the person who accompanied you. Yonder poor
girl is scarcely strong enough to supply the place of him we are
about to lose."
Basil accepted the hint. Nothing more likely to injure the
candour of an ingenuous heart, than the undue possession of a
secret. For the first time in his life, he attributed a stratagem to
his mother; convinced that she was desirous to get rid of him, in
order to replace the mysterious portrait in its accustomed con-
cealment.
He was so far justified in his suspicions, that, on his return to the
tea-table, refreshed by purification from London soot and the dust
of the road, a glance towards the ebony desk convinced him that
the picture had disappeared. He fancied, however, that his
mother had detected even that momentary scrutiny; for her de-
portment was, if possible, more ungracious than before. _
At any other moment, he would have attempted to dissipate her
ill-humour by allusions to the news of the day," and the tittle-tattle
of London life. But though excluded from the chamber of death, he
could not forget that, at the distance of a few chambers from the
one they occupied, lay an aged man, endeared to both by long
association, and about to appear in the presence of his Maker.
This indeed was a sufficient excuse for the singular mood of Lady
Annesley; _ In many peraons grief takes the form of anger. A
proud spirit, unwilling to display itself covered with dust and
ashes, uplifts its head with unbecoming pride, in order to conceal
that temporary humiliation.
As every stroke tells against a gamester in his vein of ill fortune,
whatever topic was selected by Basil to dispel the embarrassment
of that painful tete-a-tete, seemed to aggravate her still further
against him.
Lady Annesley, as if desirous of promoting desultory conversation.
38
THE MONEY-LENDER.
adverted to the young nephew of the Duke of Rochester, who had
recently entered his regiment.
"I was formerly acquainted with his father, and uncle," said
she, carelessly.
" His father is dead," observed Basil; " his uncle were perhaps
better in his grave. He is in the jaws of perdition,—ruined soul,
body, and estate;—a victim to play, with his fine fortune melting
away in the grasp of the Jews."
At that moment, an impulse of compunction peculiar to generous
hearts, brought before him the liberal conduct of A. 0:, and the
consciousness of his own obligations; and without reflecting on the
singular effect such an outburst must produce on Lady Annesley,
who had no clue to the origin of his opinions, he suddenly veered
round, and began expressing his contempt of the existing prejudices
against that contemned class of the community;—citing every
advantageous opinion or example ever adduced in favour of the
people after God's own heart, from Cumberland and Miss
Edgeworth, back to the classic authorities of the Judaic world.
A sudden flush overspread the habitually pallid face of Lady
Annesley. Her spirit seemed chafing within her. At last, she
spake with her tongue.
"lean readily understand," said she, with undisguised bitter-
ness, "that the follies and vices of London, and the companionship
into which they may have forced, you, may have done something
towards relaxing the principles in which you have been reared,
and the proud instincts of honourable descent. But I did not sup-
pose that a few thousands conceded by these wretched unbelievers,
these heirs of perdition, gilded over like the molten calf till even
Christian kings fall down and worship, would so soon have obliterated
in your heart the prejudice common to all ages, all nations, and con-
sequently respectable even as a prejudice. For my part, I
loathe a Jew,—I am proud to declare that I loathe a Jew. Apart
from the crime which stamped them with eternal condemnation, I
detest their principles, I detest their practices. "Wherever there
are Jews, there is narrowness of mind, foulness of body, baseness of
heart. They are a filthy people. Even as of old they bought with
thirty pieces of silver the blood of their Redeemer, would they still
chaffer for the heart's blood of the innocent. I tell you, Basil, I
loathe them; and those who induced you to entertain a contrary
opinion, deceived you as much as they injured me!"
The eyes of young Annesley were now fixed upon his mother with
unqualified amazement, ^he, usually so mild, so serene, so low-
voiced, so indifferent to the things of this world, to be excited by so
slight a cause into this violent diatribe !—In the house of death,
too;—with her aged servitor < * 1 ' 1
moment, that his beloved mol
attendance on the death-bed of her faithful old domestic.
"Believe me, dearest mother," said he, "I never heard you
accused of any partiality for these maligned people. My inclina-
tion in their favour is a weakness arising from peculiar circum-
stances of a nature wholly personal."
Basil was awe-struck.
the money-lender.
39
" You have heard it ?" cried Lady Annesley, unsubdued by his
deprecation. " Do not add deceit to the audacity of attempting to
invade the sacredness of my thoughts and feelings.—You have
heard it!"
Terrified and grieved, young Annesley was about to enter upon
his own disculpation. But as he advanced nearer towards his
mother, he perceived that, overcome by the violence of her emotions,
she had thrown herself back in her chair, and covered her face with
her hand? to conceal a frantic burst of tears.
Basil Annesley stood transfixed. It was the first time in his life
he had ever seen his mother shed a tear !—
"I had no intention of offending you, dearest mother," whispered
Basil, when at length the subsiding of Lady Annesley's emotion
seemed to justify Ms addressing her. But, to his surprise, on the
withdrawal of her hands from her face to enable her to reply, her
1 y resumed its usual rigidity, that all
been screening those stern features;
but it was obstinately fixed to her side.
" Believe me I had no intention of offending you," reiterated the
young man, with earnest affection.
" Your excuses are a deeper offence than your indiscretion,"
replied Lady Annesley, in a harsh voice. " Your coming hither at
all, has disturbed and thwarted me;—your conduct, now you are
here, seems scarcely likely .to reconcile me to your disobedience." _
" Dearest mother!" cried Basil, stung by her severity out of his
habitual deference and reserve, " you well know that your wishes
are laws to me,—that I would sacrifice my happiness here and here-
after for your sake—"
" You are alarge talker, Basil," interrupted Lady Annesley. " It
is easy to protest,—easy to undertake services or sacrifices that can
never be required of you. I requested you to abstain for the present
from visiting the Grange.—Yet, you are here."
"I have already explained my motives," cried Basil, eagerly,
" and pledged myself to immediate departure. If you wish it,
mother, I will not wait till to-morrow—I will be off tMs very
night. I can return to Lyndhurst; I can sleep at the inn. It is
late.—The fellow who brought my baggage will scarcely be per-
suaded to return for it to-night. But early in the morning he shall
be here, in time to enable me to start by the first coach."
Lady Annesley gazed a moment on the young and handsome
face, on wMch such earnest sincerity was at that moment painted.
"Abide here to-night, my son," said she calmly, at the close of
her scrutiny. " Another time, be more acquiescent."
" But I assure you, dearest mother, I should be well accom-
CHAPTER Y.
Oh! mother—yet 110 mother.—Savage.
He attempted to take into his own
40 THE MQETJ3Y-lENEEB.
mGdated at Lyndhurst; and it may be as well to be tbere in wait-
ing for the coach. I—"
"You will remain here, if you please !" interrupted Lady An-
nesley, in a cold and positive tone. " It is, as you observe, late;
and the hour is unseemly for traversing the fields. The forest pro-
duces inconvenient neighbours, and dangerous company. The
illness of my poor Nicholas proceeded, in the first instance, from
a rough encounter on the road, one evening at dusk, on his return
from conveying my letters to the post. I pray you, therefore, to
remain here—"
" Certainly, if such be your desire."
" But not the less to hasten your departure at an early hour to-
morrow. I will even take my leave of you to-night, Basil; for I
must watch through the small hours, to enable poor Dorcas to take
some sleep. I shall probably retire to rest just as you are stir-
ring."
" As you please, dear mother," replied the dispirited young man,
perceiving by her tone and gesture that these words implied dis-
missal for the night. " If you must indeed watch by the poor old
man, I can understand that my presence must be importunate. But
if you would only permit me, for this one night to take your
place—"
"I have already expressed my pleasure on that point."
" At least, since you judge me too restless or careless for a nurse,
(though you used to praise my care when I waited upon yourself
during your attack of ague last year,) at least, there is Hannah to
relieve you. Hannah is a stout, active, trusty girl, who would be
none the worse for wanting, occasionally, a night's rest."
" She is not to be trusted. The young are ever inefficient watchers.
With them ' the spirit may be willing, but the flesh is weak.'—
They have no distracting thoughts to keep their senses on the alert,
■—no cares to render them wakeful. They lay their heads on their
pillows, and are in heaven till morning ; and when they attempt
the watcher's chair of penance, fancy their heads upon their
pillows."
"If it be on that account you refuse my services," observed
Basil, " I promise you, mother, that I have cares enough in my
keeping, both of my own and other people, to keep me as wakeful as
you could desire."
Again did Lady Annesley intently examine her son.
" You have no right to have cares of your own," said she ; "and
I advise you to be cautious how you become care-keeper for others.
Your own turn will come. You have your share, Basil, in the
typical inheritance of the sons of Adam,—the thorns which the
earth was condemned to bring forth in punishment for the sin of
our common parents. Such is the commandment of a jealous
God !"
" I am more in fear of the penalty entailed upon my head by the
fall of man," observed Basil, in a low voice, "than of having to
answer for any sins of my own parents. But, as I said before,
mother, if it be because you think me a sleepv-head that you deny
me the pleasure of relieving your guard for this one night—"
THE MOUET-LENDEE, 41
" Once andfor all, it is not on that account," said Lady Annesley,
in an angry voice. " You were not wont, Basil, to be so pertinacious
or so inquisitive. Amend the fault before we meet again; and
show me that it is already repented by immediate compliance with
my requests. Retire to rest, that you may be stirring the earlier.
—Yonder is your bed-candle.—Good night."
Basil Annesley was conscious at that moment of a choking sen-
sation in his throat, such as he had often experienced in childhood,
when unjustly chidden. He remained a moment doubtful whether
to fling himself at Lady Annesley's feet, and implore a more
motherly entreatment; or stand forth reprovingly in all the energy
of his youthful sense of her injustice, and hazard a still stronger
appeal.
But that momentary pause recalled to his generous mind that
his mother was harassed by fatigue, and careworn by the danger
of her faithful servant; and he determined, as his filial piety had
so often determined before, to submit and be patient.
After imprinting a kiss upon the slender hand which, if no longer
obstinately withheld from him, was far from encouragingly held
forth, he took the candle from the marble table, hastily lighted it,
and silently withdrew, eager to give vent, in his own chamber, to
the emotions contending in his heart.
But on his arrival there, he was struck by the order in which his
things were laid out for him, and the more than usual care with
which his comfort had been provided for.—Hoping to obtain an in-
terview with old Dorcas, and entreat her influence with her lady to
obtain him his share in the family vigils, he strove to discover some
deficiency entitling him to ring for assistance.—Impossible!—every-
thing was in its place—everything forthcoming. The kettle was
beside the fire,—the boot-jack and slippers beside the chair.
"I can, at all events, summon Hannah, on pretence of wishing
to be called before daybreak," said he, musing.
Having fulfilled his intention, he anxiously awaited the tap at
the door, announcing the usual assiduous attendance of the active
damsel. But no knock was heard,—no Hannah made her appear-
anee; and when, weary; of waiting, and having twice poked up the
fire into a blaze to beguile his impatience, he ventured to ring again,
the same silence prevailed. Nothing was audible but the shrill
whistling of the wind in the old corridor ; and now and then, a
squeak and scuffle among the merry mice, coursing each other by
moonlight in the deserted chambers above.
A third time did Basil make the attempt, which, he trusted,
would summon poor Dorcas for a moment from the chamber of the
invalid which lay at the extremity of an adjoining passage. But,
lo! when, _ instead of the expected tap, the door revolved slowly
upon its hinges, his mother, not hat attendant, stood before him.
" Are you in want of anything, thai you thus disturb the house?"
said she, gravely. "I thought I had been careful in supplying all
you could possibly need to-night.''
" I merely rang for Hannah, to say that—"
" Hannah has retired to bed, and Dorcas is retiring," persisted
Lady Annesley. " When you released me just now, I took up my
42 THE MONEY-LENDEB.
post for the night beside the sick man; satisfied that, having care-
fully arranged your room with my own hands previous to joining
you at tea, no' further attendance would be wanting, is there
anything I can procure or do for you ?"
" Could I have entertained the least idea, dearest mother, that
you had given yourself all this trouble on my account "
" I ask you again, is there anything further I can do for you?—
Be quick !—My presence is required elsewhere."
•" Nothing on'earth."
" You rang, then, to summon the girl for a needless attendance ?"
" I rang to request I might be called at the earliest hour of
morning, to secure my obedience to your orders," replied Basil,
proudly.
" Did you suppose that I should leave the hour of your rising to
chance? Be satisfied !—You shall be called betimes. And now let
me entreat you to abstain from further disturbance. You are in
the house of sickness,—perhaps to become, before morning, the
house of death."
Basil stood confounded at the unmerited harshness of his mother;
and did not recover his self-possession for many minutes after Lady
Annesley quitted the room. His heart was now sorer than before.
He was more than ever stung by her severity, on finding it coupled
with the vigilance of mother-love which had presided over the ar-
rangements of his chamber. He must indeed be a grievous offender,
since the affections of her heart were thus controllable by the stern-
ness of her displeasure.
He now flung himself, despondingly, into a seat before the fire;
and placing his feet upon the old-fashioned fender, and fixing his
eyes upon the heavy brass dogs supporting the crackling logs upon
the hearth, tried to feel himself at home. Strange how often the
habitation familiar to us from infancy seems less familiar and less
a home than the dwelling of the stranger. For the life and soul of
him, Basil could not feel at home. Fie kept dreading the re-
entrance of his mother for further reprehension; yet equally feared
to bolt the door against her return, lest she should take offence at
this seeming defiance. His very thoughts, under the_influence of
such impressions, did not seem secure from her intrusion. There
were subjects on which he felt afraid to ponder. There were
people he dared not pass in review or recal with the tenderness
of memory, lest he should suddenly find the severe eye of Lady
Annesley fixed upon his face, prepared to scan and scrutinize his
feelings.
Most people are conscious of the sort of disburdenment of
thought ana sentiment apt to follow a transition from cities to
the country. In the quiet of the first night spent out of town,
disjointed images reconnect themselves; ideas and conclusions as-
sume a regular train of thought; and Basil experienced all the de-
sire of one suddenly enfranchised from the rabble and tumult of
London, to dwell upon the course of recent gvents, and determine
more consideringly what portion of his loves and friendships had
been lavished in vain.
But it was no moment for such reveries. The dread of his mother's
reappearance was potent over his mind, as over that of a child
THE MONEY-LENDEB. 43
the terror of a midnight apparition.—His thoughts were paralyzed.
He could not even f eel freely at that moment.
"Wondering surmises hastily traversed his brain with regard to
the mysterious portrait, and the still more mysterious emotions be-
trayed by his mother. Painfully pleasing visions flitted before his
eyes of the bright form of Esther—his own Esther—his beloved
Esther. But just as her eyes seemed gazing into his, the creaking
of the wainscot seemed to indicate, from without, the approach of
Lady Annesley; and the light of the fire appeared a reflection of
that which had recently brightened the chamber from the taper in
the hand of his mother. _
The night was beginning to be tempestuous. Before the moon set,
the winds were rising; beating menacingly against the crazy walls
of the old Grange, as if to demand how they had dared so long to
withstand the attacks of timeand roaring in the vast chimney, as
though to inquire the meaning of an unwonted inmate in that
chamber.
By degrees, the storm rose in fierceness. The shrill whistling of
the winds became a shriek; and arrowy discharges of sleet were
heard sharply against the windows.
Under this influence, the spirit of Basil became more and more
depressed. He was incapable of even the sensations of comfort im-
parted by a warm fireside, when listening to a storm without. He
was an intruder in his mother's house—he was an alien from his
mother's heart. Lady Annesley had secrets in which she rejected
his participation,—cares, for which she disdained his solace.
To sit and gaze upon the glowing embers, however, afforded little
consolation. It is when perplexed, not when afflicted, that we
delight in fire-gazing. At length, the warmth which imparted no
pleasure, seemed to inspire energy: for, suddenly starting up, he
recalled to mind that the surest way to win his mother's confidence,
was implicit obedience ; and that, in order " early to rise," it was
expedient to adopt the precept of " early to bed."
Midnight had already struck, _ previous to this good resolution;
and ere his head had hollowed his pillow, the first hour of morning
was sternly announced by the crazy old clock gracing the stair-head
adjoining his chamber. It was unlikely, however, that he should
hear the striking of a second, for already he was growing drowsy.
His cares assumed a less definite pressure. The shape of Esther
hovered less visibly before his closing eyes. Easier in spirit—easy
in position,—he forgot maternal oppression and his subservience to
a Jew, and fell quietly asleep.
His dreams, however, soon became unquiet. The expressive
countenance portrayed by the miniature, (its handsome features
commingled with those of Abednego Osalez,) seemed to mock and
perplex his slumbers. Again, did his stern mother harshly reproach
him; and strange voices seemed to mingle in mockery with her
upbraidings.
He woke—he starjted from his feverish pillow. The strange
voices were easily explained by the fitful moaning of the storm,
which now appeared to sink into the sobbing of despair,—now to
rise into shrieks of eldritch laughter, But there were no faces
44 x.tus monJsr-LiSifJDEE.
around him to explain the visions of his disquiet. He was alone,
with scarcely a gleam of light emanating from the dying embers on
the hearth.
f In another moment, he would have sunk down again upon his
pillow, and fallen once more asleep, hut that his disturbed imagina-
tion conceived an idea that the wailing which at first appeared that
of the storm without^ might, after all, be the expression of human
suffering;—the plaintive cries of the dying man.—His mother might
be exposed to the dreadful task of watching alone over an agonized
deathbed.
He rose, and flung on his dressing-gown. Displeased as Lady
Annesley might be at his presuming to disobey her commands, he
would not suffer this. He would insist upon sharing her vigils.
Softly opening the door, he proceeded, without a light, along the
corridor, hoping to attain the door of the apartment appropriated
to the poor old man. But, as he advanced, he became again
persuaded that those mournful meanings really proceeded from the
gusts of the storm. Nay, as he approached nearer the chamber of
sickness, even these had fallen into such momentary stillness, that
the beating of his own heart became audible as he recognised in the
dead of night the stern voice of Lady Annesley reciting aloud the
prayers for the sick, beside the bed of the dying man.
Be treating in haste to his chamber, as if unworthy to share a task
so solemn, Basil was soon in bed; and the momentary chill arising
from his exploit seemed to have restored the power of slumber; for
he now slept heavily, and long.—How long, he knew not: but a
pale grey light was stealing into the chamber, when again he
opened his eyes.
And this time, he could not deceive himself. A face was bending
over him, and peering into his. Not, however, the ideal face of
Esther. There was no mistaking it for any one of the visages
which had haunted his dreams; or even for the rosy face of the
damsel who, Lady Annesley had informed him, was charged to
rouse him at daybreak. It was an aged face, withered by time
and sorrow.
"Master Basil, I say,—dear Master Basil," gasped his mother's
venerable waiting-woman, " I have been calling you these five
minutes."
" Thanks, Dorcas, many thanks.—I fear I have been sleeping
heavily.—Send me my shaving-water, and I will be up directly.
Is it late,—or am I in time ?"—
" Hush, Sir;—speak softly, I beg of you. My lady has not been
an hour in bed; and having forced her to take an anodyne draught
after the dreadful night she has been passing, I am grievously
afraid of having her waked.—Nothing more injurious, Master
Basil, than being disturbed when opiates are taking effect; and my
poor lady has not slept till now these five nights past."
" I will be very careful, Dorcas. It had been already settled
that she was not to be disturbed for my departure. I will dress
immediately, and shall have left the house without her knowing it."
" It is not that, Sir.—I do not toish you to go, Master Basil.—I
want your help? Sir 5 I am in great trouble,—sore trouble and di$»
MONET-tENDEfi, 45
tfess !*'—faltered the old waiting-woman, drawing her hand across
her eyes. "lam inclined to thank God for yonr being here, Sir;—
and yet fear my lady will never forgive me for having even men-
tioned the subject to you.—But indeed, and indeed, Sir, such scenes
are too much for her. It is as_ much as her life is worth—to
wake her at this moment. Yet, indeed, Sir, I cannot manage him
alone."
"Are you in need, then, of my assistance for Nicholas, Dorcas?"
cried young Annesley. " I will be with you in a moment—"
"But you are'not aware, Sir,—I must first apprize you—your
kind, good heart, Master Basil, would be too much shocked—"
" My dear Dorcas, it is not the first time I have seen a dying
man. My professional duties sometimes lead me to a hospital."
" But not to a death-bed like this. It is a hard thing even for me,
who have passed through enough and to spare of the sorry sights
of this world, to see my .poor old fellow-servant in such a condi-
tion.—But for your young eyes, Master Basil—"
" Only give me a moment to throw on my clothes—"
" I am not without hope, Sir, that, startled by your coming, whom
he has not seen for months, Nicholas may so far recover his reason
as to know you; and then, perhaps, he might compose himself, and
be quieted without recourse to violent means—"
"To violent means?" interrupted Basil. "Is the poor fellow,
then, bereft of his reason?"
" He has had repeated attacks of delirium throughout his illness.
Yesterday morning, the professional gentleman who comes from
Southampton to visit him, found it necessary to place him under
restraint. Towards evening he became calmer; and my lady
insisted upon releasing him from the strait-waistcoat. Infirm as
he is—feeble—dying—she says his violence is merely that of words,
and that h.e can do no serious injury to himself or others."
" Gracious Heaven! My mother has been exposed, then, alone,
throughout the night, to the violence of a lunatic."
" Nicholas was never known, even in his worst paroxysms, Master
Basil, to lift his hand, or even his voice, against my lady. Her
presence seems to have a soothing power over him, beyond the
coercion of the physician."
"Butwhy, Dorcas, why not tell me all this last night?"
" I was sent to bed by my lady, Sir, tired and exhausted with
struggling against him, without so much as an intimation of your
arrival; and I am convinced, that, after so anxiously keeping you
away from the Grange lest you should witness this mournful scene,
my lady was in hopes you would be off to London without obtaining
any suspicion of the matter."
" How strange!" faltered young Annesley.
" My lady loves you too well, Master Basil, to bear your being
unnecessarily troubled."
" But herself, Dorcas ?"
" My lady is used to trouble—"
'• My dear, dear mother !"
" Show your affection, Sir, by lending me your assistance, and
securing her a few hours' sleep; she will wake refreshed and com-
46 X-tUS MONEY-LENDER.
forted. For unless I can prevail upon you to remain, I have not
courage to undertake him till the doctor comes." _
" Basil hastily and anxiously accomplished his toilet. He was
soon at the door from which he had so timidly retreated in the dead
of night.
_ On entering the chamber, he perceived Dorcas stationed on one
side the bed; and, hidden within the curtains on the other,
weeping and trembling, the stout servant-girl who had been left in
charge of the maniac during her companion's absence. The grey
light of dawn dimly penetrated the scene; falling on the white
head of the venerable sufferer, who was propped with pillows, and
staring around him with the ghastly fixedness characteristic of
aberration of intellect.
" Do not he afraid of approaching him,'Sir: he is quite harmless!"
said Dorcas, with the bluntness of a coarse mind, on seeing her
young master hesitate beside the door, impressed by the patriarchal
aspect of the old man, whose hoary heard had been many weeks
unshorn. " As I said just now, the surprise might do him good." ■
_ " My poor Nicholas! ' faltered young Annesley, who had by this
time reached the bed.
" Who called me ?" demanded the patient, in_ a hollow voice.
" I am grieved to hear you have been so ill, Nicholas," persisted
Basil, avoiding a direct reply, with a view to determine his power
of recognition.
Instead of answering, the old man fixed his glassy eyes upon
the person who thus unexpectedly presented himself; and for some
moments did not vary the steadfastness of his gaze. At length, a
gradual ray of intelligence seemed to brighten that soulless stare.
" I know you now said he in a low voice. " I know you, and
tell you to he gone. What are you doing here ?—Must there he
more blood upon your hand ?—Has not my lord expressly bidden us
spurn you from his gate ?—But there needed no bidding of his—I
would have done it untold!—Even I would not witness the shame
of my young lady !"
" My poor Nicholas, compose yourself!" said Basil, in a soothing
voice, bending kindly towards him.
"Yourpoor Nicholas!" shouted the maniac, at the top of his
broken voice, causing young Annesley to start hack.—" How dare
you call me your poor Nicholas ?—How dare you attempt to cajole
me ?—Away with you,—away, Jew !—I know you, I tell you.
When first your accursed gold induced me to do your bidding, I
thought you a gentleman,—I thought you a man.'—and now I spit
upon you as a false and unbelieving Jew. Away, I say, or there is
Strength yet in the old man's gripe to tear you limb from limb !"
"For God's sake, Mr. Annesley, Sir, get away from him!"
screamed the girl, who, in the danger of another, lost sight of her
own. " He will be the death of you, Sir!"—
" He shall not go,—I have him fast!" cried the maniac, grasping
the arm of the unresisting young man.
" Indeed, Master Basil, it will he safer to leave the room," cried
Dorcas, becoming terrified in her turn.
" Basil :—what Basil ?—ay, ay, another of her tricks. She wants
THE MONEY-LENDER. 47
to impose hiin upon my lord as his grandson—hut she cannot de-
ceive me. I am not yet so old, or so blind, as not to discover
him through all his disguises; and from the moment he attempted
to take the life of my master's son, I swore his own should not be
safe if he came, hither again.—And now I have caught you,—as
usual—as usual, stealing into the house like a thief in the dark,
when others are asleep—others suffering and weeping—ay, weeping
tears of blood. My poor, poor young lady!"
Basil Annesley was now becoming really intimidated; not by the
sense of his own danger, but by the dread of obtaining surrepti-
tious insight into the secrets of his mother. The word "Jew,"—
the allusion to blood,—to family sorrow,—to family disgrace,—
caused his own to thrill within his veins.
"Compose yourself, my poor old friend," faltered he, in an altered
voice, without attempting to disengage his arm from the grasp, of
the lunatic. " Look at me, Nicholas.—Itecal me to your mind.—
Remember little Basil—remember Basil Annesley !"—A sort of
howl instantly burst from the infuriated patient,—a howl termi-
nating in a burst of frenetic laughter.
"Annesley, forsooth '."—cried he. " Poor fool, poor fool;—poor
cover to shame,—poor blind, blind dupe. Annesley ?—If your
name be Annesley, again I say, away with ye!—Go hide yourself
in the grave, as your father did before you. He said nothing but
death could efface such dishonour;—a violent death—a bloody
death. But the drops he shed in. obtaining it, young man, wrought
not half the anguish in the heart they burst from, that the tears
of his repentent widow have wrung out of the depths of her own.
Away with ye, I say again, and hide yourself,—child of the foulest
father and guiltiest mother that ever called down upon the head of
their offspring the judgments of God."
Basil Annesley shuddered as he listened. The trembling fingers
of the delirious sufferer still griped his arm. But it was not their
feverish hold which caused his heart to quail. A hand was upon
his shoulder : his mother stood beside him !—
Disturbed from her slumbers by the dreadful cry uttered by her
distracted charge, Lady Annesley had risen in haste, and hurried,
in her night-dress, to has chamber.
She arrived just in time to overhear the terrible revelations which
had driven every tinge of colour from the cheeks of her son !
CHAPTER VI.
Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm,
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
Which, hushed in grim repose, expects its evening prey.
Gray.
Few sunnier or pleasanter mansions in the metropolis, than the
one in Arlington-street, inhabited by the Maitland family ; over-
looking the Green-park, across a trim little garden belted with
lilac-bushes and evergreens; but containing within, a scene of
brighter seeming than the gayest London thoroughfare can supply
48 KtE MONEY-SENDEE.
Impossible to conceive a stronger contrast than between the
stern retreat of Sir Bernard Annesley's widow, and the brilliant
abode of Lord Maitland's wife:—the one grim and gloomy as her
own care-crazed destinies;—the other, radiant with gilding and
varnish—porcelain and or-molu,—musical instruments, andfashion-
able caricatures;—everything that modern luxury can supply to
dazzle the eyes of Time with their senseless glitter.
Tim Maitlands were, in most respects, showy people,—heartless
people,—people of the day; such as might-be expected in a family
where the father is on the turf, and the only duty of the mother's
life not discharged by proxy, are those of a patroness of
Almack's. _
Ladv Maitland's daughters were the production of the governess;
—Lord Maitland's sons, the work of Eton and Sandhurst;—and,
considering the superficial second-nature derivable from such
sources, the young people were amiable enough. They did no harm
in the world. It was not their own fault that they had never been
taught to do good. Their town residence was one of those pleasant
houses which constitute a charming lounge for London idlers.
Chat, scandal, and music were always waiting till called for at the
Maitlands'.
Before her daughters grew up, her ladyship had adopted the
system of encouraging morning visitors to assist her in frittering
away her leisure ; and there appeared no pretext for suddenly op-
posing an obstacle to the tide of busy idleness she had brought
upon herself. It was impossible to say frankly—" I no longer
desire young men to frequent my house, because my daughters are
now young women." The thing was, therefore, suffered to go on;
for the spoiled child of the family, John Maitland, the eldest son,
was too destitute of rational pursuits to dispense with constant
society. John hated to he alone with his parents. John was in the
Guards—a fixture in London; and would have made himself a
considerable nuisance to the family with whom he hated to be left
alone, unless his pleasure had been duly studied.
His brother officers had, consequently, the run of the sunny draw-
ing-room in Arlington-street. As the dowager-colonel, old Carring-
ton, often observed, "There would have been no getting through the
winter in town, without those Maitlands !"—a comprehensive popu-
'larity fatal to young ladies on their preferment. It is not often
marriages take place in a family, where the daughters are only
generalized as those " So-and-So's."
" What the deuce has become of Annesley ?" demanded John
Maitland of Captain Blencowe, who was sitting with them in
Arlington-street the day after Basil's departure from Barlingham
Grange.
" Out of town," was the careless reply.
" I fancied that most of the holiday parties were broken up ?"
observed Laura Maitland, whose notion of a country life consisted
in a gay mansion, where thirty people sit down daily to dinner;
in a hunting county, with meets on the lawn—or with billiards and
private theatricals where the sporting is indifferent.
" Annesley is not gone to join a party. Annesley goes into the
THE MONEY-LEHDEE. 49
country to "be privately flogged with, his mother's apron-string,"
replied Captain Blencowe, jocosely.
" To he tied to it, I suppose you mean," observed John Maitland,
•who was sealing notes at a writing table, where his mother had
been dictating invitations.
" I don't think she likes him well enough to secure his company
by coercive means," retorted Blencowe. " I never saw so cold or
harsh a woman as Lady Annesley."
"But where does one meet her, Captain Blencowe?" inquired
Lucy Maitland, from the embroidery-frame at which she sat
listening.
" Lady Maitland may, perhaps, have met her five-and-twenty
years ago. In our time she has lived the life of a recluse."
" Then how came you to see her ?"
" I did not come. On the contrary, she came to see me. "When
Basil had that attack of fever last year, and was so near dying, I
wrote to Lady Annesley, who hurried up to town. I was officiating
as his nurse, and vow to heaven that the sight of her severe counte-
nance and mourning dress, from morning till night, made me almost
as ill as himself. After sitting up with her half a night, I fancied
I had been in the company of one of the familiars of the Inqui-
sition !"
" By Jove, Blencowe, how you do romance!" cried John Mait-
land. " To conjure an ugly old woman, in a black bombazeen gown
into a familiar of the Inquisition !"
" How could I tell into what she might 'conjure me ? She had all
the air of a practitioner of the black art. However, with all Lady
Annesley's apparent harshness, if she be half so good a mother as
nurse, Basil can have no fault to find with her."
"But does he find fault?" inquired Lucy Maitland, with in-
terest.
" Basil seldom finds fault with anything or anybody, for he is the
best-natured fellow in the world. I suspect he would sooner arraign
the commander-in-chief himself, or the commander-in-chief's
commander-in-cAV#ssf?no, than allude slightingly to his mother.
Annesley is almost superstitious in his filial devotion."
John Maitland looked round from the writing-table with asigni-
ficant gesture towards Blencowe, as if to implore silence on so
delicate a topic in presence of his own mother ; while Lucy
murmured something over her crochet work that sounded very
like commendation.
"I am sadly afraid young Annesley is likely to make a fool of
himself," sententiously interposed Colonel Carrington, who was in
the habit of establishing himself, his half hour per diem, in Lady
Maitland's drawing-room, as much as a matter of routine as he
swallowed his morning dose of Gregory's mixture, or his evening
digestion pill; fancying that, because the boys of the regiment were
amused there, he must be amused there too; for it had become a
matter of course for every ensign, on entering the regiment, to fall
in love with one or other of Maitland's sisters ; and ix of sufficient
fortune or connections, to be admitted as a lounger in Arlington-
street.
I)
50 THE MONEY-LEETDEE.
If the Dowager-Colonel formed the same pretensions as his
younger and more acceptable brother officers, he was admitted with
very different views. Old Carrington, the butt of the subalterns
at mess, was also the butt of the Maitlands' drawing-room; nor
did they seem aware how many people accept it as a sure indi-
cation of ill-nature and ill-breeding in a circle, to have an esta-
blished butt as a stimulant to its attempts at wit.
One of the many ways in which the old beau lent himself to the
fulfilment of their purposes, was by his jealousy of every good-
looking young fellow who joined the regiment. Till Wilberton
came, Annesley had been the object of his antipathy; and Colonel
Carrington still rarely neglected an opportunity of attacking Basil.
On the present occasion, finding that no notice was taken of the
first discharge of his battery, he hazarded a second fire.
"I am afraid," said he, more articulately, " young Annesley is
likely to make a fool of himself, which I sincerely regret. Let
Lady Annesley be as disagreeable as she may, Basil is an only son,
and the son of a gallant soldier. I should be sorry to see his
mother's old age rendered miserable by his ruin."
"In what does Basil make himself a greater fool than the rest
of us?" demanded Maitland, (Captain Blencowe being too much
engrossed by Lucy's work-basket to take up the cudgels in defence
of his absent friend.) "We are all tolerable asses, one way or
other. Lor my part, I look upon Annesley as the Solon of the
battalion." _
" Then give me leave to observe, that you say very little for the
rest of us!" said the Colonel, crabbedly, settling his long throat
in an old-fashioned stock.
" Pretty nearly as much as you deserve," gracelessly retorted
young Maitland. " For instance, he does not ruin himself in per-
fumes and cosmetics, like Loftus, for the cultivation of whiskers
that will not grow, and the dispersion of freckles that ivill; or
like Wilberton, in building cabs and Broughams for the pleasure
of seeing those eternal crests and ciphers of his emblazoned in
some new fashion. He does not set Graham's in an uproar, night
after night, by his bad play, like Blencowe yonder, who is whis-
pering so low to Lucy that I conclude neither of them hear what
we are saying."
"Did you speak to me V inquired Captain Blencowe, suddenly
starting up.
"Nor does he, like you, my dear Colonel," persisted Maitland,
" amuse the figurantes at rehearsal, by the stiff-jointed deliberation
with which he stalks out of the way when they are clearing the
Stage for action."
Colonel Carrington was, just then, troubled with so severe a fit of
coughing, that he heard not a syllable of this apostrophe.
"You seem to have got your winter cough again. Colonel Car-
rington ?" said Laura Maitland, with pretended solicitude. " You
should try some Arabic lozenges."
" Nonsense—lozenges !" interrupted her brother. " Carrington's
cough proceeds from asthma. It is a very serious thing to trifle
With a chronic asthma !"
" I have told you a hundred times, Maitland, that it is nothing
THE MONEY-LENDER. 51
of the sort!" pettishly interrupted the Dowager-Colonel. " Can-
not a man take cold without having an habitual asthma ?—You
are, in fact, the cause of my catarrh, by throwing up the window
at the Club, with an east wind blowing in our faces, to shout to
Harman in his cab about the issue of the pigeon-match. It would
not have hurt him to get out, or you to go out, rather than run the
chance of giving cold to twenty of your friends."
" And aggravating the habitual asthrrih of the twenty-first.—
"Well, well, my dear Colonel, I'm sorry I mentioned it. I know it
is a delicate point, and the men know it is a delicate point, par-
ticularly on field-days, and in a high wind. However, many poor
fellows in the prime of life are subject to gout and asthma.—■
Many besides yourself suffer from gout and asthma before they
are fifty :—don't they, mother ?"
" Have you finished sealing those notes, John?" demanded Lady
Maitland, by way of motherly interference.
" All those that signify. All the eider sons and young baronets
of decent estate. I left the youngqr brothers and Irish dowagers
to the last, in ease the seal should get too warm, and myself too
lukewarm, to escape the charge of slovenliness. We shall still do
very well, however, for a ' Lady Maitland requests the honour of
Lord George Rawdon's company to a small early party on Friday
next.' < If Rawdon were not a Lord George, I suppose we might
give him a wafer at once."
" What was that you were saying about gout and asthma, Co-
lonel Carrington ?" demanded Lady Maitland, conceiving, in her
turn, that it might be as well to change the conversation.
"I was saying," interposed the Colonel—choosing, for his own
sake, to misunderstand her—" that it is a lamentable thing young
Annesley should be making such a fool of himself."
"That is the third time you have repeated yourself, Carr, my
fine fellow !" said young Maitland, completing the sealing of the
last note; " so I see you are determined we shall ask questions.
You sha'n't be kept in suspense any longer. How is Annesley
likely to make a fool of himself—when—where ?—Make haste.—
Say your worst, and put him and us out of our pain."
"I don't understand you, Maitland," said the Colonel, again
settling his head uneasily in his stock. " I know no more than
yourself of his proceedings. The rehearsals I attend—you attend
also;—and for once that I set foot in Graham's, you 'are there
twenty times!"
" But is there anything that commits Mr. Annesley more than
the rest of the world, in frequenting either of those places?"
inquired Lucy Maitland, addressing her question directly to Captain
Blencowe, as niuch as to say,—" If you love me, take the part of
your friend !" which, if he loved her, he was the less likely to do.
" I trust not—being therein as great a delinquent as himself,"
rejoined Blencowe. " But those who want to hear Annesley abused,
need only listen to Wilberton and Carrington; one of whom is
jealous of him, and the other envious."
" Which of them is envious ?" inquired Lucy Maitland, lookin
archly up from her work
D 2
52 THE MONEY-LENDEB
" The man with the least mind of the two ; Envy being1 meaner
than Jealousy."
Miss Maitlands hrugged her shoulders, as if to imply the slightness
of mental distinction between the young Ensign and old Colonel.
" Wilbertonis envious of Basil," resumed Captain Blencowe;
"because he is luckier at tennis than himself. Carrington is
jealous of him; because . But you turn away, Miss Maitland.
Have you no curiosity to learn why Carrington is jealous of him ?"—
" Hone in the world!"
"Nor even any to ascertain what Carrington is evidently dying
to tell," added Captain Blencowe, "concerning poor Annesley's
modes and method of playing the fool ? "
" Still less,—I have great faith in the judgment of a man so
much older than myself as Colonel Carrington," replied Lucy,
bitterly. "But it would require far more to persuade me that a
person so universally liked in the world, and loved in the regiment,
whom we see almost daily, and always in so reasonable a mood and
.with such gentlemanly habits and feelings—is disgracing himself."
" My dear Lucy, you are very severe. You forget to whom you
are speaking," observed her brother, with mock gravity.
"Iam speaking to three or four of the intimate friends of Mr.
Annesley," persisted the young lady.
" "We natter ourselves, that, however grand that title may appear
to you, we have higher qualifications," retorted_ John Maitland.
" We flatter ourselves, (at least so the peerage entitles us,) that we
are ' ail honourable men.' We flatter ourselves, that we all 'play
the fool,' as Carrington calls it, if not to our heart's content, to the
content of our enemies—viz., to the heart's content of our intimate
friends. You are consequently personal, Miss Lucy Maitland,
siiamefully personal, when you talk about Annesley's ' disgracing
himself,' because his friend yonder says he is playing the fool.
Understand for the future, my dear little sister, that nobody dis-
graces himself now-a-days, whose name does not appear in the
Saturday Gazette or the Sunday newspapers."
" Then Basil Annesley is safe, I suppose," said the old Colonel,
spitefully, giving his head this time a shake in his stock, as violent
as though he -were trying the strength of the vertebrae—" for he-is
too insignificant, in point of fortune and family, to achieve either
of those evils."
"I was sure you would claim exemption for him, Carr, on some
friendly grounds or other!" cried John Maitland, laughing out-
right. "But take courage. Insignificant as we all are, no one
knows at what honours we may arrive. The least people, as well
as the greatest, pretend now-a-days to the distinction of bankruptcy.
The fellow who supplies cigars to the door steps of the club, was
threatening the other day to betake himself to Basinghall-street, if
we did not square accounts with him ; and I never feel certain, any
Saturday night of the year, of not seeing the name of ' Thomas
Jotix Loud Maitlaxd, horse dealer,' figuring in the list of private
defaulters, which would be a bore, you know, on opera night! "
" Lord Maitland would not be the first peer of the realm who has
appeared in the Gazette," observed Blencowe, accepting his friend's
THE MONEY-LENDER. 53
arguments as a joke, by an attempt at rejoinder; for in a mansion
so splendidly furnished, having three servants in gay liveries
waiting in, the hall, and a groom of the chamber on the stairs, it
was impossible to treat it as earnest.
* It is true he had heard it rumoured, that two of these domestics
were bailiffs, in family liveries; exercising their guardianship in
behalf of John Doe and Richard Roe, over the family plate. But
the same scandal was astir of one or two other noble houses of his
acquaintance, where he knew it to be groundless; and of all the
" truths stranger than fiction " of fashionable life, few appear less
credible to novices, than the facility of keeping up appearances,
with a rent roll of twenty thousand a-year, on which thirty thou-
sand a-year is owing.
It seemed impossible even to Bleneowe—even to the old Colonel
of so many years London experience,—that there could be any
want of money in a house where the dinners were so excellent, the
establishment so brilliant. Lady Maitland had her diamonds and
her opera-box,—the girls their saddle-horses and Drench maids.
The rooms in Arlington-street were bright with exotics,—the
evening parties frequent,—the morning luncheons luxurious. No
finer grapes or pine apples were eaten, no racier sherry drunk in
London, than were to be found every day at three o'clock, at the
service of the lounging associates of young Maitland.
"Whatever was newest and prettiest in fashionable attire, was
first worn by Lady Maitland and her daughters. Whatever
appeared that was attractive in the way of books, music, work,
gaudy annuals, or fashionable engravings was to be found on their
table. They ordered everything without regard to expense,—as is
usually the case, with persons who order on credit. No wonder,
therefore, that they had troops of friends and hosts of pleasant
acquaintances:
for men, like'butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer;
and in a house where all was so decidedly summerish, the but-
terflies called men naturally abound.
On entering the doors in Arlington-street, when open for parties,
they were saluted with the sound of music, the sparkling of lights,
the blandishments of youth and beauty. Luxury was enthroned
there in all her effulgence—a very Circe in her fatal charming !
Nevertheless, had the dull old colonel or smart young captain
been clearer of observation, they must have noticed, that, at
the incautious sally of her son, the brows_ of Lady Maitland sud-
denly contracted. But having dined with the Maitlands the
preceding day,—admired the splendour of the family plate, and the
number of racing-cups on the buffet, they had complimented Lord
Maitland too sincerely on the excellence of his hock and claret, to
treat otherwise than as an exquisite jest the idea of his appearing
in the Gazette.
" What a cursedly stupid invention, mother, is this new taper-
stand!" added John Maitland, after burning his fingers in attempt-
54 THE MOHEY-IEtffiES.
ing to put out the light with an extinguisher of silver filigree.
" You realty ought to obtain a premium from Falck and Barry, for
trying to bring their stupid novelties into fashion."
" Considering that it was you, John, who broke the stand of old.
Sevres which the one in your hand was bought to replace," said
Lady Maitland, " the less you say on the subject the better !"
" Don't be in a rage, my dear good mother !" remonstrated the
graceless guardsman. " Consider for a moment your obligation to
me, for affording you a pretext for the purchase of a new bauble,
the fifty-second, I rather think, in the course of the year. You are
the Providence of the rococo shops. Emanuel would send here to
inquire after your health, were two days to pass without your
carriage having stopped at his door !"
" I wish you would not talk such nonsense," said Lady Mait-
land, really angry. _ " It is by these kind of assertions you per-
suade your father into a belief of my extravagance; when, if the
truth were told, I might have purchased a service of old Sevres,
and dozens of filigree stands with the sum which " '
"Well, well, we are all silly enough in our way, it seems, as
well as Basil Annesley," interrupted young Maitland, more deli-
cate about the betrayal of his own weaknesses, than in discussing
those of other people. " I don't pretend not to be extravagant.
Like Othello's handkerchief—' I had it from my mother.' "
"You deserve to have a severe scolding from your mother,
John," said his elder sister (rising from the table, where she was
emblazoning with cobalt, vermilion, and gold escutcheons for an
heraldic illustration of the baronial houses of England, to grace a
costly album), fancying it was her brother's allusions which, at
that moment drove Lady Maitland from the room; nor was it till
ten minutes afterwards her ladyship made her re-appearance with
a portion of the broken inkstand, to exhibit to Colonel' Carrington
the exquisite beauty of one of its groups of 5ergeres galantes, that
Laura discerned her mistake.
But Lady Maitland was mistaken also. Instead of obtaining
sympathy from the old beau, she found him chin-deep in further
scandal respecting Basil Annesley.
" I admit that Verelst is a clever artist," he was observing as
she entered. "But the passion for virtu is not strong enough at
Annesley's age, to account for his devoting hour after hour to the
family of an obscure Jew."
" I don't believe Yerelst to be a Jew," said Blencowe, coldly.
"His wife, at least, is a Jewess," said Carrington; "and so,
doubtless, are his daughters. The girl for whom Annesley ob-
tained admission into the choruses at the Opera was called Esther,
and her sister's name is Salome."
" The great Newton's name was Isaac,—but I never heard that
he was a Jew.—What's in a name?—a rose (or Esther), by any
other name would smell as sweet!" cried John Maitland. " Faugh !
give me an ounce of civet. Who would fancy we were talking of
filthy Israelites ?"
At that moment, Lady Maitland insisted upon exhibiting her
fragment of Sevres, which excited little interest with the Dowager-
Colonel, who was preparing a new assault.
THE HONEY-LEKDEE. 55
" Annesley's protege did not have much success, t fancy ?"
said he, addressing- young Maitland.
"As if you were not perfectly aware, my dear fellow, that she
had not even the opportunity for failure. The poor girl was so
terrified by the impudence of a set of old fellows—yourself, I
fancy, among the rest—amateurs, as they call themselves, who
used to stare her out of countenance at rehearsal, that, on the eve
of her appearance in Otello, she was seized with a fever from mere
affright; and was far nearer giving up the ghost than assisting in
softening (in A minor) the hard heart of Signor Brabantio."
"I recollect now;—afootlight panic, as the theatrical people
call it," said the old Colonel, with another nervous twist of the neck
within his stock.
" No such thing.—Esther Verelst had not so much as a glimpse
of the footlights," cried Blencowe, interfering. " She never even
attended a dress rehearsal.—So far from Annesley having recom-
mended her to the managers, as you suppose, or assert, I never saw
a man more shocked than he was on recognising her in her shabby
old brown pelisse among the chorus-singers. The poor girl, (who
had been singing last year at the Ancient Concerts, and knew the
importance to her family of doubling her salary,) had obtained an
engagement unknown to any one ;—little surmising the difference
between an Ancient Concert singer, and a chorus girl of the King's
Theatre, at half-a-guinea a week."
" Poor Esther,—she was far too good for a chorus girl," said
John Maitland, with good-natured interest;—" too good a singer,
and too good a girl "
"She soon, however, found out her mistake : and it was then that
Annesley protected her, and tried to get her engagement broken.
Esther was not, however, to be so readily dispensed with: and
nothing short of the utter incapacity produced by her dangerous
illness would have softened in her favour that nether mill-stone,
a managerial heart."
" Ana what has become of this poor girl?" demanded the elder
Miss Maitland,—Lucy being too much interested in the question
to venture the inquiry.
" That you had better inquire of Annesley, on his return to
town," said the old beau; " for he never leaves her father's house."
" And who is her father ?" persisted Laura Maitland.
. " A foreign artist, whom Annesley picked up, when a boy, at
some foreign university—Jena, or Gottingen,—or wherever he was
brought up."
" Yerelst was Basil Annesley's drawing-master, when a student
at Heidelberg," said Blencowe, firmly; " and, like half the artists
of half the countries in Europe, is a man of moderate means. He
got into some political scrape at Heidelberg, and fled to this
country:—so he says, at least. But all foreign refugees in Eng-
land talk of political scrapes, as more popular here than any other.
In England, he knew only Annesley. and another chap or two to
whom he had given lessons at Heidelberg : and the first thing we
heard of Yerelst, was a raffle proposed at the Club for one of his
pictures—(won, by the way, by Carrington,)—and a beautiful thing
it was."
56 THE MOHEY-LEEDEE.
"Yes, I have been offered three times the upset price of that
picture, by several engravers," said the Colonel, with an air of
complacency ; " but I never chose to part with it."
"As Yerelst and his family are starving, you might, at least,
have obtained him an order for a copy," observed John Maitland.
" In order that my own might never afterwards be considered
an original?"
" What then ?—You would have put a hundred guineas in the
poor fellow's pocket, without taking one out of your own,—which
you know, Carr, you would as soon part with, as with your life's
blood!"
" On the contrary," retorted the Colonel—" I bought, last sum-
mer, a set of sporting sketches of Yerelst, which had been pre-
viously offered to yourself, and rejected."
"Ay,—because you. got them at half-price; whereas J had the
decency to reject them, because, not having the money to pay for
them, I thought I should be an ugly customer for a poor fellow
like Yerelst."
" Quite right!" interposed Lucy.
" But why did you never mention this artist or his works to us,
John ?" inquired her sister.
" Because young ladies ought not to have pocket-money enough to
buy pictures," replied John Maitland;—" and to the minor relief of
Missish Charity, a man like Yerelst would never stoop. He has
the soul of a genius, and the courage of a lion !"
" Which does not, however, appear to be shared by his family,"
observed Laura; " since you say that his daughter was too timid to
sing at the Opera."
" Esther is, however, a bit of a lioness in her way," said Captain
Blencowe, with a smile; adding, with a glance at the old colonel,—
" But what chance has even a lioness, when opposed to a set of
tigers ?"
Miss Maitland did not choose to hear, or, at all events, to smile,
as he expected.
" It seems to me, my dear John," said she, still remonstrating
with her brother, "that the man, not too proud to give lessons to
Mr. Annesley, need not be too proud to afford them to Laura
Maitland. I want a drawing-master.—Mamma has promised me
a drawing-master——"
"But how do you know, my dear, that this Yerelst man is'a
competent master ?"—interrupted Lady Maitland.
"Do you not hear, mamma, that Colonel Carrington has been
offered three times the price of his picture ?" observed Laura, less
reverently than feelingly.
" A man may paint very well himself, and have great coneep-
tions of his art," observed the old colonel, "who is incapable of
imparting instruction to others."
"Yerj sensibly observed!" remarked Lady Maitland, who_ap-
peared to have no great leaning towards the indigent drawing-
master.
"At all events, one might do something for the daughter,"
observed Lucy. " If she sang at the Ancient Concert last year,
ME MONEY-LENDEE. 57
she must understand her business. "We have long; been talking of
getting lip some quartettes with Colonel Loftus, and Sir James
.Doyle. Miss Yerelst might bo of material use to us. Supposing
I write to engage her ?"
"You are very easily interested, my dear Lucy, in Basil Annes-
ley's protegee!" said her brother, with a shrug of the shoulders.
'' You are not half so good to mine.—I have two or three chorus-
singers to recommend to you."
_ " Not the daughters of meritorious artists in distress," said his
sister, with indignation.
"The 'meritorious' and 'distress' you have taken solely upon
Blencowe's showing; who never tells truth but once a-week—and
this is not his day. However, if you mean to oblige Annesley, who
I know to be a vast favourite of yours, you will scarcely effect it
by bringing Esther Yerelst into contact with Colonel Loftus, or
any other gentleman of the staring Carrington School. He would
much rather let the whole family starve in decent privacy."
" It is easy for gentlemen of the prating Maitland School to talk
lightly of starving," retorted his sister ; " but I assure you, John—"
At that moment the buffer having entered the room, whispered,
more closely than is usual for butlers to whisper in drawing-rooms,
a message to Lady Maitland.
" Tell him Lord Maitland is out," was her ladyship's audible
reply.
"I have told him so repeatedly, already, my lady," was the
butler's rejoinder. " He particularly wishes to know whether his
lordship dines at home."
" Of course he does,—yet, stay—I really cannot tell," said her
ladyship, apparently enlightened by second thoughts. "But if
Lord Maitland does not dine at home, he dines at White's."
The butler left the room noiselessly, as every well-bred ghost
and well-bred butler retreats from sight; and Laura Maitland
again renewed her interrogations respecting Basil's Esther. "Was
she handsome or ugly,'—tall or snort,—her voice a soprano or
mezzo soprano ?"—
" She is a monstrous pretty girl, with a monstrous pretty voice,
I can tell you; or Annesley would not have worn himself out at
elbows paying debts for her father," cried John, almost out of
patience with her pertinacity.
" I never heard anything so impertinent," now burst from the
lips of Lady Maitland, who was again colloquizing in whispers with
the mysterious butler. " Tell him I never see people on business.
If he calls to-morrow at breakfast, Wilson, (say Lord Maitland
breakfasts at eleven,) he will be most likely to see him."
" I rather think not, my lady; for my lord particularly desired
that this person might never be admitted to him," said the grave
Mr. Wilson, with malice prepense, to avenge certain unexpiated
wrongs of his own, upon her ladyship and her ladyship'slaughters.
" Tell him what you are desired J" said Lady Maitland, in a
haughty tone.
"I have done my best to send him away," said Wilson. " But
he haa stationed himself in the library, my lady, and will not leave
68 THE MONEY-LENDES.
the house. He says it is essential (if my lord is really out) that he
should have an audience of your ladyship."
"1 shall certainly not expose myself to an interview with a
stranger—a man of whom I know nothing," said Lady Maitland,
with manifestly increasing agitation.
" What is all this, mother r" inquired John, who had now caught
here and there a few words of the conversation.
" Merely that there is a person below, who insists upon seeing
your father."
" Some impertinent fellow of a tradesman, I suppose, with a
large account to make tip, (they have always large accounts to
make up!)—Well!—we insist too, Wilson. We insist upon his
taking himself off. Lord Maitland is not, and Lady Maitland does
not choose to be, at home."
" It is not a tradesman, sir," said the butler aloud, for the benefit
of the party. "If it had been a tradesman, I should not have
'presumed to trouble her ladyship. The gentleman came in his own
carriage, which is still at the door.')
"My tailor always visits me in his Brougham," said Bleneowe,
" except when he brings his bill; then he comes in his chariot."
" If your tailor drives such a deuced fine pair of bloods as this
fellow," said John Maitland, who, from the front drawing-room,
had taken a survey, in the interim, of the equipage of the myste-
rious guest, which was waiting at the door, "he is not the tailor
you take him for !"
" Gro down and speak to him, John," said Lady Maitland, by this
time reassured. " I dare say it is somebody out of Yorkshire,
about electioneering.business."
And for once,—moved, perhaps, by some latent curiosity of his
own, to ascertain the proprietor of such a capital pair of horses,
young Maitland exhibited the utmost alacrity of filial obedience.
When he had left the room, old Carrington, who was inquisitive-
ness itself, began to fidget in his stock to a degree that almost
threatened dislocation to his ostrich-like throat. At one moment,
he had been on the point of offering Lady Maitland to accompany
her son. To assuage his restless curiosity concerning the pertina-
cious visitor, he had no resource but to fall once more upon the
Yerelsts, in the hope of picking a third course of scandal out of
the remnants of the feast. _
Just, however, as he was beginning,—" l am assured by Loftus
that Yerelst's second daughter—that beautiful Salome,"—he was
again interrupted.
With a face pale as death, John Maitland rushed back into the
room.
" Why could you not tell me at once, mother," said he, sinking
into a chair, " that it was that infernal A. 0.!"
THE MOKEY-LENDEE.
59
CHAPTER YII.
Look through mine eyes with thine. Trut Wife
Around my heart thine arms entwinje.
My other dearer life in life,
Look through my very soul with thine!
Untouched with further shade of years
May those kind eyes for ever dwell;
For they have shed too many tears,
Dear eyes, since first I loved them well.
Tennyson.
The humblest hoyel of a village acquires temporary distinction
from the blossoming of some fine old honeysuckle investing its
crumbling walls with beauty and fragrance; and even into the
miserable lodging of a gloomy city, momentary brightness may be
infused by the chance introduction of a summer flower,'whose rich
perfumes bring tidings of a happier world.
So was it with the humble abode of Yerelst the painter. Nothing
could be more dull, more dreary, more dispiriting than the spot.
The house, of which his lodgings occupied the first and second floors,
was old and disjointed; and though an ancient stone mansion becomes
picturesque when falling into ruins, the slight and ill-conditioned
London houses, run up by bricklayers' contracts, degenerate, at the
end of a century, into a collection of creaking boards, "without a
perpendicular line or right angle perceptible in the whole construe-
tion. Shrunken doors and ill-fitting windows admit eddies of air
in all directions; while the sallow paint, dingy floors, smoky ceil-
ings, and rickety stairs, present a miserable and dispiriting com-
bipation.
In Yerelst's lodgings, selected for the advantage of the better
light reaching the artist's chamber over the open space of a small
burying-ground backing on South Audley-street, all was as clean
as care and friction could make it. But the care applied to the
burnishing of shabby furniture renders its inferiority only more
prominent; and no person accustomed to the resorts of luxury, or
even to habits of comfort, could have entered Yerelst's apartments
on the day they were first engaged by the poor painter, without
experiencing the heavy depression arising from the survey of utter
discomfort.
He had not been established three days, however, before those
cheerless rooms assumed the importance acquired by the roughest
casket enshrining some precious object. Two beings, more graceful
of form and feature than even the imagination of the gifted painter
could have supplied, were dispensing a charm over the place; and,
in addition to the gentle presence of Esther and Salome, the rooms
were brightened by a variety of those trivial but striking objects
which betoken the presence of an artist—intrinsically valueless,
so as to be compatible with poverty—yet indicative of superior
intelligence and refinement.
On wooden brackets against the wall were placed two of the
finest pictures of Yerelst, which not only concealed the faded paper,
60 THE MONEY-LENDEE.
but created an atmosphere of grace and poetry, where all before was
matter of fact. Beside the fire-place, in a recess formed by the abut-
ting chimney usual in old-fashioned houses stood a curious carved
cabinet, common enough in th e quaint old cities of Holland and Ger-
many, but acquiring a certain dignity amid the common-place vul-
garity of a London lodging-house. On the top of this lay a thick,
strange-looking volume, apparently as antiquated and curious as the
cabinet itself; for its clumsy silver clasps were blackened with age,
and the binding was of the dingy and solemn character peculiar to
monastic libraries. This precious book was an object of all but
idolatry to the painter. On removing to that wretched house from
the abode in Bermondsey in which he had installed himself on his
first arrival from Germany, banished from his native country on a
suspicion of being a member of one of its most dangerous political
associations, Verelst carried it devoutly under his arm, leaving the
care of his goods and chattels, and even of his infirm wife, to the
hands of his daughters. The utmost extremity of poverty would
not have induced him to part with it;—in the first place, because it
was a gift—a token of gratitude from one of his scholars, the young
Count of Ehrenstein, who, on quitting the University, had despatched
it from his ancestral castle in the Odenwaldto his old master; in
the second, because it was a treasure of no less magnitude than the
sketch-book of Albert Durer.
Great must have been the importance of any individual in the
eyes of Yerelst ere he admitted him to view the contents of that
sacred volume; and, during the tbree years of his residence in
England, Basil Annesley alone had beheld those venerable clasps
unlocked in his honour.
If the truth must be told, the favour was somewhat thrown away.
Those sublimer touches of art which it requires the eye of an artist
to detect,—those insights into the mysteries of nature which
demand initiation on the part of the spectator, were as much lost
upon the young guardsman, as the beauties of a Pliidian torso on
the eye of a child, who sees only a headless trunk, defaced and time-
worn, where the virtuoso beholds the breathing chef-d'oeuvre of the
first of sculptors.
Basil Annesley, however, though too frank for dissimulation on
ordinary matters,-was careful not to wound the pride of the sensi-
tive artist by exhibiting his indifference. He had conferred too
many favours on Yerelst, to mortify him by disparaging his only
treasure. Even the weaknesses, moreover, of the father of Esther
were sacred in his sight.
It would have afforded no consolation to the enthusiastic painter,
to learn that any human being could be blind enough to appreciate
what' he estimated as his own puny efforts of art, far beyond the
curious jottings and outlines by which the quaint old master had
attempted to lay by stores for the aid of future invention; snatches,
of the picturesque,—of striking effects,—of graceful combinations,
■—which displayed, in many instances to eyes profane, only uncouth
blottings and unmeaning devices. For nothing could exceed the
contempt with which Yerelst regarded the works to which the
exigencies of his position compelled him, to descend.
THE MONEY-LENDEB. 61
The wants of his family obliged him to paint down to the taste
of the most unimaginative nation in Europe; and the two noble
works constantly before his eyes,—for which he had never so much
as received an offer, but which, during their composition, and the
two years devoted to their execution, had appeared to contain the
'germs of fame and fortune, nay, in his more enthusiastic moments,
to foreshow glimmerings of immortality,—afforded a perpetual
memento that subjects taken from the Niebelungen Lied, even if
treated with the power of Caravaggio, and the grace of Correggio,
possess not half the charm, in English eyes, of a sporting scene in
the Highlands, or some comicality of Cockney life.
The bitter lesson was now learned. But it had required the
contemptuous refusal of a dozen picture-dealers to convince Yerelst
that the higher efforts of modern genius were valueless, unless
when stamped as saleable by the prefix of a well-known name,
accredited by the magic letters R.A.;—whereas for the humorous
croquis, and sporting studies, such as Colonel Carrington had found
so profitable a possession, a ready market was at command.
By the sale of these the artist maintained his family; and he
might have maintained them in opulence, could he have brought
himself fully and entirely to the level of his position. But the
mind of Yerelst was pitched to a lofty key. To him it was as
much an effort to descend to these profitable puerilities, as for other
men to attain to the inspirations of high art; and often, when
engaged to complete for the trade some vulgar series of military
f roups or hunting adventures, he would fling away the pencil with
isgust, and, snatching the palette, in a fit of desperation, paint
out some former picture, in order to give existence to a new design
—the faint shadowing of some poetical idea—never, alas! to be
fully developed.
For there were no Boman princes, no luxurious cardinals, to
give food to the family of the necessitous artist while abandoning
himself to the nobler promptings of genius. When mildly remon-
strated with by his feeble wife, he replied by citing the victory he
had already< attained over himself, by producing for lucre-sake
works revolting to his taste.
It is true that, in his two girls, he had unconscious flatterers,
strongly inciting him to the cultivation of his nobler aspirations.
Whenever the poor artist gave the reins to his imagination, so as
to produce some wild but exquisite design illustrative of the poetry
of his native country, Salome and Esther, by their fond enthusiasm,
not only stimulated his exertions, but almost repaid them. Their
murmured applauses, their glistening eyes, their flushing cheeks—•
grateful as was the tribute to his heart, not only as a token of
affection, but as indicative of the possession of genius sympathetic
with his own—did not, however, suffice to satisfy his weekly credi-
tors, or defray the rent of even his miserable lodging.
The poor paralytic mother, whose sickness was the real source of
their poverty, often entreated the girls to be more sparing in their
admiration. With the- wisdom of experience, the infirm wife *of
Yerelst recognised the futility of struggling against destiny. She
knew,, that to achieve the laurels of glory reauires more than the
62 THE MONEY-LENDER.
mere possession, of genins; that there must he favourable coinci-
dences of time and place, and, above all, of national tastes and
prosperity, to create a field for the triumph of art, and the renown
of the artist.
Mrs. Verelst was a woman of no common order. Born of an
opulent family, she had eloped in early girlhood from her father's
house with the enthusiastic artist; and, ill-prepared by habits or
education for the life of privation she had embraced, her health
had fallen a sacrifice, ana increased the evil. From the period of
her younger daughter's birth, inconsequence of premature exer-.
tion, she had become crippled; a burthen upon the family, save
for the pains she was enabled to bestow upon the education of the
girls. Though enfeebled by infirmity, she was unwearied in im-
parting to her daughters the accomplishments in which she ex-
celled; and even now, though confined at all times to an easy
chair, and often to her bed, her industrious hands were constantly,
exercised for the benefit of the family.
Sore had been the trial to this patient invalid to uproot herself
from the humble but cheerful home at Heidelberg to which she
had been so long habituated, and exchange the view from her
windows over the rippling waters of the Neckar, _ and the green
forests beyond, for the foggy, smoky, cheerless limits of a London
street. Though of British extraction, she had never abided in
England; ana became as quickly conscious as any foreign visitor,
of the oppressive cost of ordinary enjoyment in a city which sup-
plies no gratuitous pleasures. If, however, either the mother or
daughters pined after the purer atmosphere and franker sociability
of Heidelberg, they were cautious not to afflict by their lamenta-
tions the inconsiderate man by whose want of caution they had
been driven into exile.
The artist enjoyed in his family an impunity something between
the reverence accorded to a prophet, and the indulgence conceded
to an ailing child. His whims were studied, his foibles respected.
"Whatever evils befel them, it was the common care that they should
fall lightest on the father. Among themselves, the disinterestedness
of mind and exaltation of character which had reduced them to
ruin, commanded a degree of respect that did them honour; and
the two girls seemed to feel that they could not better testify their
affection for their suffering mother, than by duty towards the
improvident father she so dearly loved.
" How lonesome we have been these four days past! " observed
Verelst, as he stood re-touching a picture upon the easel, the com-
pletion of which he had athousand! times forsworn. "Hot a visitor
the whole of this week!"
The girls, who sat working at the same embroidery-frame,
waiting till their mother, who was reclining in her arm-chair,
should feel disposed to resume the book she had been reading aloud
to them, looked at each other and smiled,—or rather mutually re-
framed from a smile; for the only guests who ever crossed their
threshold were Basil Annesley, and three or four print-sellers and
picture-dealers, by whom Verelst was occasionally employed.
" I want cheering up, for the continuation of my military group-
THE MONEY-XEHDEB. 63
ings!" resumed the artist. "I have heen obliged to take up the
brush instead of the pencil to-day, for want of some one to advise
me respecting that charge of Polish lancers."
" Mr. Annesley is out of town, father. He is gone into Hamp-
shire," said Esther, vaguely enough, if in reply to [her father's
observation.
"Besides," added the feeble voice of Mrs. Yerelst, who, though
Sitting with her eyes closed, was not dozing, as they had supposed,
" even if he were in town, Mr. Annesley has sense enough to know
that it is not expedient for him to be a daily visitor in a house like
ours."
/'Why so?" inquired the painter, without raising; his eyes from
his work. " He used to come to us every day, at Heidelberg ?"
" He was your pupil—he was studying the German language,
and society was an object to him."
" Hot more an object to him there, than his society here to me."
" Besides, Mr. Annesley was then fifteen, and Esther and Salome
children of eleven and twelve."
"And is there not the same difference of age .between them
now?"
" There is a very great difference in the construction others might
place upon their intimacy."
" Their intimacy?—My dear wife, you are dreaming," cried the
painter, almost smiling at her simplicity, and not in the least sus-
pecting his own. Their intimacy ?—Surely you do not suppose that
this excellent young man, who, though I never was able to endue
him with much artistic perception, made good progress under my
hands, (as his aquarelle yonder of the old Castle of Heidelberg,
pasted into the lid of Esther's work-box, can testify,) this pro-
mising scholar of mine, I say, who has been oi such essential
service to us during our sojourn in this inhospitable country,
cannot come to visit his old master, and advise nim in his com-
positions so as to adapt them to the vulgar appetites of his
customers, without provoking remarks by his condescension ?—At
all events, what have my daughters to do with it ?—It _ is not
Salome's pencils he sits pointing. It is not Esther's drawings, of
which he suggests the subjects."
" Mr. Annesley is gone down to visit his invalid mother, papa,"
interposed Esther, apprehensive, perhaps, that her father might
take cognizance of her tingling cheeks, or his wife consider it
necessary to inspire him with a more worldly view of their relative
position.
" JIas he a mother ?" inquired the artist, who took little heed
of the ordinary business of life. " I always fancied from his inde-
pendence that he was an orphan, and his own master."
"Ho you not remember our first interest in him at Heidelberg
originating in the letters he showed us from Lady Annesley ?"
" True,—I remember.—Grave, cordial, heart-stirring letters.—
But as he never mentioned her here, I thought she might have
died in the interim. And so she is an invalid ?—the reason, per-
haps, Bachael, why he interests himself so kindly in your illness,—■
and is always suggesting some comfort or relief for you. It is such
64 the moxey-lexdee.
a kind-hearted creature ! I miss him, after a few days' absence,
as I should miss one of you, were you to go away from me."
"Mr. Annesley is very kind, very affable, very condescending,"
said Mrs. Verelst, coldly, as if to give a discouraging view of their
terms of friendship.
"But surely we are of as much service to him, mother, as he is
to papa in the composition and sale of his drawings?" observed
Salome. " Mr. Annesley has a charming voice; but it is Esther's
instructions which have enabled him to do it justice."
" So long as he comes as a pupil," persisted Mrs. Verelst, " he comes
on appropriate terms. But highly born as he is, and, as I presume,
of good hereditary fortune, there can be no equality, and, con-
sequently, no real friendship, between him and us. We are people
earning our subsistence by our exertions,—he is a gentleman—a
line gentleman."
"He is a man!" cried Verelst, suddenly throwing down his
brush, and assuming a tone of energy very unusual to him. " He
is my benefactor, too :—but I should hate myself, and despise him,
if I thought that any obstacle to his being my friend."
His wife remained silent; aware of the hazard of introducing
suspicion into that simplest of human hearts. A woman's tact
forewarned her that, if made to feel the danger and delicacy of
their position as regarded Basil Annesley, he would feel it so
acutely as to render impossible all further intimacy between them.
Before Verelst had resumed his brush or the girls recovered their
apprehensions that some unpleasant explanation might ensue,-a
knock was heard at the street door, and a step on the stairs. Neither
the one nor the other was of a nature to agitate the daughters or
rejoice the father by a hope of Annesley's arrival.
"So, sir," cried an austere-looking man, whose complexion vied
with that of one of the crackled china vases forming part of his
stock in trade, " I have been expecting to hear news of you this
week 01* more. How go on, pray, the pair of battle-pieces I ordered
in November, and which were to be finished clean off by
Christmas ?"
" I told you, when I undertook them, that the completion must
be uncertain," replied Verelst, resuming his work on recognising
in his visitor the proprietor of a rococo shop, to whom he ocea-
sionally furnished cabinet pictures on given subjects, and at prices
which rendered the connection far from advantageous to himself.—
" You may remember I informed you that I was occupied in a series
of military illustrations, about to be lithographed for a periodical.
work; which I must finish before I commence any new work."
"You said you had a job on hand for some printseller. But this
thing, I conclude, does not form one of your military groups ?"
said the stranger, pointing to a design of the King of Thule, from
Schiller's ballad, which was beginning to make some progress on the
canvas of Verelst.
"That, sir, is a work of imagination, executed for my own
pleasure," replied the artist, coldly.
" So I chould guess; leastwise, it's plaguy unlike to promote
the pleasure of other people !"—observed the facetious Mr. iStubbs;
TBS MONEY-LENDEE. 65
sinking deliberately into the chair which had been placed for him
by Salome, on his entrance.
" It's a thousand pities, Mr. Thingumee, that you keep idling
your time away in this fashion, and disapp'inting your empl'yers,
when you might make a mint of money by sticking to business.
—I call it business to paint picturs such as folks can understand,
and such as folks is consequently likely to buy. What could I do,
I should like to know, with such an outlandish piece of goods as
you've afore you ? Ask any man as has exper'ence of such things,
what modern picturs have found the best market. He'll tell you
out and out, those with good straight for'ard, intelligible subjects,
—such as Gainsborough's Pigs, or Holmes's Cut Finger, or Heaphy's
Crossing the Brook, or such like.—The English are sensible folks,
Mr. Thingumee, and don't like to be asked to step up into the
clouds, so long as they've their own tight little island to stand on."
" I have always heard, Sir," replied Yerelst, (in English some-
what better than his own, for twenty years of wedded life had
familiarized the artist with the language of his wife,) " that there
is no country where the higher branches of art are better estimated
than in England; or where higher prices have been paid for the
chef d'oeuvres of the ancient masters."
"I grant you, Sir,—I grant you;—as a matter of trade,—as a
safe investment. John Bull is a man of merchandise, and ready to
buy up standard picturs, just as he used to buy toolips in Holland,
when toolips was matter of spekilation. But if you fancy, that
'cause he gives two thousand guineas for a Claude which there's a
good chance of selling to the Emperor of Russia for three, he's like
to give a long price for such a rigmarole concern as the one you're
wasting your time on, (instead of finishing picturs contracted for,)
I can tell you you'll find yourself in the wrong box, and no mis-
take!"
The girls looked up anxiously from their work, dreading lest
their father's reply to this coarse apostrophe should be an angry
one. It was some relief to find that he was smiling to himself,
with the silent contempt of superiority.
Mr. Stubbs was evidently disappointed.—Accustomed to wrangle
with the persons in his employ, he had hoped to raise a breeze.
" There's one p'int on which I beg we may understand one
another, my good friend," said he, with an insulting wag of the
head,—" and that is, that none of your designs for the lethography
trade is to be reproduced in my picturs. I bargained, please to
recollect, that my couple of battle-pieces was to be strictly original,
and the copyright my own; and it wont suit my purpose to have
'em a figuring in black and white in every printseller's window."
" I understood, Sir, that the pictures you wanted were to be
skirmishes in the time and costume of the middle ages,—something
in the style of Salvator's battle-pieces.—The drawings I am sup-
plying, are to illustrate the military costume of the modern nations
of Europe."
"Ay, some'hat in the style of Salvator!"—said the dealer,
catching at the expression, and overlooking the argument of the
painter. " How, I tell ye what, Mr. "VYhat's-your-mame,—If you'ye
E
66 THE MONEY-LENDER,
a mind to put out your strength in them two picturs, why I'm
prepared to do the thing handsome by you. I spoke of eight
pounds, or thereabouts, for the pair "
"You offered ten guineas,'' said Y erelst, firmly, without removing
his hand or eye from the canvas.
"Well, p'rhaps it may have been guineas,—I can't say, without
casting my eye over my mem'randum-book, which I don't carry
about me. But, as I was saying, if you've a mind to make them
picturs what they ought to be, I don't care if I go as far as fifteen
pound for the pair,—provided I secure the copyright, and the picturs
is high and dry in my house by the first of April."
"You have fixed upon a curious epoch, Sir, for the completion of
such a bargain!" observed Yerelst, with a quiet smile. " But I
can undertake no such limitation. When I bring you my pictured,
you shall purchase them or not, as you think proper, and on
such terms as we may then agree upon."
The indignant Mr. Stubbs, who had not often found the poof
artist so cool at a bargain, now began to surmise that Yerelst had
fallen into the hands of some rival dealer, and was beginning to
be better acquainted with his own value. In order to satisfy him*
self on this point, he persisted in his bullying tone.
" This wont do for me, sir," said he, striking his stick upon the
ground, with a vehemence that caused the poor invalid, whose
nerves we so studiously respected in the family, to bound in her
chair.—"I've got my customers to satisfy; and when I've promised
a gentleman to have some'hat ready for him by a certain day, I
choose to be punctooal."
" My pictures, then, have been ordered of you?" said the artist
coolly, arranging on his palette the colour prepared for the
gray beard of the king of Thule.
"I said no sich thing, that I'm aware on!" retorted the dealer.
" Gentlemen who is a furnishing their galleries, or their houses,
comes to me and says, ' Stubbs, we want a pair o' picturs for a
dining-room, some'hat in the animal or battle line, three feet by
two, or two-and-twenty inches by fourteen, as the case may be,—
some'hat as '11 look well in an oak frame, or a Louis XIY. frame,
according as it happens.'—Well, sir, I'm bound to answer : ' I've
got nothing of the size by me, my lord, but if you'll look in next
month, maybe I shall be able to satisfy you.'—Sir, if his lordship
looks in and finds nothing, he's a right to look elsewhere, and be
displeased into the bargain."
The artist smiled. He was beginning to appreciate the line of
business pursued by Mr. Stubbs.
"What I have to say, therefore," pursued the dealer, assuming
a milder tone, " is, that if you've a mind to clench the bargain,
I'm willing to leave a five-pound note or so with you, by way of
earnest."
Verelst was just then so anxiously employed retouching the
mouth of the king of Thule, that he paid no attention.
In another moment, Esther had stolen towards her father, and
was whispering in his ear the offer made by his visitor : and per-
haps suggesting motives for its acceptance. So, ut least, Mr.
ttte money-eeitdee. 67
Stunts would probably have inferred, but tbat Ms attention was,
at tbat moment, engrossed by the beautiful face thus suddenly
presented to Ms admiration.
" Why, as sure as life, that's the original of the Gurl and Goat
you sold me last spring !"—said he, unceremoniously contemplating
the graceful form and beautiful countenance of the artist's daugh-
ter ; who, unable to surmise that it was in such terms her father's
exquisite picture of the Esmeralda, from Victor Hugo's romance
of " Notre Dame," was likely to be qualified, stood regarding him
with amazement.
" A pretty plague that pictur' brought upon my shoulders!"—
added the dealer, shrugging them, as if still conscious of the
infliction.
" I thought you told me you had sold it ?" said Verelst, calmly.
" Ay; but I didn't tell you who I'd sold it to;—and I know that
another time I'd as lief drive a bargain with the devil. However,
if he should come again for a companion, (as has once or twice
hapened, Mr. Thingumee, with picturs' of your'n,) I'm glad at
least, to know I can get rid of him with noos of where the face
is to be found, concerning wMch he made such a deuce's-own-to-do
in my shop."
The curiosity of Verelst was, by tMs time, sufficiently awakened
to induce Mm to ask the questions anticipated by Ms visitor.
"Why, you're to know," resumed Mr. Stubbs, in reply, (and as
he spoke, both the mother and daughters suspended their needles to
listen,) " you are to know, that, finding the pictur' hang on hand,
and nowise taking, for not a soul of the nobs as deals at my shop
could make head or tail of the story with wMch it was connected—
I stuck it up one day in my window, along with the Nankin vases,
and shells, and minerals, and what not, as I alwaj^ does with
picturs I find -unsaleable to thorough-going ammytoors.—Well, Sir !
scarce was it on show, before a crowd was collected round the winders
—some laughing at the ideer of a goat with such horns and feet as
them in the pictur'; but most on'em attracted by seeing: fresh bright
colours in a shop like mine, wMch seldom has anything in it but
the meller tones and rich colouring o' the old masters. Well, Sir—
among these starers was an old gentleman, in a decent enough suit
o' clothes, who stood there a matter of an hour, a-staring at the
pictur'.—Thinks I to myself, ' a customer !'—for though there was
nothing about such a coat as his'n as looked as if it had a purse in
its pocket, I've seen many a Jew dealer with thousands and
thousands at Ms command, go the length of a price in three figurs
for a pictur', yet with patches at Ms elbows.—However, off marched
the old fellow at last, without so much as a question asked in the
shop. Somehow or another, I guessed I hadn t seen the last on
him: and, neit morning, having set up the Gurl and Goat in the
winder for a second chance, the boy a-watching the shop soon calls
out to me, as I was a-breakfasting in the back parlour,—' Master,
master!' says he, ' here's the old chap again, watching the winder
as though he'd have a snatch at the gem-box.'—Dp I starts, Sir,
—and, seeing Ms eyes so fixed again upon the pictur', stepped out
oil the pavement, as if I wanted to arrange the awning.
68 THE MONEY-LENDER.
" 'A pretty thing that,' says I, by way of axing pardon for put-
ting him aside;—and if you'll believe me, when the old feller
looked up to answer me, his eyes was full o' tears !—I was nigh
laughing outright, to think any one could find matter to cry at in a
daub of a G-url with a Goat.—Upon which, instead of noticing my
civility, the whimperer showed his manners by marching on. A
good riddance, thinks I—for I'm not one o' those who considers
an idle crowd round a shop any advantage. Customers is seldom
found in such assembling."
" But I thought you told us this person had purchased the
Esmeralda ?" said Verelst.
" You'd have been a conjuror to have guessed as much, I can tell
you, if you'd seen the individual as I sold it to," rejoined the dealer.
" I thought no more, in course, o' the old chap ; though my boy
a'ter'ards told me that not an evening passed but, as soon as the
lamps was lighted, he'd pass by the shop, as if on his way else-
where, but never •without casting a longing look at the winder;
and ten minutes a'ter'ards, back again, no doubt on the same
errand, though he took care not to stand gaping, as he had at first.
"Well, Sir—'twas autumn-time, and no bus'ness stirring ; so I took
the opportoonity, just then, of my annival visit to Margate. When
I came back, the pictur' was gone,—within ten shillings, too, of the
price I'd first set upon it:—and Mrs. Stubbs, who'd been left in
charge o' the shop, informed me that one day an old Jew, with whom
we'd often had dealings in the lapidary line, after making a deal
with her for some engraved stones, hintanos, and cammyos, inquired,
in a sort o' careless way, the price o' the Gurl and Goat.
"At first, he scouted it at the price named, but seemed cur'ous to
learn how it had come into our hands. Now, it's a rule in our
bus'ness, Mr. Thingumee, never to give explanations o' that natur'
to no body, 'specially to dealers. So my missus said that I was
away on a scursion; and that she knowed no more than nothin' at
all about none o' the picturs' except the price marked on 'em. So,
not to trouble you with more p'ticlars than necessary, at last they
came to a deal; and a'ter he'd book'd up for the lot, says the old
Jew, ' I'd give a trifle,' says he, ' to know the artist as painted that
pictur' !' My wife hinted as much as that maybe he was dead and
gone—that the pictur' was p'rhaps an old 'un.—' How can that be,'
says the Jew, ' when the romance itself is only of recent date ?' My
wife know'd nothing about romances—not she "
" But I told you, Sir, that my picture represented a scene from
the novel of Notre Dame."
" If you did, I've other matters to think of than to stuff my head
with the stories of novel-books.—Well, Sir, a'ter the Jew had
fairly made his bargain, my missus swears that he stood a-looking
at the pictur' with tears in his eyes, all as one as the gentleman I'd
noticed in the street; and she fancied as she heard him a-mutter-
ing atween his teeth,—' I never thought to have had a sight o' that
blessed face again!'—However, Mrs Stubbs is a nervous, fanciful,
stericky body, and apt to take conundrums into her head. ' Where
shall I tend the pictur' home to ?' says she, by way of putting an
end to his vagaries.—' Send /' says he. ' I'll carry it myself.' ' The
boy's got nothing to do, Sir,' says Mrs, Stubbs, purlitely; 4 and I'm
THE MONEY-LENDER. 69
always glad to obleege a customer.'—'I'll carry it myself,' per-
sisted the surly old fellow, without so much as a thank-ye. And
without more ado, he hoisted the Gairl and Goat on his arm, and
out he trudged. My missus, who was somewhat thrown a-back by
his p'rumptory air, no sooner sees him out o' the shop, than she
finds lying on the counter, the packet of hintalios, for which the
Jew had just paid down forty pounds odd, on the nail: so, having
a mind to know what became o' the pictur', she bid the boy
hurry a'ter him, and be sure not to give him the packet till he'd
follored him home. According to the lad's account but maybe'
I'm tiring you ladies !"—said Mr. Stubbs, interrupting himself, on
perceiving the breathless attention he was exciting in the little
family.
"On the contrary, Sir, we are deeply interested," replied Mrs.
Yerelst, with her usual well-bred gentleness.
""Well then, ma'am, as I was a-saying, 'cording to the lad's
account, the old chap hadn't perceeded many streets, which he did
charily and cautiously, avoiding jostling with foot-passengers, as if
he was_ a guarding a living gurl and goat he was fond of, instead
of a pictur' o' no p'rticlar valooe, he looked round cautiously, as
though he'd a guess at being watched. Maybe he'd noticed the lad
in the shop; for, having gone the length o' the street, and stopped
again, ana still found the young feller at his heels, he asked him
short round in plain words, what was his bus'ness ? The boy had
nothin' for it, but to give up the parcel, expecting, maybe, a trifle
for his pains,—the lot being of sick valooe. But the old feller gave
nothin' but a grunt, and having pocketed his packet, on again with
the pictur'!"—
" And did the boy still follow him, sir?" interrupted Esther, as
Mr. Stubbs paused for breath; or, perhaps, like other orators, to
stimulate the curiosity of his hearers.
" He had his missus's orders, and that was enough," said the
dealer, fancying everyone as well aware as himself of the absolute
sceptre wielded by his helpmate. " More cautious than at first, he
crept on at a distance, till he watched the old man into a house in
Greek-street, Soho. But, Lord! what was the good g' that f
When, on his return from this precious fox-chase, Mrs. Stubbs
looked in B'yle's Guide and the D'rectory, one a'ter t'other, the
number pointed out by the lad was missing in both. The house
was all as one as uninhabited. H'wever, on hearing his story, it
struck me, maybe the Jew, who seemed so mightily taken with the
pictur', might have a fancy for a companion : so, the first idle day,
off I set to the house. The shutters was all shut, sir; and the
doorway as dirty as if neither broom or scrubbing-brush had
touched it for years.—H'wever, I knocked and rang, and rang and
knocked; and hollow enough all sounded within. But the hollow
sounds of my own rings and knocks was all the good I got; and
a'ter half an hour wasted, I saw I might as well give up the
bus'ness."
"You did not gain admittance, then?" inquired the artist, curi-
ous to learn the mode of the picture-dealer's proceedings in such
cases.
"I did another day, sir; but only by management,—and plaguy
70 THE MONEY-LENDER.
bad management it was. A matter of six weeks a'ter'ards, I was
passing through Greek-street, on hus'ness of my own, when what
should I spy but a smart cab a-waiting at the door o' the old
deserted house ; though for the matter o' that, it was just as much
shut up as ever, and just as grimy and dull. Up I goes, h'wever;
and, by way o' not frighting the spiders, if I turned out to he mis-
taken in s'posing the owner o' the cab to have been admitted within,
gave a very gentle ring. A dirty old 'oman—a fit match to the
place—opened it in a stctnter, as they say in French.
" 'I've hus'ness, ma'am, with your master,' says I, and walked
in so coolly, that no oppersition did she think of offering. The old
eat made no move to show me further; so I made bold to open the
front parlour door. All dark as pitch, and smelling as mouldy as
a family vault. Shutting the door gently, I thought I'd try my
iuck at the back 'un.—Locked! However, the n'ise I made,
trying to open it, reached them as was within, just as their vfices
reached me; and in a trice, the lock turned, and the door was
placed ajar. 1 just leave you to guess, Mrs. Thingumee, who was
within !"
" I fear it would be wasting your time, sir, as well as my own,"
replied Mrs. Yerelst, to whom the inquiry appeared to be
addressed.
" Why, neither more nor less than, as large as life, the old gentle-
man whom I had noticed so often at my winder, staring at the
' Gurl and Goat!'"
" But you said there were other voices—"
" Ay—and t'other v'ice—('twas my business to have known with-
out knocking, so often as it had sounded in my shop,)—t'other
v'ice was that of my best customer, the Duke of Rochester; to
whom I've sold picturs and statooes to the amount of no matter
how many thousands of pounds."
" You were admitted, then, into their presence ?"—
"Hot I; nor I hadn't no wish, when I saw I was an introoder,
or at least was told so by the old fogrum who opened the door.—
I hadn't a guess then, what sort of treason they were a-hatching
together; and a'ter being unceremoniously walked out o' the
house by the old chap, who wouldn't so much as listen to what I
had to say in explanation, I didn't care to inquire. But a week
ago, or so, I had an ugly money transaction with a fine lady cus-
tomer of mine, who'd given me a bill of her husband's in payment,
as required me to follow up the parties; and while so doing, I was
sent from pillar to post, till at last I got referred to one A. 0., in
Greek-street, Soho. Tbe murder was out, sir !—the old Jew, who
bought the pictur' of me, was neither more nor less than one o' the
agents employed on such errands by the famous Money-lender !"
" I am sorry my picture should have been the means of exposing
you to so disagreeable an adventure," observed Yerelst. "It
seems, however, to have been, in a great measure, one of your own
seeking."
" What do you mean by my own seeking, sir ?" cried Mr. Stubbs,
again striking the point of his stick against the floor. " For as little
as you seem to understand, Mr. Thingumee, of the ways of carry-
ing on bqs'ness in England, I'd have yen to know thaW
THE MONEY-LENDEB,
71
The loud and angry tones of the dealer were at that moment
interrupted by the sudden entrance of a person whose ascent of the
oreaking stairs had been drowned in his vociferation. The voice
of Mr. Stubbs became silent; but every other person in the room
uttered an exclamation of delight, to welcome the arrival of—
Basil Annesley!
Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands,
Every moment, lightly shaken, run itself in golden sands;
Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all its chords with might—
Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight!
No sooner did the picture-dealer notice the courteous familiarity
with which the young guardsman accosted the artist, and the
almost deferential tone in which he inquired after the health of
Mrs. Yerelst, than he rose instinctively from his seat. There was
no mistaking the fact that the guest belonged to the order of
society which he regarded as his customers; or that the painter's
family lived with him on terms of intimacy amounting to friend-
ship. Coarse as he was, Mr. Stubbs knew himself at that moment
to be out of place.
"I will call about this little bus'ness, Sir, another time," said
he, addressing Yerelst, as he prepared to quit the room; and it
was only as he moved slowly towards the door, that, incited perhaps
by curiosity to ascertain what could have brought so fashionable-
looking i young man to the fireside of a poor painter, he bethought
him of tie rare loveliness of Salome and her sister.
A significant smile overspread his features, on a discovery he
considered so pregnant with evil meaning. It was possibly the
same perception that induced him, after having closed the door and
gained the staircase, to return into the room, and by way of certify-
pag the relative position of the parties, re-approach poor Yerelst
with a whispered request that he would keep to himself the Greek-
street secret.—
"You'll oblige me, Sir," said he, in an audible whisper, very
different from that of his preceding conversation, " by refraining
from all mention of the story of the gurl's picture and A. 0.!"
Had Mr. Stubbs searched the world over for a word calculated
to startle the feelings of the young stranger, he could not have been
more successful. The face of Annesley became instantly crim-
soned. Apprehending that the vulgar fellow who thus uncere-
moniously addressed the father of Esther, could have no other
motive for his allusion than the discovery of the difficulties from
which he had extricated himself by the aid of Abednego Osalez,
in order to relieve his humble friend, Basil almost trembled lest
the whole affair was about to be exposed before his face by the
offieiousness of a stranger. It was not till after Mr. Stubbs, after
1 ' " d him, had again quitted the room, that
„ ightened patrons, my dear Mr. Annesley,"
CHAPTER YIII.
Tennyson.
72 THE MONET-LENDER.
said Verclst, resuming Ms pencil under the cheering influence of
Basil's presence—" one of those who treat me like a clod of the
earth, yet expect me to exhibit the instincts and inspiration of a
higher sphere."
Basil replied by an ejaculation of disgust.
" But, my good Mr. Annesley—my dear young friend," resumed
the painter, "these girls told me just now, you had been in the
country nursing a sick relative. Are you quite sure you have not
taken her disorder ? I never saw you look so ill, since the time of
your fever at Heidelberg, when we had you into our house for
change of air!"
"You remind me of one of the happiest epochs of my life!"
cried Basil, suddenly acquiring all the bloom of wMch Yerelst was
quite justified in accusing him of being deficient.
" Ay—now you look somewhat more like yourself again !"—cried
the painter. " Noio you area fitter object for an artist's studio.
You cannot imagine, my dear Sir, how I have wanted you. The
sketches cannot get on without you. If you had remained long in
the country I should have been ruined. I wanted spirits to proceed
to business during your absence. But since you are here again, I
will push back the King of Thule in disgrace into Ms comer.—
Salome ! bring forward the drawing-table."—
And while the young man was bending over the chair of the in-
valid, inquiring anxiously into the events of the four or ive last
days, without heeding the garrulity of his old master, the change
was accomplished. On Basil's release from his almost filial atten-
tions to the worn and wasted,- yet still beautiful invalid, all was in
readiness to be set in movement, by his advice toucMng thehelmets
of Prussian lancers, and the boots of Croat pandours.
Taking the chair placed for him by Salome beside the artist, he
proceeded, with patient good-humour, to play the critic on the
spirited military groups, in which it was indeed difficult to point
out a fault, save in trifling accessories of costume. So animated
were the charges, so admirable the equestrian combinations, that
Basil, instead of enlarging on a few errors of equipment, fell, as
usual, into rhapsodies at the spirit and originality of the whole.
It was probably the stimulus of this very enthusiasm which had
been wanting to V erelst; tor in a moment Ms chalks "were in full
activity, and. Basil at leisure to perceive that the seat provided for
him by Salome commanded a view of the embroidery frame over
which the graceful heads of the two girls were stooping together.
It was only natural that he should thenceforward divide his atten-
tion between the withered hand,—under which was growing into
life a rude bridge over a mountain torrent, hotly defended by a
legion of Tyrolese peasants, armed with the picturesque wildness
of irregular warfare, against a trimly dressed detachment of
French light infantry, in all the studied equipment of military
array,—and the fairy fingers of the sisters, as they flew over
their work.
Though the hands of the two girls were closely intertwined as they
sat together, so that the slight form of the one almost effaced the
still slenderer figure of the other, the eyes of Basil had no difficulty
in deteoting the hand so dear to him,— the hand wMch had trem-
THE MONEY-LENDER. 73
bled on his sudden entrance,—and which now, in the joy of his
presence in that chamber, was performing thrice the work effected
by the less-interested Salome, who was _ sufficiently at her ease to
contemplate, every now and then, at idle leisure, the venerable
figure of her father, contrasted with that of the handsome young
visitor bending over him while watching the efforts of his pencil.
Placed as Salome was, she was, of course, enabled to see that, ever
and anon, his eyes wandered furtively towards Esther; from the
detection of whose downcast looks he knew himself to be secure.
" Do you happen to know; anything, Mr. Annesley, of a family
named Maitland ?" suddenly inquired Mrs. Yerelst, after exercising,
perhaps, the same unnoticed scrutiny as Salome.
Annesley started, and looked confused.
" They live in Arlington-street," added Esther, in a low voice,
taking this opportunity to lift her eyes to his face, and surprised,
in her turn, to find it covered with conscious blushes.
" The son is a brother-officer of mine," replied he, gradually re-
covering his self-possession.
" It is, then, as we supposed, to you that Esther is indebted for
her introduction to the family!" observed Mrs. Yerelst.
" Introduction /" repeated Basil, in evident surprise.
"'I received, an hour ago, a note, signed Lucy Maitland, beg-
ging to know my terms for tuition, and requesting me to be in Ar-
lington-street at three o'clock to-morrow," said Esther, in expla-
nation.
The former confusion of countenance of Basil Annesley was now
a thousand times augmented. The idea of Esther Yerelst—his
Esther—a singing-mistress to those flighty girls, in that showy,
heartless house, subjected to the gaze of the "string of puppies"
frequenting it—exposed to the silly impertinence of Lady Mait-
land—condemned to all the ignominy inflicted on a teacher, by people
of empty heads and callous hearts !
" And has Miss Yerelst engaged herself?" said he,- addressing
the mother.
" She merely wrote accepting the appointment for to-morrow,
when there will probably be little difficulty in adjusting the ques-
tion of terms and hours," replied the invalid.
" You do me too much honour in supposing that the recommen-
dation came from me," said Annesley, after a pause, in which he
had been balancing the evils likely to arise to the beautiful Esther
Yerelst from such a connexion, against the advantage to the ne-
fiessitous family of an additional guinea a-week earned by their ex-
ertions. " I should scarcely have suggested a place likely to expose
a person so timid as Est as Miss Yerelst, to the constant notice
and molestation of precisely the order of persons whose familiarity
drove her from the rehearsals at the opera. The advantage to be
derived would be dearly purchased by exposure to the habits of a
house, of all others of my acquaintance the one into which I should
be least disposed to introduce a sister of my own."
Esther was satisfied. The pang excited in her bosom by Basil's
confusion at the first mention of the name of Maitland, was gradu-
ally subsiding.
Surely," observed Salome, little suspecting the new vexation
n
THE MONEY-LENDEE.
to which she was about to give rise, " Maitland was the name of
the ladies with whom we saw you that night at the opera, when
Madame Branzini was good enough to lend us her box ?"—
"I scarcely recollect," stammered Basil, with some embar-
rassment.
" Oh ! yes—we met you on the stairs with a beautiful girl on
your arm, whom you hurried into a carriage, and returned to
assist us. I remember hearing it announced as that of Lady
Maitland."
" How can you recollect such trash, child ?" interrupted Yerelst.
" Mr. Annesley ! what think you of placing the stout fellow with
the scythe, who is striking down the standard of France, on title
broken parapet of the bridge ?"
" Admirable !" cried Basil, glad to direct his eyes towards the
drawing at which he had been hitherto only pretending to look,
" It will make a modern edition of the famous Battle of the Stan-
dard. But what a pity, Sir, to throw away this exquisite design
on a series for which you are so miserably paid. Why not place
it in the gorge of a mountain pass, and execute it in oils ?"
"Ay, why not?"—cried the artist, recalling, at that momept
to mind his order for the two battle-pieces, and justly surmising that
Mr. Stubbs had neither art nor learning enough to detect the ana-
chronism, if such a study were made the companion to a skirmish
of the condottieri of Sir John Hawkwood and the Cardinal do
Bourbon; but little suspecting the anxiety of mind which this
interruption of their conversation was causing to his favourite
daughter.
"Esther has been setting to music, since you have been gone,
those pretty words you brought her the last time you were here,"
observed Mrs. Yerelst, after her husband and his guest had sum-
ciently debated together the question of the new Battle, of the
Standard, which was to rival that of Leonardo,
" I thought she would like them!" cried Basil, again raising his
eyes, and meeting those of Esther with a degree of frankness that
almost satisfied her he was not actuated by fear of exposing his
own flirtations, in opposing her entrance into the Maitland family.
"And a fine melancholy ditty she has made of them," added
her father.
" They were appropriate only to a minor key," observed Esther,
me hear the ballad, and judge for myself ?"
inquired Basil.
_ " I am so afraid of not satisfying your expectation," said Esther,
rising,_ however, instantly from her work. "I am sure they are
favourite verses of yours, or you would not have been at the
trouble of copying them.
" Shew me the man who would like his favourite verses the less
from hearing them sung by such a voice as yours, Esther !"—said
her father, fondly.
It was, perhaps, the dread of further encomiums which hastened
the blushing girl in her preparations for complying with Mr. An-
pesley's request, by throwing open the door of her mother's room.
THE MOKTEY-EEKDEE. 75
in which (in submission to the requirements of the artist's studio)
stood the piano.
Sweet as it was expressive, was the ritournelle that prefaced
Esther Yerelst's articulate and melodious recital of the following
stanzas:—
ballad.
Yes ! other eyes may brighten, love,
When gazing upon thine,
As gloomiest brooks run glittering where
The shedding sunbeams shine.
Oh ! did I love thee less, be sure,
Mine own would brighter be ;
Content thee, then, with smiles from them,
And bear with tears from me!
Yes ! other tones may soften love,
When to thine ear addrest,
breezes lulled, the barque allure
O'er ocean's treacherous breast.
Oh! did I love thee less, be sure,
My words would smoother be ;
Content thee, then, with praise from them,
And bear with truth from me!
Yes! other arms may bear thee, love,
O'er fortune's flow'ry way ;
Mine, with unwearied fervent faith,
Abide the darker day.
Oh! did I love thee less, be sure,
My aid would prompter be ;
(Content thee, then, with pleasing them,
And keep thy love for me !
To the mortification of poor Esther, not a word of commendation
broke from Annesley, at the conclusion of her performance. Her
father exclaimed—" Brava, my girl, charming, charming!"—but
the voice of Annesley was mute. The piano commanded no view
of the room in which her auditors were seated; and she had con-
sequently no means of surmising that if her ungracious friend
uttered no common phrase of compliment, it was because his feel-
ings were too deeply excited for words. Salome, who had watched
his_ tearful eyes during the exquisite song of her sister, was
satisfied.
" After all, this is a doleful ditty to salute a friend with on his
return,"—observed the artist, also noticing the silence of Basil,
and with a glance detecting the cause, which he attributed to the
sensitiveness produced by a previous shock on the spirits. "You
forget, my Esther, that Mr. Annesley is come to us from the sick-
room of one he loves, and that he wants cheering."
"I am always cheered when so kindly welcomed to this fireside,"
said Basil, attempting to rally his spirits; "in the first place by
your cordiality;—in the second, by the sight of your rational oo-
cupations. The do-nothing, good-for-nothing world J live in,
contains few sights so pleasant,"
76 THE M0NEY-1ENDEE.
/'I fancied," said Salome, "that the ladies of England were
highly enlightened and accomplished ?"
" Superficially accomplished. They learn as much music and
drawing, and as many languages, as can he taught for money; hut
nothing is done to cultivate that intellectual sense which renders
such acquirements available."
"And these Miss Maitlands, Esther's pupils ?" demanded Salome,
returning to the charge.
"Your sister has decided, then, on accepting their tuition?"
demanded Basil, in a constrained tone, as Esther, after closing her
instrument, returned into the sitting-room. '
"I scarcely know what pretext I could find for refusing," she
observed, in a timid voice, resuming her former place.
" Would you favour me with a sight of Miss Maitland's letter ?"
inquired Annesley....
" The letter ?—willingly,—said Mrs. Yerelst, producing it from
a paper-rack on the table beside her chair.
" This is the handwriting of the brother, who is in the same
regiment with myself," observed Basil, after examining the letter,
having from the first surmised the possibility of a hoax on the part
of his brother officers. " If you permit me, I will make inquiries
of Lady Maitland concerning her intentions; and bring you an
exact account, before you give yourself the trouble and annoyance
of a long walk this cold weather, for the purpose, perhaps, of gra-
tifying unjustifiable curiosity."
"But what curiosity can poor Esther have excited among persons
to whom she is known only by name ?" observed Mrs. Yerelst,
mistrustfully.
" Pardon me,—she is personally known to Lady Maitland's son,
who has probably mentioned her to his sisters. Surely," said he,
turning suddenly to Esther for confirmation, "you remember the
tall, fair young man, so frequently with old Colonel Carrington,
who accosted us at the stage-door, the day you made that hasty
exit from rehearsal ?"
"Perfectly!" replied Esther, now fully enlightened as to the
origin of his objections, "and I am consequently certain it would
be disagreeable to me to give lessons to Lady Maitland's daughters."
" Still, before you give a decided negative, which will, of course,
be ungraciously construed, allow me to institute some inquiry into
the object of the parties," resumed Basil.—"I see these people
daily. I will even make a point of going there to-night. Nothing
will be easier than for me to discover, without compromising you,
whether the young ladies have any serious intention of improving
themselves under your hands, and requiting your trouble. The
girls are good-natured, though silly and trifling; and would not,
I imagine, lend themselves to unladylike mystification."
" Must you go there to-night ?" inquired Esther, blushing crim-
son.
" Is there any obstacle ?" inquired Basil, surprised at her remon-
strance.
" Only that this is Twelfth Night," observed Salome, for once
almost as much embarrassed as her sister. " Madame Branzini, who
THE MONEY-1ENDEK.
77
intends to faire tirer les rois at her house, has made us promise to
join her family party; and begged us, should you return to town,
to assure you how much honoured she should feel by your company."
" I accept with pleasure," cried Basil. " But your friend, Ma-
dame Branzini, wisely adheres in England to your rational hours
of the Continent, and will expect her visitors betore nine, and
dismiss them at eleven; till which hour, Lady Maitland would be
much surprised to see any evening guest enter her house.—I shall,
therefore, be able to reconcile both visits.—I dine at the Club, and
will be with your friend at—what hour did you say you were
going
"We shall be there soon after eight," replied Salome. "We
always return home, you know, to assist my mother at ten."
" I will not hear of being an obstacle to your pleasures to-night,"
said Mrs. Yerelst, cheerfully. "It is so seldom you enjoy a
pleasant party. Twelfth Day comes but once a year. Do you
remember, Mr. Annesley, how merrily we kept it the winter you
were at Heidelberg ?"
Basil remembered only too well the joyous cordiality of his old
professor's family party.
"Nay, surely, you were_le roi de la five?—ay, and Esther
yonder was your queen," cried the artist, laughing heartily at the
recollection. " She was a mere child then, and you little better than
a boy. But I remember what a fanciful little majesty we*made of
her in her mother's brocaded dress, with pompons and powder,
and old point, like a queen in one of Mademoiselle de Scuderi's
novels! _ Little gipsy that you were, Esther!—you made your old
father trick out your draperies and arrange your throne."
"I wish we may amuse ourselves half so well to-night, at
Madame Branzini's !" murmured Esther, with a sigh. "I was a
child then—I feared nothing then. Now I seem to be afraid of
r own home and country, Esther," said
the artist, with a sigh far heavier than her own,—" a comfort, my
Soor child, of which your father's inconsideration has for ever
eprivedyou!"
"Not for ever, I trust!" responded Mrs. Yerelst, in a low tone.
"As we are to meet to-night, I will shorten my visit now," said
Basil, rising from his seat, byway of interrupting these^ saddening
retrospections; " but I must not go without accomplishing its real
object. I have brought you a curiosity to look at, sir," resumed
he, addressing Yerelst,_ after drawing a small volume from his
pocket. "Something in your own way—a little book which I
borrowed from my mother."
It was a scarce copy of Hollar's Engravings after Holbein's
Dance of Death, which was examined by Yerelst with deliberation
and enthusiasm.
" I know these designs," said he, "far better than I know my
own. I spent a month at Basle, for the purpose of studying the
characteristics of that quaint old master. This is a curious copy,
and seems enriched with original interleavings," he observed,
scrutinising the volume /;<© eye of a connoisseur, "But what
78 THE IIOHET-HHEEE.
have we here ? There is an Arabic inscription on the title-page—
or Sanscrit—or—stay!—you, Rachel, can help us here. Are not
these Hebrew characters ?"
Basil Annesley took the open volume from the hands of Yerelst,
to convey it to his wife. On his way he naturally glanced at the
inscription, which was decidedly Hebrew, and written in ink
almost invisible from age. But at the foot, in a modern hand-
writing, to his utter amazement, were inscribed the memorable
initials of—A. 0.!
Before he had recovered the shock caused by this startling coin-
cidence, the attention of Basil was absorbed by the effect produced
on Mrs. Yerelst by the sight of the volume. Pale as death, with
quivering lips ana suspended respiration, she sank back in her
chair the moment the inscription was placed before her. Esther
and Salome, whose attention was constantly directed towards the
invalid, were by her side in a moment.
" Place a screen before the fire. I was afraid the room was too
close for her," faltered Esther, opening a large green fan which
lay constantly on her mother's table.
" The ether, father!—you will find it on the dressing-table
within," cried Salome; nor had either of them leisure to notice
that it was by Basil, by whom, as bv a devoted son, the commission
was executed. The eyes of Mrs. Yerelst, however, even after the
application of the ether to her temples, remained closed, and her
hands cold as marble.
The book, a glance at which young Annesley could not forbear
regarding as the origin of her sudden seizure, had now fallen on
the floor. The dispiriting nature of the frontispiece (which repre-
sented the grisly skeleton of Death beguiling an old man into the
grave by the music of a dulcimer) had probably conveyed an
insupportable shock to the sensitive mind of the enfeebled invalid.
Some minutes elapsed before Mrs._ Yerelst evinced the smallest
token of consciousness,—a longer period than Basil, who had often
seen her overcome by faintness, had ever known her remain
thoroughly insensible to what was passing around her. At length
she slowly unclosed her eyes, and a faint murmur broke from her
lips. Esther instantly bent down her head to listen; but Annes-
ley, without any such effort, distinctly heard her exclaim, " My
father! who was it spoke to me of my father?"
" Better wheel her into her own room," interposed the artist,
who, during the swoon of his wife, had stood aloof, distressed and
helpless. "It is nothing—the heat of the fire—the sulphur of
those detestable coals. Let us all be quiet, and she will be herself
again, in a moment."
Having assisted the girls to remove her into the adjoining
chamber, Yerelst returned to receive, with an air of stupefaction,
the adieus of Basil, who, conscious that his presence at such a
moment might be importunate, hastened to withdraw.
It was dusk when Basil emerged from the house, and a desolate
winter rain was falling in torrents, splashing into the overflowing
kennels, and almost obscuring the light of the lamps. As the
young guardsman reached the junction of the small street in which
THE MONEY-EENDEE. 79
Verelst's house was situated with South Audley-street, in attempt-
ing to muffle himself in his cloak, to resist the driving rain, he en-
countered what, at the first shock, he conceived to be the lamp-post.
But, on recoiling, he found that, in addition to the lamp-post, he
had struck against an individual combating the gusts of wind
with a disabled umbrella. Something irresistibly ludicrous in the
dilemma of his brother in distress attracted his attention to the
struggling wayfarer, when lo! by the light of the lamp, he recognised
the marked and well-remembered features of the Money-lender.
The encounter was untimely; but Basil would not shrink from
recognising the man by whom he had been so greatly obliged.
"We have untoward weather for our walk," said Annesley,
lending his assistance to reverse the obstinate resistance of the
reeking cotton umbrella.
" Unpleasant enough; and you, who walk for pleasure, might
methinks spare your pains for a happier moment," rejoined the
harsh voice of Abednego.—" With me, the case is different."— _
" Different indeed; since you have the means of commanding
any sort of equipage you please, while I have at my disposal
only that enjoyed by our father Adam,"—replied Basil, laughing.
" And how long should I enjoy the means, pray, were I to lavish
them on costly equipages?" rejoined the Money-lender. "Not a
year,—not a month, perhaps,—were I tempted into such ridiculous
prodigality.—I might be reduced to the same beggarly shifts which
bring so many fine gentlemen shuffling'—nay, all but begging—to
my door. For whether people beg for a loan, or a gift, where lies
the difference ?—They are still beggars.—Are you bound for St.
James's, young sir?- If so, we may become a mutual benefit.
Your arm is strong enough to hold up the umbrella; and by
taking mine, we may share it between us. Don't be afraid!—In
such weather as this, none of your fine friends will be astir.—No
one will recognise the gallant Mr. Basil Annesley cheek-by-jowl
with A. 0."
" It is no such consideration—" Basil was beginning.
" Come on then, and make an end of the discussion," interrupted
Abednego, practically enforcing his advice. " Satisfy your scruples
by having a second time rendered service to a man more than
ready to render service to you."
Partly carried away by his companion's vehemence, and partly
curious of further insight into his eccentric character, Basil suf-
fered himself to be disposed of. In another minute, he found him-
self sole occupant of the wet flagstones with the mysterious
Abednego.
" But surely, sir, at your age," said he, by way of renewing the
conversation, " personal comfort must be a greater object than the
amassment of mere wealth?"—
" Who is to determine a man's notions of personal comfort?"—
cried the Money-lender. " And what do you mean by mere
wealth ? My notion of personal comfort is independence of hire-
lings, whether man or beast; and as to wealth, what is there in
this world beyond it ?—What else controls the march of empires,—
the progress of civilization,—the development of science,—the
80 THE MOjSTEr-tENDEB.
cultivation of art?—What but money causes the crucible to
glow,—sinks the shaft,—launches the balloon into the sky—or
plunges the diving-bell into the depths of the ocean ?—Of what
metal is composed the key of the poet's imagination—the orator's
eloquence—the physician's skill—the divine's zeal and fervour ?—
Of gold, sir—of current gold !—He who hath that, commands kings
on their thrones, or philosophers in their cabinets. Talk not to
me of the refinements of art. If I want to enjoy them, I buy up
both art and artists—an orchestra of musicians—a legion of
sculptors or painters. Your capitalist, boy—your capitalist is the
only solid sovereign of modern times.—' Mere wealth ?' quotha—I
knew that you were a boy, Basil Annesley, but I did not hold you
lor a child!"
The young man could scarcely resist a smile at the impetuosity
of his companion.
" I perfectly agree with you, sir," said he at last. " But it was
by_ fully estimating the value of money as a means of commanding
enjoyment, that I expressed my surprise at your preferring a wet
walk to a luxurious carriage."
" Does the sportsman find greater pleasure in the flavour of his
game, or the pursuit of the chase?"—demanded Abednego, in a
sterner voice. " Have you not strength of mind to figure to your-
self the intensity of enjoyment which a man, appreciating the true
value of money, may find in the combinations by which he adds
thousand to thousand,—ingot to ingot? As the artist whose
family you have just quitted," (Basil found it impossible to re-
press a start) " finds exquisite delight in the progress of a picture
by whose perfectionment he hopes to attain profit and fame,
does the money-monger glory in the machinery by which his en-
richment is accomplished. Even economy—even privation—has
charms, when tending towards the achievement of the grand
object of his life.—Ay, stripling, abject as it may seem to you, the
Money-lender's is a glorious calling. Every minute of my life
swells the amount of my possessions. Other men's property dimi-
nishes with their span of life; mine, like the evening shadows,
grows as the sun goes down. I am a wretch, eh?—a shabby
threadbare wretch, with whom a smart officer like you, is
ashamed to be seen arm in arm? Shabby and threadbare as I
seem, I tell you I hold in subjection those of whose acquaint-
ance you are proud—those to whose acquaintance you barely
aspire. Your fine ladies come and beg of me,—cajole me—flatter
me;—cajole and flatter A. 0. in his cobweb-tapestried halls of
state.—' Mere wealth !'—"What, but the wealth I have amassed
by trudging in the rain, while others swelter in carriages,
brings the Duke of Rochester cringing to my feet, lying and
swindling for the means of keeping up his empty state.—His
covetings of A. O.'s ' mere wealth' have converted that man, (created
by nature for honour and refinement,) into an equivocating petti-
fogger.—Ay, sir, you are shocked—you consider my tongue coarse
and licentious.—You would plead privilege of peerage against the
Money-lender, in favour of the uncle of your fribble acquaintance,
young Wilberton."—(Again Basil started.) " But when you have
the money-lender. 81
lived longer, yon will come to tlxe same conclusions. And now,
good evening to you, Mr. Basil Annesley. _ For here we are oppo-
site to the Gloucester Coffee-House, within hail of your out-at-
elbow, discreditable friends the Maitlands.—Good evening!—I
Should be as loth as yourself to expose you to the shame of being
met skulking in the rain under the same ignominious umbrella
with the Barabbas, A. 0..!"
CHAPTER IX.
It is difficult for that which is perfectly simple, and genuinely devoid of
affectation, to be chargeable with vulgarity.—Steele.
Basil Annesley was about to enter the smoking-room of his
club, after dinner, when the messenger he had despatched with a
few lines to Yerelst, to inquire after the state of his wife, brought
back a note from Salome; informing him that her mother was not
only perfectly recovered from her seizure, but that she insisted upon
their keeping their engagement with Madame Branzini.
Instantly relinquishing an enjoyment to which he only resorted
when unlikely to find himself shortly afterwards in female society,
Basil made the best of his way to his lodgings to dress. In a
moment, his heart, previously depressed by his interview with the
caustic Abednego, became light as a bird. A whole evening spent
in Esther's society, no matter where, was, at present, the brightest
prospect this world could offer.
, But for this conciliatory influence, the house to which he was
about to repair had little charm for Basil. The husband of Madame
Branzini was the Neapolitan consul, and the persons resorting to
his society were almost entirely foreigners. For though the highest
diplomatic class is cordially welcomed into the best English society,
nothing less easy than for foreigners, not included in the pomps of
the court, to make their way in a country which prides itself on
understanding all languages, and speaking none but its own.
. Now there is a natural tendency in persons moving exclusively
in the circles of fashion to depreciate those with whose faces they
are unfamiliar. The great world is of such limited extent, that
each of its component parts is known to each, either by acquaintance
or sight; and the moment a strange face appears in the privileged
crowd, it is regarded with suspicion.
At the house of the Neapolitan consul, all the faces were strange
to Basil Annesley. Once or twice, he had joined the circle of
Madame Branzini, without finding there a single person he had
ever seen before; and among them, not above three or four who
spoke his language, It is true, there was much to reconcile him o
this strangeness; and a man blase with the insipidity of the beau
monde, might have experienced the greatest relief in contemplating,
in place of the pale and faded faces of the belles of fashion, the
fine rich glowing beauty of the southern dames, whose frank and
courteous manners were as yet untrammelled by the conventional
laws of the most formal country in the world.
E
82 THE MONEY-EENDEE.
Italians and Spaniards abounded at tbe bouse of Branzini, who
bad many years officiated at Cadiz as consul for tbe Two Sicilies;
a circumstance that explained tbe dark and sun-burnt complexion
of most of the men whom Basil found assembled in bis drawing-
room; and wbo, to bis Londonized eyes, had very much tbe air of
opera-singers, or French hair dresser s._ Though his German educa-
tion in some degree liberalized his views on such points, a public
school and the Guards had not a little inspired him with tbe
prejudice of " a man about town,"—that every individual differing
irom himself in dress and manner, must be " a snob or a tiger."
All Madame Branzini's guests were consequently "tigers" to
Basil, though scarcely one but was distinguished by some talent or
accomplishment, endowing him with a name beyond tbe conferring
of lung or kaiser. Most of them were men of science, or memo-
rable artists, wbo bad brought letters of introduction to tbe consul
from countries where their abilities procured them those distinc-
tions which England is so tardy in bestowing upon men of genius.
Still, the form of their beards and whiskers, the cut of their
coats, the nature of their salutations, rendered them ridiculous or
disgusting in the eyes of Basil; and he had scarcely patience, on
entering the circle, to find several of these " foreign fellows" devoting
their attentions to the beautiful daughters of Yerelst.
For then came the vexatious reflection, that this was the natural
sphere of Esther;—that, even if these olive-hued individuals were
the opera-singers to which he so flightily compared them, they
belonged to the same order of society as the girl he loved.
Yet who could gaze upon that well-turnea head, those Grecian
features, that exquisite form, every movement of which was grace,
and believe them created for any other than the noblest order of
society ?—No! such women as the Maitlands were not worthy to tie
the sandal of Yerelst^
She was indeed a being of superior nature. Peculiar elegance of
mind served to animate and govern her peculiar elegance of person.
Yet in spite of her rare endowments, the spirit of the gifted girl was
as meek and humble, as if she possessed no trace of personal distinc-
tion. Timid almost to a fault, Esther was content to remain per-
petually in the shade. In her own estimation, she was less than
nothing, and her chief object in life was to occupy the attention of
others as little as she occupied her own. Never did there exist a
human being more unselfish.
But for the passionate attachment of her sister, who gloried in
her charms and talents, Esther might often have succeeded in
causing herself to be overlooked, where presumptuous mediocrity
was crowned with laurels. Salome, however, thought for her, felt
for her, acted for her, was vain for her; and insisted on her being
heard and seen, when Esther had chosen to retire into some obscure
corner. It was Salome who was at the trouble of dressing her, se
as to enhance, as far as their limited means would allow, the
character of her beauty; and as her sister's good taste restricted,
the utmost of these efforts to a well-fitting muslin dress, and her
fine black hair twisted after the model of some antique bust, the
unpretending Esther offered no resistance. She was seldom at the,
THE MONEY-LENDEE. S3
trouble of looking in the glass, indeed, when the task of her affec-
tionate handmaiden was at an end. Beloved in her own family,
secure in the friendship of one whom she believed to be superior to
external attractions, it was indifferent to her whether her dress were
more or less becoming than usual.
It was this very absence of pretension, that constituted the great
charm of Esther Yerelst. She was a patient listener—an
indulgent companion; and all who, at a distance, had been struck
by her beauty or enchanted by the exquisite charm of her singing,
were still more fascinated, when, on a nearer acquaintance, they
found that the being thus accomplished thought so little of herself,
and so much of the feelings of other people.
Still Basil Annesley, much as he had ever admired in his igentle
Esther this complete self-abnegation, considered that she was
carrying it too far, when he found her at Madame Branzini's listen-
ing deferentially to a "strange-looking man," who was talking
Italian to her with earnest volubility.
As he stood opposite contemplating them, he could not help feel-
ing angry at her patience. He felt certain that the dingy, bushy-
whiskered stranger was redolent of garlic and cigars; and when he
smiled at Esther, and Esther smiled in return, Basil could have
annihilated the fellow on the spot,
Verelst, meanwhile, was seated at piequet with an eminent
naturalist, his countryman; and Annesley had consequently no
means of inquiring the name of this " confounded foreigner." He
had been often tempted to_ regret the secluded life led by the
Verelsts, as dull and dispiriting for the girls. He now felt that
they could not be too much at home. To be exposed to the assi-
duities of such society as they met at Madame Branzini's, was
worse than nothing.
" Such society !"—Why such ?—What did he know about these
strangers ?—Did he understand their position, their habits, their
language ? Ho! he assumed an Englishman's prerogative of
disparaging everything and everybody not precisely modelled after
his national pattern.
While giving vent in the depths of his heart to his unutterable
disgusts, Esther, at the entreaty of her olive-coloured friend, was
about to comply with the request of Madame Branzini, for some
music. As she passed him closely by to assume her place at the
piano, there was time for a momentary greeting.
" Do not, I entreat you, sing the song of this morning!" said
Basil, certain of not being understood by those around him; to
which request, a reproachful glance from Esther, implying the
impossibility of such sacrilege, was the only reply.
With all his prejudice against the individuals composing Madame
Branzini's coterie, who, because they did not look precisely like the
good company he was acquainted with, he decided to be bad,—Basil
was struck by the good-breeding with which they disposed them-
selves to do justice to the musician about to exert herself for their
entertainment.
In the world with which he was familiar, he had often noticed
the air with which the reluctant auditors prepare to disparage what
p 2
84, XiiE MONEY-EENDEB,.
they are about to hear; and the readiness with which, by thelY
movements and whisperings, they interrupt the performers. But
scarcely was the pure, clear, mellifluous voice of Esther Yerelst
audible in the first bars of that beautiful German melody, the Com-
plaint of Thekla, than a pin might have been heard to fall. There
Was perfect good faith in their attention. They listened to be
gratified and to praise; not to detect errors in order, hereafter,
To hint a fhult, and hesitate dislike ;
and by the time the delicate musician had reached the concluding
line of her song
Ich habe geld>t und geliebet I
every bosom thrilled in delighted unison with the well-defined
expression of the songstress.
It was strange that, at that moment, Basil Annesley felt more
inclined to applaud the audience, than the performer. Se felt
almost grateful to them for their attention to Esther. Erom that
moment, the assembly assumed new features in his eyes. He lis--
tened more civilly to the speeches of old Branzini; and had the grace
to ask the names of two or three handsome women present. Be
even inquired in French, (the language of the house, as of most,
foreign houses,) the name of the gentleman who had conducted
Esther to the instrument.
" The Duca di San Catalda," was the reply.
"A Chevalier d'Industrie, I make no doubt,"—was his mental
commentary; but on looking round and perceiving that the Secre-
tary of Legation and attaches of the Neapolitan mission were pre-
sent, i,t was impossible to infer that any person admitted to the
house of the venerable consul, more especially a countryman of his
own, should be otherwise than respectable.
He was now growing less thankful for the rapture lavished by
the party oil Esther's performance. Basil had all the waywardness
of a lover. The secluded life of the Yerelsts secured him from the
usual terrors and jealousies of attachment. Go whither he would,
absent himself as he pleased, he was sure to find that lovely girl,
on his return, installed in her usual place, at her customary occu-
pations; with the certainty that, since their last meeting, her looks,
thoughts, or words, had been addressed to no individual qualified
to excite his uneasiness. It induced a pang in his bosom, therefore,
unfelt since the rehearsal scene of the previous year, to find other
eyes fixed upon her beauty, and other courtesies addressed to her
*ear; and irritated and unhappy, one of the handsomest of human
faces became overclouded with ill-humour.
"Our friends are now arrived," observed Madame Branzini,
after looking graciously round upon the groups engaged in lively
conversation which filled her drawing-rooms—"let us proceed to
draw for king."
Accustomed to the forms accompanying in Christmas parties this
immemorial custom, Basil was surprised to see no token of the huge
frosted cake, covered with bonbons and devices, which usually
THE MONEY-LENDER. 85
tends to sicken, for the remainder of the month of January, the
nurseries of well-conditioned English families. Still more was he
startled when, (the handsome children of the Branzinis having been
desired to commence the ceremonial, whereupon they insisted that
the gateau des rois was too heavy to be carried round without the
aid of their dear Esther and Salome,) he saw the Verelsts lend
their cheerful aid to offer in succession to the guests a huge un-
eatable galette from which every gentleman present was to cut a
slice.
As the stranger of the party, the honours were offered first to
Annesley; and little Teresa and Cesarino Branzini set up a cry of
triumph, when, on examination of his slice of galette no bean
appearedthe kingship being decided by the attainment of the
fortunate lot containing a feve, or bean, dropped into the cake in
the process of making.
In succession, young and old were subjected to the trial; and
every new defeat was accompanied by shouts of laughter. In
their mirth, however, Basil found it impossible to join. He was
thoroughly out of sorts on perceiving that while the attention of
the pretendant was fixed upon the galette he was cutting, that of
the assistants was riveted upon the graceful figures of the two dish-
bearers, each worthy to afford a model for a sculptor.
It did not surprise him, so contrary was Ms mood, when the por-
tion of the Duke of Catalda was pronounced to contain the bean;
He had expected it. He felt certain that it was a matter of prefer-
ence and connivance; more especially when the Duke, Ms fine face
sparkling with joy, presented it to Esther, so as to elect her his
queen for the evening.
"Universal acclamations followed. Basil Annesley found Mmself
required to offer, among the rest, his homage to their majesties 5
who, according to custom, proceeded to elect their household and
grand officers of the crown. He was more provoked than pleased,
when, after naming little Teresa and Salome her ladies in waiting,
Cesarino her page, and a merry old gentleman named Clary, (the
precis writer to the French Embassy,) her almoner, she selected
himself to be her Chevalier d' HonneUr.
Eew among the party but had been proud to become the knight
of. Esther. Yet Basil, whose heart was swelling with the newly-
experienced torment of seeing the woman he loved in intimate com-
munication with others, would gladly have rejected the distinction.
It was no longer with him as in their old childish days in the
Neekar-Strasse, at Heidelberg;!—He was grown too much a man
of the world to enjoy being included in a piece of buffoonery.
Most of the company doubled, a few trebled Ms years ; yet he was
the only person too old for the sport.
Probably because the only Englishman present;—the elasticity
of spirits which disposes foreigners for enjoyment at any period of
life between the cradle and the grave, being either deficient or ex-
tinguished in our fastidious nature.
It was not so with the Yerelsts. Completely at home in a house
where their few intervals of leisure had been spent for two years
past (during wMch Salome had officiated as teacher of German to
86 THE MONET-LEKDEE.
the children), they gave themselves up with their little pupils to
the joyous spirit of the hour. Elated by the presence of the object
of her affections, from whom she had been some days separated, the
cheeks of Esther glowed with unusual bloom, as she assumed her
place beside the Duke, in the two arm-chairs, with foot-stools, which
had been_ hastily covered with India shawls and velvet mantles, in
regal guise, for the reception of the king and queen. Compelled
to pledge the healths of the company, who drank to them in return
in the exquisite Lacryma Christi, for which the cellars of the Eea-
politan consul were renowned, she assumed courage to play with
grace and spirit the part allotted to her in the pageant.
"What a charming actress Mademoiselle Yerelst would make!"
whispered the rosy Almoner, old Clary, to Annesley, fancying that
he was paying her a judicious compliment: and little suspecting
that her Chevalier d' Honneur would gladly have stuck him to the
heart for the allusion.
While he was meditating an answer not too bitter, he found him-
self plucked hy the sleeve by Yerelst, whose care-worn face had as-
sumed a holiday aspect under the influence of conquest in a hard-
fought game at picquet.
" A word with you, my dear Mr. Annesley," said the old man,
drawing him off into a corner; and so conscious was Basil of the
evil spirit by which he was at that moment possessed, that he
almost expected a reproof for his ill-manners.
" Where did you tell me," inquired the artist, when they were
out of hearing of the party,—" that you had found that edition of
Hollar?"
" I did not find it," replied Basil, almost relieved. " It is my
own. For the credit of our taste, I am proud to say that the book
is a family possession."
" Most strange," murmured the old man.
" Why strange?" inquired Basil. "Thereis nothing, I believe,
very rare in the volume. I hardly ever saw a considerable book
sale that did not contain a copy."
" Perhaps so ; but not that copy."
" Of course not. It has been in our family library these hundred
years."
" You use the term hundred years in a figurative sense," added
Yerelst.
" As my own age does not amount to a quarter of the period, I
can scarcely give my personal attestation," observed Basil, with a
smile. " But such of my mother's books as did not belong to my
father's bachelor library, were probably derived from that of her
own father, the late Lord L ."
"LordL- !" exclaimed the painter, again seizing the sleeve
of Annesley. " You do not mean to say that you are the grandson
of that man ?"
"Perhaps you knew him?" said Basil, evasively. "He was
more than once, I fancy, employed in missions at the courts
fo Germany."
Yerelst was silent, absorbed in reflection.
" Were you acquainted with my grandfather ?" again demanded
Basil, resolved to obtain an answer.
IfiE MONEY-LENDER. ST
" I never saw Mm. Lord L was ambassador at Vienna at
tie breaking- out of tbe French. Revolution. I was then a chilli."
" May I ask, in my turn," inquired Basil, "what particular
interest you attach to the copy of Hollar ?"
> " Five minutes ago, I would have answered you without hesita-
tion," replied Verelst, in a voice tremulous from emotion. "Now,
I must reflect. Inscrutable are the ways of Providence !" faltered
the artist, after a few minutes' pause. " That ever I should be in-
debted for what is dearer to me than my life—the welfare of my
family—to the grandson of But no matter," said he, checking
his ej aeulation. And Basil was too much struck by the distress of the
grey-haired artist, to persist in his inquiries. Luckily, he was
at that moment summoned to the discharge of his duties, as Lord-
in-waiting to the Heine de la Feve, to which he was compelled to
attend for the remainder of the night; and, much as his jealous
humour had found to cavil at in the easy and cheerful simplicity
of Madame Branzini's party, he would gladly have recommenced
the evening, when, after taking leave of the Verelsts at the door
of their own house, to which he was careful to reconvey them, he
proceeded to the more pompous mansion of Lady Maitland.
• The party he found assembled in Arlington-street was about the
same, in point of numbers and intimacy, he had quitted at the
consul's. Nor were the Maitlands and their friends less talkative
or less merry; but it was after a fashion of their own. The con-
versation of that brilliant coterie consisted in scandal, and its mirth
in irony. The chief source of their gaiety lay at all times in
quizzing old Carrington, or some other butt; and as the dowager-
colonel did not happen to be present when Basil entered, they were
only too happy to attack him with railleries more agreeable to them
than to himself.
"How dolorous he looks to-night," cried John Maitland, ex-
tending a finger to the new comer, but without rising from the sofa
on which he was lolling beside a handsome bold-eyed woman of a
certain age. " I am afraid, Nancy, (a nickname given to Annesley,
among the subs, from his beardless aspect on joining the regiment,)
I am sadly afraid you have taken cold ?"
" On the contrary, it is nearly a degree warmer at Barlingham
than in London," replied Basil, referring this abrupt conjecture to
his country excursion.
A vociferous laugh was the sole answer to this explanation.
"None of your put-ofis, my fine fellow!" cried John Maitland.
" Here, Blencowe—Blencowe ! I tell Annesley I am afraid he
caught cold in the rain this morning, and he tries to hum me by
talking about his mother's thermometer!"
Captain Blencowe thus apostrophised, stationed himself on the
scroll of the chaise longue, in an attitude little more ceremonious
than that of his friend.
"I could scarcely suppose my movements of sufficient conse-
quence," said Basil, somewhat nettled, " to make you aware that a
few hours after my arrival in town, I had enjoyed a wet walk."
"And in such company," retorted Maitland, " arm-in-arm with
an old beggarman, under a cotton umbrella."
gg THE MONEY-EEITDEB.
" Reste 3 savoir," cried the lady with the bold bright eyes,
"which of the two was affording hospitality to the other ?" \
" If you have any interest in inquiring," said Basil, aware that
to defeat a jester is best achieved by meeting him half-way, "the
cotton umbrella was the property of my companion, and an envi-
able property I thought it in that pelting shower."
"He talks as reverentially as if the old gentleman were hi?
grandfather," cried John Maitland.
" I did not know that Nancy had a grandfather—extant, I mean,
(I was not going to parody the vulgar quiz on Brummell.j Of
course, I am aware that there was once a Lord L ; and surmise,
that a Sir Bernard Annesley was not produced out of a crucible,"
said Captain Blencowe, watching, from a distance, the impatience
with which Lucy Maitland awaited Annesley's release from her
brother.
"The old beggarman who appears to have excited your curiosity,"
said Basil, with some emphasis, "was no relation of mine; but
simply a person who obliged me with shelter from the rain."
"From South Audley to St. James's-street," interrupted Blen*
eowe.
" From South Audley to St. James's-street," repeated Basil—
and all the more coolly that he was conscious of being in a passion,
" If no relation of yours then, perhaps a relation of the pretty
Jewess ?" persisted Maitland, also vexed at finding that his jokes
were missing fire. _ ,
" What pretty Jewess ?" persisted Basil. " I should think your
acquaintance with the Jews likely to be quite as extensive as my
own."
" I should have been extremely happy to improve it with the
lovely Esther," retorted Maitland; but you and Carrington, or
rather Carrington and you, were beforehand with me."
"If you allude to Miss Yerelst," said Basil, gravely, "Ihave
once or twice informed you, that she was as much a Jewess as you
a Christian—that is, in name alone. I am astonished, however,
Maitland, that you should allude thus lightly to a lady whom you
are anxious to introduce into your mother's house as the precept
tress of your sisters."
" Hear, hear, hear, hear, hear!"—cried Maitland, in a voice that
attracted the attention of the whole party. " Here is Nancy own-r
ing, with matchless audacity, that though only a few hours in
town, he has been already examining the engagements of pretty
Esther, the opera girl." _ '
" Is there an opera girl of the name of Esther ?" demanded Wil-»
berton, who having been just elected of the omnibus-boy, felt
bound to make himself master of its arts and sciences.
" I believe not," replied Basil, struggling to command himself 3
" certainly not, in the person of the young lady to whom Maitland
alludes. As he seems resolved to acquaint himself with everybody's
business but his own, I am surprised he does not obtain better in*
formation."
" My dear Nan!—I am now convinced that the shabby old fellow
with the umbrella, whom Blencowe saw you skulking with in Pics
cadilly, is some near relation, or you would not be so deuced touchy
THE MONEY-tiENDES. 89
at having been discovered," cried young Maitland, starting from
the sofa, and slapping Annesley provokingly on the shoulder.
" If Blencowe did see me with the individual in question," cried
Basil, harassed out of his self-possession, "I wonder he did not
give a more correct account; since the stranger was an acquaintance
of his long before he became an acquaintance of mine."
" An acquaintance of Blencowe's," cried John Maitland, while
Loftus, "Wilberton, and several others crowded round, on perceiving,
by the tone of the parties, that something was going wrong.
. " An acquaintance of Blencowe," persisted Basil Annesley ; " and
an acquaintance of most of you beside, being no other than the
redoubtable A. 0."
The silence of consternation instantly pervaded the giddy circle.
Ignorant of the awkward scene in Arlington-street, to which,
during his absence in the country, Lady Maitland's friends had
been witnesses, Basil was totally at a loss to understand the confu-
sion which appeared to have arisen from an explanation extorted
from him by the persecution of the triflers he so little intended to
persecute in return.
It was the first time he had seen so astounding an effect result
from mere mention of the cabalistic name of A. 0.
CHAPTER X.
Not for this
"Was common clay ta'en from the common earth,
Moulded by God, and tempered with the tears
Of angels, to the perfect shape of man. Tennyson.
The following morning, moved, perhaps, by curiosity to hear as
much as was likely to be told by Esther and Salome concerning the
Duke of San Catalda without his questioning, Basil, furred to the
ehin, to meet the nipping blasts of January, (a severe frost having
dried the rain of the preceding evening,) made his way towards
South Audley-street. He felt intitled to make early inquiries after
the health of Mrs. Yerelst.
On reaching the house, however, his title was disputed. As if in
anticipation of his visit, the maid-servant who opened the door
placed a packet in his hand, and informed him that the young
ladies were "out," and Mr. and Mrs. Yerelst "engaged." The
blood mounted into Basil's cheeks at this announcement. It Was
the first time he had ever found cause to suppose himself too frequent
a visitor, there pr elsewhere.
He had not advanced many steps from the door, when it occurred
to him that the parcel in his great-coat pocket, which evidently
consisted of the volume he had. left with Yerelst the preceding
night, might contain a note of explanation. Proceeding, there-
fore, to a by-street, where he was secure from observation, he
opened the packet.
Merely a few cold lines from Yerelst.—" I return the hook, and
regret from my soul that you should have been induced to bring it!"
afforded new grounds for vexation and perplexity.—He had evi-
90 the money-lendeb.
dently given offence to those whom his life was spent in exertions
to serve and please; and without having the slightest clue to their
grounds for resentment.
Ere he replaced the volume in his pocket, Basil was moved by an
irresistible impulse to re-examine the inscription which had so
singularly attracted the attention of the artist's family; and his
curiosity thus specifically directed towards it, he saw, beyond all
question, that the letters A. 0. were inscribed in precisely the same
handwriting which had embodied his communications with Abed-
nego Osalez.
"What could be the meaning of this ? He remembered the book
in his mother's possession as long as he could remember anything.
At what preceding epoch could it have been the property of the
Money-lender ? That, having been so, it should have passed into
the hands of another, was nothing very wonderful; inasmuch as a
person with the covetous propensities of Abednego, was likely to
dispose of all or anything belonging to him, for a " con-sideration."
But that he should have been a buyer or seller at so early an age,
as for a book of his to pass into the possession of the late Lord L-—,
who, if living, would be eighty years old, appeared unaccountable.
As Basil Annesley replaced the volume in his pocket, strange
surmises crossed his brain, to which he would have been ashamed
to give a more positive form. He had always entertained a mys-
terious horror of people of Abednego's nation and calling; and
though he would have scornfully rebutted the assertion of another
that he mistook his Greek-street friend _ for the "Wandering
Jew, involuntarily there recurred to his mind the sentence of—
" Thou shalt tarry till I come !"
"Considering the friendly advice the old fellow gave me last
evening, as we were trudging together in the rain," mused Basil,
while pursuing the self-same road he had so recently trodden arm-
in-arm with A. 0., " I am fully intitled to consider bim a friend,
and treat him as such. I will make the best of my way, therefore,
to Greek-street, and ask him, in plain terms, whether the book was
ever in his possession. If he should resent my intrusion,—what
then ? I am not in his power. I have already booked up my
interest. He can but give me a gruff answer; and from an oddity
like him, a gruff answer is easily endured."
To Greek-street, accordingly, he proceeded, and soon found his
way to the well-remembered door.
Alas! huge papers attached to the centre panes of the dining-
room windows, announced, in printed capitals—
THIS CAPITAL ROOMY MANSION
TO BE LET,
ON A REPAIRING LEASE.
Inquibe at 49, Delattay Stbeet,
WESTMINSTER,
every day from 12 till 2.
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 91
" How provoking!" was Basil's involuntary ejaculation, as he
stood contemplating the strange contrast of colour between the
white paper—to give place to which the panes had been wiped—
and the lilthy incrustations of the remainder of the windows. As
the house, however, appeared equally uninhabited on his first visit,
he determined to make an attempt to enter; nor was it till he had
knocked and rung several times without effect, that he felt con-
vinced of its abandonment by its strange proprietor. Giving up
the point in despair, he proceeded on his way; resolved to visit
Delahay Street the following day, at the early hour pointed out by
the placard.
He had not proceeded far, however, when a jarring sound induced
him to turn his head; when he perceived the door of the deserted
house slightly opened, and the face of the dirty old woman peeping
out.
In a moment, he was back again; and, having caught the eye of
the grim porteress, it was impossible for her to shut the door in his
face.
" Is your master at home ?" said he.
"Nobody lives here now but me," grumbled the old woman.
" 'Tisn't no fault of mine if I didn't answer the door. The owner
of the house don't choose to pay taxes for it no more till it's let,
and I live here on condition that I answer no knocks or rings, and
don't let myself be seen by the neighbours."
" Mr. Osalez, then, is really not at home ?" inquired Basil.
. The old woman contracted her brows, as if for an effort of com-
prehension; then drew back the dirty flap of her cap, and screwed
her left eye, like a person hard of hearing.
"I inquired whether Mr. Osalez was at home ?"
"A. O.'sto be spoke with at No. 49, Delahay-street, "West-
minster," she repeated, either not knowing, or not choosing to
know, the proprietor of the uninhabited house by any other desig-
nation. *' 1 would not say as much to a stranger; but I knows you
has had dealings with him afore, and so I don't mind."
Basil Annesley pointed to the notice in the window,, as sparing
him all necessity for especial gratitude for her communication, and
wished her good morning.
As he made his way towards St. James's-street, in a very dif-
ferent mood from that in which, three weeks before, he had pursued
the same track, he could not but revert, with unspeakable irritation
of mind, to his repulse at the door of the Yerelsts. Never before
had he felt so desirous of an interview with Esther. He wanted
to inquire the meaning of the artist's letter. He wanted to inquire
the nature and standing of their intimacy with the Sicilian Duke.
He wanted to tell her that he had never seen her look so lovely,
never heard her sing so sweetly, as the preceding night; and he
desired this all^ the more, from feeling certain, in his heart oi
hearts, that, unimportant as such an attestation might appear to
other ears, his approval was essential to the happiness of his own
dear, timid Esther.
Like most men of his age, when passionately in love, Basil An-
nesley found little enjoyment, in either pleasure or business, with
which the object of his affections had not some remote connexion.
92 THE MQHEY-HEHDEE.
In spite, therefore, of his intentions of proceeding straight from
Greek-street to his club, he found himself, in less than an hour
afterwards, at Storey's-gate, contemplating the narrow opening to
Delahay-street, and as much cheered in spirits as is usually the ret
suit of a walk in frosty weather.
He was now sufficiently acquainted with the eccentric habits of
the Money-lender to perceive, without surprise, that the house to
which he had been referred was as dilapidated of aspect as the one
he had just quitted. It was clear enough that the numerous tern-
porary residences of Abednego consisted of old houses, which he
bought up on speculation, and inhabited till a favourable oppor,
tunity presented itself of getting them off his hands; and the
mansion in Delahay-street, still more " roomy " than the " capital'*
one abandoned by the Money-lender in Soho, was to all appearance
still gloomier and more ruinous. It was of red brick, having five
windows in front, with a pretence at pilasters between; the said
pilasters being also of brick,, with capitals of carved woodwork
supporting a heavy cornice, of which the object was doubtful, lrn-i
less to assist in weighing down the frontage of the attic story
to which it was appended, and the peaked, ill-tiled roofing
above.
" Truly, an appropriate den for the strange old fellow!" mur-
mured Basil, as he approached the door, to which, contrary to the
usage of London houses, it was necessary to descend a step from the
street, finished, probably, after the completion of the house; which
retained a sort of manorial air of antiquity among its modernized
neighbours. He felt almost ashamed of presenting himself, in
broad daylight, as a visitor, at a door which, he little doubted, was
recognised by the neighbourhood as the den of a money-lending
Jew.
In order to excite as little notice as possible, he contented himself
with a modest ring at the bell; and so leisurely were the movements
of those appointed to answer the summons, that he had time to
notice a sort of damp vault-like emanation from the area, which
not even the frostiness of the atmosphere could overcome. So stag-
nant was the air brooding over the flagstones, encrusted in mounds
with green moss (now hoary with rime), that it seemed as though
any person descending into that deserted area would have been as
much in danger of asphyxiation as in some mephitic well.
At length, the door creaked, or rather growled on its hinges; and
a starveling of a boy appeared, the redundant growth of whose
shock of hair was perhaps destined to replace a general scarcity of
habiliments; his outer garments being sufficiently ragged to shew
that nothing in the way of shirt interposed between them and his
sallow skin.
" I wish to speak to Mr. Osalez," said Basil.
The urchin stared, but made no reply.
" I was referred to this house," persisted Basil, more and more
ashamed of himself and his errand,—"from Greek-street, Soho."
"You're after hours!"—said the boy, preparing to shut the
door in his face.
"Iknow it," said Basil, placing his foot so resolutely on the
TJEE MONEX-EESDElii 98
threshold, as to render the attempt impossible; and at the same
moment insinuating a coin into the hand of the boy, which, though
sufficiently insignificant to have been flung contemptuously on the
pavement by the door-opener of any other house in the street,
was so much the most important ever clenched in the palm of the
ragged page of the Money-lender, that he stood staring in stupid
wonderment, instead of persisting in excluding, or expressing
gratitude to the intruder.
• "Are you Mr. Osalez's servant?" inquired Annesley, scarcely
able to refrain from a smile.
. " I'm Bill, as sweeps the George-street crossing," replied the boy,
tugging the longest of the elf-locks overhanging his forehead, in
token of gratitude to his benefactor. "I runs of errands for the
old gemman, and opens the door from noon till two. Only to-day
I stayed later, to light a fire and set on the kettle, 'cos the old
gentleman's poorly,''
" He is at home, then?—Be so good as to carry up this card, and
sayl am waiting to speak to him,"—said Annesley.
. Thus certified of the claims and good intentions of the visitor,
the boy invited him into the hall, while he proceeded to do his
errand; and while the little sweeper, leaving his heavy shoes at the
bottom of the square creaking staircase, shuffled up stairs, Basil
stood contemplating the dark but roomy hall paved with black and
white marble, which by dirt and friction, had now degenerated into
gray and yellow; besides being cracked in many of the lozenge-
shaped squares, and in others, sunk into the flooring. In the angle
formed by the dingy staircase, stood an old sedan chair, dropping
into decay and covered with mildew; yet retaining in its gilt
mouldings tokens of aristocratic emblazonment.
Shuddering with cold, and the depression produced by the gloom
of a spot into which the daylight of that narrow street struggled
imperfectly through the half-shuttered windows, Basil waited im-
patiently till the barefooted boy shuffled down again.
" Master '11 see you,—you may walk up!"—said Bill, pointing
upwards with his thumb, while resuming his shoes ; having done
Which, he disappeared towards the basement floor, leaving Basil to
find his way unescorted to the presence of Abednego Osalez.
Concluding that he had only to follow the custom of morning
visits, and enter the drawing-room, Basil walked leisurely up and
opened the door that presented itself on the first landing. But
with all his cognizance of the peculiarities of his host, he was not
prepared for the scene that presented itself within.
The drawing-rooms, though low, and rendered apparently lower,
as in many old-fashioned houses, by a ceiling overlaid with orna-
ments and divided into compartments by beams of carved wood-
work, were unusually spacious. Yet spacious as they were, not an
alley presented itself by which Basil could penetrate into the in-
terior, without the certainty of covering himself with dust and
cobwebs, by collision with the heterogeneous objects crowded into
the area;— pieces of antiquated furniture, articles of virtti, besides
a variety of indescribable things, which looked as if assembled by
a hasty remoyal in a fire or the sacking of a town, thirty years
94: THE MONEY-LENDEE.
before,_ and abandoned ever since to the dust-gatbering and smoke-
gathering operations of Time.
Heaped on the floor, in one corner of the room, like potatoes in a
barn or beans in a granary, lay the contents of a library; from
their rich old bindings apparently valuable, but overgrown with
dust and mould, like the bricks of some ruined pile. To the left
of the door, on entering, stood a fine marble copy of the Venus de
Medicis, which the prudery of the spiders had covered with
draperies of black cobwebs, that hung like draperies to the very
pedestal.
Further on, was the "Whetter, in bronze, on whose dark surface,
on the contrary, the coating of dust, in ledges, assumed a lighter
colour; and beyond, in all directions, were slabs of pietra dura
slanting against rich consoles of carved ebony, and bas-reliefs in
rosso antico and other precious marbles, side by side with tawdry
French clocks, Dresden cups, and Nankin vases; groupings of
stuffed birds, which, by the fracture of their glass-cases, and the
admission of the atmosphere, had sacrificed their bright plumage
to the moths ; so that only the shrunken skin or skeleton stuffed
with straw, and staring glass eyes, remained perceptible.
Crystal girandoles stood on the consoles, so encrusted with dust
as to have lost all symptom of transparency; while of a magnifi-
cent copy of Correggio's Notte, that stood frameless against a japan
cabinet, the rats had gnawn off a corner. There was a species of
altar with folding wings, such as are used for the travelling devo-
tions of crowned or mitred heads, adorned with chasings, the work
of Cellini or one of his pupils, which, though evidently of silver,
was tarnished to the tint of bronze.
Never before had Basil Annesley contemplated so singular a
waste of property. But that these precious objects were inter-
mingled with trays of old iron, rolls of lead, and fragments of
packing-cases, he would have compared this singular museum to
the bric-a-brac shops he had visited on the Q,uai Voltaire at Paris,
or in the Juden Gasse at Frankfort; saving that, in these, though
the chaos of valuable works of art was quite as confused, the
strictest cleanliness was observed to preserve from injury the com-
ponent objects.
After a deliberate survey of the room, a glance at the coating of
dust through which the colouring of a parqueted floor, now so rare
in London, was faintly perceptible, convinced him, that for some
time past, no foot but Ins own had crossed the threshold. He must
pursue elsewhere his search after the proprietor of the extraordinary
treasury he had invaded.
Closing the door carefully after him, he ascended another flight
of stairs, and again opened the first door facing the landing. But
the result was nearly the same as on the first; with the exception
that the warehouse of curiosities on the second floor appeared ex-
clusively devoted to the reception of pictures.
" My friend the Jew has evidently a taste for lodging as near as
possible to the sky !" thought Basil, proceeding to the attic story ;
and as he noticed the increase of light and decrease of density in
the humid atmosphere while continuing to ascend, he came to a
THE MONEY-LENDEK. 95
conclusion, that, were he a lodger in the old house in Delahay-
street, he should follow the example of its proprietor.
The door that now faced him on the landing was slightly ajar,
as if purposely left so by the ragged page, by way of indication.
Basil tapped lightly, to warn the inmate of his approach, and a
hoarse whisper instantly bade him " come in."
Before a smoking fire, composed of small coal and shavings, the
crazy grate containing which emitted the stifling effluvia peculiar
to rusty iron, in an old-fashioned bergere covered with the ragged
remains of a rich brocade, (which, in the days of Queen Anne and
of the sedan-chair below, had probably supported the graceful
limbs of many a court beauty,) sat the Money-lender, enrobed in a
faded but magnificent wrapper of velvet and sables; looking, with
his strongly-marked features and picturesque costume, as though
sitting for his picture to Rembrandt.
"Iam afraid your wet walk has had a worse influence on you,
sir, than on myself?" said Basil, struck by the hoarseness of the
tones in which the old man attempted to inquire his business.
"A slight sore throat,—nothing more!" grumbled Abednego;
" easily cured with a quarter of an ounce of gum-arabic and a pint
of hot water; half the price of a hackney-coach fare. What do
you want with me ?"
" So little," replied Basil Annesley, seating himself on a rickety
straw-chair opposite the invalid, "that I would by no means have
troubled you had I imagined you were indisposed."
"Thenwhy come at all?" demanded the Money-lender, with
surly abruptness.
" I came to ask you an idle question. You were in such perfect
health, when we parted yesterday evening, that I had no expecta-
tion of being so much an intruder as I find myself to-day. I have
been as far as Greek-street in search of you."
" Do you want to take the old house on a repairing lease ?" in-
quired Abednego, with a sneer. " You imagine, perhaps, that
some of the money-bags of A. 0. may be overlooked in the old
cupboards and odd corners ?"
" I have no views on your money-bags, Mr. Osalez, excepting
such as you have found me very frank in declaring," replied An-
nesley, with a degree of steadiness that did him no disservice with
one accustomed to be addressed in terms of subservience.
"Your question, then, I am to conclude, simply regarded the
state of my health?" retorted the Money-lender, the wrinkles
which had puckered the corners of his keen eyes into a sarcastic
expression, gradually relaxing.
" Still less. I never saw a person more robust than my com-
panion of last night. I merely wished to ask whether you could
give me any information concerning a volume in my possession,
which bears on the title-page your initials, inscribed in your own
hand-writing ?"
" I should be somewhat puzzled, I fancy," replied Abednego,
with a hoarse chuckle, "to give you precise information concerning
all the varieties of property which, one way or other, have passed
through my hands. I buy whatever I can buy cheap, and sell it
9(5 THE MONEY-LENDEB.
whenever I can sell it dear. The fools from whom I purchase, or
who purchase from me, are of no more account in my eyes than one
of the atoms of dust which your coat has imbibed by your recent
visit to my lumber-rooms."
Following- the indication of the old man's skinny finger, pointed
towards him, Basil perceived that his scrupulously neat dress bore,
unsatisfactory traces of the filmy drapery of the Yenus de
Hedicis.
" With such feelings," resumed Abednego, on perceiving that
his young visitor evinced no fastidious tokens of disgust at the mis-
adventure which had befallen him, "I do not often set my mark
on those temporary belongings. A book in which I ever inscribed
my initials, must have been a book I valued."
"You can scarcely have failed to value a work so interesting as
this !" replied Basil, drawing from his pocket the volume he had.
brought from Barlingham for the amusement of Yerelst, and
placing it before Abednego, so as to bring the inscription under his
eyes.
To his utter surprise, the effect produced on Osalez by the sight,
Was scarcely less remarkable than that which it had wrought in'
the mother of Esther. The old man fell back in his chair, and
for a moment appeared to gasp for breath; while Basil sat watching
him with Uneasy consternation.
u That boy takes as long to boil my hot water, as a chemist to
compound a medicine," were the first words that burst from the
quivering lips of Abednego, as if in apology for his emotion; " yet I
told him I was choking with my sore throat!" _ _
"Will you give me leave to ring, sir?" said Basil, perceiving
that his singular host was desirous of evading his observation.
" I give you leave to find a bell, if you are able !" retorted the
old man, as though priding himself on the denuded condition of his
habitation. " No, no ! no bells here, my fine captain, nor menials
to answer them. No knaves in showy liveries, like those who held
the great-coat on your back for you, last night, at my Lady Mait-
land's, who have received no wages save their pickings and steal-
ings these two years past! If there were indeed such a thing in this
old house as an unbroken bell-wire, it would serve only to frighten
the rats, who are as much masters here as myself. I have no
servant, except the beggar-boy who showed you in."
" And do you consider such an unprotected state safe, sir, with
such an amount of property in the house ?" inquired Basil, wishing
to give him time to recover his first surprise, ere he renewed his
inquiries.
" The half-starved terrier I let loose at night, is a better guard
than a troop of the household brigade!" replied Abednego; who
had thrust the volume aside on the table, as if not choosing to en-
counter a second view.
" But even if the dog gave the alarm, in your infirm state—"
" This is the first day's illness I have had these twenty years ;
and you may perceive that I am prepared to take care of myself,"
interrupted the old man, suddenly opening the drawer of the table
beside him, and taking out a brace of pistols, on half cock, which
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 97
he quietly replaced, having evidently exhibited them to reassure,
not to intimidate his guest.
" Besides, the police have their eye on my house. I have them
in fee, as I have the insurance offices, as a matter of business."
" But the discreditable urchin who waits upon you—"
" Regards me as little better than a beggar. Where a half-
starved brat sees an empty larder, he beholds only misery and
want. The chef-d'oeuvres you saw just now in my drawing-room
haye less intrinsic value in his eyes than a sirloin of beef in an
eating-house window. Bill the sweeper pities me, sir—pities me,
as a poor old man, almost as much a pauper as himself."
" He may some day come into contact with people able to
enlighten him," observed Basil, gravely. " May I ask, sir, whether
you have any recollection of the book beside you ?"
" You got it from your mother!"—said Abednego, as if started
into the rejoinder.
"You sold it to her then?" demanded Basil, anxious to ac-
count for his knowledge of the fact. But at the word Abednego
half started from his chair, as if smitten with a sore and sudden
pain. In a moment he recovered hinlself.
" Hay; I only so concluded by force of inference," said he. "A
taste for the works of Holbein and Hollar appeared more appro-
priate to an accomplished woman than to a gay guardsman.
Perhaps you wish to dispose of the book ?"
" I am not, thank Grod, so straitened, even by the imprudences
which have rendered me your debtor," said Basil, proudly, " as ta
be driven to the sale of my mother's property, or even of property
derived from her. I merely wished to account to myself for the
inscription of your initials on the title-page."
" The initials of A. 0. have, I admit, obtained strange notoriety
by my means," said Abednego. "nevertheless, you cannot sup-
pose me to be the only individual who has ever borne them ?" /
"Scarcely," replied young Annesley. "But these letters are
distinctly of your own tracing."
"Are you so expert in handwriting as to swear to that?" de-
inanded Abednego, abstaining, however, from a glance towards the
book again officiously placed before him by Basil.- "My dear
young friend, take my advice, and neither perplex your brains
with surmises on subjects that little concern you, nor by inferences
arising out of idle coincidences, which the inexperience of boy.-
hood conceives to be pregnant with meaning. You are surprised,
for instance, that I am tolerably well acquainted with your move-
ments, and the movements of people so much out of my sphere of
life as Lord Maitland's wife. A moment's reflection ought to
convince you that a portion of the Money-lender's business is to
obtain the most accurate information concerning the spendthrifts
of the day. I look upon all such as constituting my flocks and
herds—as much my property as the physician regards the gouty
lord lolling past him in his chariot, or the undertaker the hectic
wretch he hears coughing at the street corner."
"It may be your business to seek such information; the wonder
lies in your obtaining it," observed Basil.
Q
98 the mokey-lendee.
u All information may be had for money," rejoined Abednego,
rubbing his lean hands with an air of exultation. " Everything
is to be had for money, if applied with the same intelligence that
gathered it together. Look at me, Mr. Annesley. Did you ever
see a more loathsome scarecrow ?"
And, as he spoke, the Jew raised from his head the Greek cap,
embroidered with tarnished gold lace, by which its bald crown was
covered, as if to give greater expansion to his ugliness.
"Ay, smile, sir! You are too civil to confirm the ungracious
verdict of a man who sees himself as he sees all things else in this
world, in the clear and searching light of truth. But I tell you
that, unsightly as I am, women, both young and fair, cajole me
with their courtesies,—I would say caresses. But that you must
be an eye-witness of the fact—to have faith for disproportion so
monstrous—look ye here !—this tawdry thing," said he, pointing
to the cap, which he now replaced upon his head, "was worked
for me by the white hands of a countess ; and, if I chose it, she is
ready to embroider a dozen such—nay, to place them with her
aristocratic fingers upon the grey head of the old Money-lender."
" For which subjection to your will, you despise her!" said Basil,
with indignation.
" I despise her, because the necessities that bring her cringing to
my feet arise from the wantonness of folly—nay, the wantonness
of crime; for in a wife and mother folly becomes as criminal as
vice! This woman must shine, forsooth, and glitter, and dazzle, by
the splendour of her entertainments and fashion of her dress.
"Why? _ Because she is proud—because she has the ambition of
being cited for her distinction of looks and manners. And what is
the result of her pride and her distinction ? That she is made to
crawl in all the indigence of extravagance to the knees of A. 0.,
the Money-lender, and beg him, with tears in her eyes and prayers
upon her lips—nay, more than prayers, if I were brute enougu to
profit by her subjection—to take pity upon her necessities. You
doubt this ? Bead, read ! It may be treachery for a lover to ex-
hibit the letters of a fond and trusting woman. It is none for the
Money-lender to betray the correspondence of a thriftless customer."
And, snatching a pen from the old leaden inkstand beside him,
and passing it hastily through the signature of a letter, which,
while speaking, he had taken from an envelope lying on the table,
he presented it to Basil.
" Bemark the countess's coronet on the seal," said he, " and ad-
mire the delicacy of the handwriting, and elegance of the paper, in
confirmation of my assertion, ere you peruse the abject pleadings of
this fashionable bankrupt."
Basil Annesley shuddered as he read; for every line and every
syllable adduced horrible confirmation of Abednego's assertions.
" You knew not half the advantages of my calling,"—cried the
old man, laughing -with feeble triumph at the air of consternation
that overspread the countenance of Basil, under the influence of one
of those painful discoveries which tend to shake our confidence in
human nature. " Till now, you regarded the old beggar of Paulet-
street s the crazy proprietor of a warehouseful of worm-eaten, curio-
THE MONEY-LENDEE. - 99
sities, left in deposit by his customers, of a few crazy houses, and
perhaps a few floating thousands lent out on infamous usury.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! You would give worlds, boy,—worlds, for a
thousandth part of my influence and authority.—Preferment and
promotion lie in the bureau of the Money-lender.—I command most
of those who command the destinies of the kingdom. I have
princes, ministers, bishops, among my debtors; your highflying
orator, your rhapsodizing author;—fellows who, upon the hustings,
or in the House, get up and speechify upon virtue, honour, honesty:
but whose shallow consciences are not the less admeasurable by
certain shreds of parchment, called bonds, which I hold in my
possession.—There are few things they dare refuse me. As war-
making kings tremble under the governance of Rothschild, under
mine,—under the control of A. 0. shivering in his garret,—abide
more than one, two, or three of those to whom you uncover your
head reverentially as you pass. You saw me keep the Duke of
Rochester dancing attendance at my gate.—As much, and more
also, have I done to men having the blood-royal of England in
their veins."
. The spirits of Basil were overpowered by the vehemence of ex-
citement gradually enkindled in the old man's frame by the pro-
gress of discussion. He almost feared that Abednego must^ be
under the influence of fever, to become thus strangely communicative.
" Open yonder bureau," said the Money-lender, extending his
skinny finger to one clamped with iron, which stood beside his com-
fortless bed.
And Basil almost mechanically obeying, beheld within, in
separate compartments, piles of rouleaus, such as he had already seen
in the secretaire in Greek Street, besides a variety of morocco-cases.
" Bring me a handful of those baubles. Or, stay—you know not
the ways of the place," he continued, tottering from his chair, till
he stood beside Annesley, leaning on the bureau, of which he
opened a secret drawer. "Look here! these are a duchess's dia-
monds. I hold them in pledge while she appears at the right hand
of the throne, in trinkets of paste. These sapphires are the pro-
perty of a banker's wife, who pretends to have grown ' serious,' as
a pretence for abjuring the use of jewels;—because, deceitful jade,_
her own are in the keeping of A. 0.—But this—this is my crown of
glory!" chuckled the Money-lender, bringing forth a small round
ease, containing a bracelet of brilliants. " Do you see this minia-
ture? Six years only have elapsed, since the proud and happy
young lord it represents, placed it on the arm of his bride. He has
been three years in his grave, and the miniature is mine! The
tinsel of fashion by which the widow is trying to bewilder another
silly victim into wedlock is procured with means of my supplying.
She broke the heart of her first husband by her extravagance. . It
may not be easy to find another ready to be heart-broken."
" Surely; you had better rest yourself again, Sir, in your easy-
chair," said Annesley, eager to avoid these hateful revelations.
—" Pardon me, if I own that I am by no means anxious to see the
veil uplifted'from the deformities and defeatures of my fellow-
creatures."
Q 2
100 THE MOHEE-lEKEEE.
" I have, nevertheless, too deep a stake in yonr Well-doing, hdt
to afford you the means of discriminating between the sheep of the
flock, and the wolves in sheep's clothing," said the Money-lender,
as h.e double locked the bureau, and retreated to his seat. " Admit,"
said he, gathering more closely around him the robing of his furred
symar, (which might have served a theatrical Doge of Venice, or
Grand Pensionary of Holland,) "admit that, if I chose to deny
myself the daintiness of being drugged by a fashionable apothecary,
and dawdled over by a canting housekeeper, it is not for want of
means to keep such reptiles in my pay ?"
" Which makes me only the more regret, Sir, your obstinate dis-
comfort," replied Basil, beginning to survey the squalid wretched'
ness of the millionary, as the crotchet of a maniac. "You are ill
■—more ill, perhaps, than you imagine; and left here all night
alone, (for even the boy, I conclude, quits you at night,) alone,
with gnawing rats for companionship, to fight against fever and
suffocation, you may have cause to repent your .rejection of the
means of care and comfort, secured by your ample fortune." <
" I have been left alone with worse things than gnawing rats,
even with my own bitter and gnawing thoughts, and yet struggled
through the trial," said Abednego. " You pity me, young man,
for risking to be stifled by a quinsy, when I might hire some
frowsy old woman to sit up with me, whose gripe upon my throat
at midnight, were a worse peril than my disease. Basil! had
you ever experienced the heart choking that suspends the im*
pulses of life—under a sense of the contumely of those you love,—1
had you ever felt the fever that throbs in the burning veins, when
disparaged by the idol of your tenderness,—the woman for whom
you would have perilled every hope of your soul, in this world, and
the world to come,—had you seen the fools, the knaves, whom you
despise with the full force of your vigorous intellect, the warm
fervour of your generous heart, triumphing over your defeat, and
asking how such as you presume to form pretensions to the smiles
of beauty, you with nothing to recommend you but youth, ar-
dour, mind, cultivation, honour, 'truth, and treble the enjoyments
of the lordly home from which you desire to remove the object of
your love to the temple where you would have served her as a slave;
—had you known all this, Basil Annesley—had you felt those con-
temptuous looks eating like caustic into your flesh—had you heard
those insulting words piercing like poisoned arrows into the mar-
row of your bones, —you would have been content to live as I do, apart
from the titled herd, apart from the rapacious crew, despising
alike the hirelings for bread, and the hirelings for vanity; alone,
independent,—brooding over the sense of a mighty wrong, and
anticipating the triumph of a mighty revenge."
" All this I could perfectly understand," replied young Annes-
ley, steeling himself against the awe with which he was beginning
to listen to what appeared to be the rhapsodies of a lunatic, " pro-
vided your privation tended towards the accomplishment of aught
beyond your personal inconvenience. But what enemy of yours
will be the worse for your remaining this bitter night destitute of
attendance and medicaments ?"
" They will be the worse for the results of a system of which
THE SlONEY-IiENDEB. 101
these hardships form a part," replied Abednego, in a gruffer voice,
as if exhausted by his recent outburst. " I discern, by the grow-
ing superiority of your glance, young man, the contempt kindling
in your soul towards my short-sightedness. You recal to yourself
the words of the Psalmist: 4 He heapeth up riches, and cannot tell
who shall gather them!' I know—I know, Basil Annesley—and,
I glory in knowing. He who gathers them will shed coals of fire
upon those who—But no matter. What care you for the burning
injuries or burning revenge of the old Money-lender ?"
" I shall care much more, Sir, to know that you are lying here
devoid of the necessaries of life, while my pillow has been
smoothed by your kindness," replied Basil, mildly. " But I cannot
offer you my aid. I cannot now ask you to accept the services of a
faithful servant of my own; because, in the instance of others, you
have shown me that you consider such acts of kindness to be in-
terested and mercenary."
"Not from one so young and guileless as you !" burst in a hoarse
murmur from the parched lips of Abednego. " Be satisfied ! It
would make me far more uncomfortable to have my poor old
dwelling ransacked by the curiosity of strangers, than to lie here
conscious that the javelin of death is at my breast, and that there
is none to elose my eyes if the Grim One gets the best of it!—I want
no prying Jacks to spy out the nakedness of the land, or its abun-
dance ; tq exult over my empty cellar, or covet my brimming
coffers. There is less peril, Basil Annesley, in the quinsy which,
as you perceive, is gradually thickening my voice and filming my
eyes, than in the malice of the cut-throats with whom your rascal
in livery might league himself, on the temptation of the wealth
that lies ensconced in this old seeming rat-hole, richer of contents
than the palace of Aladdin. But you pretend a desire to do me a
service," said he, half interrogatively.
Annesley answered not a word; and the Money-lender was forced
to reiterate his question.
" I pretend nothing," replied Basil, coldly,—" I pity your in-
fatuation—I pity your abandonment 5 and would fain induce you
to take pity on yourself."
< " I repeat that you just now tendered me offers of service. If
sincere, and your good-will be not a mere pretence, confer an obli-
gation on me by giving me this volume,'' said Abednego, striking
is bony hand on the copy of Hollar, lying on the table.
" I cannot do that," replied Basil, in a decided tone, " for it is
not mine to give. It is the property of my mother.''
The piercing glance of Abednego peered from under his bushy
eyebrows, and fixed itself scrutinizingly on his face.
" How comes it, then, in your possession ?'' said he.
"I arrived yesterday morning from Barlingham Grange, where
she resides," replied Annesley, firmly, " and brought it with me."
" Without her knowledge ?"
" Without her knowledge," replied the young man, in a less as-
sured voice. But the admission appeared less to provoke the
contempt than the satisfaction of his singular companion. 4 Wf
p£ joy twinkled in his deep-set eyes,
102;. THE MONEY-IENDEE.'
" And what tempted jovl to bring it with yon ?" inquired Abed-
nego, with persevering curiosity. . , .
"I wished to show it to a friend, to whom, as a curious woricot
art, I thought the sight might be advantageous," replied, the
harassed guest. . , ,, „ m ix.
" That is, you wanted to conciliate the blind old father of Esther
Verelst," added the Money-lender, while the colour mounted to the
temples of the astonished Basil.
"Do you mean me to believe you in league with Satan, as well
as the comptroller of half the destinies of London ?' cried he, losing
all self-possession. .
Abednego laughed aloud at this apostrophe; and the huskiness
of his voice was now painful to hear.
" You go far out of your way, young sir," said he, " to account for
my participation in the household secrets of a needy artist. Is it
so very marvellous that I—A. 0. the Money-lender—should be
aware that the sum of money raised so rashly at my hands, was
devoted to meet acceptances which had their origin^ in the embar-
rassments of that wrong-headed ass, Yerelst, the painter ?"
Basil Annesley now fairly started from his seat.
"Somewhat an onerous requital," persisted Abednego, with a
sneer, " for a few cups of lindenwasser bestowed upon you during
your illness at Heidelberg, and a few lessons in crayons !"
"Mr. Osalez," Basil was beginning,—but Abednego persevered
in a louder key—" You fancy," he continued, " that it would goto
the stubborn heart of Lady Annesley, to know that a book of hers
had fallen into the hands of an obscure, money-lending, miserly, con-
temned, and outcast Jew. But I tell you, young gentleman, that,
haughty as she is, her blood would rise to fever heat, did she know
that her only son, the son of her pride, if not of her affection, had
pledged his heart, and meditated pledging his hand, to the daugh-
ter of a starving artist, and the grand-daughter of no matter—
Her scorn ana her humiliation are no affair of mine.—But here
comes my brew of diet-drink," cried he, as the dirty urchin, carry-
ing a j ug of hot water peeped into the room: '' and the more welcome,
that my throat is parched with talking.—So no more to-day, Mr.
Annesley.-—TJntempting as my bed may look to you, I am cowardly
enough to feel that my old bones will be the better for it.—Farewell!
If you have consistency enough to care two days hence for the
ailment that paints such compassion in your looks at this moment,
pr'ythee come and see whether Death or A. 0. have fought the
better fight,—Till then, surely, you will entrust to my hands a
volume so replete with instruction as this ?" said he, again laying
his hand upon the book, which Annesley had no pretext for refus-
ing as a loan.
Almost before he knew what he was about, he had been uneon-
sciously dismissed by the Money-lender ; and was standing on the
pavement of Delahay Street, listening to the bolting and barring,
and putting up of the rusty chain within, by Bill the sweeper.
Basil had not resisted Abednego's commands, that the boy should
follow him down to open the door; for he thus secured an oppor-
trinity to enforce, by a second bribe, his charge to the uncouth pug©
THE MONEY-LENDER. 103
on-.no account to leave the invalid that night; but to be in readiness
to receive the medicines and instructions he was proceeding to
despatch from the shop of a neighbouring chemist.
CHAPTER XI.
Thou shak'st, old man! Are thy limbs palsied ?—No.
'Tis not old age,—'tis not disease,—'tis not
Inclemency of cold thus troubles thee !
It is the ague of a tortured heart,
That not e'en time can med'cine!—Massinger.
Never had Basil Annesley installed himself before the fire _ of
his lodgings in so desponding a mood as after his interview with
Abednego. Not a single point or person whereon he could fix his
thoughtswith complacency, by way of relief. _ After a visit to his
mother, in which he had been made to feel himself an unwelcome
guest, after becoming an ear-witness to the ravings of the old
gardener, which he would have given worlds to efface from his
memory, he had been spurned from the door which he had a right
to approach as a benefactor, and where he would nevertheless have
been proud to kneel in all the self-sacrificing humility of love.
His mother he knew to be exposed to the most harassing and pain-
fuL duties. _ The family of Verelst appeared to be distracted by
some peculiar contrariety of fortune, of which he was unable to
surmise the origin. Ana now, his benefactor, the man for whom,
involuntarily, he entertained at once the greatest interest and
greatest contempt, was suffering from a dangerous disease. In
neither of the three cases could he exercise a beneficial influence.
Gladly would he have dedicated all the means at his command, to
alleviate the pangs of any of the three. But he was powerless as
a child. All he could do was to sympathize in silence, and at a
distance.
To say that no floating visions of the Duca di San Catalda min-
gled with his many vexations, would be disengenuous. It was
doubtless no small enhancement to the miseries of his position that,
while excluded from the house of Verelst, he believed another to
be favoured with access;—another, rich and powerful; able to
confer favours fifty times greater than the poor services he had
rendered, and perhaps to make them acceptable by graces of de-
portment in which he felt himself to be lamentably deficient. _ In
the depths of his reverie, poor Basil seemed to behold passing
before him, as in a dream, all that was occurring at Barlingham,
all that was chancing in the drawing-room of Verelst, all that was
exercising a fatal empire in the miserable attic of A. 0.
So irritated was his mind by these perplexities, that he felt un-
equal to the exertion of dining at mess; and he accordingly deter-
mined to take an early dinner at the Clarendon, and proceed to the
play; the resource of homeless men in London against the publicity
of their Club or loneliness of their lodgings.
Now the play, in the month of January, is as habitual a resort of
104 THE MONEY-LENBEE.
fashionable loungers as it is secure from their presence the moment
the season commences. Scarcely had Basil taken a hack seat in one
of the public boxes, leaning back with folded arms, for the un-
molested enjoyment of his reflections, when an unusual degree of
movement ana conversation in one of the private boxes attracted
his notice; and he perceived that it was tenanted by a party of his
brother officers, Loftus, Blencowe, and Maitland, the old boy Car-
rington, and young boy Wilberton, precisely those whom others
would have designated as his friends.
This was vexatious; for Loftus had invited him to dine with
them and join a party to the Adelphi, and they would now perceive
that the engagement he had pleaded was a subterfuge to avoid
them. For he rightly conjectured that the unusual vociferation in
their box was produced by their discovery of his entrance, and
ejaculations of indignation at his desertion.
He was, consequently, as little at his ease at the theatre, as he
would have been at home. To his disturbed thoughts, the eyes of
the merry party seemed constantly upon him. He fancied them
still pursuing the system of quizzing which had irritated him the
preceding night into the unlucky explanation, the full force of em-
barrassments arising from which had been demonstrated to him by
the officiousness of Carrington, on his way from Arlington Street
to the Club.
It was, perhaps, because annoyed by the sort of Inquisition to
which he felt himself' exposed, (for the laughers had the advantage
over him in point both of position and numbers,) that, the moment
the curtain dropped upon a tragedy composed of glazed calico, gilt
paper, glass beads, cotton velvet, twelve flourishes of trumpets, a
voice more uproarious in offering "a kingdom for a horse" than all
the twelve put together, and a prompter still louder and more
active than both the trumpets and tragedian, Basil quitted the
theatre. He foresaw that the significant smiles and whisperings
they had directed towards him during the courtship of Lady Anne
and the mild heroism of Richmond, would have double scope during
the tumults of the pantomime.
It was a chilly night. The_ moonlight lay like snow upon the
frozen pavement; and that vivid brightness which, jn summer,
icems intended to facilitate happier enjoyment than the glare of
ilay, either for the revellers of this world, or those which, unseen
and unsuspected, disport themselves impalpably around us, seemed
thrown away on a state of atmosphere that drove both man and
ieast to shelter. There was nothing to tempt forth fay or fairy; the
sylph to the moonbeam, the undine to the wave. A few shivering
mortals crept despairingly along the streets; or, by a brisker en-
counter with the cold, attempted to lessen the evil. It was im-
possible to conneot the idea of that frozen moonlight with any-
thing but suffering and discontent.
Even the young blood of Basil was chilled within him; and
though, in the course of his musings during the tragedy, he had
made up his mind to proceed to Westminster and ascertain that the
man whose eccentricities had so enthralled his attention was not
wholly without assistance on such a night, yet, on emerging from
THE MONEY-EENDEB. 105
the heated theatre into the frosty atmosphere without, his courage
failed him.
As he issued from the public door in Bow-street, adjoining the
private one, a tiger in livery, with a cockade in his hat, touched it
to him, and ran to resume his place in the cabriolet he had aban-
doned to the care of a brother atom in order to gossip with the
footmen in the entry. His attention attracted by this irregularity,
Basil perceived that two of the'cabs in waiting were those of John
Maitland and Blencowe, both of which were always at his orders;
and, aware that neither of them would he in request for two hours
to come, he jumped into that of the latter, and having hurried as
far as the entrance of Delahay-street, desired the lad to drive hack
to the theatre, and await his master, to whom he was to explain the
occurrence. Thus secured from a chilly walk, Basil proceeded, on
the opposite side of the pavement, to the house occupied by Abed-
nego, and raised his eyes anxiously towards the attic story.
Hot a gleam of light in the windows,—not a token of habitation.
The old man might have been left alone and fireless, to wrestle with
his disease; nay, he might have sunk under it, united with the in-
clemency of the weather. It was just possible that the room occu-
pied by the Money-lender might not face the street. But if other-
wise, the idea of an old man in a high fever, half suffocated with
a quinsy, a disease of all others demanding the watchfulness of an
attendant, exposed to the chill of that deserted rat-hole, was, in-
deed, a picture of desolation.
In spite of the cold, he stood for some minutes wrapt in his
plpak, contemplating the quaint old mansion. Then, as if con-
soious of the absurdity of interfering in the domestic affairs of one
to whom he bore so little affinity, and who would probably resent
his kindness as importunate or artful, he walked away as far as
the corner of the street, on his road homeward. Again, however,
his steps were arrested by a sense of the isolated wretchedness of
A. 0.
•' If the old creature should die in the night for want of aid!"
murmured he; and, at the supposition, back he hastened to the
house, and stepping down to the door, rang gently at the bell.
Basil was^epared to allow the greatest possible latitude for the
deliberation of •the little sweeper, to whom, in sending the medi-
cines from the chemist's, he had addressed a message, promising a
reward on the morrow if he adhered to his promise of not quit-
ting the house. He therefore waited quietly at the door, till he
conceived the poor urchin had found time to shuffle up stairs from
the heap of shavings in the front kitchen, on which he had pro-
mised Basil to pass the night, and visit from time to time the
chamber-door of the invalid. "When five minutes had elapsed,
Basil rang again;—at the end of ten, a third time.-—Still, no
answer.
Weary of standing in the cold, he began to exercise his personal
observations by examining carefully through the area railings
whether light were perceptible through the cracks of the shutters;
the kitchen, in which Bill had promised to station himself bearing
evidence, in the name of "front," of being overlooked by the
106 THIS MONEY-LENDEE.
street. But the most careful eye could detect no straggling gleam
betokening habitation.
"Perhaps the poor boy may have fallen asleep in the cold,"
mused Basil, drawing his cloak closer about his ears. " If I were
to try and wake him?—A stone thrown against the shutter,
perhaps, might rouse him up."
But where was a stone to be found on the frozen pavement of
Delahay-street!—Though St. James's Park, and all its gravel, lay
within distance of a stone's throw, Basil might as well have
required an " entire and perfect chrysolite" to fling at the shutter,
as a single pebble. After a moment's deliberation, he whistled
loudly, in hopes that, if dozing, this signal might reach the ear,of
the boy.
In an instant, an answering whistle sounded shrilly from the
opposite side of the street, and a rough hand was placed upon his
collar. Basil started round to grapple with his antagonist, but
stopped short on noticing the uniform of a policeman. Ere he had
time for explanation, two more ran up to the assistance of the
first.
" Hold fast, Bill!" cried one of the new-comers, panting for
breath.
" I've been watehin' on him this quarter of a hour," cried
the original captor,—" seeing as he'd a heye to the parlour win-
ders o' the old Jew. He's been trying skeleton keys, and what not,
at the door.—S'pose we gives the alarm indoors ? Ihom his piping
up, the chap has maybe got accomplices within."
" Ay, av, a put-up robbery "
" Jist the flash-cut iv a "Wist-ind burglar!"—cried the third
policeman;—all three keeping such fast hold of the collar of Basil,
as to leave him scarcely breath for explanations, which, even when
made, were utterly disregarded.
" A mighty likely story ?—exclaimed the constable from Great
George-street, who had now come up, in answer to the summons of
his subs.—" Gentlemen which come to inquire after the health of
other gentlemen^ does not whistle to the footmen down the ary!"—
"JNor try skiliton-kays at the front doore!"—added the third
policeman.—
" Besides, the old fellow at this 'ere 'ouse hav'n't e'er a friend as
ever anybody hear tell of," observed the original captor;—"and
from his anxiousness to have his house watched, I've a notion
there's property past common, inside."
" In that case, knock at the door, and give an alarm to have the
house searched," said the constable. "B 947, will assist in
carrying this fellow to the station-house."
"No assistance will be required. I am quite willing to proceed
there," said Annesley, perfectly composed. "But before I go, I
should be glad to learn news of the old gentleman who resides here,
who is dangerously ill."
The men, who were holding him as tightly as though Jerry
Abershaw or Dick Turpin were in their clutches, now inquired
with expressive gestures, whether he saw any green in their eyes :
to which inquiry, Basil replying by an eager renewal of the request
THE MONEY-LENBEK. 107;
he* had addressed to the constable, B 947, who, apparently less
experienced in his calling1 than the rest, suggested that " no great
'arm 'ud be done by keeping him fast till the door uppened."
" Do you suppose, sir, as I require to be obstructed in my dooty
by the likes of you?" cried the indignant constable.—" I'm an-
swerable to my super'ors, and that's enough. Carry him off!"
cried he, addressing the " infer'ors," with the dignity of a Dog-
berry—" I'll be after you in a jiffy."
Annesley was accordingly _ compelled to hurry off between the
two policemen, without waiting to hear the result of the alarm at
the door of A. 0.
He offered no resistance, concluding that his explanations at the
station-house would produce his immediate release; and was only
vexed to perceive, on entering the crowded room, that, from the
number of charges claiming priority, he should be some time
detained. It was no such pleasant sight to contemplate the num-
ber of wretches taken insensible from the door-steps of gin-shops;
or, though it still wanted an hour of midnight, the set of miserable
beings, more miserable from being less insensible, apprehended as
wandering homeless in the streets at that inclement season. Basil
Annesley was far from needing Shakspeare's admonishment—
Take physic, Pomp,—
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
in order to waken his sensibility to the wants of his fellow-
creatures: still, till that night, he had been scarcely aware of the
nature and amount of wretchedness infesting the streets of the
Great Babylon.
At length his turn arrived; and he was beginning 'to launch
forth into a simple narrative of what had befallen him, when he was
authoritatively desired to hold his tongue; and the depositions of
the police assumed their due precedence.
Let those who, after listening in either house to a dull debate,
consisting of incoherent nothings, hemmed and hawed by one
honourable member, mumbled by a second, mouthed by a third,
and executed in dumb show by the hands and lips of a fourth,
(inaudible in the gallery,) peruse with wondering eyes on the fol-
lowing morning in the flowing periods of "The Times," a con-
centration of the wisdom of Parliament, arranged under the several
heads of "the Duke of; "the Marquis of "the
Honourable Member for Finsbury," or for no-matter what,—as a
fair representation of the bald disjointed chat of the preceding
night,—conjecture the amazement of Basil on hearing a most con-
sistent and plausible narrative of his exploits as a burglar.—'His
face was recognised by several present as familiar at Marlborough-
street; while one, better informed than the rest, facetiously
reminded him of his two months at the mill !—
It was a relief rather than a vexation when an examination of
his person was ordered, preparatory to his being locked up for the
night; knowing that, instead of the skeleton keys and jemmy im-
puted to him, the property in his great coat pockets would confirm
the identity he had asserted.
108 THE MONEY-LENDER.
When, however, the initials on his handkerchief, and the name
inscribed in a pocket-book containing his letters and memoranda,
had sufficed, as he fondly imagined, to prove the supposed delin-
quent of Brixton Mill to be an officer of the Guards of honourable
reputation, and he was anticipating apologies from the inspectqp,
new grounds of suspicion presented themselves. The fellow whq
taxed his face with having been "up a matter o' twenty times at
Mobbro-street," suggested that the " soortoo might have been
prigged" from the rightful owner, and worn with all his property,
in order to establish an alias.
" If you will send a messenger to the Guards' Club, and request
Captain Blencowe, whose cab is waiting there, either to drive
hither and identify me, or despatch one of my brother officers for
that purpose, or even hi§ own servant who accompanied me an
hour ago to Delahay-street, you will perceive that these men have
deposed falsely, or rather to thrice as much as the truth," said
Basil, in a tone that startled the benumbed faculties of the stultified
inspector; and after some further discussion among the deponents,
he was locked up to abide the result of the message.^
Three quarters of an hour, did poor Annesley await the return of
the policeman despatched to St. James's-street; in a room reeking
with the vapours of gin and tobacco, created by three ragged human
beings huddled together, two upon a flock bed in a corner of the
strong room, the third upon the floor, and breathing so hard and
irregularly, as to betoken an apopletic seizure rather than mere
drunkenness. It was in vain he remonstrated against being placed
in collision with these outcasts. The charge of false-witnessing he
had made against the police force, exposed him to the utmost
rigour of what is called the law.
At length, when heated and chafed almost to frenzy by this un-
timely incarceration and revolting companionship, the grating lock
intimated that his probation was at an end; and he was summoned
back into the police room, now hotter than ever, and crowded with
new committals.
The first objects that struck him (their Chesterfield wrappers and
laughing faces affording a singular contrast to the uniforms of the
policemen and filthy tatters of the prisoners) were Maitland and
Wilberton, arm-in-arm, who, having issued from the supper-table
into the frosty air on Annesley's summons, were just sufficiently
affected by the cigars and brandy-and-water they had taken at
starting to enjoy beyond measure, the part they proposed to play.
Though satisfied by Basil's message of the nature of his scrape,
they pretended, on reaching the station-house, to believe themselves,
summoned at the impudent instigation of an impostor, and the
consequence was, that, on emerging from the lock-up room, the
prisoner found himself treated quite as cavalierly as before.
"Never saw the fellow in my life," stammered Wilberton, who,
more elated than his companion, was delighted at the prospect of
the spree proposed by John Maitland, by way of retaliation on
Basil's pretended engagement. " Some drunken dog of—of a pick-
pocket—who has made fr—free with our names!"
"Dooced hard that a gentleman should be disturbed from his
3?&E MONEY-EENDEE * 109
supper on such absurd pretences," added Maitland, assuming an
air of drunken indignation.
Annesley was now about to be removed to a cell for the remainder
of the night, when something in the rollicking air, and exulting
tone of the two witnesses, so far attracted the notice of the expe-
rienced inspector, that when Basil, appealing to him in the gentle-
manly tone which rarely fails of effect, entreated that the servant
©r servants who had driven down with the two gentlemen to the
station, might be_ called in, he readily complied. But before Mait-
land's tiger had time to make his appearance, whose testimony must
£ut an end to the mystery, his master had begun to address Annes-
yy by the nameof " old fellow!" and to treat the matter as a joke.
The result was the instant release of the supposed burglar.
Nothing had been found upon him confirmatory of the depositions
of B 947, who had already sneaked off in anticipation of being
given in charge in his turn; and, by way of conciliating the ex-
Erisoner, who, ere he followed his jocose friends out of the station
ouse, intimated his intention of lodging a complaint with the
magistrates on the morrow, the inspector acquainted him that un-
able to obtain ingress to the house in Delahay-street, and seriously
alarmed for the safety of its inmate, the policemen had attempted,
to force the door, the noise of which brought down the old man from
his attic, pistols in hand, to certify his own safety.
"Nevertheless," added the inspector, "the constable, who per-
suaded him to a parley with the chain up, states that the old gen-
tleman was in such a state of debility that his voice was scarcely
audible ; which account, sir, ought certainly to have induced more
belief than I accorded to the motive you adduced for visiting him
at so strange an hour."
On his release from the tyranny of the police, Basil determined
to return instantly to Delahay Street; being now certain that the
little sweeper had proved false to his charge, and that the miserable
old man was left alone.
Just as he was quitting the door of the station-house, resisting
the officious offers of a raggamuffin loitering near the door to run
and fetch him a cab, a strange figure appeared at the corner of the
street, which, but for its venturing so near the head-quarters of
the law, might easily have been mistaken for one of the calling to
which Basil had just escaped the imputation of belonging. But
the moon shone too brightly through the clear atmosphere, to admit
of any deception in the eyes of Annesley, who instantly discerned
in that unsightly form the individual to whose aid he was hasten-
ing, as perhaps on a bed of death.
" What, in God's name, sir, has tempted you out in your present
state on such a night?" cried Basil, eagerly accosting him.
But the answer was wholly unintelligible. Abednego < leaned
heavily against the area-railings of an adjoining house, as if over-
come by his feelings or his infirmities, and groaned aloud.
" Fetch a coach !" cried Basil, to the fellow who had been impor-
tuning him; perceiving that, short as was the distance to Delahay
Street, there was much doubt whether the strength of the sick man
Would enable him to retrace his steps, and while listening to the
110 THE - HOlTEY-LENDEB.
broken gasps, balf invective, half endearment, In which Abednego
attempted to express anger at his young friend's officiousness, and
indignation at the dilemma into which it had betrayed him, a
vehicle rattled up. The manner in which the invalid, after being
lifted in, sunk breathless into a corner, convinced Basil Annesley
that his previous anxieties were not exaggerated.
" It is as much as his life is worth to have encountered the night-
air on such a night!" burst involuntarily from his lips, as he com-
pared the warm interest entertained in his behalf by the eccentric
old Jew, with the desertion of his gay associates; and a hoarse
ejaculation of " my life!" which escaped the lips of his companion,
was the only intelligible sound that reached the ear of Basil till
they stopped before the door in Delahay Street.
" You must allow me to assist you up stairs," said Basil, as the
coachman held open the coach door, ana Abednego, taking a pass-
key from his waistcoat pocket, prepared to open his own.
"No, no !" muttered the old man,—" I tell you, no I Who is to
put the chain up after you, when you quit the house ?"
But the effort he had made for this explanation proved too much
for him; and on reaching his door, he tottered and would have
fallen, while attempting to place the key_ in the lock, had not
Annesley started forward and supported him in his arms. A low
moaning now escaped his lips; ana Annesley having taken the key
from his icy hand, and pushed open with his foot the slowly yield-
ing door, carried him into the_ hall, and placed him on a bench.
After returning to pay and dismiss the coachman, he carefully
closed the street door; and even so far conceded to the habits of
Abednego as to bar it and put up the chain, ere he snatched
with one hand the filthy iron lamp which the Jew had left burning
on the pavement of the hall on his departure for the station-house,
and offered his arm to A. 0., who was gradually reviving.
"Let me see you up stairs, sir," said Basil. "It is useless de-
clining my assistance. The night is half over; and since I know
you to be alone in the house, I swear that I will not quit it before
morning."
The suffering man seemed fully aware of his incompetency under
the influence of growing indisposition to dispute the point; for,
instead of offering further resistance, he accepted the proffered arm
of Basil, and attempted to ascend the stairs.
The task, however, was by no means easy. His respiration was
impeded by the increased swelling and inflammation of his throat;
and on attaining the second landing, he clung with both hands to
the arm of Annesley, and panted for breath.
It was not till after the lapse of some minutes, they were able to
attain the attic; the door of which was locked, from habit more
than as a security, since there was no other human being in the
house.
.They entered the room. Basil saw with concern that there was
not a vestige of fire; and that his suffering companion had risen
from his miserable bed to answer the summons of the police. From
the iron lamp he carried, young Annesley hastily lighted a candle
that stood on the table, which, in strange contradiction to the habits
of Abednego, proved to be of wax.
THEMONETrlENDEE. Ill
" Give me the lamp," faltered the old man, rising from the
bergere into which he had sunk exhausted on entering.—"I have
W9od and shavings in the other room. Since you choose to abide
with me, I suppose I must kindle a tire."
"Not on my account, sir," said Basil, eagerly, but on reflecting
that the sentiment of hospitality might be the only means of indue-
ing the old gentleman to bestow upon himself a necessary indulgence,
he desisted ; and Abednego.tottered, grumbling, into the adjoining
chamber.
Thus left alone, on casting his eyes around him upon that
wretched room, as much a place of penance as the police cell he
had quitted, Basil noticed that, on a low table beside the flock bed,
lay the book borrowed that morning by his host; and beside it, a
large crucifix of Berlin iron, and a folded paper. _ A crucifix !—
The world then, and his own suspicions, had decided wrongfully.
Abednego the Money-lender was only in name and practices a Jew.
While pondering upon this startling discovery, a heavy fall in
the adjoining closet attracted Basil's attention; and though be-
lieving it to proceed only from a log of the wood mentioned by his
singular host, he "hurried to his assistance. Either A. 0. had en-
tangled his feet in the long wrapper in which he had enveloped
himself to confront the night air, or had fallen from weakness; for
there he lay, stretched upon the heap of mingled coals, cinders,
and fragments of old wood, that encumbered one corner of the
room.
The old man had struck himself too in the fall; for on lifting
him up, Basil perceived, by the light of the lamp, (which, though
overturned on the floor, was not extinguished,) that blood was
gushing from his lips. Lifting him in his arms, he bore him like
a child into the adjoining attic, and placed him on the bed; Abed-
nego groaning heavily at intervals, either from illness, or the dis-
astrous effects of his accident.
His host thus manifestly disabled, Basil felt entitled to bestir
himself according to his own inventions. He was there alone, in
the dead of night, without aid or comfort, in sole charge of a sick
or dying man. It was no moment for scruples or nicety. Throwing
off his great coat, and hastily gathering, from the heap in the ad-
joining room, materials for a fire, he soon produced a blaze in the
rusty old grate, which diffused some degree of cheerfulness and pro-
mised gradually to diffuse warmth, through the desolate apartment.
An old kettle stood within the fender; but as it proved empty,
Basil proceeded to a stone water-jug that stood in a corner of the
room, to replenish, it. Alas! the water in the pitcher was frozen.
In order to break the ice, which resisted his hand, Basil took up a
faggot-stick lying near it on the floor. The crash caused by the
fracture seemed to rouse the faculties of Abednego, who instantly
woke as from a stupor.
"WTiat mischiefnre you doing there?" gasped he, evidently
only partially sensible. "What have you broken? I have not
kept a piece of crockery entire since you began to wait upon me.
And how dare you light that monstrous fire ?—Fool!—what have
I to roast here besides your own wretched limbs, that you thus
waste my fuel ?"
112 SHE MONET-LENBEE.
From the little Basil Annesley could gather of this apostrophe,
uttered in a hoarse whisper, he saw that Ahednego's head was
wandering, and that he mistook him for the little sweeper.
Without attempting to undeceive him, he persisted in his self-
imposed task; filled the kettle, set it on the fire, and having found
untouched the packet of dried lime-flowers he had despatched from
the chemist's for an infusion, prepared a drink for the sick man,
such as he remembered to have been administered to himself at
Heidelberg, by the mother of Esther.
There was some difficulty in finding a cup in which to offer it to
Abednego. As a last resource, Basil took from a shelf behind him
what appeared to be a bronze ornament, which afterwards proved
to be an antique silver goblet, a chef-d'oeuvre of one of the old
chasers of Lombardy.
The invalid drank and was comforted. His moans became less
heavy. After a time, he opened his eyes, and breathed as though
the oppression of his chest were in some degree relieved. By
degrees, and before he altogether regained his consciousness, Basil
removed his outer garments, and having placed them under Ms
pillow as a prop to his head, covered him closely up with the
quilt of his wretched pallet.
With a second cup of the hot infusion, he now mixed some anti-
mony as prescribed by the chemist he had consulted; and the
invalid having again, almost mechanically, swallowed the soothing
infusion, Basil left it to exercise its'effect; and, wearied by his
unaccustomed exertions, flung himself into the old berglre before
the fireplace, for rest and reflection.
The strangeness of his own situation afforded, of course, the first
subject of his cogitations. There was he, who had indignantly
rebutted as an imputation, the charge of intimacy with A. 0.
brought against Mm at Lady Maitland's by Blencowe and his set,
actually established as sick-nurse beside Ms bed in a filthy garret:
performing for Mm menial offices which he would have hesitated
to execute for persons having claims upon Ms kindness.
Only a few nights before, his mother had refused to accept offices
far less humiliating from Mm, in behalf of an old and faithful
servant; and now, he was attending, sole servitor, the dying bed
of a stranger, whose very existence, a little month before, had
been utterly unknown to him.
_ But the strangest of all these incongruities was, that, for the
life and soul of him, he could not bring himself to regard Abed-
nego Osalez as a stranger. Some mysterious tie appeared to urnte
them. Though the common but most holy tie of fellow-creature-
ship, including even the Money-lender, under the Biblical desig-
nation of " neighbour," ought to have sufficed as a motive for the
exertions of the young Samaritan, Basil Annesley, as he contem-
plated the smoky fireplace, did not conceal from Mmself that he
felt as if seated beside the hearth of one with whom he had been
long accustomed to break bread, and take counsel.
And yet, the man who lay breathing heavy and unconscious
on that wretched pallet, was one whose vocation and habits were
hateful to the generous mind of the young soldier Though the
THE MONEY-LENDER. 113
vigorous language and force of intellect of Abednego bad invested
the calling of the Money-lender with a new character in the eyes
of Basil, though the keenness of his soul and greatness of his
speculations had interposed a sort of veil over the littleness of his
daily doings, and the detestable nature of his usury, young
Annesley did not disguise from himself that the man who con-
templated with such far-sighted philosophy the value and social
influence of money, was in practice a pettifogging miser.
Still, with all the inconsistency and odiousness of his pur-
suits, Basil was conscious of involuntary deference towards the
proprietor of that filthy garret.
The power of thought,—the magic of the mind,—
the energy of soul—of one so immeasurably superior to his posi-
tion—and so strangely master of the destinies of others, threw a
halo round the gloom of the place. It was such wilful, wayward,
self-denying misery, there was such a force of will, such a con-
centration of self-infliction in the privations of the starving mil-
lionaire, that he felt as if contemplating De Ranee in the cells of
La Trappe, or Charles Y. in those of St. Qnintin, rather than a
vulgar miser undergoing his wilful Prometheanism! While gazing
on those denuded walls, if it were possible to abhor, it was not easy
to despise the prisoner in that iron chest of unavailing treasure.
His greatest source of annoyance, now that he was satisfied of having
afforded the best succour in his power to the physical ailments of
the sick man, arose from the certainty of having exposed himself
to the raillery of his brother officers. Devoid as they were of en-
tertainment at that season of the year, they would not fail to dis-
cuss among themselves his solitary visit to the theatre, after the
pretext of an engagement; his having driven in Blencowe's cab to
what would otherwise have passed for some rendezvous, but what
was now discovered to be a midnight visit to A. 0.; a visit, more-
over, so unauthorized, as to have caused him to be taken up as a
burglar, and exposed him to the chance of a night in the station-
house.
It was not to be expected that such men as Wilberton and Mait-
land would deal leniently with these discoveries; and old Carring-
ton was now too stale as a butt, not to impart due value to an
adventure which exposed young Annesley for ever and a day to
the bantering of those who had already moved his choler by quali-
fying him as the arm-in-arm companion of the Money-lender.
To escape the annoyance of his anticipations on this provoking
subject Basil proceeded to take from the table, the only book that
naked room afforded for his amusement; the volume of Hollar
which Abednego had so strangely chosen as the consolation of his
hours of sickness.
As he removed it stealthily from the table, in order not to awaken
the sick man from his unquiet slumbers, he inadvertently brushed
down the paper lying beside it, and stooped to restore it to the
table. In the displacement something fell out. On searching upon
the floor, it proved to be a lock of hair; along, long tress, coil
"within coil, which it was impossible not to recognise as that of a
H
114 THE MONEY-XENDEE.
•woman, and difficult not to surmise as that of a woman young and
lovely;—so silken was its texture,—so rich its hue.
"Without the smallest intention of prying into the household se-
crets of his host, Basil could not replace it in the paper without
discerning this. He even noticed the peculiar colour of the hair.
It was a rare tint: long familiar to his eyes as that of a tress, all
hut similar, which he carried in his pocket-hook, and which had
heen recently unfolded before him during the insolent examina-
tion at the police-office : his mother's hair,—not silvered as now by
the hand of time and influence of care ;—but rich and glossy as
during her sunny youth. Basil regarded this lock, which he had
obtained as a gift from Dorcas without Lady Annesley's know-
ledge, as the most precious treasure in his possession.
Irresistibly impelled to compare it with the tress he had dis-
covered in the possession of the Money-lender, he drew forth his
pocket-book, abstracted it from the paper, and placed them side by
side. Hot the variation of a hair in the length—not the difference
of a shade in their hue.—They were one and the same.—The most
indifferent observer would have decided, as Basil was for a moment
inclined to decide, that they had been shred from the same beloved
head.
But could this be ? What analogy—what connexion could exist,
or could ever have existed between the Money-lender of Greek-
street, Soho, and the widow of Sir Bernard Annesley;—the
haughty daughter of the proudest of ambassadors,—Lord L——
and the thrifty artful usurer,—the degraded—the notorious—the
infamous A. 0.
CHAPTER XII.
Tell me tales of tliy first love,
April hopes—the fools of chance—
Till the graves begin to move,
Till the dead begin to dance.—Tennyson.
Scaecely less sad than the scene in which young- Annesley was
officiating, was the one in which, at the same moment, his mother
was acting a part equally humane, in her dreary abode at Barling-
ham Grange.
The old gardener was no more. The burst of feeling of which
Basil had been a spectator, proved to be the last effort of expiring
nature; and it was the lady to whom from her childhood he had
been devoted, who closed the glassy eyes of the old man, and placed
watchlights beside the dead.
Lady Annesley was, perhaps, the inmate of the Grange best
qualified for that solemn duty. Her mind, rendered stern by
habitual contact with care, was now of a consistency to encounter
without trembling all or any of those earnest duties of life, from
which the gentle hearts and hands of her sex recoil with terror.
Like one moving in her sleep, she had breathed in the ears of old'
THE StOKEY-MDEE. 115
Nicholas the prayers appointed by the Church for a dying bed;
and if this effort were perhaps instigated by reluctance to expose
the revelations of his infirm intellect to the ears of a stranger, it
was iio_ such apprehension that induced her to assist the sobbing
Dorcas in straightening his limbs for the grave, ere consigned by
the proper attendants to his last home. Once placed in his coffin,
she quitted the room; quitted it with a heavy sigh—an in-breathed
prayer. Early sorrows had been bitterly renewed by her trying
attendance on the old man, who had unconsciously wounded her to
the quick by his incoherent ravings;—and above all, by the hazard
to which they had exposed her of betrayal to the child of her heart.
But he was now at rest. Both had done their duty. The grey-
headed man was released from his earthly penance; it was she
alone who remained to suffer and to atone.
Every person whose feelings have been excited by the perform-
ance of some severe and engrossing duty, must have been conscious
of a strange vacuity of feeling when the influence of that painful
tension is at an end. Like a sufferer whose infirm or shattered
limb has been removed by the surgeon, undefinable sensations of
uneasiness seem to possess its vacant place. So harassed had been
Lady Annesley during the continuance of the gardener's illness,
and the perpetual hazards to which it exposed her, that, on the
afternoon of the day in which he was laid in the grave, when the
old house was restored to its usual mournful quietude, and the two
women in their mourning suits kept moving silently and sadly
about her, she could not settle to her customary occupations.
Involuntarily, she re-entered the room which had been appro-
priated to the use of the deceased; the threshold of which she had
never crossed of late, save under the influence of awe and remorse.
All was restored to its usual form. The winter sun was shining
through the open casement; and driven back by the piercing
atmosphere thus admitted, she had no resource but her own'warm
sitting-room, and the solace of her books and desk.
Nothing more common than for people of the world, on hearing
some compulsory recluse complain of the cheerlessness of solitude,
to exclaim, "But why not read to amUse yourself?" But the
notion of reading for amusement entertained by such people, con-
sists in a first-class subscription to a fashionable library, insuring
the_ earliest perusal of popular works,—new novels, brilliant
periodicals,—holding up to the eye, as in a mirror, a reflection of the
progress of civilization, and a picture of the manners and pros-
perities of the day.
Lady Annesley's book-case, on the contrary, contained only old
editions of the works of past centuries ;—philosophy rendered
obsolete by modern improvement;—and theology purporting to
split so fine the straws of doctrinal casuistry, as to reduce them to
chaff. The few sterling books she possessed, the bosom comforters
to which we turn in sickness and sorrow, had been her sole com-
panions for twenty lonely years ; and with all one's partiality for
a favourite writer, it is not more impossible for the dried leaves of
the rose to retain the hue and fragrance of the living flower, than
for the hundredth perusal to yield the charm of the first. It may,
116 THE MONEY-LENDEB.
indeed, perhaps, when voluntarily culled from the shelves of a
voluminous library. But it is only the uninformed and unima-
ginative mind of the peasant that can derive^ amusement, Sunday
after Sunday, throughout a long life, from his solitary volume of
the Pilgrim's Progress.
Lady Annesley had been more than once forced to admit to
herself, that her little library had ceased to charm; and if she
pined after anything in her seclusion, it was for the charm of new
books to create a new order of ideas, or a happier combination of
the old. But on that cheerless afternoon, she felt as if those ancient
companions of her sorrow might perhaps renew their charm; and in
accordance with the promptings of the solemn scene of the morning,
in the little village church wherein she had seen ashes reconsigned to
ashes, and dust to dust, she proceeded to her bookshelf to take
down her favourite Holbein, with its well-remembered philosophical
interleavings. It was gone !—The book was included in a set of
six volumes of favourite works:—the Essays of Montaigne, and
George Herbert's Manual—all in the same antique binding. Of
these, five alone remained. The copy of Hollar was no longer
there I
Lady Annesley felt surprised and angry. So undisturbed was
the, tenour of her life, that no person but herself and her two
waiting-women ever crossed the threshold of that chamber; of
whom, Hannah could not read or write, while Dorcas was one of
those fortunate individuals who find better companionship in the
seam they are sewing than in the choicest chef d'ceuvre of human
intellect.
Still, either the one or the other might have been tempted by the
striking designs of the work, to remove it from the room for more
leisurely inspection. She rang and inquired. Neither of them
had ever noticed either the existence or disappearance of the book.
She now demanded whether, during her attendance on the gardener,
any stranger had been admitted into the room.
"No person whatever," was the reply.
"Most strange and most vexatious!" was her rejoinder; adding,in
the depths of her heart, " So few are the relics I retain of those days,
—so few and so precious,—that ill could I afford to part with this!"-
"It was, perhaps, Master Basil who borrowed the book?" sug-
gested Dorcas, struck with a brilliant idea. " The morning he was
forced to remain here, after your ladyship's fainting fit, he was
hours moping alone here, in the morning-room. Perhaps he had
begun to read it and took it with him to finish on the road."
Lady Annesley expressed a contrary conviction, and dismissed
her attendant. Yet so probable was the surmise, that the moment
she was alone, she seized a pen to address an inquiry on the subject
to her son. She had intended deferring till the morrow intelligence
of the decease of poor old Nicholas. But in the eagerness of her
desire to assure herself of the fate of her book, she lost not a
moment.
Nothing could be more embarrassing than to address Basil on
the subject of their old servant's demise. For she had ventured
no explanation with her son after the terrible scene in which, they
THE MONEY-LENDER. 117
had home a part; and was consequently uncertain whether sus-
picions had been excited on the part of Basil, or whether he attri-
buted the terrible revelations of the gardener solely to aberration
of intellect.
The moment, however, that her mind became possessed by anxiety
concerning her beloved volume, she lost sight of these considera-
tions; and. after narrating to him the death and burial of one who,
she said, " had been to her as a friend when her own kith and kin
had deserted her—a good, faithful, and submissive servant, in days
of adversity as in days more prosperous,"—she proceeded to inquire
whether he could give her any tidings of the missing book.
"You are my only son, Basil," wrote Lady Annesley. "Nay,
the estrangement and prosperity of your sister render you my only
heir. Yet a few years, and the little I possess will be your own.
Even now, I am not, I trust, sparing in administering to your com-
fort, or prodigal in the indulgence of my own. I cannot therefore
think, Basil, that you have surreptitiously abstracted from my
house an object which I prize. How much I prize it, you are not
able to conjecture. I shall go down to my grave, and neither you
nor others will ever learn how dear, yet how cruel, are the recol-
lections with which that relic is connected. In my solitude here, I
live but in the past. That which is gone—those who are gone,
encompass me with an atmosphere holy and precious as themselves.
The Elope that abideth in you, the Memory that abideth in them,
hath a joy which is not of this world. I know not what I write.
The loss of this book has disordered me.—It seems as if one of the
unrestorable treasures of past affection were wrested from me for
ever.
" No delay, Basil, I entreat! Write to me, if you have any
communication to make touching the object in question. Fear no
reproaches on my part, if it should prove that your hand indeed
removed it from my house. Too happy shall I be to welcome it back
again to hazard a single accusing word."
Such was the letter despatched from Barlingham Grange. Such
the letter which Basil Annesley drew from his pocket beside a
decent camp-bed established in the attic of A. 0., on the fifth
morning after the critical night of his disorder.
So imminent had appeared the danger of the Money-lender on the
morrow of his vigils, that young Annesley, doubly alarmed by the
responsibility devolving on himself should the death of a man so
richly endowed occur under his solitary guardianship and circum-
stances so suspicious, had despatched the sweeper for the aid of his
regimental surgeon, through whose means he subsequently pro-
cured a proper attendant, and a few of the necessaries of life.
Abednego was now too heavily oppressed by disease to take heed
of the arrival _ of strangers or bedding in his attic; and all that
Basil could do in excuse for their introduction into the treasury of
treasuries, (should the old man survive to question his proceedings;,)
was to seal up the doors of the different rooms and the invaluable
bureau, and give up a daily portion of his time to the superinten-
dence of the establishment.
Abednego was, however, more cognizant than he surmised of
118 THE money-TENDER.
what was passing around him. He was aware of his danger}
aware of the urgent necessity for the precautions taken; and the
nurse proving a decent, dull woman, content to sit quiet in view
whenever not employed in serving him, he was better satisfied she
should be there, than that the house should be surrendered to the
discretion of Bill the sweeper.
Still, Basil had little idea how often, during his absence, the
sufferer raised his head from his pillow to inquire of the woman in
attendance the hour of the day, the length of time that had elapsed
since the young man's departure, and what promise he had given
of return. He had little idea how completely he imparted light
and life to that sinking frame. He could imagine, of course, that
his disinterested services were acceptable to the infirm Money-
lender. He knew that Abednego must be aware how solicitude in
his behalf had exposed him to one of the most disagreeable dilemmas
it had ever been his luck to encounter ; and though sueh was the
state of weakness consequent on the yielding of the quinsy that
they had held no conversation on the subject, young Annesley
naturally conceived the sufferer to be gratefully and kindly dis-
posed. Enough for him, however, that so whimsical a being had
not seen fit to resent his interference ; and he looked forward to the
convalescence of the invalid rather as a relief to himself from a
painful and responsible attendance, than from any desire to receive
his thanks.
The receipt of Lady Aimesley's letter startled him into other
feelings. It was urgent that he should regain possession of the
book, and lose no time in restoring it to his mother. But how was
this to be accomplished ? It had disappeared from the table, as
well as the crucifix and paper containing the lock of hair; and the
nurse, who seldom or never quitted the room, declared that she
knew nothing of it. That the invalid, still scarcely able to lift
his head from his pillow, should have removed it, appeared impro-
bable ; and Abednego was so weak, and, above all, so peevish, that
Basil had scarcely courage to molest him with inquiries.
" If he only surmised," thought young Annesley, as he sat oon-
templating the embarrassments of the case, "bow mysterious a
resemblance exists between her hair for whose pleasure I require
the hook, and the lock he seems to treasure with such wild devo-
tion, he would forgive my importunity."
On entering the room on the morning he received the letter,
Basil accosted the invalid with his usual inquiries concerning his
night's rest and the visit of the surgeon.^
" Your doctor is to come no more," said Abednego, faintly. " I
paid and dismissed him last night. It was only tosatisfy you J.
bore with him, as I now bear with the old woman dozing yonder in
my easy-chair. But for her being here, how do I know that you
would not come tormenting me again at midnight, to light my fire
and snuff my candle ?"
" By all this, sir, I perceive that you feel much better. It is only
the man in health who quarrels with his physician. As to the
nurse, you will admit her to be a safer guardian for you than a
beggar from the street," added Basil, in a lower yoice.
<fHE MONEY-LENDER. 119
> " That is as it may prove," retorted Abednego, gruffly. " In the
time of the plague, Defoe informs us, nurses used to twist the wdnd-
pipes of their patients. Thank Heaven, I am now strong enough
to take care of my own; so till I can make my fixe, and boil my
kettle, she is welcome to remain. She 'hnds herself,' as such
people call it, and gives me less trouble than I give her. Hor is
there much here," he continued* glancing round the naked walls,
" to attract pilfering fingers."
" There mere things here," Basil began,—perceiving that the
nurse was really asleep, under the influence of a crackling fire on
a frosty day,—" there were objects here, at the commencement of
your illness, which I see no longer; and the disappearance of which
makes me uneasy."
" How mean you ?" cried Abednego, raising himself on his elbow,
and pushing aside the curtains to peer out upon the bureau which
contained property to the amount of thousands upon thousands.
" Ho need to look so far, or so anxiously," observed Basil. " The
things I speak of are of no such urgent value, save, perhaps, to
you and myself,—an iron crucifix—a time-worn book—"
"And what do you suppose to have become of them, pray?"
cried Abednego, sharply, letting fall the curtain, and sinking back
again on his pillow.
" I was in hopes, Sir, you might be able to inform me."
"And if I were, are you so miserly with your property, that you
cannot trust me with an old book ?"
" I would trust you with any property belonging to myself; the
care you take of your own satisfies me that mine would fun no
danger of being mislaid while in your keeping. Unluckily, I have
little either to lend or to give; so that you are unlikely to be much
the better for my confidence."
"But when I tell you that, valueless as it may seem to you, I
hold to that book—"
-' I should still be under the necessity of—"
" When I tell you," persisted Abednego, not heeding his inter-
ruption, " that it is my comfort by day and by night, that in the
anguish of my disease it lay upon my bosom, and soothed its
throbhings, that, in the darkness of my despair, it shed light and
peace around me, as from the wings of an angel."
Basil began to entertain an opinion that the senses of the invalid
were again wandering.
" When I swear to you, that while treasured here, here, beneath
my pillow, here, side by side with the emblem of eternal redemp-
tion, (dear to me as to yourself, although the lying world oppro-
briate me by the name of Jew), it has yielded me more comfort
than the Cross of Faith, with all its promises of Heaven, do you
still desire to take it from me?—Ho, no, Basil! leave it,—unless
you wish to see me sink again into the bruised and breathless
mummy to which I was reduced when you snatched me from the
grave.'
Basil Annesley was silent. To dispute with him on a point that
Seemed so trifling, at a moment thus critical, seemed an act of
cruelty; yet to disappoint the anxious expectations of Lady An-
nesley was a deed yet more unpardonable.
120 THE MOKEY-EENDEB.
"I told you, sir," said lie, in a hesitating- tone, and after a long:
pause, " that the hook was not my own, and that I had abstracted
it from home without the concurrence of my mother."
"Well?" demanded Abednego, again drawing aside the curtains,
and fixing his piercing eyes upon those of his visitor.
" She has demanded itback again. She is greatly displeased at
my having removed it from Barlingham."
" Send her down the last new novel from Hookham's!" muttered
A. 0., with bitter scorn; "the lady will doubtless consider it a
profitable exchange."
"You are too presumptuous, sir, in deciding upon the tastes and
feelings of a stranger," retorted Basil, with spirit. " You little
know the woman you pretend to judge. Never in my days did I
see a novel in the hands of my mother. Her studies are severe as
her conduct is exemplary."
" A saint, eh ? Then send her a hale of sermons from Hatchard's!
What matter under what form the weak nature of woman accepts
its subjugating influence? Novels, poems, tracts—"
" In one word," said Basil, drawing Lady Annesley's letter from
his pocket, " read, and judge for yourself, whether a woman, so
exalted in heart and mind as the writer of this, is likely to accept
any exchange for the book she prizes." _ _ 1
On seeing his mother's sacred handwriting pass into the withered
hands of Abednego, Basil almost repented the concession' he had
made. It was degrading a letter of hers to expose it to the eyes of
a Money-lender.^ The deed, however, was done.
In order to give time to A. 0., in his weak condition, for the
perusal of the letter, Basil Annesley walked gently to the window,
so as not to rouse the nurse from her doze. There was nothing
very interesting in the look-out. _ A mass of icicles, appended to
the leaden water-pipe of the opposite attic, was the most interesting
object he found to contemplate.
At the close of a few minutes, he returned to the bedside, in-
tending to resume his conversation with Abednego. But all was
still as the grave. No movement—not a sound. The old man
uttered not a word, and made no attempt to give back the letter.
At last, in a gentle voice of expostulation, Basil addressed him,
and addressed him in vain.
Young Annesley now drew aside the curtains of the bed; and
found that no vestige of its inmate was perceptible. Abednego
had gathered up the bed-clothes over his head. Like some mourner
of scriptural times, he had covered his face with his garment, and
wept bitterly.
Agitated, in his turn, by this unaccountable emotion, Basil
Annesley was beginning to feel intolerably bewildered by the
baffling mysteries that seemed to involve the fatal volume, his
removal of which from Barlingham had been the cause of such
general disturbance.
" For the love of Heaven, sir," cried he, " explain all this. Ex-
plain the interest which you and every one else appear to attach to
that accursed book, a source of distress to all with whom I am
concerned."
THE MONET-IENBEE. 121
Still, Abednego answered not a syllable. By the movements of
the clothes in which he had enveloped himself, Basil could alone
infer the struggles of his emotion.
" I beseech you, sir," cried the young man, after a second pause,
" if you entertain the least kindness for me—if you feel towards me a
thousandth part of the goodwill which has prompted my own exer-
tions in your behalf, tell me the meaning of your tears. They had
not been wrung out of such a soul as yours, save by some all-
powerful interest. You are not woman-hearted, to weep for wanton-
ness, or from the weakness of mere exhaustion. Tell me—"
" I can tell you nothing," murmured Abednego, uncovering his
face, and showing the letter of Lady Annesley crushed in his hand
by the grasp of uncontrollable passion, " save that this letter has
roused emotions dormant for years. I had not thought, I had not
dreamed, that this woman had retired from the world to ponder
over feelings such as these,'] and again, with trembling hand, he
grasped the letter. " I believed her, cold and callous as she was
once worldly. I believed—but no matter. These few words have
wrung a dew out of the stony depths of my heart, of which I be-
lieved the fountains to be dried up. Thanks, Basil Annesley—this
is not the first benefit you have bestowed upon me.—Thanks.—
Here—take your book," he continued, drawing the volume from
beneath his pillow. " But, unless you would convulse her heart
with agony, as you have unwittingly convulsed mine, tell her not,
on your life, through what strange hands it has experienced a mo-
mentary transit. Unless you wish to be expulsed for ever from
your mother's house, unless you wish to incur her malediction,
never, never, while you live, breathe in the ear of that unhappy
woman the reprobated name of Abednego Osalez."
Ere the sufferer ceased to speak, his voice was lost in broken
sobs ; and so terrible and absorbing was his emotion, that Basil had
not courage to pursue the anxious inquiries suggesting themselves
to his mind. He was overpowered by the spectacle of so profoundly-
felt a grief. 1
In order to relieve the feelings of the old man from observation,
he again rose and walked to the window; endeavouring to straighten
and restore to his pocket-book the crumpled letter replaced in his
hands by Abednego. _
By the time he finished his task and returned to the bedside, the
old man had completely recovered his self-possession, and was
lying with his face exposed in all its usual harsh composedness of
feature.
" You are the comptroller of my household, now," said he, ad-
dressing Basil with a grim attempt at a smile. " Tell me, does the
poor boy^still officiate as my lackey ?"
" Bill is installed down stairs, sir, to answer the inquiries of your
numerous visitors," replied Basil, somewhat startled by his change
of tone.
" I wonder, while you were about it, you had not the street laid
with straw, and the knocker tied up, as for some dainty goosecap's
lying-in!" muttered Abednego, forcing a laugh.
" Perhaps I might have done so, sir, but from the fear of offending
122 EEE MOKEY-LENDEE.
you," replied Basil, attempting to smile in his turn. " Methinks
I have taken liberties enough, in your establishment."
" My illness must have caused no little commotion among my
customers," resumed Abednego, evidently intent upon distracting
Basil's recollections from bis recent struggle of feeling. " There
are more people interested in the life and death of A. 0. than in
the fairest of the childbed puppets in fine linen, we were talking
of. Sore are their misgivings, poor prodigal souls, concerning the
hands into which, on my decease, their bonds and securities might
fall. To them it is a matter of fame and name that the heir of the
old Jew should prove a man as trustworthy as himself."
" There has been some anxiety testified, sir, I must admit, Itthat
be any consolation to you," replied young Annesley. " Every day,
from twelve to two, the door is besieged, I am told, with apph-
cants, concerning not alone your house in Greeks street, but dozens
of other houses. But as I am by no means qualified to act as your
clerk or deputy, you must consult Bill on your recovery. Having
little appetite for business, I have left all such matters in his
hands."
" But my letters f" inquired A. 0., feeling, or affecting anxiety.
" As soon as you are better, the boy shall bring them up to you."
" I am better, I am better.—I am quite well already," cried his
companion, settling himself in bed. "I am always well enough
for business."
Having roused the nurse by a touoh on the shoulder, Basil des->
patched her down stairs in search of the letters and papers left
for A. 0.; of which, on her return, she brought an apron full, _
" I find that you have had certain fair inquirers," observed Basil,
while the woman was away, "fully confirming your former attes-
tation to me of the advantages of a Money-lender's calling. You
have had those pressing ana suing to be admitted to see you, to
be admitted to see whom, others are eager suitors. You have had
the Duke of Rochester here twice a-day, evidently believing your
illness to be a subterfuge ; and inthe other room, there is a whole
bale of necessaries,—sugar, arrow-root, wax-candles,—despatched
to you, not by a grocer's wife, (as the nature of the gift seems to
indicate,) but by no less a person than the lovely Countess of
Winterfield." "
Abednego replied by a hoarse chuckle.
" I should starve but for that woman; and her family might
starve but for me !" cried he, turning exultingly on his pillow,
"She is the purveyor of my larder, the clerk of my kitchen,
"Well, well! I am at least as grateful for her sago, tapioca, and
"Welsh flannel, (of which you might have found wholesale pieces,
had you looked in the lumber-room below, when you and the nurse
were smothering me up the other night,) as she to the memory of
the husband who made her what she is, and whose portrait I have
in pawn yonder in my bureau."
The nurse now re-entered the room with her burden; and
having deposited the papers on a chair beside the bed, Basil dis-
missed her, in order that Abednego might examine them undis-
turbed by her presence.
"Show me the minister who has a more voluminous corre-
IBB MAKEY-IENDEE. 123
spondence on bis bands tban tbis," cried tbe old man, pointing
exultingly to tbe pile of papers. " And pray, wbo paid tbe postage
of these letters ?''
" I did; sir; that is, I supplied tbe money to your servant."
" So, so! You institute yourself my banker, then, as well as
my mattre cl'hotel and groom of tbe chambers? With all my
heart. I am always ready to accept services and comforts I have
not to pay for, witness tbe tea and sugar of my Lady "Winter-
field. Look here !" be continued, pointing out, among tbe letters
he was successively opening, several with seals that bore aristo-
eratic emblazonments. "Dukes, marquises, earls, I have them all
—all in my train. I walk like a king at bis coronation, with
Howards, Percys, Plantagenets, in tbe wake of the contemned and
trampled A. 0. Thriftless fools ! some flattering, some cajoling,
some threatening. As if a single word they could write or utter
would influence me more tban tbe winter's wind whistling through tbe
crannies of my casement; unless, indeed, tbe Open-Sesame called
interest. At twenty per cent., fifty per cent., a hundred per cent.,
I am willing to bear of their wants and distresses. But what care
I for tbe executions in their houses, or tbe seizure of their family
plate, or their wife's jewels." Here's a fellow writes to me,'' pur-
sued Abednego, striking tbe open letter with bis band, " begging
me to save tbe honour of his family-mansion from tbe desecration
of sheriffs' officers, and swearing he will not survive such a dis-
graoe. Was it J wbo brought the disgrace upon him ? Was it 1
wbo decoyed him to Crockford's? Was it I wbo induced him
to hazard thousands, night after night, at piquet, when be bad not
even hundreds at his disposal ? Don't let him survive bis dis-
grace! Hot tbe disgrace of bailiffs, but that of insolvency,
brought upon himself by prodigality and vice. When be first
applied to me for assistance, be informed me, in answer to my
remonstrances, (much in tbe terms once used by a certain Hr.
Basil Annesley,) that be came for money, not advice; that be wanted
a Jew, not a family chaplain."
Basil was vexed to find himself colouring deeply at tbis allusion.
"And here," continued A. 0., bringing forward a perfumed
billet from among tbe wafered communications of attorneys and
stockbrokers, ill-favoured epistles from Bircbin-lane, Bartlett's-
buildings, and Hart-street, Bloomsbury, " here is a dainty creature
who wants me to oblige her with tbe loan of her own emeralds to
appear at Windsor Castle. The guest of royalty, forsooth, writing
in terms more abject tban I ever beard used by Bill tbe sweeper,
to an old Money-lender. More d.elicatet handwritings. ' Lucy
Maitland?' Ay, ay! the old-china fancier. And here, Basil—
here, Mr. Annesley, is the first application of one of your brother
officers. My eye has been upon that boy these two months. I
knew X should have him in my books—that is, trying to get intl
my books;—for I have enough of the family affairs on my handi
with those of bis precious uncle."
" Wilherton?—is be in difficulties?" exclaimed Annesley, in a
tone of regret.
'•Why not? He keeps tbe finest company, and has a taste for
124 THE MONEY-LEKDEB.
opera-dancers, (as costly an item, for a boy in the guards as S&vres
and Dresden to his mother.) Yon needn't blush again; I did not
say opera singers, Mr. Annesley. Trust to my delicacy to make no
allusion in your presence to any such fragile commodities.)'
"I do trust to your delicacy never again to allude, with light
mention, to the person at whom, though under so false> a desig-
nation, you are aiming," cried Basil, with warm indignation.
"Well, well,—no offence, no offence. Esther Yerelst is, I dare
say, no more fragile than her neighbours ; though that implies no
freat things in the way of discretion.—' H. R.'—So then, my
erieles of the day; the five thousand for which you pledged your
public honour, and the title-deeds of an estate in your family since
they wheedled it out of the scurvy soul of James I., has not
sufficed you ? You must cut a figure as a giver of banquets, must
you, as well as on the Treasury Bench ? What is the joy of place,
I marvel, unless its salary suffice to grease the wheels of officef
4 The expenses of his very ostensible situation to be maintained,'
he writes. Jackass!—Because he chooses to have Rhenish wines
and French entrees at his dinner, and to be a fop and fribble as
well as the first orator of the day, must he make false pretences
to the Jews about 4 the expenses of his ostensible situation ?'
Excellent H. R.! Though you date from Downing-street, you will
not throw dust in the eyes of A. 0. Were you half the clever fel-
low the world believes you, your letter would contain three lines—
41 want two thousand pounds,—can give landed security; and not
more than twelve per cent.' That is coming to the point;—be-
tween knowing one and knowing one, the best statesmanship. I
should have thought the experience of office might have taught
him the futility of fine phrases,—mere loss of time to writer and
reader.—It is not by locking up brickbats in a plate-chest, Mr.
Basil Annesley, that you can convert them into family plate."
441 am afraid you will tire yourself, sir," said Basil. 441 would
fain see you take some nourishment before I go. Let me call the
nurse, and lay aside the remainder of these papers till the after-
noon; for I have only a few minutes more to be here."
44 No, no, you must wait a bit," cried Abednego. 441 have
something to say to you. I have a present to make you."
441 want no presents, sir," cried Basil, instantly rising, and pre-
paring for departure. 441 never accepted one in my life, save
from kinsman or friend."
44 From the former, I suspect, my poor Basil, your gifts have
been scanty enough," ejaculated Abednego, with a degree of
familiarity that served only to aggravate the displeasure of his
companion. 44 As regards the latter, I flatter myself I have as
good a title to the name as such flimsy things as Wilberton or
Maitland."
44 They are my brother officers, not my friends," interrupted
Annesley.
44 Then, how came you to accept from the latter the desk-seal
with which you daily close your letters ?" demanded Abednego,
having thrown young Annesley completely off his guard, and en-
joying his uncontrollable start of astonishment at this minuteness
of information concerning his private affairs.
the monet-lender. 125
" I "will not, however, force my benefactions upon you. I do
not deal in jasper desk-seals; and any day I choose, the Duca di
San Catalda will give me a hundred ducats for the miniature I
intended to throw away upon you.—Good morning !"
. The attention of Basil Annesley was instantly arrested by the
name of the Duke of San Catalda. He was eager for a pretext to
sit down again, and await an opportunity of renewing the conver-
sation.
" I forgot to tell you, sir," said he, "that among the applicants
for the lease of the house in Greek-street, is a picture-dealer who
resides in that neighbourhood."
" Apropos to miniatures ?" demanded Abednego, fixing his shrewd
eyes, with a cunning smile, upon the young man's face.
"Apropos to your own affairs," was the indignant rejoinder of
Basil.
"As regards my own affairs, then, be so obliging as to inform
my ragged footman, that when Mr. Stubbs calls again—"
" You know him, then r"
" You told me his name, just now."
"I said a picture dealer in Soho. There are dozens upon dozens
of such."
"No matter! I know enough of the prying and intrusive dis-
position of a certain Mr. Stubbs, to feel convinced that he is the
man who, with the view of entering into personal communication
with me on any subject, is likely to pretend a desire of becoming
my tenant. I desire none such. He is a swindler and a liar. I
wiH have none of him. I say again, let Bill inform the blackguard
I will have none of him !"
"You need not address yourself so pointedly to me, my dear
sir," said Basil, unable to repress a laugh. " I am notthe advocate
of Mr. Stubbs. You might pitch him out of yonder window before
I lifted a hand in his behalf. I merely mentioned to you that the
boy complains of his coming here every morning between twelve
and two, insisting upon seeing you on the subject of your house,
conceiving you might be sorry to lose a good tenant."
" A good tenant in Mr. Jeremiah Stubbs ? I tell you he has no
more real intention of engaging those premises, than you of bidding
for Northumberland House. Besides, I am in no anxiety about the
lease of my house in Soho. I have half a dozen others standing
empty; one in Park-lane, one in St. James's-square, and shall
soon have one, I suspect, in Arlington-street; for, unless I am
much mistaken, I shall be forced to make a crash at Lord Mait-
land's. I have given him three years' law to redeem engagements,
which I knew from the first to be thousands upon thousands beyond
his power of redemption."
" Lord Maitland ?" exclaimed Basil, aghast.
"Ay, Lord Maitland. Why not, as well as another !"
" But his unfortunate wife and daughters—"
" His wife is some degrees worse than unfortunate. But that
is her concern, and her husband's. As to their hopeful pro-
geny, it is written that the sins of parents are to be visited on their
children ; and seldom were less deserving children exposed to
ancestral retribution. Like father, like son,—like mother, like
126 THE MOHEY-EENHES.
daughters;—all empty-headed "fools together. But that his lord-
ship has been trying to defraud me of my due, I should, however,
have felt disposed to deal less harshly with him. But when I find
a fellow profiting by his privilege of peerage to—"
" Pardon me if I entreat you to give me no unfair insight into
the private affairs of my friends," interrupted Basil, again rising
from his chair, on finding that they were straying further ana
further from the miniature.
" You are afraid, eh, of finding your chains of gold mere pinch-
beck. You'want an excuse to your conscience for continuing to
flirt with Lord Maitland's giddy daughters, to eat his pine-apples,
and drink his claret, though certain that they are no more his
than yours," cried A. 0., with a caustic sneer. " What curious
calculations might one make, after some royal or noble banquet,
of the number and names of the persons at whose real expense
the noble guests have been entertained.—Messrs. Grove, the fish-
monger,—Giblett, the butcher,—Fisher, the poulterer,—Gunter, the
confectioner,—Fortnum, the grocer,—Morel, the oilman,—Cutler,
the wine-merchant,—Garcia, the fruiterer \"
"You are making out a very tempting bill of fare, sir," inter-
rupted Basil, anxious to get away. " I can discern a Barmecide's
feast through this bare muster-roll of names."
"You are that filthy thing, a gourmand, then, as well as the slave
of a pretty face?" coolly demanded the old man. " Well, God mend
you. In my time, youDg men were content with the vices of young
men. Kow-a-days, they monopolize the weaknesses of boyhood
and senility,—reconciling all extremes, the follies of beardless chins
and hoary beards."
"I must again say good morning, sir, since you seem disposed
to take me so severely to task," said Basil, abruptly.
"Before you go, however, I have a service to request of you,"
said Abednego, suddenly lowering his voice. " Don't be afraid. I
am not going to ask you for the booh again. You have wisely put
it into your pocket, and I honour your caution. All I have to
request is, that you will break with your own hands the seals you
prudently placed on yonder bureau. Here is the key'." said he,
producing one which Basil had already noticed under his pillow
when they effected the sick man's change of bed.
Having readily complied with Abednego's desire, Annesley stood
awaiting his further orders.
"Touch the head of the brass nail to the left of the last pigeon
hole," said Abednego, leaning on his elbow, and watching the
proceedings of his delegate.
Basil Annesley did as he was required; when, lo! there started
up, from the bottom of the old-fashioned bureau, a trap or hide;
the well of which contained a variety of articles, apparently
of less value than those which lay unguarded and exposed above.
" You will find a brown-paper packet among those trinkets,"
said Abednego. " Take it out, close the trap, and see that the spring
is secure. Then, lock the bureau, and bring me the key and
parcel."
More amused than angry at the imperatite tone in which those
Orders were conveyed, Basil obeyed.
THE MONEY-LENDER. 127
In another minute, he had laid both upon the pillow; and was
again taking leave, when Abednego bade him wait a moment.
With trembling hands, the old man was proceeding to undo the
packet.
" Can I assist you, sir?" said Basil, conceiving that it was with
this view Abednego had delayed his departure.
The old man answered not a word; though his hands trembled
so exceedingly, that it was evident he would have some difficulty
in accomplishing his purpose. There was a knot in the slight cora
that tied up the packet.
" Better cut it!" said Annesley, after a few minutes lost in
infructuous attempts, and presenting a penknife from his pocket-
book for that purpose.
"Waste not, want not," murmured the old man, in a feeble
voice; and, after another moment or two, Annesley perceived, to his
utter amazement, that, in spite of Abednego's homely proverb and
deliberate parsimony, his feelings were so deeply involved in his
task, that tears were actually falling upon the little packet.
" Again thus agitated!" thought Basil. " This must be the very
weakness of disease. Twice in one day, for this iron man to evince
tokens of sensibility. Yet, who would believe me, were I to assert
that I had seen tears shed by the stony eyes of A. 0. ?"
The packet was now open; but Abednego's hands had not ceased
to tremble, or his tears to fall.
It contained only a miniature case ; and Basil's heart began to
beat strongly on recalling to mind the recent allusion of his host to
such an object, in connexion with the Duke of San Catalda.
"Accept this from me," said Abednego, placing it open in his
hands.
And to the utter wonderment of Basil Annesley, he found, on
opening the case, that it contained a beautiful enamel copy of
verelst's exquisite picture of the Esmeralda,—the female figure of
Which presented an unmistakeable likeness of his beloved Esther.
The gift was indeed inestimable. But by what strange series of
coincidences was he indebted for such a treasure to the munificence
of A. 0.?
CHAPTER XIII.
The earth hath bubbles.—Shakspeare.
Though the gift bestowed by Abednego upon young Annesley
must, at all times, have been a welcome one, it could not have
chanced at a more auspicious moment than now, when, for the first
time since the renewal of their acquaintance in England, he found
himself banished from the presence of Esther Yerelst. He was
himself, moreover, on the eve ot exile to airopposite quarter of the;
town; so that even chance encounters in the street were impro-
bable; the company of the Guards to which he belonged being under
orders to march into the Tower the day following his acceptance of
the miniature from Abednego.
128 THE MONEY-LENDEB.
These eastern quarters are rarely inviting to the young men of
fortune and family of whom the Guards are composed; unless during
the summer months, when they can prevail on their gay friends of
the west end to steam it to the Tower, and breakfast with them,
on pretence of viewing the lions of the place, and examining the
autographs cut in the walls of their mess-room by Peveril of tho
Peak and other prisoners of note.
But it was just then peculiarly disagreeable to Basil to find him-
self moated up with Wilberton and Maitland, whose secrets had
been accidentally placed in his keeping; or even with Loftus and
Blencowe, whose insight into his own and want of delicacy in their
railleries on the subject, he had more than once found occasion to
resent. There was no remedy, however. "With so little hardship
to complain of in his military duties, Basil Annesley was conscious
that it would he absurd to murmur against a few weeks' banish-
ment to the east end of the town.
It happened, however, that within a few days of taking up his
new quarters, he was attacked with indisposition; either the result
of his exertion and attendance upon the Money-lender, or of the
humid atmosphere of the Tower,* which amounts almost to mal'
aria, and, at certain seasons of the year, is sure to engender a low
fever in the garrison. In compassion to his illness, perhaps, the
two favourite raws established for his persecution by his facetious
friends, (his intimacy with the Yerelsts and with A. 0.,) were
suffered to heal unmolested.
The first day he was able to shake off his indisposition so far as
to visit the West End, in spite of the bantering to which he had
been subjected, one of his first visits was to Delahay-street. He
was anxious to inquire after his patient,—he was anxious to inquire
after his friend; for how could he otherwise designate the man to
whom he was indebted for the semblance of that beloved face which
never quitted his bosom for a moment, day or night ? Abednego
appeared, indeed, to have contemplated such an appropriation of
the miniature; for it was set in a plain go\d fausse montre, with a
loop for suspension round the neck.
"I swear I am now nearly as ill myself," murmured Basil, as
he drove along Great George-street, " as poor Abednego on the
bitter night I brought him home here—an exploit which, I verily
believe, was the cause of all my own indisposition."
At the end of Delahay-street, he got out, and proceeded on foot
to the Money-lender's door.
So accustomed was he now to the untowardness of that rugged
household, that he did not so much as expect any notice<fco be taken
of his rap at the door for the first ten minutes. *
To his great surprise, however, scarcely two were allowed to
elapse before it was opened; not by the rough-headed sweeper, not
by the rotund nurse; but by a stranger, an old Jew in all the
nursery force of the term, of sinister countenance and_ squalid
attire,—stooping shoulders,—rusty beard,—and the physiognomy
of Barabbas!
• Written fourteen years ago,
THE MONEY-LENDER. 129
Now that Basil was certified of the disconnexion of Abednego
with the hated tribe to which he appeared ^ attached, he could not
forbear being surprised and_ disgusted at his choosing to entertain
so unsavoury an individual in his household.
" I wish to speak to Mr. Osalez," said he.
# " You vish vat r" demanded the new porter, with an ungracious
air.
" I want to speak to your master "
" To the tevilsh wid your mastersh," retorted the Jew, about to
close the door in his face.
" I have business with A. 0.," cried Basil, resolved to forestal
the measure by adopting the phraseology of the place.
" Theresh no A. 0. here now. The housh ish shold," replied the
man. '' The housh ish mine own;—bought wid mine lawful monish,
and vat have you to shay againsht it ?"
" "Will you favour me .with the present address of Mr. Osalez ?—
He was ill when I left him a fortnight ago, and I am anxious to
inquire after him."
" He may be ted now, for vat I or any one caresh!" retorted the
Jew—now really fulfilling his intention, and slamming the door in
the face of the troublesome intruder.
Gone—vanished like a Will-of-the-wisp ! Most provoking—most
perplexing! Basil, who had despatched the book back to his
mother on the day of his parting from Abednego, with only a few
words of apology for the liberty he had taken in borrowing it from
her room, had in the interim made up his mind to appeal strenu-
ously to the sympathy of Abednego, for further information on a
subject concerning which, at his present age, he felt himself entitled
to explanation. The unexpected disappearance of the old man was
the heaviest disappointment he could have undergone.
Under a sudden impulse of irritation, instead of quitting the
door which had been closed upon him, he knocked loudly.
"Vat ish your pleashure to make dis tevil's noish at my gatesh ?'
cried the angry new proprietor, instantly reopening it.
" My pleasure is to offer you a sovereign for tidings of the present
residence of Mr. Osalez," cried Basil, following the axioms of A. 0.,
and coming at once to the point.
The individual thus abruptly apostrophised, coolly j erked the
proffered coin into the pocket of his dirty coat, and referred him
to Abednego's former residence in Greek-street.
"Fool that I was, not to think of it myself!" muttered Basil
and away he hurried like mad, towards Soho.
Arrived in Greek-street, however, his hopes we're again frustrated.
Scaffolding was established against the walls ; and bricklayers and
plasterers were at work. The" house was let, it appeared, for
twenty-one years ; and the workmen knew not so much as the
name of the former proprietor.
" I was in hopes they were going to refer me back to Paulet-street,"
said Basil to himself, in the bitterness of his heart. "Nay, without
their reference, it will end in my having to travel once more to St.
Agnes le Clare. A better alternative, certainly, than advertising
in the Times or Hue-and-Cry for the present abode of A. 0."
i
130 THE MOHEY-tENbEl.
In the excitement of feeling produced hy his disappointment, lie
eyen determined on a personal inquiry at the door of Verelst, which
he had promised himself never again to approach till recalled by
the artist; and though he had the vexation of hearing, syllable by
syllable, the same message delivered to him a fortnight before, that
the young ladies were "out," and the painter and his wife."engaged,"
he had at least the comfort of finding that Mrs. Yerelst was con-
valescent.
"The young ladies are well,_I hope?" said he, turning away
his face as he hazarded the inquiry.
" Q,uite well, Sir—that is, except Miss Esther, who has been
poorly for some time," said the maid, in a confused manner.
" But you said she was out ?"
" Yes, Sir,—that is—Sir—the family don't see no more company.
I was ordered on no account to let nobody in," said the girl, still
more embarrassed. And Basil, vexed as he was, having no further
plea for inquiry, had only to exjiress his regret at the young lady's
indisposition, and walk away.
He returned that day to the Tower in a mood of mind rendering
it extremely fortunate that his companions received him on his
arrival with yawns, rather than pleasantries. Maitland and Wil-
berton were growing too dull to have spirits for quizzing; and find-
ing that he brought them no news from St. James's-street, soon
returned to the snooze before a roasting fire, from which his return
had bestirred them.
Esther ill—Abednego vanished !—hTo means of inquiry after
either! At his next visit to the West End, Annesley hastened to
pay his tardy compliments to Madame Branzini, as a channel by
which he might at least gain intelligence of the former. But, alas!
the Consul and his wife were at Brighton for the remainder of the
holidays.
By degrees the state of suspense to which Annesley was reduced
became too intolerable to be borne. In the dreary isolation of the
Tower, he had nothing better to occupy his time than to ponder
over his perplexities ; till he finally became so overmastered by his
feelings, as to take the desperate resolution of applying to Wilber-
ton and Maitland for information. He had every reason to infer
that they at least must be cognizant of the Money-lender's removal;
and at the risk of incurring their sneers, boldly inquired one night,
as they were separating for bed, whether they could favour him
with the present address of A. 0.
Each looked at the other,—the one with surprise—the other with
indignation. Wilberton with his usual boisterous folly burst into
a horse laugh; but John Maitland accepted the question almost
as an insult. He had not forgotten Basil s allusion to the Money-
lender in Arlington-street, a day or two after A. O.'s awkward
appearance on the scene; and felt convinced that Annesley must be
aware of his family difficulties.
"You had better look in the Court Guide," said he;—"or in the
Directory, under the head of Money-lender. Should these resources
fail, I dare say the thief-takers of Bow-street can give you in form a .
tion concerning your Mend,"
ItE MONEV-LESfBElt. 131
Maitland had quitted the room before Basil recovered breath to
reply. Resolved to carry out their mutual explanations on the
morrow, when John Maitland's groundless anger would have sub-
sided, he returned to the corner where he had been seated, and,
more from listlessness than with any settled purpose, took up from
the table the Court Guide, which was lying beside the Annual Army
List, (the two classics of London mess-rooms,) and turned to the
letter 0.
The patronymic of Osalez was too foreign to admit of much
expectation of finding it there at all. Nevertheless, immediately
preceding a long catalogue of O'Shaughnessy's appeared the name
of Osalez three times repeated:—
Osalez, Bernard, Esq., 14, Poland-street.
Osalez, R. Esq., 4, Abbey road, Regent's Park.
Osalez, A. Esq., 74, Bernard-street, Russel-square.
Now, though A. Osalez, Esq., might import Andrew, Augustus,
Alfred, Allan,—or fifty other names,—Basil could not for the life of
him but hope and believe that the auspicious initial stood for no
other than Abednego. There might be dilapidated houses to be
bought, sold, or exchanged, in Bernard street, as well as elsewhere.
At all events, he was determined that the morrow should clear up
his doubts. At the very time he had selected for a clearing up with
Maitland, he was approaching the door of a substantial-looking
house, in Bernard-street, Russel-square.
" What a thrice double ass I must be," was his secret commentary
on his own weakness, " to fancy that such a man as A. 0. would
allow his abode to become a matter of advertisement in Boyle's
Court Guide."
The nearer he approached the house, the more he became assured
of his folly. Not a vestige, in the comfortable, clean, and modern
residence before him, of the tumble-down nature of A. O.'s habitual
resorts; not a token of' occasion for a " repairing lease," in Bernard-
street, Russels-quare; not a brick discoloured, not an atom of
mortar displaced in the pointing. The door was varnished,—the
knocker lustrous,—the steps bath-bricked into snowy whiteness,
without a speck under the scraper; and the A. Osalez of the Court
Guide would have become an old maid of independent fortune, in
Basil's apprehension, but for the qualifying designation of'' esquire.''
" At all events, as I am utterly unknown in this quarter of the
town, I can knock and make inquiry,"—cogitated Basil; and the
summons having been answered by a grave looking family butler,
he was informed, in answer to his formal demand, that " Mr. Osalez
was out."
" Has he not been recently indisposed ?" demanded young An-
nesley.
" My master, Sir, is just returned to town."
Recollecting Abednego's diatribe against the ruinous waste of
pampered menials, and estimating the expenses (perquisites in-
eluded) of so respectable-looking a gentleman as he had the honour
of addressing at between two and three hundred per annum, Basil
almost smiled at his own infatuation in renewing his inquiries.
" X called here for the purpose of inquiring after a relation of Mr,
I 2
132 THE MONEY-lENDEB.
Osalez,"—hazarded Basil, by way of excuse to the butler for not
leaving- bis card.
"I am not aware, sir, tbat my master has any relations," replied
tbe man, assuming an air of dignity and mistrust; "I have been
some years in bis service, and never heard of any."
" In tbat case," said Basil, "I am mistaken. I understood tbat
Mr. Abednego Osalez was connected witb bim."
"My master's name, Sir, is Abednego," replied tbe butler,
evidently impatient of so long an interrogatory on so cold a day,
tbe cbilly breezes of wbich bad already dislodged a portion of pow-
der from bis cauliflower bead.
" At wbat hour is Mr. Osalez likely to be at borne ? "—inquired
the overjoyed Basil.
" I really can't take upon me to say, Sir. His time of returning
from tbe City is very uncertain."
Young Annesley longed to hazard an inquiry wbat especial
business or calling took bim habitually to tbe City. But destitute of
pretext for such impertinent curiosity, he found nothing better to
say than tbat be would call again,—nothing better to do than to
slink away ;—leaving tbe dignified butler of opinion tbat be bad
been summoned from bis afternoon doze in tbe aining-room to very
little purpose.
Scarcely bad Basil reached tbe corner of tbe street, when there
drove past bim, at a brisk pace, a plain but handsome chariot, to
"which he would have scarcely raised his eyes in Arlington-street;
but which, in the neighbourhood of Russell square, assumed some-
thing of an aristocratic grace; and lo! as it glanced along, be
caught a glimpse of a head within, which, but for tbe impossibility
of such a transition, be could have sworn to be tbat of A. 0.
"The old man's face is running in my bead," said he, vexed at
his own folly : " and like Sir Thomas Browne, when writing upon
quincunxes, I descry one in every object in nature. Not an old-
clothes-man passes me, but I fancy 1 can trace a resemblance to
Abednego. And now, to be equally struck by the likeness of tbe
proprietor of a pair of horses worth four hundred guineas, to a man
who grudges himself a hackney-coach !"
At that moment, however, he recalled to mind his collision with
a similar carriage, when driving with Blencowe, opposite to
Hatchett's, nearly a month before; and the assertion of his
companion that its solitary inmate was none other than the
renowned A. 0.
He had half a mind to return and verify the fact. But already,
while trying to recal to mind whether he had actually seen the
face of the Money-lender in the brown chariot, on the day in
question, he had reached half way across Russell-square; and by
the time he retraced his steps into Bernard-street, the carriage had
disappeared. He had not courage to re-confront the portly butler
in order to ascertain whether, in the interim, it had deposited its
inmate at the door of Mr. Osalez.
Moreover, he had a commission to execute for Wilberton at "West's,
concerning the progress of a new dressing-box, the building
of which had only reached the second story, requiring him to be
THE MONET-LENDEE. 133
in St. James's-street at a certain hour, to meet a workman who was
to receive orders concerning the admeasurement of the compart-
ments; and there was no time to lose.
Still, the subject nearest his heait was not forgotten amid the
perplexities of patent hinges, and the shades of green morocco or
purple velvet;—and after taking a sandwich and glass of sherry at
the Club, and asking every one in vain for news to carry back to
the ark from which he had been permitted to escape, he sent for
"Wilberton's cab, which he had promised to drive back to the
Tower.
" Surely," argued Basil with himself, with singular disregard to
metropolitan topography—"it would make little difference were I
to drive round by Russell-square, along the City Road ? I feel that
shall not sleep till I have unravelled the knot of this perplexing
mystery."
It is surprising how vaguely we admeasure distances, when they
regard the legs and horses of other people. Having convinced
himself that he was taking almost the nearest way, by half-past
five o'clock Basil was dashing along through the lighted streets,
towards Bernard-street, Russell-square; where, emboldened by a
couple of glasses of sherry, he desired Wilberton's tiger to knock
at the door before which he checked his horse, and inquire
whether Mr. Osalez were at home.
A footman in plain livery now appeared to reinforce the butler;
who having answered in the affirmative, Basil had no alternative
but to jump out and follow the servant who was already preceding
him to the arawing-room with the name he had received from the
tiger, up the richly carpeted and well-lighted stairs.
Basil's heart almost quailed, as he followed his pilot in this vague
voyage of discovery. Was it possible that this could be the new
abode of A. 0. ? All was as well established and regular as if the
proprietor were already a grandfather, succeeding, in virtue of
inheritance, to a grandfather of his own.
The door of the drawing-room being thrown open, and the name
of "Mr. Annesley" articulately announced, there was no receding;
andlo! struck by the unusual gleam of light within, it occurred to
Basil, that the rooms were prepared for a dinner party, and that he
passed with the servants for one of the guests !
Nor was he mistaken. On clearing the threshold, he perceived
that half a dozen grave-looking gentlemen were assembled round
the fire-place; one or two seated in cozy arm-chairs, one or two
standing chatting together upon the hearth-rug. He would have
given worlds to retreat. Never had he felt himself so complete an
intruder. Not a face in the room,—all of which were turned to-
wards him,—had he ever beheld in his life.
Nevertheless, the servants had now retired, closing the door
behind them; while he looked round in indescribable dismay,
hoping to determine, from the attitude of the persons present,
which was the master of the house, to whom his apologies were
due. But a dead silence had followed the announcement of his
name ; and no one seemed more particularly surprised than the rest
at his joining the party.
134 xjtLti Jtiujyjsr-iiiijXDJSJi.
At length, this portion of the mystery was explained. A solemn*
looking old gentleman, with a high narrow forehead, a pair of nan-
keen shorts, and discoloured white silk stockings, many degrees
inferior in external presentment to the butler, stepped graciously
forward from the rug to the carpet, to announce to the confused
young man that " Mr. Osalez would make his appearance in a mo-
ment,—having had letters of importance to answer, after his return
from the City."
Annesley bowed, and tried to be thankful. At all events, he
judged that it would be better to await the coming of the master
of the house, and make apologies to him, than to hurry through
explanations unintelligible to the guests, and sneak off with the air
of a detected pickpocket. He had time, therefore, to examine the
apartment; which, though simply, was richly furnished, having
only two or three striking pictures, and two or three noble bronzes
by way of ornament.
The conversation his arrival had interrupted was now resumed,
.though little to his advantage; for not a syllable uttered by the
five elderly gentlemen conveyed the smallest meaning to his ear.
It > was a mystery of which he did not possess the key; being
neither more nor less than the jargon of bankers ana stock-
brokers.
Hot daring to seat himself, he stood, hat in hand, awaiting the
opening of the door, wishing himself fifty fathom under the founda-
tions of the White Tower, or anywhere else, rather than in a
drawing-room in Bernard-street, Russell-square. Had there been
women present, he would have felt less embarrassed; the tact and
courtesy of the sex readily supplying excuses for the indiscretion
of one of his age and appearance. But those five solemn old men,
in their knee-breeches and buckled shoes, their white' side curls or
bald crowns, amounted to the Awful. He would as soon have in-
terrupted a solemnization of the priests of Isis and Osiris in the
Great Pyramid.
At length, a step approachedthe drawing-room door: and though
Basil's blood ran cold with nervousness, his cheeks glowed with
blushes as the door opened, and the master of the house made his
appearance.
" I have a thousand apologies to offer you, gentlemen," said a
voice which yielded instant confirmation to the astounding convic-
tion which a first glance had produced in the mind of Basil—" I
have a thousand apologies to offer you. A messenger from Down-
ing-street was awaiting my return. I fear I have appeared very
long. But dinner will be served in a moment."
Mr. Osalez now shook hands in turn with his elderly guests, ad-
dressing to each some distinguished word of compliment. When
it came to the turn of Basil to be noticed, the young man's heart
sank within him. He was prepared for a start of surprise, a sar-
castic reproof. It did not occur to him that, his name having been
already privately announced to his host by the servants, no sur-
Erise, at least, would be manifested. So far, however, from
earing the sarcasms he had anticipated, even his apologies were
forestalled by the well-bred courtesy of Mr, Osalez,
THE MONEY-LENDER. 135
" I rejoice to see you, my dear Annesley," said he. " You must
leave it to me to apologise to my old friends here for your appear*
ance among them m your morning dress. My invitation, I know,
reached you too late, this evening, to admit of your dressing to j oin
our party. You have shown, indeed, far higher breeding than
myself, by preferring your own discomfort to keeping others
waiting."
So perfect was the self-possession of A. 0., while uttering this
plausible explanation, that Basil was for a moment really posed to
determine whether he might not have been invited, and the letter
of invitation missed him.
" Believe me, I had not the smallest intention of intruding upon
your party—" he was beginning; but Osalez stopped him short.
"I have sent away your cabriolet till eight o'clock," said he;
"that hour will, I believe, admit of your returning in time to
the Tower."
There was something so collected and so positive in the manner
of his host, that Basil, seeing at once he was resolved to detain him,
conceived that the best thing he could do for the furtherance of his
own object, was to coincide in the decision of his extraordinary
friend.
He had no leisure for deliberation, indeed, for at that moment
dinner was announced; and on proceeding to the warm and com-
fortable dining-room, he saw that a seventh cover had been added
to the richly-laid round table.
" Never had Basil felt more embarrassed, than on taking his place.
Never had he felt more thoroughly out of place than with those
grave-looking men and the mysterious host, who, by his manner of
disposing of himj seemed to possess some preternatural influence
over his destinies. But by degrees, the influence of light and
warmth, exquisite wines, and an excellent dinner, exercised their
genial influence on soul and body.
Basil had been accustomed to feast with the great. The tables
of the Duke of Bochester and Lord Maitland, (at both of which he
had been of late a frequent guest,) were cited by the world as
uniting all that a first-rate French cook, Italian confectioner, and
Herman maitre d'hotel, could produce in the way of savoir vivre«
But it struck him that he had never seen fish, flesh, and fowl, ill
such exquisite perfection as now; nor was he a little amused to hear
the venerable gentlemen treat of such matters, not only with themost
intense gusto, but as though the City were the fountain head of the
good things of this world; and that Billingsgate, Smithfield, and
Farringdon, despatched to the West End only their refuse produce,
after dedicating the finest to the heavier purses of the aristocracy
of Gruildhall. He had not been accustomed in Arlington-street to
hear turtle and venison treated as things unknown, in perfection,
on the western side of Temple-bar !
But it was not the mere gastronomy of the dinner that cheered his
heart. It was edifying to see the grave faces of the six old gentle-
men relax under the influence of that convivial atmosphere.
Warmed by the stimulus of wine such as never before had reached
Bis Bps, pure from the wine-press of the sunny south, and mellowed
136 the money-lender.
only by the hand of Time, instead of the drugged and fiery decoc-
tions to which messes and clubs had habituated his palate, they
soon expanded into cheerfulness ; and he had occasion to note the
difference between the man of intelligence and information unfold-
ing his stores under such influence, and the empty noise produced
by similar excitement upon his usual companions. Jfou might as
well have attempted to intoxicate an exciseman's gauge, as pro-
duce more than a certain effect on the well-seasoned brains of these
good livers of half a century's experience. With them, the opener
of the heart and mind served only to bring out, with freer expres-
sion, their prodigious knowledge of the world.
And what a world !—How illimitably did Basil's horizon expand
as he listened. Hitherto his notions of " the world " might have
been geographically defined as " bounded on the north by Maryle-
bone, on the south by Lambeth, the east by St. Martin's-lane, the
west by Kensington Gardens. But he now heard Australia,
America, and China familiarly talked of as lying within the ring-
fence of the kingdom of Mammon. India seemed regarded as a
home farm by these old gentlemen; and the Spice Islands as their'
flower-garden. Their caravans were traversing the wilderness,
like the private post of some lordly establishment. As to Europe,
■—poor, commonplace, domestic Europe,—each had his courier
galloping homewards from Petersburg, Yienna, Berlin, like Horse
Guards' estafettes, trotting backwards and forwards to Hampton
Court or Hounslow. As to Paris, it was a toy; a snuff-box that
seemed to lie in their waistcoat-pocket.
While these facts were gradually transpiring, not in the way of
vaunt, but the course of conversation, Basil naturally expected
that a triumphant glance from the eye of Abednego would fur-
tively intimate to him—"Behold, these be the kings of whom I
spake ; the kings of Tarsus and Epirus, of Tyre and Sidon. These
be the master hands that move the wires of kingly puppets; the
mainsprings of aristocratic action; without whom, privy-councils
and parliaments might mouth and gibber in vain; the veritable
monarchs who make peace and war ; the potentates who created
the independence of America, who rendered Francs a citizen king-
dom, ana would do as much for the British empire, had peer-ridden
England the smallest taste for enfranchisement."
_ But not a look, not a word, not a syllable, implied peculiar sig-
nificance or understanding between himself and his host. He
probably passed, to those elderly sovereigns, as some protege whom
Osalez deigned to_ admit occasionally to his board ; and each in
succession took wine with him in the encouraging manner with
which they would have patronized a school-boy at home for the
holidays. But it was something that they refrained not from their
usual discourse in mistrust of the presence of the stranger; but
continued to treat of kings and ministers in all quarters of the
globe, as so many implements for coining in the hands of those real
masters of the world, the money-mongers of its various exchanges.
There was nothing, however, of assumption or braggarty in their
self-assertion. In the House of Commons, in the clubs, at the con-
vivial meetings of the West-end, Annesley had been often dis-
THE MONEY-LENDER. 137
gusted by the tone of flippancy or bullying assumed whenever tbe
deferences of life were laid aside. But here, all was decorous as in
the Upper House ; with the bench of Bishops -and the Woolsack,
serving as dead weights upon the buoyancy of human nature.
With a magnanimous exercise of power, resembling the quiet
lifting of an elephant's trunk, these great financial operators,
whose electric wires communicated from one end of the world to the
other, would as soon have thought of jesting over the bankruptcy
of kingdoms, or the necessities of princes, of which they were
treating, as the Home Department of perpetrating a pun over a
death warrant.
Still less, however, were they grave or pompous ; and many an
amusing anecdote transpired connected with the statesmen or mea-
sures of the day, which might have told less well elsewhere ; but
derived peculiar charm from the authenticity certified by the
genius loci.
For Annesley was beginning to understand with whom he was
dipping in the dish. _ The names by which he heard his companions
addressed, were familiar to him attached to loans and other gigantic
financial operations, announced by the papers as having audiences
of the Chancellor of the Exchequer; men whose signatures, in-
scribed on a sheet of paper, create a railroad that is to facilitate the
intercommunication of kingdoms,—an Argentine Republic,—a
county hospital,—or an insurrection in Cochin China!—
Over a dessert, the forced fruit, lime-ice, and Chateau-Lafitte of
which would have caused the Duke of Rochester's eyes to glisten,
the host and his most potent, grave, and reverent signiors of guests,
sat gossiping of the state affairs of the world, as though their
little synod constituted the cabinet council of the universe. They
talked of the politics of Europe as men talk of the moves of a game
of chess ; of sovereigns, as if the ivory or ebonv or boxwood pieces
of the board. The identity of such privileged portions of human
nature was evidently unimportant to their calculations. To the
high priests of Mammon, there was no Nicholas,—no Francis,—no
Frederick William,—but in their places—Prussia, Hardenberg and
Co.,—Austria, Metternich and Co.,—Russia, Nesselrode, et hoc.
Of money itself, under the august name of Capital, they treated
as he had never heard it treated before, as an end and not a mean;
and millions sounded in their mouths less than the ponies or pounds,
he was accustomed to hear betted elsewhere. In the arguments of
that singular coterie, there was matter to drive thrice as many
political economists to distraction !
In the midst of the discussion, young Annesley could not forbear
reverting with a degree of amazement amounting almost to the
ludicrous, to the sense of compassion with which he had, so short a
time before, accosted the old beggar-man of Paulet-street; and the
terrors with Avhich, in his necessity for a paltry loan of three hun-
dred pounds, he had undergone his cross-examination in Greek-
street, Soho, from the redouotable A. 0.
138 THE 3i0i\ey"lei\deh.
CHAPTER XIV.
Oh! my weary hours
In my old cell! And yet the fruit thereof
Laughs in the shining, open face of day,
As laughs the dial, moved by clacking wheels,
And sober pullies, hidden from our eyes.—Blackmoee.
The pleasantries with, which Basil Annesley had been of late
persecuted by his brother officers concerning his unaccountable
intimacy with the notorious Money-lender, would unquestionably
have been renewed on the evening of the day in question, could
they have surmised the series of strange events which brought
him back flushed and agitated to the Tower, a few seconds before
the striking of the garrison hour.
But he offered no explanations; and having two or three im-
portant pieces of political news to communicate, acquired among
the prophets of the Stock Exchange, besides an anecdote of the
Dowager Colonel's having fallen on his nose behind the scenes of
one of the theatres, to the displacement of his hat, wig, and pro-
boscis, they let him off without much severity of cross-examina-
tion.
It was not till alone, amid the silence of night, that Basil began
to inquire of himself whether all that had of late befallen him,
were not the njockery of a dream; whether there really existed
either an Abednego the Money-lender, or a high-bred and luxu-
rious banker or stock-broker, or bill-broker, bearing the name of
Osalez.
Perplexed by his reflections and fevered by unusual excess, he
was unable to close his eyes; or if he closed them for a moment, it
was to be further deridea and perplexed by the confused dreams of
indigestion; wherein his mother and Esther were intermingled
with the dying man in the old attic in "Westminster, and the
usurer who had relieved his pecuniary difficulties and bestowed
upon him the richest treasure in his possession.
Nor did the morning sun bring its usual comfort or enlightenment.
The more he reflected on these mysteries, the more they appeared
to darken. He had lost all confidence in his own powers of per-
ception, in his own powers of volition. This strange man, this
ignis fatuus,—this Djinn, this mysterious influence, appeared to
enfold his destinies as with the coil of a boa-constrictor and the
capability of crushing him at will; under which persuasion, en-
dured in solitary irritation day after day, the health of Basil,
which had been almost re-established, again began to give "way.
He was soon confined to his room, wanting either power or inclina-
tion to cross the drawbridge. Nor was this any source of regret
to him. Denied access to the house of Yerelst, too proud to seek
again that of a man whom he now recognised as rich and powerful,
and on whom he had the claim of benefits conferred, he had not the
smallest inclination to quit his retirement.
It was a severe season. Though the spring was approaching, a six
weeks' frost filled the clubs of St, James's-streetwith hunting-men,
THE MOHEY-LEItt>ER. 139
and augmented the "wisdom and divisions of Parliament with the
full amount of its county members. Yet Basil was satisfied to re-
main, day after day, in his quarters. To beguile his ennui, he
took the opportunity to renew, as Esther had often entreated him,
his study ot the German language, which, since his departure from
Heidelberg, he had suffered to grow rusty. For he had been struck,
at his dinner in Bernard-street, with the advantage which those
puissant old men derive from their familiarity with modern lan-
guages. French, Italian, German, were familiar to them as Eng-
lish ; (a circumstance strongly indicative of their foreign origin;)
and they appeared to verify the axiom of Charles V., that so many
languages as a man possesses, so many times is he a man.
It was in vain his brother officers reviled him by the name of
" sap," and protested that Fancy was going to advertise for a
place as finishing governess. He adhered to his seclusion, and
submitted to be thought a bore, rather than join in pleasures for
which he had lost all inclination.
The insight he had incidentally obtained from A. 0. into the
prospects of AVilberton and John Maitland, rendered it doubly dis-
agreeable to him to see them indulging in habits of expense un-
suited to their means ; and, as they refused to listen to his remon-
strances, or replied to them with repartees concerning the evil
principles he was contracting among his Jewish associates, there
was nothing for it but to adhere to his pursuits, and pass for a
churl.
Meanwhile, fatal confirmation was yielded to the predictions of
his mysterious friend, by an announcement which, some weeks
afterwards, appeared in the morning papers, that—
" The Duke of Rochester, having broken up his establishment
at Rochester House and Wilberton Castle, was about to proceed to
Italy, where his Grace's family intended to reside for a period of
years."
The news produced considerable emotion in the fashionable
circles; not, indeed, the expatriation of the Duke and Duchess of
Rochester, for whom, personally, people cared no more than for any
other hospitable duke and duchess. But the loss of Rochester House
and Wilberton Castle was a serious injury to those butterfly friends
who had found, in his Grace's rent-roll of fifty thousand per annum,
a gratuitous source of enjoyment.
As Abednego had judiciously observed to Basil during his at-
tendance in Delahay-street, it was no wonder that so very popular
a man should become a bankrupt; since, to insure the popularity
of a duke with fifty thousand a year, it is indispensable he should
expend a hundred thousand.
The premature newspaper announcement of the Duke of Ro-
Chester's intended departure necessitated, meanwhile, the measure
it purported to prognosticate. Beset by claimants, who, so long
asnis credit laboured only under an imputation of " done up,"
had refrained from molesting him, in the hope of tempting him to
add a few hundreds, or thousands, to the amount of demands
they were certain of establishing, with legal interest, against his
estate, his Grace was pow compelled to bid a precipitate adieu to
140 the money-lendee.
the London world, which, shines upon us, like the moon}> only so
long as the sun of our prosperity reflects brightness upon its face;
and the original inauthentie announcement of his Grace's intended'
departure, was shortly followed up by an authentic auctioneer's
advertisement, setting forth the details of a sale of the effects of "a
distinguished nobleman recently removed to the Continent."
Rochester House, Wilberton Castle, and the heirlooms, were, of
course, inviolable; but the furniture of the former, including an
unique collection of articles_ of virtu, had been seized by the
creditors, and was now on view; described, for the gratification
of vulgar curiosity, in advertisements and catalogues, with a waste
of pomp, circumstance, and ignorant diffuseness, serving to prove
that what is called the public must have a prodigious portion of
leisure at its disposal.
One morning, about a fortnight previous to the expiration of his
service at the Tower, a fine morning, towards the close of March,
which might have been mistaken for a sunny April day, tempted
Basil Annesley and Maitland to boat it to the West End; where
the chief object of the former consisted in obtaining a glimpse of
the house where Esther resided ; occasionally leaving a card at the
door, with inquiries after the health of the family, to prove that,
if excluded from their society, he had not become unmindful of
their welfare.
Having fulfilled this chivalrous duty, while Maitland proceeded
to Arlington-street in search of letters (the family of Lord Mait-
land having profited by his being quartered at the Tower to refresh
themselves for the London season by a few weeks' sojourn atBrigh-
ton), they met again at the club, and found they had still an idle
hour to dispose of. Tennis presented itself as the readiest resource.
But, on hastening to the court, it proved to be engaged for the
remainder of the morning; and, in order to get rid of themselves
on the easiest terms, Maitland proposed that they should saunter
into Rochester House, which was open to public view, preparatory
to the sale of the furniture.
A crowd of carriages of course obstructed the court-yard; for if,
as La Rochefoucault assures us, there is something in the sight of
the disasters of our friends which is not unpleasing to us, the fact
is never more strongly exemplified than in the haste with which
London idlers scamper to a sale of the effects of some fashionable
bankrupt, at whose expense they have been long entertained.
The rooms were crowded, even to suffocation; almost as crowded
and almost as suffocating as for the assemblies and balls of the
"popular" Duchess of Rochester; and Maitland and Annesley,
who had only a limited time for their visit, began to fear that they
should be detained at the head of the stairs till their hour had
expired.
Just, however, as Maitland was expressing this opinion to his
companion, Basil found himself plucked by the sleeve by one of the
auctioneer's men in charge of the furniture, who had mounted
guard behind the marble pedestal of a magnificent bronze figure of
Mercury, brandishing a candelabrum for a caduceus, which stood
in the lobby.
THE MONEY-EENDEK. 141
" Shlip in behind here, shir," said the man, " and I'll show ye a
crosh-cut into the mushic room, that'll get ye shafe through the
crowdsh." #
And suiting the action to the word, the man opened a small door
in the wall behind him, leading into a small passage ; to mask the
entrance of which, the niche and statue had probably been devised.
"Another Jewish friend of yours, eh, Nan?" cried Maitland,
when, at the end of a small and deserted corridor they found them-
selves, by passing another masked door opening behind a chamber
organ, in the music room; and while Basil attempted to laugh off
the favour shown him, which he was as much at a loss to explain
as Maitland himself, the men in charge of the rooms, conceiving by
the privilege they enjoyed, that the two intruders must be person-
ages of signal mark and distinction, began to overwhelm thbm with
such obsequiousness of service that they were glad to escape into
the adjoining picture-gallery.
" By Jove ! there's^ Lady Winterfield coquetting it with Lord
Hi! ford, in the prettiest French bonnet I ever saw !" cried Mait-
land, with as little interest in the masterpieces^ contained in the
gallery, as he had formerly experienced when visiting the spot as
the guest of the Duke of Bochester. " Come along, Nan, and let
us interrupt the courtship.—It will be famous fun !"
Basil, however, was firmly rooted to the examination of the
pictures.
We may never have occasion to see these chef-d'ceuvres again!"
said he.
"If we don't, what the deuce signifies ? But we shall see them
again. Some fool or other of our acquaintance will be sure to buy
the best of them! So, there's a good fellow, come !"
But in spite of his persuasions Annesley remained immovable.
Among the pictures were three or four that claimed his earnest and
startled attention, from the singular fact of having seen them in
progress on the easel of Yerelst.
Above all, there was a pair of battle-pieces which could only have
been recently purchased by the unthrifty duke, or finished by the
needy artist; for one of them contained the identical design of the
broken bridge, of which he had watched the original design start
to life under the pencil of his protege.
With eager interest, he instantly referred to the catalogue; and,
to his surprise and indignation, found each of the pictures assigned
to some 'ancient master. The pair in question was boldly attri-
buted to no less a hand than that of Salvator Bosa.
" Infamous !" burst involuntarily from his lips, and he was about
to disclose to his companion the grounds of his indignation, when
Maitland impelled him forward for the amiable purpose of irus-
trating Lady Winterfield's flirtation. To return to the charge, or
even to return to the picture, was out of the question.'—They were
now inextricably involved in the vortex of fashionable sight-seers.
A little reflection determined Basil to postpone, till the morrow,
a more deliberate verification of the imposture of which he was
himself convinced; and he consequently acceded to Maitland's
request, when, haying reached the end of the gallery without elicit-
142 THE MOHEY-IEHDEfi.
fug the slightest token of vexation from the fashionable widow, he
proposed that they should escape from the throng and make the
best of their way home to dinner, while time and tide permitted.
" What a devil of a show up!" was the amiable apostrophe of
Maitland, on quitting the court-yard. " I'm sorry for Rochester,
because he was really a deuced good fellow. He regularly mounted
me for six weeks last hunting season, when I went down to the
castle with Wilberton—ay, and capitally too. Mason couldn't have
done it better. And then, he plays the best game of piquet in
England, or nearly the best! I'm really deuced sorry for him."
"I am still more sorry for his family," observed Basil. "His
family are growing up. It is a hard thing for his daughters."
" They hiiye_ your triend A. 0. to thank, I suspect, for the dis-
gusting publicity of this sale."—
" It is not the sale for which I pity them, but the occasion of it,"
observed Basil.
It "wouldn't much surprise me if there were the same sort of
crash at our house one fine day or other," resumed Maitland, pur-
suing, as if half unconsciously, his train of reflections!—" I've good
reason to know that my father is cursedly dipped; and he wont
give up Newmarket. Let what will happen, he wont give up
Newmarket. A devil of a look-out for me, and worse still for the
younger children. I've gone as far as my conscience or my lawyer
(and I don't know which is blackest !) would let me, in cutting off
the entail; and though the governor and my mother have been
badgering me these three months to sanction another mortgage, to
enable them to keep up the war, at least till my sisters are married,
my duty to those that come after me (eh ?—that's the right text,
isn't it, for the No-go of an heir apparent?) wont allow me to
make ducks and drakes of the last few acres of the family property."
Basil Annesley, feeling that his companion was excited by the
scene they had just quitted into somewhat indiscreet revelations,
attempted to turn the conversation;—no difficult matter with John
Maitland, whose attention, even when matters so serious were
concerned as the ruin of his family, was only too easily distracted.
'The transit from the heated atmosphere of Rochester House to the
stirring breezes of the river, soon dispersed every shade of re-
flection from his countenance.
It was some days before Basil Annesley's course of regimental
duty admitted his revisiting the West End; and a whole week
elapsed before he was sufficiently master of his time to return to
Rochester House. Even then, he had some difficulty in accom-
plishing his object. But there was not a moment to be lost. The
sale had been several days in progress ; and on arriving at the
door, he found that the pictures concerning which he was so deeply
interested, were included in the allotment of that very day.
No carriages now encumbered the court-yard. There were a
few led horses and grooms of the sort always to be seen near the
Houses of Parliament about six o'clock; and an old-looking gig
or two. But the greater portion of the court-yard wTas encum-
bered with carts, trucks, and hand-barrows, removing articles of
furniture sold the preceding day.
THE MONEY-LENDER. 143
The sale of the pictures was proceeding ill the gallery itself;
and while still in the vestibule, Basil could distinctly hear the
sonorous and defying voice of Hummins the auctioneer, and the
strokes of his hammer; duly succeeded by the loud clamour of the
crowd on the adjudgment of succeeding lots.
Basil cast an anxious glance round the assemblage.—If the truth
must be told, he was horribly afraid of descrying among them the
face now familiar to him through its varied disguises; either in
the squalid array of a Jew broker, or polished and gentlemanly,
among the noted connoisseurs of the day; most of whom, glass in
hand or spectacles on nose, were present, busied in detecting
blemishes in the works of art, or pointing out errors of description
in the catalogue, with a view to cheapening the pictures for which
they intended to become competitors:—sallow dukes, whose galle-
ries were already stocked to overflowing; parvenu millionaires,
buying their way to distinction; country baronets, who regarded
a fashionable auction as an indispensable ingredient to their season
in London; a few real amateurs, ever on the field to profit by the
ignorance of others, and purchase a chef-d'oeuvre, when occasion
presented itself, at the cost of a copy; a still more limited number
on the watch to purchase objects too high in value, of general
competition, as a safe investment for capital; and, in the propor-
tion of ten to one to all these, the usual rabble of an auction-room;
picture-dealers, brokers, Jews, pick-pockets, with an auxiliary
force of unmeaning idlers, to increase the heat and confusion of
the scene.
Two of Yerelst's pictures had been disposed of before Basil
Annesley entered the gallery; and, as far as he could understand
from the dealers around him, at high prices; the one as a Baroccio,
the other as an Annibal Carracci, to a nobleman, who, having re-
cently inherited an enormous fortune, was making himself master
of pictures, race-horses, and public contumely, at the cost of
twenty thousand a-year.
The battle-pieces were just about to be put up; and Basil felt
miserably nervous at the idea of hearing described as "matchless
works of art," and perhaps sold at the price of such, creations
which the poor living artist had drudged to produce for the remu-
neration of sign-painting.
Nor was he deceived. The auctioneer seemed disposed to exceed
himself in his premonitory flourish concerning these " gems of art,
the pride of the Rochester collection!"
" The possession from which the noble owner had torn himself
with the deepest regret in quitting England," he said, "was the
well-known picture gallery which he had formed with so much
pains, judgment, and, cost, and which it was a scandal to the
country that Parliament had not purchased en masse for the
National Gallery. But of all his Grace's valuable, or rather in-
valuable pictures, it was well known that the accomplished and
discriminating duke prized none more highly than his pair of Sal-
vators!"
A. few of the more discerning amateurs answered this exordium
by a grunt; unwilling to hazard further depreciation, in order
144 THE MONEY-EENDEB.
that the moneyed ignoramuses might throw away their capital on
pictures secure from their wiser competition, so as to leave them
without means for the prizes. And when the flowery auctioneer
pointedly addressed himself to a nobleman distinguished among
cognoscenti, to place the upset price of these " matchless Salvators,"
without receiving any encouragement in return for the liberty, it
was a strange voice from a distant part of the assembly that boldly
named one hundred and twenty pounds.
The auctioneer affected indignation, and inquired whether he
were "indeed selling one of the most celebrated collections in the
wealthy capital of the most enlightened country in the world ?"
—upon which piece of John Bull-ish clap-trap, a country baronet,
touched to the quick of his patriotism, added five sovereigns to
the bid, which a Jew broker in the pay of the auctioneer, instantly
converted into guineas.
_ The strange voice from the other extremity of the room, now
bid one hundred and thirty-five pounds for the pair; and by a
dexterous compliment to the spirit and discernment of the country
baronet, this was soon raised by Hummins to one hundred and
forty pounds. A competition thus established, the bidding went
on briskly and more briskly still; till at length, the incomparable
Salvators were on the point of being knocked down to the pro-
prietor of a hundred thousand pounds'-worth of copies and
broken-down racers, for two hundred and seventy-five guineas.
" Two hundred and eighty!" cried a voice from that portion of
the crowd most encumbered with dealers and brokers; and after
some farther sparring, the unseen competitor was declared victor.
The auctioneer looked surprised, or, to borrow an expressive
Americanism, consternated; though it is probable, that the pro-
prietor of that "winged voice," if invisible to others, as the
cuckoo to an unpractised eye, was perfectly known to Hummins.
For the auctioneers of London are as notoriously cognizant of the
name and natures of the apparent strangers who frequent their
sales, as the shepherds individualize every sheep in their flock.
Having witnessed all he wished to see, Basil was about to quit
the gallery, desirous only to certify the name of the rash pur-
chaser. Having reached a table at the further end of the gallery,
on which, in the midst of the greatest noise and confusion, a clerk was
making entries, he interrupted the man's labours for a moment, to
inquire the name of the gentleman to whom Lot 347 had been
knocked down.
" Do you wish to purchase, sir ?" said the clerk, without raising
his eyes from the paper. " Here, Nathan! Nathan Herz! a gentle-
man who wants to speak to you about the Salvators."
A shabby-looking individual, forward among the bidders in the
sale again proceeding, turned round at this apostrophe, exclaiming,
" A shentleman vantsh to purshash ?" when Basil was inexpressibly
startled on recognising in this man, who was simply one of the
Jew brokers assembled in a knot at that end of the room, at once
the individual who had forwarded Maitland and himself through
the private door into the music-room, and the bearded Levite he
had found in possession of the house in Delahay-street, the former
residence of A. 0.
THE MONET-IENDEE. 145
*' I have something to say to you in private about those Sal-
vators," said Basil, half unwilling to address so uninviting a
personage, and lowering his voice so as to be unheard by the clerk.
" Dey are not for shale, ma tear," replied the Jew, evidently
desirous to escape the interview.
" I do not want to buy them. They havC"been put up under a
false description."
" Yesh, yesh—no mattersh—I ashk no questions," persisted the
Jew, struggling to get away.
" But since I am able to inform you " Basil was beginning.
" You can tell noshing, I promish, ma tear young shentlemans;
hut I don't know better nor yourself," replied the broker. And
before Annesley had time for a rejoinder the fellow had disappeared.
"After all, what plea have I for moving in the business?"
argued Basil with himself, as, disappointed, heated, and excited, he
drove back through the City to the Tower. " The better way will
be to write to Yerelst, and inform him of the exact state of the
case, leaving him to act as he thinks proper. Shut up in his
studio from one month's end to the other, the public disposal of
these pictures will never reach his ears. Besides, my letter may
serve as a renewal of intercourse with the family."
On arriving at home, and before he had time to fulfil or even
confirm his purpose, a note was placed in his hands by his servant,
sealed with an antique, and having the look of a fashionable
invitation. Yet, but for the elegance of its form, Basil would
have pronounced the handwriting to be that of the Money-lender.
On tearing open the envelope, he found the following lines:—
" Take no further concern about the pictures. I know all; and
purchased them only to expose the villany of a knave and weak-
ness of a fool. " Yours, A. 0."
So great was the astonishment of Basil Annesley that he all
but allowed the letter to fall from his hands. It seemed to him as
if he had only that instant quitted the sale. He had given inti-
mation of his intentions to no human being. Yet already the
omnipresent Osalez had found means to penetrate his views, and
be beforehand with his warning. He, then, was the purchaser of
the pictures. He who, from his intimate knowledge of the con-
dition of Yerelst and his family, must have been fully aware of
their unauthenticity ; he who, from his gift to Basil of a copy of the
Esmeralda, had probably employed the poor painter.
Recalling to mind the exquisite nature of the works of art he
had seen in Bernard-street, Basil could not suppose that the de-
scription contained in an auctioneer's catalogue had for a moment
influenced the choice of so critical a judge as A. 0.; and at that
moment a mortifying suspicion glanced into his mind. Abednego
was evidently, in some way or other, in furtherance of some of his
petty projects, either in confederacy with, or in authority over, the
broker he had seen in possession of the tenement in Delahay-
street; and Annesley knew him to have been mainly instrumenta
in promoting the ruin and break-up of the Duke of Rochester—'
first, by his usurious loans, and, lastly, by rapacious persecution.
K
146 THE MONEY-LENDER.
What if lie had teen the means of selling these pictures to the
■would-be connoisseur, and was, therefore, eager to get them once-
more into his possession?
Indignant at the suspicion, or, rather, indignant with himself
for having conceived ^it, Basil resolved to reply by a few lines,
which he intended to leave in person in Bernard-street, acquainting
Mr. Osalez of his resolution to enlighten the mind of Yerelst upon
a point so essential to his interests as the speculations founded by
picture-dealers on his imitations of the ancient masters.
The following morning, after breakfast, he was quitting the
mess-room for the purpose of addressing Yerelst, when Maitland,
who was sunning himself in the wide window-seat to peruse his
favourite Morning Post, suddenly exclaimed—
" Hillo, hillo! you were at the sale yesterday, at Rochester
House, weren't you, Nan ?"
" Only for a short time."
" And what was your sapient opinion of the pair of Salvators?"
" That they were very fine pictures."
" Come, come, no hedging. I mean did you consider them
originals?"
Basil's colour rose to his temples at the inquiry.
" Because, if you did, my fine fellow," resumed Maitland, "you
were among the knowing ones who appear to have been deucedly
taken in. Look here! A letter from Hummins, the auctioneer,
apologising for having been made instrumental to an imposition
on the public, and stating that the pair of battle-pieces forming
part of the gallery of his Grace the Duke of Rochester, ana
yesterday sold as such for the sum of 310 guineas, are the original
productions of a German artist of the name of Yerelst, whose
works are beginning to acquire considerable value in the trade,
and, furthermore, that they were purchased as originals by his
Grace the Duke of Rochester, for the sum of fifteen hundred
guineas, from a picture-dealer of the name of Stubbs, residing in
Prith Street, Soho. Then follows a flourish about Hummins's
value for his own reputation, his conscientious discharge of his
duties to the public, and so forth. There! Read it yourself!
Your protege's fortune is made, it seems. I shouldn't be surprised
to find that you bribed Hummins to oversell the pictures, ana paid
for tne advertisement. Unless I am much mistaken, Stuhbs is the
name of one of the ruin-mongers who make a fool of my mother.
The very brute, by the way, who brought no end of annoyances on
the family, by transferring one of my father' s_ acceptances (to
pay for the carved furniture of that accursed suite of moyen age
rooms at Maitland Park, which I never enter without feeling as if
I should catch the plague!) to your Jewish friend Barabbas—the
extortioner A. 0."
Luckily, this taunt was unheard. Basil was thoroughly ab-
sorbed in the perusal of Hummins's letter. Having made himself
master of the contents, he hastily quitted the room.
Little had he expected, after his long and regretted alienation
from the Yerelsts, to prove the means of a discovery likely to pro-
duce so advantageous a change in their fortunes. Never had
THE MONEY-LENDER. 147
Basil felt so happy. It was a balmy April day; and he ascended
with gladsome steps the stone bastion overlooking the river, fancy-
ing that he had never before beheld its dingy current ripple so
gaily in the sun.
Spring was rapidly advancing; and even for those denizens of
London who do not divide the year into three months of season
and nine months of blank, the town was beginning to wear a
pleasant aspect. Flower-carts and water-carts jogging; side by
side through the streets, conveyed to the smoke-dried citizens an
idea that, somewhere or other, the sun was shining, and the sky so
murky over their heads, exhibiting the cerulean hue of the poets;
and, by degrees, the sickly roots of primroses, hawked about by
tiower-girls, whose faces bore superficial indication of the fact that
flesh is dust, gave place to bunches of faded lilacs, destined to be
transferred in broken water-jugs, to the window-ledges of all the
by-ways of the metropolis, as too potent of scent to be borne
within.
Even on the pendant streamers lining the foetid depths of a
deserted well, once, at least, in the day, the vertical sun sheds its
reviving light; and even into the most dismal lodging of the
least cheerful capital in Europe, summer infuses for a moment its
cheering influence.
The Verelsts were happier now than in the trying winter season.
The invalid could be wheeled to the window for change of air: and
the girls, when proceeding to give their daily lessons, were less
exposed to vicissitudes of weather.
But they had other causes for gladness. The more advantageous
bargains made by Yerelst, under the management and protection of
Basil Annesley, were beginning to bring forth their fruits. They
were getting, in some degree, above the world; and the comfort of
seeing her family better clothed, better fed, and without fear for the
morrow, had done more to restore strength and courage to Mrs.
Yerelst than all the previous advice and medicaments of the
physicians.
Placed at ease in his circumstances, by the sale of his military
sketches, the artist had ventured to give once more the reins to his
imagination in the completion of a picture representing the Jo-
hanna von Orleans of Schiller bidding adieu to her native valley,
which had been admitted among cart-loads of works of art more or
less deserving to the annual exhibition. For the twentieth time
in his life, therefore, the artist was smoothing the plumage of a
new-fledged hope; a bird of promise which, like the Phoenix, has
the faculty of giving birth from its ashes to a successor fresh and
fair as the one of recent extinction.
The girls, meanwhile, had been objects of unusual solicitude to
the good Branzinis; who, the longer they were acquainted with
the gentle disposition of the accomplished governess of their chil-
dren, became more and more convinced of the merit of the family;
and delighted in every occasion of brightening their joyless
existence.
These music-parties,—these operas,—these cheerful little dinners,
however, though accepted with gratitude by Mrs. Yerelst for her
~K 2
148 THE MOEET-LENHEE.
daughters, were far from affording pleasure to Esther and Salome,
now that there was no longer a chance of meeting Basil Annesley!
To them, his disappearance from among them was fraught with
mystery. They knew nothing of his being quartered in the Tower.
They knew nothing of their father's letter, or interdictions. And
though accidentally apprised that their former friend appeared,
from time to time, at the door, with inquiries after the health of
their mother, this total change in their habits of intercourse in-
creased rather than diminished their surprise. Salome's frank
expressions of regret at his absence had produced from her parents
the most chilling reproof; and eyer since, by tacit consent of all
parties, the subject was dropped.
The lodgings inhabited by the Verelsts were of such circum-
scribed dimensions, that the two girls slept in a small room within
that of their mother, upon whom they took it in turns to attend
day and night; so that there was no opportunity for those sisterly
confidences which, in more splendid households, are the origin of
such waste of time and sensibility. Nevertheless, Esther some-
times found a moment to whisper to Salome that it was strange
Basil should so suddenly have withdrawn his interest from them;
just as, occasionally, Salome found means to express to Esther her
wonderment whether it would ever enter into her father's plans to
return to Germany; and whether, even if they went back to their
beloved Heidelberg, they might not find the Count von Ehrenstein
a happy husband and father.
Sucn was the position of their affairs, and such the monotonous
tenour of their existence, unconnected with the passing events of
the day by even, the perusal of a newspaper, unless occasionally
at the house of the Neapolitan Consul, when one morning, as the
artist was standing absorbed before a canvas, on which he was
beginning to sketch, with some enthusiasm, the rude outline of a
new historical picture, he was roused from his reverie by a slight
touch on the shoulder, and found that a stranger was standing behind
him:—a man of simple but gentlemanly exterior, who, unobserved
by the artist, had been introduced into the room by the servant on
the plea of business with her master.
"I have the pleasure, I believe, of addressing Mr. Yerelst," said
he, "whom I have had more difficulty in tracing out than ought
to have been the case with the painter of such works as I see
around me."
As he spoke, the visitor glanced towards the two pictures from
the Niebeiungen Lied, which still occupied their post against the
wall; and the simple artist who, from the seclusion of his habits of
life, was becoming daily less and less a man of the world, felt so
puzzled by hearing compliments addressed to himself by a man of
such courtly manners, stood gazing in amazement, as if puzzled to
determine whether he were not the victim of a mystification.
" I have reason to imagine," resumed the stranger, " that a
painting representing the Marriage of Cana, which I bought nearly
a year since, of a picture-dealer of the name of Stubbs, as the work
of Poussin, is in reality a production of your pencil. And though
I plead, guilty to haying been the dupe of my own ignorance in the
THE MONEY-LENDER 149
■purchase, (for after all the detection of the fraud rested with my-
self,) it grieves me much to helieve that, of the four hundred
guineas I paid for it, perhaps not a tenth part reached the hands
of the artist with whom it originated."
"Not a twentieth part!" rejoined Yerelst, with a smile. "I
remember the picture only too well. I had grounded great ex-
pectations upon it; hut was forced, by the necessities of my
family, to sell it at a moment's notice for a paltry ten-pound
note!"
" Ten poundsreiterated the stranger, shrugging his shoulders.
" The rogue—the robber! I had a hard matter to get it from him
at less than the five hundred guineas he originally asked me. I
have bought many other pictures of him, at high prices, of some
of which perhaps you may be able to indicate the true origin,
which I am now beginning to suspect as bringing sad discredit
upon my connOisseurship. With this view, sir, I have been
making strenuous efforts to discover your abode. As some induce-
ment to you to accord me the favour of ,a visit to my collection, I
would willingly induce you to bring with you the two noble pic-
tures I see on your hands, if, indeed, the value you set on them be
not above my reach."
As-he spoke, the courteous customer began to examine with
care and interest the pair of pictures, on which the disappointed
artist had almost ceased to pride himself, or found expectations of
profit.
I'I once prized these pictures, as a partial man is too apt to
prize his favourite work," said Yerelst, standing beside his visitor
to contemplate his neglected pictures.—"I once rated them at a
couple of hundred guineas! But I am sick of the sight of
them; and should be glad to dispose of them for a quarter of
the sum."
" That were a most unjust self-injury," observed the stranger,
"particularly where the original appraisement was so modest:
On the contrary, I shall be most happy to write you a cheque for
the full amount. You are, in fact, doubly entitled to it, for I have
every expectation of obtaining through your testimony, restitutio!!
of the price of my pretended Poussin."
Yerelst began to stammer expressions of surprise and thankful-
ness. But the visitor interrupted him with a request for pen and
ink.
" If you present this draft at Coutts's," said he, offering to Yerelst
a printed paper he had taken from his pocket-book, "you will find
it honoured; after which, I shall ask you the favour to bring the
pictures in person to my house."
■ Yerelst, having glanced, as well as his confusion would permit,_ at
the name subscribed to the bottom of the cheque, saw with pride
and exultation that it was that of the Marquis of ; a nobleman
honoured by the high estimation of artists and men of letters.
• " If you can so arrange your engagements," added the Marquis,
interrupting his acknowledgments, " you would do me an addi-
tional favour by bringing them at twelve o'clock; at which hour
you would find a vacant place at my breakfast table, and meet there
150 THE MONEY-EENDEE.
the gentleman to whom I am indebted for the discovery of the fraud
practised upon me, as well as of your name and address: an
enlightened patron of the arts, doubtless known to you by name,—
my friend, Mr. Osalez."
A faint cry bursting from the lips of the artist's wife, intimated
at that moment, for the first time, to the Marquis, that a third per-
son was present at the interview, and that the easy chair placed
beside the open window with its back towards them contained the
emaciated form of Mrs. Yerelst.
Agitated by a thousand conflicting emotions, on learning the tide
of good fortune which would enable her husband to discharge those
obligations to the offending^ Basil, which had weighed heavily on
the minds of both, the poor invalid had been unable to control the
revulsion of feeling occasioned by the discovery that they were
indebted for this overpowering benefit to the interposition of A. 0.
CHAPTER XV.
They were all aliens:
Thou wert the adopted of our house.
Coleridge's " WaUenstein."
On taking possession of his old lodgings on his return from the
Tower, the first circumstance communicated to Basil by his land-
lord was, that a shabbyish-looking person had called repeatedly
with earnest inquiries concerning the moment and manner of his
arrival.
"A gentleman?" inquired Basil, who, being out of debt, had less
apprehension of shabby-looking persons calling with inquiries, than
might have been the case with Maitland or Wilberton.
"Why, I should say, yes, sir," replied the man, "though there
warn't much matters to boast of in the coat on his back. But he
spoke like a person of eddication."
Basil smiled approvingly at the distinction, which did not, how-
ever, assist his guesses. At length, it occurred to him so strongly
as to bring the colour to his face, that the mysterious stranger was
most likely the Protean Abednego; a suspicion fully confirmed by
the information which his minute inquiries now managed to elicit.
"And he said he would call again?" demanded young Annesley.
" This eveiling, sir; he said he would be sure to look in this
evening."
And the tone of glee in which the young guardsman hastened to
give orders that the moment his strange visitor arrived he should
be admitted into his sitting-room, relieved the mind of the land-
lord from a suspicion that " a small account,"—a name usually
given to a very large one, had been the cause of his spontaneous
change of colour.
" I shall come home immediately after dinner to meet this gentle-
man," observed Annesley; "but if by chance he should arrive here
first, you will oblige me, Mr. Smith, by detaining him till I come."
Thus adjured, Mr. Smith lost no time in converting the shabby-
THE MONEY-LENDElh 151
genteel man into a rich uncle of eccentric habits; and, accordingly,
when the stranger really made his appearance, he was received with
all the state and ceremony due to the ambassador of one of the
great powers.
Ten minutes only had he been seated, however, in the favourite
arm-chair of Basil, beside his shaded reading lamp, when the young
man, who had hurried home from the house-dinner of the club,
entered the room._ •
" Verelst.'" cried he, starting at sight of his unexpected guest;
" this is indeed a most agreeable surprise. I was afraid you had
dismissed me altogether Irom your recollection."
" It is not so easy to dismiss those altogether from our recollection,
Mr. Annesley," gravely rejoined the artist, "towards whom we
have heavy obligations."
"If such be your only motive for remembering me," cried Basil,
warmly, " G-od knows I have little desire to occupy a place in your
memory. _ Unless remembered as one towards whom, in a foreign
country, in sickness and neglect, you did the part of a kinsman,
one whom you admitted to sit beside your household fire, one to
whom you conceded almost the privileges of a son, one who has
never ceased to regard you as a father, I would fain be forgotten."
Basil flung down his hat impetuously on a chair while uttering
this tender expostulation; to which Yerelst replied only by turning
away, as if seeking for some papers he had placed on the table
beside him. But Basil fancied when the old man again addressed
him, that there was a kindly moisture in his eye, as though his own
words had not been utterly disregarded.
Still, the painter attempted no direct reply to the appeal.
" I am come, sir," said he, evading the question of such remini-
scences, "with a thankful and rejoicing heart, to discharge the
obligations you so nobly conferred upon me. It would have been
easy to do so by letter, or through the intervention of a third
person. But I was unwilling, my dear Mr. Annesley, you
should a moment suppose that, because able to return back the
exact tale of moneys you generously disbursed on my account, I
had become unmindful of the favour, never to be forgotten, which
your timely aid bestowed with them on me and mine.—Letters are
cold and dry in the expressions of such feelings as now swell
within my bosom. Nor should I have found it easy so to define my
own sentiments as to render you sensible with what fervour I ana
mine recognise the extent of our obligations, without overlooking
the cruel manner in which you have attempted to force your way
into the painful secrets of a family, which had withheld nothing
else from your participation."
"As I live and breathe, my dear Yerelst," cried Basil, eagerly,
" I have not the most remote suspicion to what you allude : nor
did I ever, in your case or any other, attempt to possess myself
unhandsomely of the secrets of other people."
The artist gravely shook his head; and taking from the pocket-
book beside him three notes of one hundred pounds each, placed
them in the hands of Basil, who had now seated himself on the
opposite side of the table.
152 the money-lendee.
" l am glad you bring me these,'' cried Basil. Annesley,.
laying them carelessly down, " because it is a proof that you are
more prosperous than when I had the_ happiness of enjoying your
society. But what is the return of this money compared with that
of your friendship ? I fondly trusted, on seeing you under my roof,
that you were come to tell me my unknown offence was forgiven
that you had repented your injustice towards me ; that you were
again about to open your arms and heart to one who has no desire
on earth so urgent as to find them unclosed to him as of old. I
swear to you, dear sir, that never, from the first moment of our
acquaintance, have I cherished a thought or feeling towards you
that was not kindness itself."
" In that case," replied the artist, evidently much moved, and
gazing sadly upon the agitated young man, " in that case why
insult my wife by disclosing to her that you have discovered her
family connections with one who—but no matter !"
"On my honour as a gentleman," cried Annesley, "Ihave made
no discoveries—I have intentionally offered no insult. As regards
the family connections of Mrs. Yerelst, she may be, for anything I
know to the contrary, the daughter of a peer or the daughter of a
peasant. I never heard—I never inquired even her name. It was
enough for me that I knew her to be everything that is amiable,
gentle, and patient; the kindest of mothers, the most devoted of
wives. In what way the book, which appears to have constituted
my ground of offence, could have interested her feelings, I am
wholly at a loss to surmise. By a strange fatality, however, the
very same volume proved to be of equal importance in the eyes of
a person singularly interesting to myself—a Mr. Osalez—more
widely and less satisfactorily known under the name of A. 0."
"You have said it!" exclaimed Yerelst, almost shuddering.
" "What have I said ?" inquired the astonished Basil.
"You have named the man by whose vindictive persecutions the
heart of my poor wife was broken."
" Persecutions ?" exclaimed Annesley. " Surely, surely, you must
be mistaken. Chance has brought me somewhat familiarly ac-
quainted with this strange individual; and as far as my observation
reaches, I have found him the enemy only of his own comfort;
generous to others, to himself alone parsimonious ; even then wil-
fully and waywardly, as if in vengeance or atonement."
" What should you know of him compared with my poor
Bachael?" faltered the artist, agitated by recurrence to the sub-
ject evidently so painful. " How should chance have taught you
more of his character and motives than is known to her ?"
"Pardon me," replied Basil. "Circumstances which I will
hereafter explain to you, make it evident to me that it is Mr.
Osalez who, by liberal expenditure of time, trouble, and money,
has been the means of bringing to light the impositions so inju-
rious to your prospects as an artist, which have been recently ex-
posed in the newspapers. It was my intention, had you not visited
me to-night, to take an early opportunity of apprising you of the
fact."
"I am aware of it," replied Yerelst, coldly. " The Marquis of
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 153
, by whose munificent patronage I have been enabled to dis-
charge my obligations towards you, informed me that it was to Mr.
Osalez he was indebted for his knowledge of my address. But
since acquainted with it, since himself resident in this country,
and aware that my unfortunate family had been driven hither for
refuge, what but the most cruel and revengeful obduracy pre-
vented his offering the crumbs from his table to appease the hunger
of his nearest kindred ?"
Basil Annesley started from his seat to listen.
" Even if disposed to persist in his animosities against myself,"
resumed Yerelst, "what pretext was there for withholding from
his poor sister the aid that might have assuaged the pangs of sick-
ness, and relieved the anxieties of a mother trembling for the
destiny of her girls?"
Pale as death, and scarcely able to articulate, Basil could now
only falter, " Sister! Mrs. Yerelst sister to the notorious A. 0. ?"
Yerelst appeared surprised in his turn.
"A few minutes ago," remonstrated the artist, "you were ad-
voeating his cause. You even assured me that chance had brought
you familiarly acquainted with circumstances inspiring high re-
spect for his character."
"I repeat it."
"Yet you apply in scorn to his name, the epithet notorious!" in-
terruptea the artist.
" Say rather to his calling," retorted Basil Annesley.
"In commercial England, you have surely little right to despise
it," observed Yerelst, in some amazement.
" Commercial England has her fair and legitimate modes for the
disposal of capital," observed Basil, somewhat nettled.
"I had always fancied that exchange speculators, so long as
prosperous, occupied an important position in the moneyed
world,', replied Yerelst. " Without them, how are the finances of
kingdoms to be carried on ? The father and grandfather of my
wife were the wealthiest merchants in Cadiz. Osalez, excited by
the advantages of an English education, entertained higher ambi-
tions. On the death of his father, he gathered together his enormous
capital, and renouncing the hazards of commerce, attempted a
career which, but for the accident of his singular personal disap-
pointments, might have sufficed for his happiness. Of that period
of his life, it becomes me not to speak. But when enabled, later,
to resume his position in society, it was surely insufficient to couple
his unblemished name with an unhandsome epithet, that it
became one of the most accredited and widely known of those
which convulse the Stock Exchanges of the various capitals of
Europe."
"Some of the first financiers and most respected men in the
country have been stockbrokers," cried Basil. " But a money-
lender—an advertising money-lender !"
" How mean you?" cried Yerelst, growing pale in his turn.;
" The money that now lies so unsatisfactorily before me," ob-
served Basil, "enables me to inform you, without further scruples of
delicacy, that I should have been exposed to some personal difficulty
154 THE MOtfEY-tEEBEE.
"by the payment of the bills I accepted in your favour, hut for
having raised the sum in demand by the assistance of a common
usurer, whom I then believed to be a Jew, and knew only by his
ill repute in the world, under the opprobriated name of A. 0."
"And these inconveniences, this hazard, you incurred so ge-
nerously for our sake !" cried the artist, seizing his hand, and losing
all interest in the disclosure more immediate^ concerning his
family, on discovering the real amount of his obligation to Basil.
"Fool that I was ! How little, how very little did I conjecture the
truth! I fancied you were obliging me out of the overflowings of
an abundant fortune, and even then was grateful. But that you
should have hazarded for our sake the shame of the spendthrift,
the cares of the prodigal; that you should have been forced into
contact with the vile and degraded. Oh! Basil,—oh! Mr. An-
nesley,—this touches me to the quick!"
And reading in the expression of his young Mend's countenance
a degree of emotion almost equal to his own, Yerelst, without
further effort to contain his feelings, threw himself upon the shoulder
of Annesley, and wept like a child.
"And we presumed to find fault with you," faltered the artist,
raising his head after some moments of absorbing agitation. "We
dared to condemn y.ou; to call you proud; to suspect you of an in-
tention to offend and insult us."
" You cannot surely have been so unjust!" cried Basil, starting
from his embrace. " Surely your wife—your daughters "
"My wife could assign no other interpretation to your conduct in
suddenly placing before her a book, formerly the property of, and
bearing the names of her father and brother; by the former of
whom, she had been cast off on account of her improvident mar-
riage; by the latter, visited with still bitterer perseverance of
vengeance."
"I have only to reiterate my assurances that I had not the most
remote suspicion of the nature of the inscription, or the meaning
of the initials," said Annesley. "I borrowed the work from my
mother's library, with no other object than to afford you entertain-
ment. How it ever came there, must become the subject of close,
and I fear vexatious inquiry. Yery little, alas ! did I surmise your
kinsmanship with a man so disgraced in the eyes of the world as
the individual whose initials, as I then supposed by the effect of
chance, were inscribed in its pages."
"And yet," said Yerelst, "you assure me that you can certify
the interposition of Osalez in my professional career ?"
"Believing you to be utter strangers to each other, I fancied he
was interesting himself in your behalf, as he would have done in
that of any other man of genius lying under the scourge of evil
fortune. But, advantageously as I am prepared to think of Abed-
nego in comparison with those who judge him only as a Jew,—a
miser,—an extortioner,—there are revolting mysteries both in his
character and circumstances, which I am wholly unable to solve.
The more I ponder on all I know of him, the more I become per-
plexedbythat which I am unable to understand. At one moment, I'
believe Mm to be one of the greatest, at another, the meanest of human
THE MOEET-rENDEB.
155
"Beings. In him, all extremes appear united: opulence and penury,—
generosity and baseness,—enlightenment and ignorance.—liberality
and prejudice,—tenderness and brutality!—How am I to reconcile
all'this?"
"But during the intimate intercourse you appear to have held
together," demanded the artist, " did Osalez never become aware of
your interest in my professional fortunes, or give you to under-
stand the bond of kindred blood uniting him with my wife ?"
"Never!—never in the slightest degree \'\cried^ Basil Annesley.
"Yet, now I think of it, I remember hearing him refer to your
position as an indigent artist; a proof that the adversity of his
excellent sister must have been known to him."
"Till within a few weeks," observed Verelst, "we were ignorant
of his social position in this country: and aware of his antipathy,
and dreading further persecution, my wife had not courage to ad-
dress him with representations of the abject nature of our own.
It was, thanks to that very picture-dealer whose knavery has been
the means of presenting me to the Marquis of , (from whom
I have already received orders that will keep my easel in activity
for years to come,) 1 had grounds for conjecturing that a picture
of mine, a design from the 'Notre Dame' of Yictor Hugo, had
fallen into the hands of the wealthy brother of my wife. Even
then, I knew not his abode,—I conceived not his riches and con-
sequence. Nay, I believed him to have fallen considerably from
his high estate, till apprised yesterday, by my noble patron, of his
prosperity. Little did his lordship imagine, when apologising to me
at his breakfast-table this morning, for the absence of the enlight-
ened patron of the arts to whom he was indebted for his knowledge
of my works, that he was talking to me of a brother !"
"More irreconcilable incongruities!" exclaimed Basil, greatly
depressed by his discovery of a connexion which he knew would be
more fatal to the interest of his affection, with his mother, than the
fact that his beloved Esther was a teacher, and the daughter of an
artist; inasmuch as a remote allusion to Jewish partialities had
been the cause of driving Lady Annesley to frantic exasperation.
"That ' " i Esmeralda," resumed the artist,
Osalez;—nay, but for my certainty of his infirmities of mind, I
should be wholly unable to account for such inconsistency. While
avoiding or injuring his sister and her family, he was induced, it
seems, to give hundreds of pounds for a work of inconsiderable
merit, simply because the principal figure is a likeness of his once-
loved Bachael!"
"Ear more so of her daughter," added Basil, in a lower voice.
"You knew not my dear wife in her days of youth and beauty,"
faltered the artist. "The patient invalid, the smiling drudge, the
humble artist's wife, presents but a poor shadow of the worshipped,
the lovely, the triumphant Senora Osalez, who could not pass from
her father's carriage to the steps of the church or theatre, but the
idlers of Cadiz crowded to feast their eyes on her more than Oriental
beauty; endowed with the intelligence and accomplishments of
Europe, yet glowing with the riper tints of a sunnier clime."
"affords
eccentricity of character of poor
156 IHE MONEY-LENDES.
"I have seen, all this, sir, in your daughters," again hesitated"
Basil.
"Esther and Salome are lovely girls, as well as the most duteous
of children," observed Yerelst, with deep feeling. "But neither the.
one_ nor the other deserves comparison with her mother at the
period when she forsook the gorgeous mansion of her father, to he-
come the bride of the enthusiastic German artist, who dedicated to
her beauty every impulse of a fervid soul, and had, alas! nought
beside to offer to her acceptance. The Marquis informs me,"
added Yerelst, after along pause, during which he seemed labouring
to overcome the struggle of his feelings, "that large as was the
price given by Osalez for my Esmeralda, he has offered him double
the money to part with it, but in vain. I cannot help fancying
that, in spite of his apparent indifference to his sister's welfare,
Abednego was unwilling her portrait should pass into the hands of
a stranger."
" That can hardly have been the case," observed Basil, fancying
he was about to flatter the self love of the artist. " On the con-
trary, it must have been the intrinsic value he discerned in the
execution of the picture that rendered him so tenacious; since it
was from his own hands, and as a free gift, that I obtained this
copy."
while thus explaining himself, Basil drew forth from his bosom,
where, by day and night it was fondly treasured, his enamel copy
of the Esmeralda.
" "What means this r" cried the astonished Yerelst, regarding at
first sight the miniature in no other light than as a portrait of his
wife. "Say, say! what means this? The likeness of my poor
Bachael in your possession ?"
The explanations rendered necessary by the emotion of Yerelst,
aroused Basil Annesley to a sense of his own imprudence. It was
impossible to give a colouring to his singular value for that lovely
face, otherwise than startling to the painter.
"And you have been wearing it thus, then,—wearing it next
your heart,—wearing it as we treasure only the gift of affection,
the pledge of fidelity," _ cried Yerelst; "and all the while we
were accusing you of an intent to mortify us,—of coldness,—of—"1
" Spare, spare me these vexatious truths," cried Basil, eagerly.
"To you," resumed Yerelst, after having hurriedly examined
the beautiful execution of the miniature. " To you it doubtless
serves to retrace, in combination, both young and old of the grateful
family _ of the artist on whom you have conferred such generous
obligations."
Basil Annesley struggled for a moment with his feelings. How-
ever afraid of alarming the pride and susceptibility of Yerelst, he
would not submit to such a misconstruction of his sentiments. He
satisfied himself, however, by adding, in a subdued voice, " It
serves, at least, to recal to me the face which unites in my estima-
tion all that is fairest, holiest, and dearest in human nature."
The simple artist listened with delight, but wholly without
enlightenment. It seemed to him the most natural thing in the
world, that his old pupil, his generous friend, should love Esther
THE MONEY-IEHDEK. 157
and Salome, and pronounce them dear and holy,—they, whom he
had known as children and appreciated in their womanly discharge
of filial duty. But that he should love either of them singly and
separately, or one of them more than the other, never occurred to
poor Yerelst.
"You have received a commission, then, from the Marquis?"
inquired Annesley, by way of giving a new turn to the conversation.
"A commission that delights me," cried the painter, with enthu-
siasm; " for it will enable me to realize my highest ambitions. I
am to paint in fresco the new gallery of his castle in the North ; a
series of designs from English history! For this, by the way, I
must read as well as paint."
" But by such an engagement, you will be compelled to remove
your family from town?" cried Basil, in a tone of consterna-
tion, on beholding his newly-erected castles-in-the-air precipitated
in a moment to the ground. " Under such circumstances you will
stand in need of funds previous to receiving the remuneration due
to you ; and I earnestly entreat you, as a friend on whom you have
conferred obligations, and who has consequently a claim to priority
of service in return, to appropriate to your own use the notes you
have forced upon me. At some future time, when you become
rich, as you now cannot fail to do, you shall repay the money. I
promise you that it will be an act of charity to secure it; for nearly
a year wall elapse before it becomes due to A. 0., from whom I bor-
rowed it on interest; and in the interim, if lying idle in my hands,
it might lead me into a thousand scrapes. It might teach me to
become a prodigal, a gambler, a coxcomb,—Heaven knows what!
—Money, you know, my dear Yerelst, is the corrupter of all human
hearts."
"Your arguments, my dear Mr. Annesley, are kind as they
are specious," replied the artist. "But my noble patron has
rendered your assistance needless. Aware of my difficulties, he
has generously presented me with a couple of hundred pounds in
advance. I am rich, my dear young friend,—rich,—rich,—I was
about to say rich as a Jew—but that the word is in utter distaste
in my family. Trust me, I am fully enabled to remove them all
to the North in ease and comfort."
"But surely," cried Basil, horror-struck at such a prospect,
" surely so long a journey, with such uncertain prospects at the
close, will be disadvantageous to Mrs. Yerelst, whose infirm state
appears to demand the utmost care and consideration?"
" Rachael would suffer twenty times as much, my dear sir, by
separation from her husband. As to accommodations, the Marquis
has assigned to our use a suite of apartments in the castle."
Here was a new source of anxiety for Basil. Esther, his own
Esther, exposed to the injurious admiration which her beauty must
necessarily call forth in such a house.
"Nevertheless," said he, attempting a new line of argument,
" such an interruption to the engagements of the Miss Yerelsts "
" Engagements ? "interrupted the proud father ^ " you surely do
not suppose that, now I am able to earn bread for them, I will
allow them to waste their precious talents in teaching idiotic
158 THE MONEY-LENDER.
children or languid misses ?—No, no, no!—no more engagements
for my girls!—It is one of my chief sources of joy on this occasion,
that henceforward those dear children may live for the enjoyment of
life,—for the embellishment of life,—for the delight of others,
as ever, ever, of their fond and happy parents!—No, no 1—No
more engagements for Salome and Esther Verelst."
Basil was inexpressibly touched by the utter forgetfulness of
self manifest in the calculations of the good old man.
"Yet surely," said he, unwilling to abandon all hope of their
future society,—" surely such utter seclusion as will await the
young ladies at the castle "
" Tney will not both hear us company," replied Yerelst, calmly,
little suspecting the pain he was about to inflict. "Salome is
to go down with her mother: but, at present, Esther will remain
on a visit to Madame Branzini. All was settled this morning. The
Duke of San Catalda would not hear of her quitting London just
now; and after some contestation, I acceded to their united
request."
Basil Annesley had not strength or courage to give utterance to
the question that rose to his lips—"They are engaged, then,—
positively engaged r"
lie could only stagger to a seat, and press his hand to his heart
with the consciousness that its warm impulses of hope and affection
were crushed for ever.
Shocked by his sudden change of countenance, Yerelst was
starting forward with inquiries into the nature of his seizure, when
lo ! the door opened ; and unannounced and unaccompanied, there
appeared on the threshold the striking figure of A. 0.
CHAPTER XVI.
Oh! this yellow plague,
That crusts our hearts with foul and festering sores.
Vane.
It was now the turn of Yerelst to change countenance; and a
succession of strong emotions were portrayed on the open physio-
gnomy of the painter, incapable of artifice or disguise. Surprise,
vexation, satisfaction, perplexity, obtained by turns the mastery.
There were tears in his large grey eyes;—there was determination
in the lines surrounding the firmer and more expressive mouth.
His brother-in-law, on the other hand, betrayed not the slightest
touch of feeling. Master of himself, hardened to habits of dissimu-
lation, whatever emotions might be swelling in his heart, the
countenance of Abednego was undisturbed. Though apprised that
Basil was engaged with Yerelst, he had still sought the interview.
Nay, it soon became apparent that his visit was produced, by the
expectation of finding his brother-in-law with his young friend. >
On recovering from the shock occasioned by his sudden entrance,
Yerelst, while Osalez gave his hand to young Aunesley (w»ho, de-
pressed and desperate, was scarcely sensible to his mode of saluta-
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 159
tion), had snatched his hat and was preparing to quit the room.—
But the unwelcome guest interposed ere he could reach the door.
"Hear me before you go!" said Osalez, in a firm voice. "I
came hither for the express purpose of meeting you. The presence
of a mutual friend was a fitter spot for our interview than that of
a cold stranger, like the Marquis. It was not disinclination that
kept me away from his house this morning."
It was now the turn of Yerelst to exhibit composure.
" Had I been aware of your intentions," said he, coldly, " I
would certainly have deferred my visit to Mr. Annesley till a
future moment."
" You could not!" was the cool reply of Osalez. " It would have
been impossible for you to sleep this night, with a sum of money in
our possession which you knew to be the property of yonder boy.
know ye both ! The same hot-headed enthusiasm that prompted
Mm to pledge his name, his peace of mind, his narrow income, to a
Money-lender, in order to obtain the means of obliging you, would
render it impossible to you to close your eyes, while unnecessarily
remaining his debtor."
"I have, I find, to thank you for the means of repaying him,"
observed Yerelst, somewhat softened—" For that favour, accept my
acknowledgments. But it does not, it cannot efface from my re-
collection your long neglect and unkindness towards the most
deserving of women. Farewell!—Against you we cherish no
resentment; but there can be neither love nor amity between thine
and mine."
" Thine are mine !" replied Abednego, neither abashed nor dis-
mayed by these bitter reproaches. " Itesist as we may the dictates
of nature, the ocean can no more dissever from its waves an offend-
ing drop, than your wife and children expel from their veins the
blood that is kindred with my own."
" Neither are we the first of those so conjoined by nature," in-
terrupted Yerelst, " who have converted kindred blood to drops of
gall!—Again I say, therefore, accept my thanks and my farewell.
Between persons so closely united, it must be peace or war. "With
others there might exist a medium of lukewarm good-will. With
us there must be love or hatred."
" I want no medium," said Osalez, still preventing his departure,
and with such steadiness that Basil Annesley, deeply interested in
the discussion, was driven to despair by the sturdy perseverance of
Yerelst. "There must be love between us,—there must be peace.
—Never too late for peace. Your friend here will tell you," he
continued, glancing towards Basil, " that I have recently wrestled,
face to face, with Death. At such a moment, the truths to which,
in health and amid the contentions and struggles of life, we close
our ears and eyes, speak trumpet-tongued to the Soul, and reveal
their dread decree in characters as legible as those manifested to
King Belshazzar. I have sinned against you, Yerelst—I have
suffered vindictive feelings and resentment of a single injury, to
efface from my bosom those hallowed ties of affection vouchsafed
by the Almighty for the solace of human life. I have allowed
your officious interposition in my affairs to steel my heart against
160 THE MOjSTEY-LENDER.
the sufferings of a once-loved sister and the children she has "borne
you. In this have I greatly offended ; and therefore in all Christian
humility, acknowledge my fault and entreat the favour of your
forgiveness."
Utterly thrown off his guard by this singular self-abasement oh
the part of the haughty Abednego, Yerelst was so far softened as
to hesitate.
But a moment's consideration brought before him anew the years
of suffering and privation endured by his excellent wife and lovely
children; and again, he hardened his heart, and put forth no'
answering token to the extended hand of Osalez.
" You have my full forgiveness," said he. " Friendship is not a
thing to start into life spontaneously, on the slight demand of a
converted enemy. _ The wrongs of my family forbid me to say more:
the sense of what is due to your tardy repentance to concede less."
Once more, the agitated artist made a movement to depart.
But Basil Annesley now interposed.
" My dear Yerelst," cried he, " it is you who are now exhibiting
a vindictive spirit. _ How—how can you allow yourself to torture
a nature so cordial, in order to assume feelings of animosity, which,
even if they existed, should be disarmed by the frank and fervent
manner in which the olive-branch is extended to you!"
" If you only knew, my dear young friend," cried the painter,
" what a series "
" I know, and seek to know, nothing on the subject of your
quarrel," hastily interrupted Basil. " But this I know,—that half
the quarrels and half the resentments of this world, arise from mis-
understandings which a few reasonable words would clear up."
" In this case all is perfectly understood," replied the artist,
coldly ; " nor are we children to obey the impulses of momentary
passion. Both have brooded upon our wrongs, till mutual hatred
lias been engendered."
"If engendered,—on one side, it has been bitterly atoned,—on
the other, bitterly repented," rejoined Osalez, with tears in his
eyes.
" My_ dear Yerelst!" cried Basil Annesley, deeply moved by
witnessing such profound emotion on the part of men of advanced
years,—" half an hour ago, you were pleased to express towards
me feelings of gratitude and regard. If I have ever served you,
and you wished to mark your sense of obligation, I beseech you
do it at once, and efface all trace for ever, by accepting the hand
which I see trembling with eagerness to clasp your own !" At
this appeal, Yerelst, for the first time, turned his eyes full upon
his brother-in-law ! and either the traces of time and care percep-
tible in his broken frame and withered countenance, or the mani-
testation of emotions which Abednego was at no pains to conceal,
softened the obduracy of the indignant husband; for, on finding
the hand of Osalez placed in his, a moment afterwards, by Basil
Annesley, he no longer persisted in rejection. In a moment, both
gave a loose to the long-resisted promptings of nature; and the
"iron tears of Pluto's cheek" were emulated in those that fell
profusely from beneath the shaggy eyebrows of A. 0,
tfBtE MOXEt-IElfDEfi. 161
Basil was about to retire to tbe adjoining room, leaving tbe
brothers to a more copious _ mutual explanation. But Osalez
Erevented him. "Nay," said he, "you are as if of our own
esh. Tarry and hear all.—I have no secrets—I wish to have none
from you."
Amid all his struggles of feeling, Basil could scarcely refrain
from a smile. To hear A. 0. boasting of having no secrets from
him;—A. 0., whose whole life was a mystery—whose right hand
knew not the doings of the left; A. 0., who concentrated in his
own person half-a-dozen separate existences, and unaccordant for-
tunes!
" I would fain have taken steps towards this reconciliation
many months ago, from the moment of my first acquaintance with
this improvident boy, your friend Annesley," resumed Osalez,
when at length confidentially seated beside Yerelst on the sofa
(having resumed his own self-possession long before the simple
artist had ceased to sob like a child), " but that I did not choose
to approach as a benefactor the man I wished to conciliate as a
brother. I wished you to be independent in circumstances,—rich
through your own talents and endowments,—before I addressed
myself to you with overtures of good-will, of which the necessities
of your family might seem to compel your acceptance. We have
now met upon equal ground; and you have granted me your for-
giveness, as a Christian and a kinsman, without forfeiting your
self-respect. All is as it should be. I have taken every precaution
to spare your pride as well as promote my interest in your affec-
tion. And now, tell me—when will you propose a visit from me to
my sister? In her infirm condition, we must beware of pro-
ducing agitation, more especially on the eve of a long journeyif,
indeed, after our mutual explanations, you persist in fulfilling
your engagements to the Marquis."
" I will speak to Rachael this very night," replied Yerelst; " but
it will require time to prepare her for so trying an interview. Years
of hardship have so altered my poor wife, that the greatest precau-
tion is indispensable. She is so changed that you will not know
her."
" I have been many times in her presence within these last few
months," said Osalez, with a smile.
"You are mistaken,—wholly mistaken !" eagerly rejoined the
artist. " She never quits the house. Ask Mr. Annesley.—She
never leaves even her own room!"
" It was there our interview took place," calmly rejoined Abed-
nego. _
" Mistaken,—mistaken!" persisted Yerelst, with a smile,—■
gently shaking his head. " I promise you that you would not
know poor Rachael were you to meet."
" She is far less changed, however, than myself," replied Osalez;
"since, when we did meet, I recognised her perfectly; while she
addressed me as a stranger. Do you remember the person who
fetched from your rooms the two battle-pieces sold by the scoundrel
Stubbs to the Duke of Rochester ?"
Yerelst paused a moment, for consideration.
I.
162 THE MONEY-lENLEE.
" Perfectly," said lie at length. " But that was an old Jew."
" It was myself!"
The artist replied hy an incredulous smile.
" Do you recollect that, when you received the three five-pound
notes for which you had sold the pictures, or rather in considera-
tion of which you had been robbed of them by the knavish dealer,—
you bad him inform Mr. Stubbs that the original design of the
Battle of the Standard was still in your hands, having withdrawn
it from your series of military sketches, at the suggestion of a dear
friend ?"
" Which dear friend was, I trust, myself," gaily interrupted
Basil.
" But you were not,—you cannot have been that filthy old Jew!"
cried the artist, in utter amazement.
"You have seen me more than once in disguises equally un-
seemly," replied Osalez, undisturbed.—" For years past, I have
placed a great gulf betwixt myself and what is called the world;
and when once we hazard so bold a step as to fling off the bond of
fellowship with our brethren, we require the creation of prodigious
interests, and excitements indeed strong, to fill up the vacuum! I
have been at war with mankind, as long as they were previously
my enemies. Out of my sixty years, for thirty did I support
their injustice; and, during the last thirty, I have revenged my-
self. But he who fights single-handed against society, must mid-
tiply the guises under which he wields his weapons ; and shrink
from no means or measures by which to strengthen his cause.
For such explanations, however, we shall find a time hereafter.
Enough that you promise me to prepare my poor dear sister to
receive me. Basil Annesley will apprize me of your success;—or,
better still, conduct you to my abode. The way to yours I learnt
from him ;—few people, I suspect, are better acquainted with it."
The young soldier coloured deeply at this allusion.
" I was not aware," said he, " of having mentioned to you the
address of Mr. Yerelst."
" It is from your pictures, which I found in the hands of Stubbs
and others," replied Abednego, addressing Yerelst, rather than re-
plying to his host, "that I became aware of your being a resident
in this country. But you may imagine with what care and. cun-
ning these knaves guarded the secret, so long as you remained a
dupe in their grasping hands."
" And it was my good friend Mr. Annesley, then, who did me-
this further service," exclaimed the painter, warmly.
" Indirectly.—I was anxious to know the object of a certain levy
of money which he effected through my means; and since, whether
as Osalez the Croesus, or as A. 0. the Money-lender, I have the
means of investigating and comparing all the secrets of the two-
money markets (the great and the small), I had no difficulty in
discovering that the acceptances he had to meet were in favour of
one Gerard Yerelst, a painter living near South Audley-street.
The rest was readily ascertained,—the miniature I presented to
him affords sufficient proof how soon and how thoroughly I made
myself master of the secrets of the family."
THE MONEY-LENDER* 163
Basil Annesley gasped for breath. There was no guessing where
the indiscreet revelations of Abednego might stop.
"And now," said he, regardless of the embarrassment he had
created, "I must wish you good night. Though I have found
time to say much that may have appeared to one or both of you
surperfluous, I am in the greatest haste and some anxiety. I
have business to transact before midnight that dearly concerns the
happiness of a family whose ruin,—whatever I may do to avert
the fatal crash,—will, ere long, produce nearly as much sensation
in that Bedlam called the beau monde, as that of the Duke of
Rochester. I should leave these Maitlands, in fact, to the conse-
quences of their folly, but that one of the girls has managed to
soften my old heart by the eager interest she takes in the fortunes
of a certain brother-officer of her brother, named Basil Annesley."
"Is all up, then, with Lord Maitland?" demanded Basil, in a
tone of regret, without noticing his allusion.
" His bills have been hawking about the town for this year
past," replied A. 0., with one of his former sarcastic smiles.
" Her ladyship is at Almack's; while her signature is in the hands
of the Jews."
After a few more bitter allusions to the improvidence of the
family, he was gone; nor did Basil much regret that Yerelst, in
his eagerness to communicate to his family the singular reconcilia-
tion which had taken place, instantly followed. "When the artist
had taken his departure, his young friend picked up from the floor
the three hundred-pound notes which, amid the varied interests of
the foregoing conversation, had fallen unnoticed to the ground. _
"Would any one imagine," thought he, with a mournful smile,
as he placed them in his desk, " how short a time has elapsed
since the possession of these notes appeared to me a matter of life
and death ! And would not any one believe that, instead of the
beggarly fellow that I am, I possessed the wealth of the Indies, or
of Abednego Osalez. But, alas! what further care have I for
money $ Verelstisnow prosperous; Esther lost to me for ever.
As to my poor mother, though straitened in means, her pride is so
much greater than her poverty, that I am convinced she prefers
dispensing with the luxuries of life, to being indebted for them to
any mortal living, even to her son."
By degrees, as he began to recover the cruel shock, arising from
the discovery that the object of his affections was nearly akin to
the infamous A. 0., and affianced to another, Basil was forced to
admit to himself, that the former circumstance was of a nature to
reconcile him to the latter.
Never would his haughty mother have consented to his pledging
his faith to the niece of the Money-lender. Abednego, if not a
Jew, could not be many generations removed from Hebraism: and
Basil was only too painfully aware of her rooted antipathy to any-
thing even remotely connected with the Jewish nation.
As this aversion now recurred with redoubled energy to his mind,
he also recalled with surprise the half-forgotten fact of her being
in possession of a book of a peculiar nature, which Yerelst stated
to haye been the property of his wife's father and brother.
1 2
164 THE MONEY-xeudee.
By what possible concatenation of events was_ this to he &6*
counted for ? Through what fortuitous chain of incidents could
the daughter of Lord L——, and widow of Sir Bernard Ann'esley,
have been brought into connexion with the family of A. O.J
Summer was at hand; and he resolved to make the inviting
nature of the weather a pretext for a short visit to Barlingham,
The discussions which had arisen between him and Lady Annesley
would afford ground for such interrogations, as could hot fail t6
throw light upon the mystery. It was time that all relating to
Abednego Osalez should be cleared up. He would no longer be
silenced like a child. He was resolved to confront the utmost ih-
dignation and harshness on the part of the rigid recluse, rather
than remain a martyr to the _ mysteries by which hewasencoin-
passed. The more he had achieved towards fathoming their dark-
ness, the more he seemed involved in new perplexities.
It was, however, an inexpressible comfort to Basil, that his con-
fidence in his old friend was in process of restoration. To find him
openly avowing his disguises, and glorying in his eccfimtricity, was
far more satisfactory than to fancy him the confederate of knaves
and impostors ; and even the certainty of his obdurate estrange-
ment from a sister so worthy as Mrs. Verelst, was nothing in com-
parison with the pain of supposing him in league with Stubbs the
picture-dealer, in a double imposition upon the Duke of Rochester
and the unfortunate Yerelst.
The first person who accosted Basil Annesley on the following
day, as he was about to enter his club, was John Maitland; who;
instead of the nod that usually passed between them, surprised him
by a sudden and fervent grasp of the hand.
" Come a little way down St. James' s-street with me, Fan,"
said he, hooking his arm into that of Basil, and proceeding with
him leisurely towards Brookes's. " You are a good fellow," he
resumed, as soon as they were out of hearing of Wilberton, and
one or two others who were clustered round the door. " Believe
me, I feel the full force of our obligations."
" What obligations?" demanded the astonished Basil.
" Oh ! you need not affect ignorance. No occasion to be afraid
now of my pleasantries on the subject of A. 0. I am as fully
aware as you can desire that such ' a friend in need is a friend in-
deed.' Yesterday afternoon, my dear fellow, my prognostications
were fulfilled. There was an execution in our house. A pleasant
thing, eh, for her ladyship and the girls, to see bailiffs sitting hi
the hall!" he continued, with a swelling bosom. " However, it is
partly their own fault, if that be any comfort. All the blame was
not on my father's side, though they choose to place it there."
"I am heartily sorry—sincerely sorry," Basil was beginning.^
" Come, come, don't talk so like the Dowager-Colonel!" cried
John Maitland; " Carr was heartily sorry—sincerely sorry; but,
hangit, you were better than sorry."
"What was I, then?" inquired Basil, shrugging his shoulders
at the levity of-his friend; "for, upon my soul, I have not the
least idea!"
" Of course not,—because you, forsooth, have not the slightest
THE MOOTS 'LENDER. 165
acquaintance with A. 0.! It was not you who interceded in behalf
of iny family. It was not your liking for Lucy, (who, by the way,
is half out of her wits with thankfulness,) which induced you to
determine the man whom you will not own as friend or acquaint-
ance; but over whom you have all the influence of a master over a
slave, or a Czar of Muscovy over a Colonel of Hulans, to come
forward once more to my father's relief—discharge the writ—and
(on condition of his letting the house in Arlington-street, and re-
tiring to Maitland-park), re-establish the family affairs? Oh, no!
it was not by any means you who did us this excellent service !"
"As I live ana breathe—no!" cried Basil Annesley, with such
earnestness as to cause his companion to stop short for a moment.
" Had I the power, indeed, I would have done as much, or twice
as much for a friend. _ But I have not a guinea in the world."
"My dear Ban, it is too late to recommence this flummery!"
cried Maitland, almost angry at his seeming mistrust. "This
man (I beg his pardon, this gentleman,—for a gentleman, God
knows, he has shown himself to us!) owned to me, in so many
words, that he was acting at your instigation; or, more correctly
speaking, with a view of affording you pleasure."
" He has afforded me sincere pleasure by his liberality," rejoined
Basil. " But he must have divined my wishes by preternatural
means, for I swear I never expressed them; nor, on my word of
honour as a gentleman, have I any claims upon him that could
justify my attempting to influence his conduct in the smallest
particular."
John Maitland replied by another incredulous smile. But they
had now returned to the club door.
" Bot a word of all this before the others!" was the parting in-
junction of John Maitland; a warning altogether superfluous, for
nothing would have induced Basil to advert, in presence of his
brother officers, to any subject even remotely involving mention of
the name of A. 0.
Before night, Basil had managed to obtain a week's leave of
absence, with the view of accomplishing his visit to Barlingham;
and despatched a letter to his mother entreating her sanction to his
i'ourney. The delay occasioned by waiting for her reply would,
lowever, necessarily detain him two days in town; a circumstance
he would gladly have avoided,—dreading that the renewal of his
intimacy with the artist's family, and their reconcilement with
Abednego, might throw him once more into their society, and com-
pel him to become a witness of the mutual affection ana happiness
of the Duke of San Catalda and Esther Yerelst.
On the morrow, however, he was to be on guard, which, for four-
and-twenty hours at least, would secure him from contact with
any member of the family.
The weather was now as fine as London weather ever pretends
to be ;—for even the height of summer is scarcely so enjoyable in
the metropolis as those delicious days of opening May, before the
young leaves have found out into what a world of soot and smoke
they have budded, but bear their verdure in purity and freshness,
like the bright and nnsqllied countenance of a child. TJje skjes
156 THE MOSTEY-IENDEE.
"I have seen all this, sir, in your daughters," again hesitatect
Basil.
"Esther and Salome are lovely girls, as -well as the most duteous
of children," observed Yerelst, with deep feeling. "But neither the
one nor the other deserves comparison with her mother at the
period when she forsook the gorgeous mansion of her father, to be-
come the bride of the enthusiastic German artist, who dedicated to
her beauty every impulse of a fervid soul, and had, alas! nought
beside to offer to her acceptance. The Marquis informs me,"
added Yerelst, after along pause, during which he seemed labouring
to overcome the struggle of his feelings, "that large as was the
price given by Osalez for my Esmeralda, he has offered him double
the money to part with it, but in vain. I cannot help fancying
that, in spite of his apparent indifference to his sister's welfare,
Abednego was unwilling her portrait should pass into the hands of
a stranger."
" That can hardly have been the case," observed Basil, fancying
he was about to flatter the self love of the artist. "On the con-
trary, it must have been the intrinsic value he discerned in the
execution of the picture that rendered him so tenacious; since it
was from his own hands, and as a free gift, that I obtained this
copy."
W hile thus explaining himself, Basil drew forth from his bosom,
where, by day and night it was fondly treasured, his enamel copy
of the Esmeralda.
" What means this r" cried the astonished Yerelst, regarding at
first sight the miniature in no other light than as a portrait of his
wife. "Say, say! what means this? The likeness of my poor
Rachael in your possession ?"
The explanations rendered necessary by the emotion of Yerelst,
aroused Basil Annesley to a sense of his own imprudence. It was
impossible to give a colouring to his singular value for that lovely
face, otherwise than startling to the painter.
" And you have been wearing it thus, then,—wearing it next
your heart,—wearing it as we treasure only the gift of affection,
the pledge of fidelity," cried Yerelst; "and all the while we
were accusing you of an intent to mortify us,—of coldness,—of—"
" Spare, spare me these vexatious truths," cried Basil, eagerly.
"To you," resumed Yerelst, after having hurriedly examined
the beautiful execution of the miniature. " To you it doubtless
serves to retrace, in combination, both young and old of the grateful
family _ of the artist on whom you have conferred such generous
obligations."
Basil Annesley struggled for a moment with his feelings. How-
ever afraid of alarming the pride and susceptibility of Yerelst, he
would not submit to such a misconstruction of his sentiments. He
satisfied himself, however, by adding, in a subdued voice, " It
serves, at least, to recal to me the face which unites in my estima-
tion all that is fairest, holiest, and dearest in human nature."
The simple artist listened with delight, but wholly without
enlightenment. It seemed to him the most natural thing in the
world, that his old pupil, his generous friend, should love Esther
THE MONEY-IEHDEE. 157
ftnd Salome, and pronounce them dear and holy,—they, whom he
had known as children and appreciated in their womanly discharge
of filial duty. But that he should love either of them singly and
separately, or one of them more than the other, never occurred to
poor Yerelst.
"You have received a commission, then, from the Marquis?"
inquired Annesley, by way of giving a new turn to the conversation.
_ " A commission that delights me," cried the painter, with enthu-
siasm; " for it will enable me to realize my highest ambitions. I
am to paint in fresco the new gallery of his castle in the North ; a
series of designs from English history! For this, by the way, I
must read as well as paint."
" But by such an engagement, you will be compelled to remove
your family from town?" cried Basil, in a tone of consterna-
tion, on beholding his newly-erected castles-in-the-air precipitated
in a moment to the ground. _ " Under such circumstances you will
stand in need of funds previous to receiving the remuneration due
to you; and I earnestly entreat you, as a friend on whom you have
conferred obligations, and who has consequently a claim to priority
of service in return, to appropriate to your own use the notes you
have forced upon me. At some future time, when you become
rich, as you now cannot fail to do, you shall repay the money. I
promise you that it will be an act of charity to secure it; for nearly
a year will elapse before it becomes due to A. 0., from whom I bor-
rowed it on interest; and in the interim, if lying idle in my hands,
it might lead me into a thousand scrapes. It might teach me to
become a prodigal, a gambler, a coxcomb,—Heaven knows what!
—Money, you know, my dear Yerelst, is the corrupter of all human
hearts."
"Your arguments, mv dear Mr. Annesley, are kind as they
are specious," replied the artist. "But my noble patron has
rendered your assistance needless. Aware of my difficulties, he
has generously presented me with a couple of hundred pounds in
advance. I am rich, my dear young friend,—rich,—rich,—I was
about to say rich as a Jew—but that the word is in utter distaste
in my family. Trust me, I am fully enabled to remove them all
to the North in ease and comfort."
"But surely," cried Basil, horror-struck at such a prospect,
" surely so long a journey, with such uncertain prospects at the
close, will be disadvantageous to Mrs. Yerelst, whose infirm state
appears to demand the utmost care and consideration?"
" Rachael would suffer twenty times as much, my dear sir, by
separation from her husband. As to accommodations, the Marquis
has assigned to our use a suite of apartments in the castle."
Here was a new source of anxiety for Basil. Esther, his own
Esther, exposed to the injurious admiration which her beauty must
necessarily call forth in such a house.
"Nevertheless," said he, attempting a new line of argument,
" such an interruption to the engagements of the Miss Yerelsts "
"Engagements ? "interrupted the proud father; "you surely do
not suppose that, now I am able to earn bread for them, I will
allow them to waste their precious talents in teaching idiotic
168 THE MONEY-IENDEB.
warehouses of wholesale trade; for, just as every house of mark
in St. James's had formerly its iron extinguisher beside the door,
to put out the flambeaux of the footmen, every doorway had, in
token of distinction, its ponderous iron crane, while the lower
windows of the houses were closely hoarded. _ On every door-post
was inscribed one or more names, as unaristocratic as " Jacob
Grimms and nephew," " Fiskin, brothers," " Dando ancj. Com'-
pany," without'further indication of their calling; such names
constituting the unostentatious thews and sinews of commercial
life ; and though little or no traffic was going on at that hour in
the street, it is probable that a larger amount of capital passed
through every one of those shabby doorways in the course of a
week than into any mansion in St. James's-square in the period of
a year.
Halfway down the lane, however, was an opening into a small
court, which, by calculation, appeared to contain the number indi-
cated to Basil; and having accordingly dismounted and given his
horse in charge to a steady-looking old man, who put himself
forward for the charge, Basil proceeded-through the gorge of a
narrow court into a larger one, surrounded by high buildings, one
side of which seemed occupied by a handsome old-fashioned
dwelling-house, and the other by a range of buildings, the base-
ment story of which was appropriated to counting-houses. Of
this portion of the mansion, the huge swing-doors seemed in
continual vibration to admit or emit a perpetual string of human
beings—the sort of careworn, sallow-cheeked people who walk
with their coats closely buttoned over their pockets, .and their
blank visages indicating a mind wandering at many miles' dis-
tance, whom one recognises at first sight as the children of the
tribe of Mammon.
Unnoticed,—for such people proceed straight to their place of
rendezvous, without a vacant thought to bestow on auguries of the
flight of crows or sight of strange faces,—Basil pushed his way
through the swing-doors among the rest; and, after passing a
second, swing-door, found himself in a vast sky-lighted chamber,
containing by way of furniture, a large timepiece against the wall,
three long ranges of wooden counters, forty wooden stools, and
forty wooden clerks seated calculating thereupon; each with his
parchment-bound ledger before him, each with the multiplication-
table engraved on his soul in characters effacing even those of the
tables of the law.
In the centre of the hall, was a single mahogany desk and stool,
somewhat loftier than the rest, apparently destined to the use of
the high-priest of the temple of Mammon. But it was vacant.
Clerks were bustling backwards and forwards, with cheque-books,
or pocket-books, or printed papers in their hands; apparently as
mechanical in operations involving the disposal of millions, as the
timepiece against the wall in admeasurement of the still more
valuable currency assigned to its computation.
A buzz of whispers, never rising into unbusiness-like tumult,
seemed to form a portion of the heated and unsavoury atmosphere
of the place; the money shovelled backwards and forwards across
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 169
thegrated pay-counter, being 9f 110 more account in the eves of the
individuals occupied in promoting its circulation, than barley-sugar
in those of the confectioner's boy to whom prohibition has ceased
to be irksome.
As usual, when in chase of his extraordinary friend, Basil
Annesley found himself among a race of persons with whom he had
neither an emotion nor an impulse in common; and after being
pushed against, and shuffled aside for a minute or two, by indi-
viduals having business to transact, and as careless in their out-
ward man as is usually the case with those who have anything to
do in the world, he inquired for Mr. Osalez.
The clerk to whom he applied, pointed to the vacant chair, as
much as to say, " Can't you use your eyes and perceive that he is
absent ?" when Basil, perceiving that his informant was young and
beardless, a stripling like himself, moved a few steps towards the
swing-doors, and again addressed the inquiry to a grave-looking,
middle-aged man, with a bald head, seedy coat, and mourning ring
on his little finger;—who was wasting his time in mending his pen,
and had the appearance among his brother clerks, of a heavy coach
running against the mails.
On finding himself civilly accosted by a well-dressed stranger,
the elderly clerk slipped from beneath the counter, and desiring
Basil to follow him, led the way to the extremity of the hall,
towards a room divided from it only by a glazed compartment,
shaded with green curtains ; but containing only another desk with
an old silver standigh and writing implements, and half-a-dozen
horsehair chairs.
"I beg your pardon, sir," apologized the dull old clerk, " I fan-
cied Mr. Osalez was here. He must have just stepped out. He
will be back at two. He is always here as the clock strikes two.
Perhaps you will return, or at least favour me by writing your
name for him ?"
Basil declined doing either. He felt that he had committed a
blunder in following Osalez. He found himself as little at home in
that vast establishment, as at the bottom of a gold-mine. The
Elace was as ill adapted to the confidences he was expecting as the
ttle noisy chamber containing the clock-works of St. Paul's !
Angry with himself and the clerk for the time he had wasted, he
muttered something about calling again; and hustled his way back
again through the hall, (where his transit was as little noted as
that of one of the motes dancing in the slanting sunbeams strag-
gling through the skylight as if in search of some living being on
which to confer enjoyment), towards the paved space adjoining the
old mansion house, and ruralized by the name of garden, because
containing a pump and an old sycamore with about as much sap in
the trunk as there exists in the copper tree forming part of the
Chatsworth jets d' eau.
Having once more reached the street, Basil was about to remount
his horse, the rein of which was offered him with one hand by the
old man, while holding out the other for the expected remunera-
tion; when, as he was groping in his pocket for a sixpence, instead
Of the shilling he would prot**dy have given had his visit been less
170 the money-lender.
infructuous, the man whispered in a tone of mysterious confidence,
—" Vy for you sheek him here, ma tear?" and lo, after a start of
surprise, young Annesley recognised in the individual by whom he
was addressed, the fellow who, both in Delahay-street and at
Rochester House, had already marked his respectful recognition of
the protege of A. 0.
" Where should I seek Mr. Osalez, unless at his house of busi-
ness?" demanded Basil, angrily.
" He hash more houshesh of bushinesh than van, two, or dree,"
replied the familiar of Abednego's inquisition.
" Take me to the one where I am most likely to find him, then,
and it shall be worth your while," observed Basil Annesley.
The old man, who had been stooping in scornful examination of
the minute coin bestowed on him by Annesley, now peered up into
his face with a cunning glance, that not even the disappearance of
his rustv beard could disguise from being that of the old Jew; and
with only a familiar nod of the head by way of signal of acquies-
cence and intelligence, took the head of Basil's horse and preceded
him through a tortuous complexity of dirty lanes, in which the
stagnant atmosphere seemed imprisoned as in the cell of a felon.
At the close of a ten-minutes' walk, he paused in a small shabby
street, which, from the vfnequal form of the buildings, seemed to
constitute the rear or outlet of one of greater magnitude; and,
taking a key from his pocket, opened a mean-looking green door,
to which neither knocker nor bell-handle was attached; then,
stepping back stealthily to Basil, resumed the rein of his horse.
" Do you suppose that I am going to run my head into earth so
uninviting as that f" cried young Annesley, warmly. " How
do I know into what den of thieves you may be decoying me ?"
"Tievshif ye shoose!" said the Jew, no whit offended. "But
the pashage before you, ma tear, leadsh shtraight where you would
find A. 0.—JDatsh all!"
Reassured by his previous knowledge of the old fellow's con-
nexion with Abednego, Basil determined to dare the adventure.
Single-handed, he knew himself to be a match for most men; and
his strange conductor would scarcely venture to allure into any
dangerous resort an officer of the guards, for whom active search
would be made in case of disappearance, and who would easily
be traced, through the house of business of Osalez, to the suspi-
cious spot. Nevertheless, the entrance to the narrow passage was
grim and repellent enough to daunt a bolder adventurer.
Once across the threshold, he was rather excited than otherwise,
by the mysterious aspect of the spot. But scarcely had he groped
a few steps along the dark stone corridor, when the door was
clapped to behind him; and he found himself alone in the stone
passage, which received light only through small gratings inserted
m the doors at either end, as if for the purpose of ventilation.
Since it was as easy to attempt further progress as to return,
Basil pushed his way forwards; and on approaching the door at
the end, perceived that near it, the passage widened, so as to form
a recess containing a wooden bench; while through the grating,
which was on an exact level with his face, voices in eager dis-
the monet-lender. 171
nutation reached him from within. One of them, at least, was
familiar to him. One of them was that of A. 0. The other was
a woman's. #
On applying his hand to find a latch or opening, he found to his
surprise that what he had conceived to he a door, was simply a
portion of the passage,—the wooden bench being continued across;
and after a moment's reflection, the nature of the apartment
within, and of the conversation which he could not forbear over-
hearing, convinced him that he was simply installed in some
hiding-place or observatory,—some Dionysius's ear,—from which
the Money-lender was in the habit of exercising his unholy in-
quisition over his victims, previous to a closer encounter.
To interrupt such a conversation as was passing in the chamber
beyond, with the admission of having been an eavesdropper, would
convey mortification to one party, vexation to the other; and Basil
felt consequently privileged to abide the result of the interview.
The fragment of discourse that now reached his ears, however
it might disgust, afforded him no new insight into the character
or conduct of the lady upon whom he was thus forced to play the
spy,—being no other than the young Countess of Winterfield.
All he had formerly heard to her disadvantage from Abednego,
naturally recurred to his mind; and he was consequently less sur-
prised at the tone of harshness and air of contempt assumed
towards her by the Money-lender.
For it was no longer the well-dressed, well-mannered Osalez
who stood before him. There was nothing to recal the distin-
guished financier,—the enlightened patron of the Arts. It_ was
thehard, cautious, calculating old usurer of Soho who occupied a
plain arm-chair; opposite to the sofa whereon, arrayed in all the
elegance of fashion, alternately smiling and weeping, exercising
her coquetry as a beauty, and pathos as a petitioner, sat the un-
happy woman, who evidently trusted to the effect of her mingled
charms and eloquence, to soften the obdurate heart of A. 0.
CHAPTER XVII.
So light is vanity!—Shakspeare.
"But when I tell you," cried the inconsiderate Lady Winterfield,
as Basil drew near (little suspecting that a third person was within
reach, to note the artifices by which she was attempting to recom-
mend herself to the hard heart of the Money-lender), " when I tell
you that this is the last time I will ever trouble you with an
application ? "
"You have told me the same thing, madam, these half-a-dozen
last times!" replied, in his coldest and most deliberate voice, the
imperturbable Abednego. "I had the honour of assuring you,
during the hurried visit you made to town from Brighton, before
Christmas, that it would be totally out of my power to accommodate
you further. My advances already exceed the value of the
jewels deposited,"
172 THE MO j{05Y-LENDER.
"Nonsense! Don't I know the sum of money they cost Lord
Winterfield, on our marriage, only five years ago? I have still by
me the jeweller's bills, which I can show you."
"Can you also show me the jeweller's conscience?" retorted
Abednego. "Such articles are invariably sold at two-thirds be-
yond their intrinsic value. To convince you, madam, of this, so
far from making you a further loan, I am most anxious to replace
the diamonds in your keeping, on receiving back, with interest,
the amount advanced on such security."
"You say this," cried Lady Winterfield, pettishly, "only because
you know that it is utterly out of my power to return it. You are
aware that nothing but extreme necessity ever compelled me to
place the jewels in your hand; and now, you insult me by wishing
to recal a loan you are aware that I cannot repay. How do you sup-
pose, pray, that I am to obtain such a sum of money?"
" That is your ladyship's affair. When, by tears ana entreaties, you
extorted it from me, you assured me that your embarrassments were
temporary, and that you would very shortly be able to clear yourself."
"Yes, of course. I said all that is usually said to Money-
lenders. "
" All that may be usually said to Money-lenders by fashionable
Countesses in distress. But I can assure your ladyship, strange as
you may think it, that there are persons in the world who hold
sacred the redemption of their honest word, even when pledged to
a Money-lender. With respect to the extreme necessity you urge
as a plea for placing in my hands your family jewels, I must be
permitted to say that I have seen your ladyship's establishment,
that I have been allowed the honour of entering your ladyship's
drawing-room; very different, I admit, from my own," continued
A. 0., glancing round the cold, wainscoted, unfurnished room, the
boards of which were covered with a square of discoloured Scotch
carpet, "but equally far from inspiring me with compassion for
the destitution of the owner!"
" W'e are bound, in this world, to keep up the decencies of life
due to our position in society," interrupted the Countess, in a
haughty tone.
" I thoroughly agree with your ladyship," was the fearless reply
of Abednego, "and for that very reason I have it at heart to see
the valuables of the Countess of Winterfield removed from the
custody of the Money-lending Jew."
His lovely visitor blushed to the temples at this unexpected
retort, but more in anger than in sorrow.
"A step lower in the scale of degradation," calmly resumed
Abednego, "and they would appear among the unredeemed pledges
in a pawnbroker's window. Think of the brilliant Countess of
Winterfield presenting herself at Court with duplicates in her
pocket."
"You presume upon my necessities to insult me thus!" cried the
indignant woman, roused by this terrible sentence.
"Necessities, madam, permit me to observe, wholly of your own
creation. I am not unfrequently compelled to witness the woes of
my fellow-creatures,—ay, even those of your own sex. But hovr
ffffE atOKEY-IENDES. 173
different is their nature from those of which you. complain ! Trust
me, there.are severer pangs in the world than arise from the rumpling
of the rose-leaf. I have seen mothers of families struggling for
their children's bread,—I have seen devoted wives beggared by the
improvidence of their husbands, yet exerting themselves diligently,
humbly, and silently, to extricate themselves from ruin. Such
misfortunes, madam, and such penury, I respect, Nay, I have
known well-born women subject themselves to wretchedness ahd
privation, for the sake of their lovers,—and even those I have re-
spected. But I have neither respect nor pity for the wantonness
of waste that purports only the entanglement of frivolous admirers.
The display intended to deceive some unhappy dupe into offering
you his nand, moves only my contempt. If you must needs have
an opera-box, for the young Marquis to sit beside you throughout
the evening as throughout the morning, if you must needs have a
succession of showy dresses, to enhance your beauty to secure these
danglers, if you must needs have brilliant equipages to fly about
the town, and wander from races to breakfasts, from Greenwich
parties to pic-nics at Ken Wood, (your ladyship perceives that I
am tolerably well versed in your movements!)—have them at other
cost than mine.—I have no money to throw away on the mainte-
nance of your follies."
Lady Winterfield started up. Galled beyond endurance by the
humiliations thus inflicted upon her, she resolved to obey the harsh
injunction of Abednego, and seek assistance elsewhere. But, alas!
a moment's reflection served to remind her that she had already
sought it, and in vain; that she had no resource—no hope—save in the
insolent rebuker of her faults. She submitted, therefore, rendered
docile by the iron pressure of necessity. In a moment, she subdued
her temper, and humbled her pride,—reduced to tameness, like
the beasts of the field, by the pangs of privation.
" You are most severe upon me," said she, in the pretty coaxing
voice that none knew better how to assume when her purpose
needed, "though perhaps not more so than I deserve. But when
I assure you that, if you persist in refusing me this five hundred
pounds, I am utterly ruined—ruined both in fortune and repu-
tation "
" My refusal will not render your ladyship a shilling poorer than
you are now. In what way, therefore, can you charge me with
your ruin?"
"You will have, at least, exposed it to the world."
Abednego^ shrugged his shoulders. "You expose yourself,
madam," said he, "by using such arguments. Once for all, I repeat
that you are wasting the substance of others, and of your children,-
merely to keep up false appearances in the world. So long as you
enjoy luxuries which you do not and cannot pay for,- you are
shining at the cost 01 your coachmakers, jewellers, milliners,
money-lenders,—the abject obligee of humble tradesmen. At this
moment—woman and Countess as you are—you stand before me as
an inferior. Though you may be a Countess of the realm, and I
the vilified A. 0., I rise above you as a capitalist, I rise above
you as a moralist, in whosehandsyouhave placed weapons of offence."
174 THE MONEY-LENDER.
It was now the turn of Lady Winterfield to shrug her shoulders;
hut with impatience, rather than contempt.
" Last week," resumed Abednego, careless of the variations of
her countenance, " there came hither a woman young and lovely
as yourself, who like yourself had exceeded her means and broken
her engagements. She came hither to me, not like your ladyship,
hoping to move me to pity by the sight of her loveliness and her
affected despair. She had other arms for the combat; and those
arms, madam, prevailed. To her I assigned thrice the sum of her
original debt, and at my own instigation."
''And of what nature were those arms?" demanded Lady
"Winterfield, colouring deeply, and, by casting down her eyes,
showing that she was prepared for expressions of gallantry and
admiration on the part of one whom she loathed as a harpy.
" It avails little to explain," replied Abednego, with an ill-
repressed smile of exultation, as he rose from his chair and ap-
proached her : and the blood of Basil Annesley boiled in his veins,
and he pressed his knee closer upon the woodenbench, while inclining
his eyes towards the grated aperture, " for they are such as it were,
perhaps, unbecoming so great a lady as the Countess of Winterfield
to put to profit."
" I am willing to use any arms—make any concession," faltered
the fair bankrupt, a deadly paleness succeeding to her previous
flush, as she contemplated the growing audacity of the Money-
lender.
Abednego folded his meagre hands carelessly before him, and,
throwing back his head, stood contemplating her from head to
foot, with a smile of indescribable expression. It was impossible
to behold a more lovely woman; and the Money-lender gazed upon
her as if making an appraisement of her charms.
" The arms to which I alluded are not at your ladyship's dis-
posal," was at length his sarcastic reply. " For they were tears of
genuine remorse for an involuntary breach of faith. They were the
worn and haggard looks which labour and want impose upon the
fairest face. She was a woman of the people, madam ; like you, left
young a widow; like you, with helpless children dependent upon
her prudence. She tola me—and her mien attested her veracity—
that for them she had toiled day aud night, for them abstained from
food and rest. But the outlay that was to set her up in business,
(borrowed of one of the agents of A. 0., at usurious interest,) was
still unrepaid. She was still poor, still insolvent, still needing
indulgence and came hither, like the fashionable Countess of
Winterfield, to beg for mercy."
Greatly relieved, even while writhing under the severe lesson
imparted by Abednego, the fashionable spendthrift gasped for
breath.
"I granted it," resumed the harsh admonitor. "And I granted
her also my respect, almost my affection. The old Money-lender
soothed her as a father might have done, and sent her home in
peace and comfort to her children. Yours, madam, will have less
to thank you for. I will not expose you—I will not pursue you
with the rigour of the law. But I choose to retain in security for
SHE ItONEY-XENDES. 175
the property of mine which, you have squandered, the diamonds
pledged to me to that effect; ay, and without affording another
guinea in extension of the loan—aware that neither that, nor
millions, would impede your ruin and disgrace."
^ "Then I am lost!" cried Lady Winterfield, losing all self-posses-
sion, and unable to restrain her tears. "Those precious dia-
monds—"
"Those diamonds, madam, you do well to prize," resumed
Abednego. " They were the bridal gift of one who bestowed his
heart upon you, confiding in the promise of a fair exterior; who
intrusted his honour to you, believing in the truth of your affee-
tions ; who, on his dying-bed, bequeathed his children to your care,
believing that all his love and confidence could not have been
bestowed in vain. You do well, therefore, to prize the tokens of
his love. But, trust me, they are safer in my keeping than in your
own."
_ " But if I can obtain from some other person upon them," per-
sisted the humbled woman, clasping her hands in intercession,
while tears streamed wildly down her cheeks, " a sufficient amount
to repay you what I have borrowed, with the additional sum need-
ful to repair my shattered affairs ?"
" You cannot!" interrupted Abednego; " I have weighed them to
the uttermost carat, and the most liberal diamond merchant could
not afford you in purchase within fifty pounds of the sum you have
received from myself as a loan. Few better lapidaries in this town
than myself."
"But if you would permit me to try!" persisted the lady, half-
remonstrating, half-wheedling. _ • <
"No, madam," replied the Money-lender, with a significant
smile. "You are not to be trusted with such valuable property.
I could place those diamonds in the hands of the poor workwoman
of whom I spake, with a far more sanguine hope of their safe return,
than in those of the Right Honourable Countess of Winterfield."
At that moment there recurred to the mind of Basil Annesley a
vision of this brilliant woman of fashion at the sale at Rochester
House, laughing and talking amid a group of the most distin-
guished noblemen of the day, to whom her smiles conveyed rapture,
and to whom her merest word was a law.
" Then nothing remains for me but death.'" cried the distracted
lady, throwing back from her face her silken ringlets, intermingled
with the filmy drapery of Brussels lace, attached to her tiny French
bonnet. " May you never live to repent, sir, the injury you have
this day inflicted upon me and mine."
" People rarely give up the ghost a day the sooner for threats of
self-destruction," replied the unimpassionable Abednego. " Your
ladyship will, I trust, live long enough—long enough for retrench-
ment—long enough for repentance !"
" Remorseless man!" cried Lady Winterfield, even in the midst
of her genuine tears, unable to renounce her habitual affectation.
"Will nothing move your obdurate heart? Must I implore you ou
my bended knees ?—Must I—V
" Spare yourself these exaggerations, madam," coolly interposed
176 fHfc MONEY-LEttDEfi.
Abednego. I am too much used to listen, to the pourings forth, of
human passion, not to decide in a moment what feelings are genuine,
what assumed to move my compassion. Want, madam, possesses
an iron key to the innermost recesses of the human heart, the
recesses where eloquence lies glowing, like the lava within the
volcano; and that key is often turned in my presence. The
merchant trembling for his credit,—the soldier for his honour,—
the husband for the peace of his fireside,—mothers who would
screen the faults of their children,—children tortured by the
necessities of their parents,—all these, madam, plead to me in
turns, and often plead in vain. Judge, therefore, since I can resist
the manly struggles of an upright man on the verge of bankruptcy,
—of a wife agonized by the prospects of an honourable husband's
imprisonment and shame,—whether I am likely to be touched by
a few graceful attitudes arising from the extortions of a milliner's
bill, or the claims of a compounder of fashionable cosmetics."
Lady Winterfield started up with an indignation of wounded
pride, far more genuine than her attempts at pathos.
" I was a fool," cried she, " to expect from a money-lender the
sentiments of a man! Do _ not, however, fancy that you will
trample upon me with impunity. You may be compelled to restore
those jewels by higher authority than mine. My lawyer assures
me you are liable to prosecution for usurious practices against me.
My lawyer assures me you are far more in my power than I in
yours. Since you choose to declare war against me, take the con-
sequences! I promise you that, with all your vulgar effrontery,
you shall have the worst of it."
Abednego smiled sarcastically at this sudden transition from the
fine lady to the virago.
"I am almost beginning to feel alarmed, madam," said he.
" Suffer me to ring for your carriage. It will be a relief to my
terrors, as well as to your emotions."
He rose from his seat as he spoke; and for a moment, Basil
Annesley apprehended that, by one of those effects of legerdemain,
of which he was now beginning to be ever in expectation when
dealing with A. 0., the host and his visitor might find it necessary
to invade his retreat to secure egress from the house.
But it was not so. Scarcely had Abednego touched the bell lying
on his bureau, when an opposite door was partially thrown open, by
a brazen-fronted clerk (having a pen behind his ear, so admirably
fitted to the locality that it seemed to have come with him into the
world), who fixed his hard, light-coloured predial eye scrutinizingly.
on the lady, as though the hahit of officiating for the Money-lender
had endowed him with the power of reading in the faces of his
clients the success or failure of their mission.
" See this lady to her carriage, Raffles," said Abednego, assuming
his usual place at his bureau, with so determined an air of attention
to business, asAonveyed a sentence of dismissal. "Her ladyship
is in haste."
Too proud to exhibit to a low subordinate, probably as impracti-
cable as his employer, the misery gnaVing at her heart, Lady Win-
terfield drew the Brussels lace closer round her 'face; and, by an
THE MOHEY-LENDER.
177
habitual impulse of affectation, lifting her silken pelisse from the
ground, as if afraid of contact with the vulgar earth, quitted the
room, escorted by her singular esquire ; who, throwing open the
folding doors, probably in derision, as if to give passage to some
august personage, revealed to view beyond a handsome apartment
richly hung with pictures. 1
It was evident, therefore, to Basil that he was ensconced in the
unsuspected issue of some substantial residence. Remembering
well the sudden apparition of the Money-lender as if emerging
from a panel in the wall, when he himself first sought him as a
client, he doubted not that some similar den had enabled Abednego
to watch and surprise his actions. Indignant at the idea of this
treachery, he was not sorry to have^ retaliated upon Osalez, by be-
coming an unsuspected witness of his privacy, before he gave him
warning of his involuntary presence in the trap.
Scarcely had the door closed upon the Countess, when, flinging
down the pen by which he had signified Ms decree of dismissal, he
resumed Ms place in Ms arm-chair, throwing himself back into it
with an expansion of self-indulgence, as if luxuriating in the idea
of the torture he had been inflicting. Rubbing his withered hands
with an air of exultation, a hearty laugh burst from Ms leathern
cheeks, the hollowness of wMch thrilled to the marrow the frame
of the warm-hearted young auditor.
"Dreadful!" was the shuddering response of Basil to the tri-
umphant laugh of Abednego. But before he had time to pronounce
his purposed warning of the presence of an intruder, the opposite
door was again throflhi open; and Annesley felt instantly revolted
by the apprehension that the unfortunate victim of folly and frivolity
might be returning for the fruitless renewal of her supplications.
It was a relief to him when the bold-faced clerk entered alone.
"And what amount of bribe did the pretty fool offer you, by the
way, eh! Raffles, to induce you to influence me favourably in her
behalf?" demanded Abednego, still chuckling.
_ " You seem to have an instinctive insight into these matters,
sir," said the clerk, with a facetious grin. "Her ladyship offered
me ten per cent., if, through you or any other Money-lender, I
could effect a levy for her. It was unnecessary to apprise so fine
a lady that it is worth your wMle to pay me so liberal a salary
to be honest, that honesty is every way my best policy. Poor
soul I I was almost sorry for her on handing her into the grand
turn-out waiting for her opposite the counting-house door."
"Keep your pity, my good friend, forwortMer objects," cried the
Money-lender, proceeding to sort some papers on the table beside
Mm. " I have been giving the foolish woman a lesson. To no
purpose, however—a mere waste of eloquence. The moth will
singe her silly wings again, nay, probably perish in the flame, the
first opportuMty."
" Scarcely five-and-twenty, to judge by her appearance," cried
the confidential clerk, "yet already so debased. It is afflicting, it
is 1 "
upon the man, wMch they attempted vainly to work upon the
M
178 THU MONEY-LENDEJi.
master/" cried Abednego, with a sneer. "Yon are growing as soft
as a bale of cotton, Raffles. Take heed, my man, or you will
become unfit for your employment. However, since this cunning
hussy seems to have touched your compassion, you shall even
carry her the cheque, by means of which I intend to prevent her,
not from flinging herself into the Serpentine, or buying two-
penn'orth of ratsbane, of neither of which feats she has further
purpose than you or 1, but to preserve her already tarnished name
from becoming as black as such excess of levity on the part of the
mother of a family might render it. I have intimated to one of
her brothers, a gallant man, to whom her honour is dear, the mad
course she is pursuing; and till he arrive in town, am bound to
exercise some providence over her destinies."
" You intend, then, sir, to accede to her request for this further
loan?" said the clerk, evidently astonished. "You Avill please to
remember that I have duly apprised you the security is already
exceeded."
"I know it—I know it. Curse the security. Have I not security
twice as sterling in her dread of exposure ?"
" But if she have not the means of paying, however much
exposed?"
" Her family have. The pledge of a name such as hers is as good
as diamonds or gold-dust. But at what are you grinning, sir ?"
"At the idea of all the invectives so uselessly wasted by the
Countess between this chamber and her carriage."
" Ay! I can imagine the torrent of abuse she let forth against poof
A. 0.; the way with them all! Unless one consent to be fleeced
like the rest of their creditors, one becomes dog,—curmudgeon,—
robber,—* Jew ! The poor initials of A. 0. have been made the
abject of more execrations, I suspect, than any other combination
of the letters of the alphabet."
" But surely, sir, since you intended to oblige her, you mmht
have spared her the terrible moments of suspense she has had to
undergo?"
" And the sermon that preceded it, eh ? Ho, no, Raffles. It is
because I intended to rescue her out of the jaws of perdition, that
I had the courage to reprove. I am tio cruel, eh, to these young
and tender sinners? I tell you, it were as reasonable to tax the
surgeon with cruelty who amputates some gangrened limb to pre-
serve the life of a patient. But enough of this. Let her have
her money before five o'clock. By the way, cash the cheque I
have written, as you go along the Strand, which will secure her
from the humiliation of presenting the draft of a Money-lender.
She will attribute my relenting, of course, to the eloquence wrung
out of you by the influence of her proffered ten per cent. Ha!
ha! ha! Better so. It would be the ruin of me if I got the
reputation of being chicken-hearted. By the way, you have
given instructions, I hope, to Cognovit, to proceed against the old
viscount?"
" I have, sir."
"And to make out a writ against—"
Basil Annesley now shouted so loudly as to disturb the equa-
SHE M0NEY-1ENDEE. 179
nimity of "both the Money-lender and his clerk. He had no wish
to pry more extensively into such transactions as he foresaw were
about to be disclosed.
" "Who the deuce is in the pigeon-hole?" demanded Abednego.
"It is certainly not the voice of Zebedee," replied Raffles'; and
before Basil could reiterate his signal, part of the wall seemed to
recede beside him; the moveable panel, dividing the trap from
the council-chamber of the Money-lender, being withdrawn.
The confidential clerk instantly collared the skulking stranger. _
" Your pistols, sir, your pistols!" shouted Raffles to his
superior. " 'Tis some housebreaker, some burglar. I have him
fast!"
" Loose him again, then; and thank your stars that your noisy
zeal has not tempted me into shooting through the head one but
for whose aid you would have been now thrown masterless on the
world," cried Abednego, who, having snatched a pistol from his
bureau and confronted the open panel, instantly descried through
the doubtful light, that it was no other than the young guardsman
who was struggling in the grasp of his deputy.
" I have sought you in many strange places, Mr. Osalez," ob-
served Basil, calmly stepping into the room, on finding himself
released, " and found you sometimes in others equally strange
where your presence was wholly unlooked-for. On the present
occasion, I had no intention of becoming a spy upon your actions.
Though in search of you and at your own desire, I swear to you
that I knew not, when thrust into yonder disgraceful cell, to what
sort of retreat I was proceeding."
" Ao need of an oath to confirm your statement," replied A. 0.,
not in the slightest degree embarrassed; " since, unless favoured
by the pass-key of one of my agents, it had been impossible for you
to wind your way into one of my most secret places of resort. But
since you are beginning to affect compunctions of conscience about
visiting the den of a Money-lender, it may not be amiss to remind
you that, once upon a time, a certain Mr. Basil Annesley—"
"Yisited, on a similar errand, a certain A. 0.," replied the
involuntary spy. " But I came not then as a friend. I came not,
as now, to "
"You came then, precisely upon the errand as now," retorted
Abednego, firmly. "You came, and come, in the hopes of bene-
fiting Yerelst. Nay, wherefore deny it ? Can you exhibit a
better passport to my regard than solicitude for the welfare of my
sister's family ?"
The astonished clerk lost for a moment his professional air of
callous effrontery, in utter amazement, first, at hearing the old
Money-lender address, in a tone of affectionate interest, a well-
dressed young man of Basil's manners and appearance; and,
secondly, at an avowal of kinsmanship with any mortal living on
the part of A. 0., whom he had hitherto regarded as an insulated
being, a sort of mysterious automaton composed of gold and arith-
metic, who was equally likely to have emerged from the Great
Pyramid or from St. Giles's Charity School, so utterly disconnected
did he appear from the ordinary associations of life.
m 2
180 THE MONEY-LENDEB.
It was "highly mortifying to the astonished and inquisitive Raffles,
when, a moment afterwards, Ahednego signified his desire to he
alone with, his handsome young visitor; and, apparently ^ on his
guard against the habits of duplicity he had inculcated into his
subordinates, followed him gravely across the dining-room as he
retreated, and carefully locked the door upon him after his de-
parture; an unmistakeable signal, in that mysterious establish-
ment, that no possible emergency, short of the house being on fire,
was to entitle the people of the Money-lender to intrude upon his
privacy.
" And now," said Ahednego, after returning to the room, and
reinstalling himself in his sanctum, " seat yourself, I entreat, and
let us have a few minutes' unmolested conversation."
" Excuse me," replied Basil, glancing through the still open
panel along the dark corridor. "I have left my horse yonder in
the street, under the care of a stranger—"
" Under the care of one of my confidential agents, or you would
not be here," retorted Ahednego. "Fear nothing. Zebedee has
something of a taste for horse-flesh. It was. he I employed to
seize the Duke of Rochester's stud at Newmarket. The fellow will
take good care of your hack."
So saying, he closed the panel by a spring, and came and sat
himself down over against Basil, in the chair in which he had
mused so exultingly after the departure of the Countess of "Winter-
field.
But with his usual tact of discrimination, he instantly discerned
the unfavourable impression made on the young man by the scene
he had recently witnessed. Young Annesley was cold, unexpan-
sive, uncordial; neither disposed to receive with applause the biting
jests of his companion, nor listen with respect to his homilies.
The open-hearted soldier seemed resolved to demonstrate his
consciousness of being in company with a professional Money-
lender.
For some minutes, Abednego attempted to wrestle with this
sudden mistrust. But finding all his efforts to raise a smile or
command attention abortive, he suddenly burst forth into a more
genuine strain.
" I see how it is," cried he. " I have lost your regard. The
warm interest of a young heart like yours fell like dew upon my
old age; reviving feelings I had never expected to find re-existent
in my withered heart. And, already, the fountain is dried up,—
the desert again parched. Master as I am of millions, that first
spontaneous impulse of human sympathy towards me, I prized
above them all. And now, you hate me! I see it in your face.
I hear it in your voice, or rather in your silence. Do not deny it,
Basil Annesley, you are on the verge of loathing and despising the
unfortunate A. 0."
" Unfortunate !" repeated Basil, with a smile.
"Ay, most unfortunate!" reiterated Abednego. "A victim
from his birth—before his birth,—a foredoomed outcast,—a predes-
tined paria,—a "
"Pause for a moment, Mr. Osalez," interposed Basil. "Far be
the money-lendee. 181
it from me to surprise tlie secrets of your prison-house. Reflect, I
entreat, before you enter into rasb confidences which you may be
hereafter disposed to repent."
" No!" cried the Money-lender, his countenance evincing tokens
of uncontrollable emotion. " The time is come, I feel that I cannot
support the withering weight of your contempt. I must speak or
die. I must vindicate myself. Let there be, at least, one human
being entitled to examine and dispassionately judge, the real posi-
tion and provocations of Abednego Osalez.
"In that name, Basil, consists the secret of my destinies,"
resumed the Money-lender, after a pause, " for it is that of a Jew;
incontestably that of a Jew. Comport myself as I may in accordance
with all Christian canons, though I may fear God and love my neigh-
bour as myself, nay, though, as St. Paul hath it, I give my body to be
burned, what profiteth it me ? I bear a Jewish name. My patronymic
smells of the Synagogue. I am a Jew,—I must be a Jew. The world
avoucheth it, and who is to gainsay the world ? Opinion, vulgar
opinion, hath placed me among the children of Israel. Basil
Annesley, such is the influence that hath overmastered the
impulses of nature,—such the social tyranny that hath made me
what I am.
" Listen to my story.
" I was born, as Yerelst has probably informed you, the only son
of a wealthy merchant of Cadiz, trading with the whole commer-
cial world, but chiefly with England, my mother, and my father's
mother, being alike natives of that country. It was, in fact, on
the marriage of my grandfather with a young Protestant of honour-
able extraction, a countrywoman of your own, that he renounced the
church of his forefathers; thereby entitling himself to all the
charities and indulgences of the Christian faith.
" His recantation was an act of pure conviction, For my grand-
father, rich as a Doria or a Medicis, was a man of spirit ana intelli-
gence; and even the passion he had conceived for the daughter of
an English admiral, would not have beguiled him into a capitula-
tion of conscience.
"By his conversion, he turned, of course, against himself, the
hands and hearts of his people. He made enemies of kith and kin.
All those in whose veins his blood was flowing soon proved to him,
and to the world, that those kindred drops were converted to the
bitterness of gall. Had he not a right, however, to conclude that
the church to whose bosom he had betaken himself would strive to
heal the wounds inflicted by their malice ? Had he not cause to
believe that the newly-converted Christian would be, by Christians,
Christianly entreated r
" It was not so. In Cadiz, where he abided, the people were at
that time illiterate bigots ; and to the end of his days, my grand-
father's sumptuous mansion was pointed out by the populace as
that of 'Osalez the Jew!' Had he embraced the Catholic faith,
the case mi°ht have been different. But the burnt- offerings of his
zeal smoked not on the altars of their cathedral; and they consc-
quently persisted in opprobriating him as ' Osalez the Jew !'
" Of that time, I remember nothing. My grandfather diedsoon
182 the money-lender.
after I saw the light. But I remember overhearing legendary
whisperings by our fireside, betwixt his venerable widow and my
father, of the times when, on occasions of popular tumult, it became
essential to conciliate the populace by prodigal benefactions, lest
they should attack and spoliate, in the harbour or on the quays,
the vessels or merchandise of' the Jew of Cadiz.'
"Was this rational? Has not the God of Christians expressly
declared, that there is more joy in Heaven over the sinner that
repenteth, than over the ninety and nine just persons who need no
repentance ? And which, I pray you, hath done more for the
Christian Church, the man who sacrifices the love of kindred, and
the predilections and belief of his ancestors, to cling to the Cross,
or he to whom a lukewarm faith is transmitted by his forefathers;
who accepts it unexamined, yet prospers under the green olive
groves of ecclesiastical protection, while the Jewish neophyte is
compelled to drag, as a burthen in the dust, the galling weight of
that Cross which he hath voluntarily and zealously adopted.
" Again I ask, Basil Annesley, is this rational ? But when was
the population of a priest-ridden country ever rational ?_ My father,
who at his mother's desire, had been educated in her native country,
was deeply affected by this mistrust and evil dealing. In England,
therefore, did he linger, even after his education was completed.
In England, did he love, and wed, and become a father; nor was it
till after my birth, that the sudden death of his father, compelled
his return to Cadiz.
"Eain would he, from that moment, have extricated himself
from commercial life, realized his property, and established himself
permanently in the land of religious freedom and scientific enlight-
enment. But it was impossible. His capital was so widely diffused,
—his foreign connections (especially with the English colonies in
the East) were of so widely spreading a nature,—that the remainder
of his life was expended in attempting to extract the root of these
ramifications in order to abjure the merchant craft.
" Nothing more heart-gnawing than the bitterness engendered by
consciousness of a defeated purpose. Osalez, ' the son of the Jew,'
though the wealthiest citizen in Cadiz, while his vessels were hailed
in every port of Europe, and while his voice decreed the existence of
plenty or famine for hundreds of thousands, was a miserable man.
The corn, wine, and oil, in his rich warehouses conveyed no food to
his soul. In Spain,—in Catholic Spain,—he seemed to stand aloof
from the community, as his father had done before him. He
became a widower ; and not the poorest of his brother merchants
would have been content to bestow his daughter in marriage upon
' the son of Osalez the Jew.'
" Again I ask you, Basil Annesley, was this rational ? My poor
father, fancying that in England,—liberal England,—such preju-
dices were unadmitted, still looked forward. The time would come,
he fancied, when he should find a successor rich enough to under-
take his speculations, and invest millions in his vast undertakings.
4 And then, my boy,' was ever and ever his cry, ' then will I set up
my staff in the happiest and freest country in the world. England
is the land of commerce. There the origin of our opulence will be
THE MONEY-LENEEE. 183
respected; and the estates, in the purchase of which I intend to
invest the greater portion of my capital, will give you a stake in
the country, entitling you to a voice in its legislation. You shall
have aseat in Parliament, Abednego. With your talents, and the
education that is to perfect them, you may achieve public distinc-
tion, and become the founder of an honourable family.
'' I could almost wish now that I had bestowed on you at your
baptism a name savouring less of the repellent origin of our ancient
house. _ But when you were christened, the old man my father was
yet alive; and I shrunk from inflicting a pang upon his warm
heart by appearing ashamed of the name he had inflicted on myself,
which was that of the father of his father. To the unlucky
appellative of Abednego I have been myself indebted for half
the odium attached in Cadiz to 'the son of Osalez the Jew.'
Nevertheless, whenever that title of reprobation meets my ear,
I think of my father's grey hairs, and am content. So may it be
with yourself._ Should you ever have to smart under its contume-
lious application, recal to mind the motives of your parents, and
be patient.
" Such, Basil, were the views of this excellent man in affording
me what is esteemed the first of English educations at a public
school and the university. He could bear to part with me;
for he was again wedded, and the father of a little girl, whom he
had piously named Rachel.
"I was a smart and forward boy. From my infancy I had
received in my father's house that best of schooling—the society of
the wise and liberal. The table of the rich Osalez was open to all
that was enlightened or distinguished in his native city; the
Hidalgos, whom it was so often in his power to oblige—the Arch-
bishop—the Governor—the Commandant—the noblest and best in
the place. The appointments and entertainments of our house
were sumptuous as those of the merchant-princes of Italy; and to
what level will not the meanness of empty pride descend for the
indulgence of its sensual pleasures! I quitted Spain for England
with the impression that we were a great and powerful family;
and that I should find elsewhere the consideration and obsequious-
ness I had met with from the guests and dependents of my father.
" The haughty boy was destined to a rough lesson. Shall I ever
forget that first week at Eton! Shall I ever outlive the recollection
of the swelling heart with which I nightly retired to my pillow,
after hearing reiterated around me the opprobrious cry of ' Abed-
nego the Jew!' In the course of the first day not one of my
young schoolmates but had inquired after my brothers—Shadrach
and Meshech. The bed I was moistening, with my tears was
called the burning fiery furnace, and every morsel of my food
embittered by offers of a slice of pork or other savoury meats the
object of Jewish abomination.
" At length I turned upon my persecutors. Like other badgered
schoolboys, I tried, in the first instance, the force of my puny arm,
and fought, and was first beaten in the ring, and then chastised for
having fought. I bore all bravely, because my triumphs as a
scholar already afforded me a prospect of humiliating my adver-
184
THE SIONEY-LENHEE.
saries with the force of higher weapons. I felt greatness struggling
within me. My aspiring soul resolved to raise itself above the
level of the gibbering lordlings by whom I was despised.
" ' They shall hear of me yet-
became an object of general t , „ „ ,
proficiency as a Grecian, being equally themes of praise. The
masters began to cite me among themselves as a youth of singular
promise, likely to distinguish himself in public life.
."Then came the habitual rejoinder—'Poor fellow! with such
abilities, it is a thousand pities he should be a Jew.'
" But he is not a Jew—neither he nor his parents!' was the
indignant retort of the head-master.
" 4 Impossible! the name !—Abednego Osalez. Besides, look in
his face—only look at his face. Eyes, features, hair! there is
Jew impressed on every lineament.'
"The first time remarks of this description reached my ear I
recalled to mind, with bitter consciousness, the air of sadness
sometimes overspreading my father's countenance as he gazed on
my own. Often, when addressed by his parasites with laudations
of my personal beauty, I had heard him murmur, while they were
admiring the Oriental fire of my eyes or glossy blackness of my
hair, ' Would, would that he had inherited the Saxon fairness of
1 ' other! My face may prove a disastrous portion for that
" Prophetic words, Basil, as thev taunts of my schoolmates and
more polished irony of my college companions soon taught me to
my cost.
" Still, though wounded and smarting, I was not desperate. I
hated my name—I detested my origin as the source of unjust
aspersions; but I did not yet hate the world. Just as my father
and grandfather had said, in extenuation of the scoffs and mis-
trusts of Cadiz, ' These people are ignorant and priest-ridden;
their insolence merits only our pity,' did I say in my turn, ' Why
heed the sarcasms of boys and striplings ? The award that is to
determine my position in life must be pronounced by men and
women.'
" But of the spell included in that latter word, Basil, little did I
then estimate the power. At Oxford politics became my favourite
study. _ The burning ambition of my soul was to distinguish
myself in Parliament. I doubt whether>the most fervent patriot
ever panted with fonder desire for an occasion of serving his
country than I for the honours of senatorial renown. I was con-
vinced that on the walls of the House of Commons hung the
escutcheon of my future ennoblement. It was there I had to win
the laurels destined to replace the absence of an hereditary coronet—
"Never, for a moment, did I mistrust the strength of my own
powers. Like the Pythoness, I was conscious of the divinity
within me. I felt master of my own destinies, and, through them,
inward suggestion that spurred
There, either I must live, or have no life!
TfiE ItOJTEY-liENDEK. 185
Of the opinion of the world. It was my ambition only to raise
myself to the level of my fellow-creatures—to redeem myself
from unmerited obloquy. The desire to set my foot upon the neck
of mankind arose in later life. As yet, I dreamed only of what
appeared easy of achievement, and, so long as the illusion lasted,
was at peace with myself and with the world.-
" The covert insults that sometimes assailed me fell unnoticed
on my ear. < The name I was about to create for myself would
soon, I fancied, obliterate that of Abednego Osalez.
"Alas! how should I have shuddered—how recoiled with
horror—had any one, at that period, presumed to predict to me
the humiliating career of the future A. 0.!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
Their hate was yelp'd against me
"With the unmeaning rage of some wild dog,
That bays at shadows. Ford.
It was not till after a pause of some minutes, during which the
irritation of the Money-lender appeared somewhat soothed by the
sympathy and interest manifested in his recital by his young
companion, that he resumed, in a less excited tone and manner:
" Mankind are more what they are made by mankind than what
they are made by their Creator," said Osalez. "The wolf is
ferocious because from a whelp hunted. The snake turns upon
you because you disturb and pursue it. The child grows surly
because unjustly coerced. But, above all, man becomes unjust and
cruel because pursued with cruelty and injustice by his brother-
man. I was born imbued with the original sin of human nature.
Yet certain am I that there were noble purposes in my soul, which
the scorn of my fellow-creatures converted into wickedness. The
germ of goodness was there: watered with poison, it brought forth
deadly fruit!
"Full of eagerness, full of trust in myself and others, I entered
into life. My father made me a splendid allowance, an allowance
doubling that of the richest nobleman at the university; and though
this told against me in one sense, by the perpetual citation of ' the
rich Osalez—rich as a Jew !' it enabled me to confer obligations in-
suring me hosts of fashionable associates.
"For them, I was only 4Osalez,'—Osalez who had such famous
hunters, such capital wine, and such a knowing curricle always at
the service of his friends; and to be my friend was consequently
the pretension of half my acquaintance. Those who delighted to
dine and drive with me, or rather for me, introduced me to their
families; and by degrees I became (on sufferance, though I little
suspected it) a favoured guest in the beau monde.
" I was happy, young, handsome,—as handsome as the Jewish
physiognomy which my grandfather's conversion could not efface
from our hereditary nature, would permit. I was admired,—
flattered,—followed,—nay, fancied myself beloved!"
186 the mohey-lehdee.
"And why; not?" said Basil Annesley, conrteously, fancying
that his excited companion paused for the encouragement of a
kindly word.
" Why hot ? Because my name was Abedhego,—and because X
looked like a Jew !—
" Listen, Basil. I had won the highest honours of the university;
and before entering the Parliamentary career, to which, at that
period, money secured the entree, I thought it my duty to visit my
father. Would I could adequately describe the rapture with which
he welcomed me, and the pride he took in my proficiency ! Would
you could have seen the passionate admiration of my poor little
sister, and the partial kindness of my step-mother! In that house-
hold, more splendid than almost any of those I had left in London,
I was a demigod.
" I would fain pass over that epoch of my life," said Ahednego,
in a lower voice. "The reminiscences it must awaken may pos-
sibly expose me as a weakling in your eyes. Nevertheless, to enable
you to judge my cause,—all—all must be disclosed.
"It was winter, Basil. Leaving my hunters at the disposal of
my shallow friends, I hurried to Cadiz, at a season when its climate
is peculiarly grateful; and, after long immurement in the murky
realms of Great Britain, dear, indeed, was my delight in the soft-
ness of that southern atmosphere, and the fragrance of its> long-
forgotten orange blooms. Till then, I had not imagined the inten-
sity of enjoyment which pleasures so purely physical are able to
impart.
" But they were not purely physical. I enjoyed them so keenly
only because I shared them with another; another—young, fair,
noble, generous,—already dear, and soon to become dearer than life.
" The family of an English nobleman was passing the winter at
Cadiz, for the benefit of the health of an only son, who was sup-
posed to inherit a consumptive tendency. One of his lordship's
daughters—one of his three danghters—"
Again, Abednego paused; and Basil Annesley, in spite of his
eager and growing interest in the narrative, had the forbearance to
entreat him once more to desist from his painful task. But at that
suggestion, Abednego resumed his firmness.
" Till my arrival at home," said he, as if assuming a peremptory
mastery over his emotions, " these people, these noble exiles had
been overcome with ennui. With the exception of her to whom I
have alluded, not one of the family was mentally endowed to find
satisfaction in the mere beauties of nature or the attractions of a
strange country. _ Both father and sisters repined after the plea-
sures of the fashionable world; hungering and thirsting for news
of society, the gossip of the clubs, the frivolities of aristocratic life.
"They welcomed me, therefore, with_delight._ The splendid
entertainments of my father, to whom his lordship had brought
letters of introduction as to the first merchant of the city, and. in
one of whose mansions he was domiciled, assumed a new charm in
their eyes. They were constantly in the society of mv step-mother,
who was a pleasing and accomplished woman ; and. I, I who ap-
peared to belong to a world which, as regarded Cadiz, had hitherto
THE MONEY-IENDEE.
187
been exclusively their own, was admitted into their circle as a
familiar and honoured guest.
" How I loved her, Basil Annesley,—that youngest and fairest
daughter of the house," resumed Abednego, after a short pause,
" it matters not now to relate. How she loved me, my utmost pro-
testations would scarcely entitle you to believe. We were of one
mind—one heart. So short was our acquaintance ere it ripened
into love, and soon, into intensest passion, that it were fruitless to
detail its progress. We were constantly together. At the opera,
in morning promenades, in marine excursions, the wealth and in-
jfluence of my father in the city enabled me to enhance and secure
the presence of the woman of my heart
—what joy—what madness! .Restrained,
however, by the presence of her sisters, and, even at her tender
age, conscious that I should be an unacceptable suitor to her
haughty father, she was the first to propose clandestine meetings.
The gardens of our two mansions nearly adjoined; and, favoured
by the climate, we met, as southern lovers do, by stealth, and in
the quiet moonlight; met often, and parted undiscovered. She
was already my plighted wife. It needed only her father's sanction
to make her mine for ever.
"By her own desire, however, my formal demand for her hand
was still delayed.
" 'Your great riches,' said she, 'may somewhat avail to smooth
down the difficulties likely to arise on the part of my family.
Still, I foresee that your Jewish name and origin will form
an obstacle all but insuperable. Render that name renowned,
dearest Osalez, and half the difficulty will be overcome. Distin-
guish yourself in Parliament. Even as contact with the divinity
converted a gibbet into the emblem of salvation, the instincts _ of
genius consecrate with distinction the most ignominious origin.
Come to my father to claim my hand as one who has commanded
the applause of senates, and he will not presume to treat you with
the disdain I apprehend.
" Stung by even the hint of scornful entreatment, my wounded
pride stimulated me to fresh exertions; nay, gave me courage to
bid her farewell, with a view to a speedier and more auspicious
meeting. _ The family was to be in England early in the summer.
By that time, I doubted not that opportunity would prosper all I
meditated. # The parliamentary agent employed by my father's
London solicitors had made arrangements for my coming forward
for a Government borough, on the creation of a batch of peers
whose patents were already in progress.
" To London, therefore, I hastened; sustained, even in the an- •
guish of parting from an object engrossing every feeling of my
heart, by the ardent desire to render myself worthy, or rather prove
myself worthy of pretending to her hand.
_ " Not a moment did I mistrust my own powers. The Univer-
sity had fixed its imprimatur on my scholarship ; and already, the
eyes of many were upon me. All I needed to acquire a position
in society was the passport which parliamentary distinction, more
183 THE MONET-lENDEE.
especially at the period of a national crisis such as was then immi-
nent, rarely fails to confer.
" But, alas! the borough offered to me for purchase, by the inert-
ness or incapacity of our agent, slipped through our hands ; and
bitter was my disappointment on finding that a week's delay at
Cadiz, conceded to the prayers of that beloved being at the mo-
ment of bidding her farewell, had been fatal to our prospects. So
far from realizing the promises I had made her, she would find me,
on her return to England, the same obscure individual who had
quitted her; and perhaps hear me rejected by her proud father as
' the grandson of Osalez the Jew.'.
" Distracted by this apprehension, and still more by the idea that,
should I want courage to make the attempt, some more appro-
priate match might present itself, which the jealousy of her sisters,
with whom she was no favourite, because a favourite with all the
world beside, would induce his lordship to press upon her accept-
ance, I resolved to leave no effort unattempted, however rash, to
accomplish my purpose. At that moment, the sudden death of one
of the members for a cathedral town prospered my views. Aware
that my father would consider no expenditure excessive which
served our ends, I determined to dare the contest. With money—
eloquence—an unblemished character,—the chances seemed in py
favour. So, at least, I was assured by the solicitors whose sole ob-
ject in my election was the amount of their bill. They advised
me to hurry down to L , on the assurance of having smoothed
my way to the hustings.
" Never shall I forget the elation of my spirits during that
journey. I rejoiced at having declined the attendance of the men
of business who had proposed bearing me company. Eor Hope was
my companion by the way; promising all that can make glad the
heart of youth,—a happy home,—a blessed, beauteous, loving
wife,—and, when tempted forth from my glad fireside, the esteem
and honour of my fellow-men.
" Such were my feelings and aspirations, Basil, when, on a
bright and sunshiny afternoon, I entered L . As I approached
the city, the aspect of its population seemed to possess a peculiar
interest in my eyes, as the people for whom I was about to exercise
the first flow of my expanding intellect and human charities. They
were about to be entrusted to my care, as a fold to a shepherd; the
constituency over whose welfare I was to be the providence! Do
you yet know enough of the world, young sir, to appreciate the ab-
surdity,—the vulgarity,—of such generous emotions ?"
The eager narrator had now worked himself anew into his former
excitement; and the low and mournful voice in which, as with a
plaintive organ-stop, he had been describing his felicitous dream
of early love, gradually gave place to harsh and abrupt im-
petuosity.
" Well, sir! I entered the city," he resumed. " You have pro-
bably witnessed the triumphal entries of candidates on such fiat-
tering occasions : laurels,—ribbons,—largesses to the populace,—
feasting,—junketing,—music,—clamour,—all that money can con-
cede or extort from the yenal energies of popular nature. Those
THE MONEY-LENDEB. 189
men of mnd whom we fondly call the people, gave me hack, with
interest, the huzzas I had purchased. But on entering the mabket-
place, Basil, and confronting the opposition party, the first object
that met my eyes was my own effigy roasting in the midst of a
burning fiery furnace, surrounded with placards of'What true
Christian will vote for Abednego the Jew?'—' No circumcision.'—
'Now Barabbas was a robber'—with pork griskins stuck on poles,
and every other insulting emblem supposed to be abhorrent to my
imputed faith.
" I was irritated, but nothing further. Conscious of the in-
applicability of these whips and scorns of vulgar derision, the
usual implement of the hustings, I conceived that nothing would
be easier than to undeceive the population of L—■. In almost
every great assemblage, reason preponderates: and having, in my
speech, on the first day's poll, uttered the most solemn denial of my
■ imputed Judaism, and appealed to the support of the ecclesiastical
interest of the city, to which I conscientiously pledged my own, I
fancied the mischief overcome. _
" My eloquence made a manifest sensation. I was cheered by
the people, and encouraged by the gentry. But during the night,
my adversaries got up a further storm of insult. Placards repre-
senting Shylock, knife and scales in hand, prepared to cut off the
pound of flesh, greeted me on emerging from my inn, intermingled
with representations of the martyrdom^ of Little St. Hugh, whose
tomb, unfortunately, graced the adjoining cathedral, the legend of
whose barbarous murder by 'the Jew's daughter,' was roared
round the hustings by a score of stentorian voices. Every time
I opened my lips to address the multitude, I was interrupted with
As it fell out one holiday,
Small rain did fall,—
And all the boys in merry Lincoln
Were met to play at ball;
Little Hugh he struck at the first—
He struck it into the Jew's hall;
The Jew's daughter came out,
And unto him did call—
till the name of St. Hugh of Lincoln became indeed accursed in my
ears!
" The bigotry of Cadiz was pale and tame, in short, compared
with that of the cathedral town! Suffice it, that after throwing
away thousands of pounds, I lost my election; and far more than
my election—my trust in the justice of mankind,—nay, the justice
of Providence itself!
" I ask you again, Basil Annesley, was it rational that I should
be thus reviled and rejected—untried—unheard—and a booby
squire preferred in my place, simply because some wag had written
on the walls previous to my nomination—' What is your name ?'
' Abedhego !'—' Who gave you that name ?' ' The high priest of
the synagogue, in my baptism!'
" A thousand crushing thoughts came crowding into my soul
when I re-entered London the following day. I was defeated;
and the bitterness of a defeated candidate is proverbial. But
190 THE MONEY-LENDER.
never did defeat convey, like mine, extinction of every prospect
of distinction, every hope of earthly happiness. _ Parliament was
the Promethean torch that was to endow me with vitality; and
lo! the living spark was quenched !
" It was then, Basil, that, for the first time, I learnt to appreciate
the value of Money. In place of the Providence I was beginning
to mistrust, the Molten Calf became my god . I said not to myself, like
Lucifer, ' Evil, be thou my good!'—but ' Gold, be thou my guar-
dian angel!' For the solicitors, by whose inaptitude I had been
so ill supported, now whispered in my ear, that perhaps they might
still be able to purchase a seat; and this time, they so far redeemed
their word, that, within a fortnight from the silvery whisper
reaching my ear, a spendthrift lordling had accepted the Chiltern
Hundreds, the credit side of my banker's book was lessened by an
item of five thousand pounds, and Abednego Osalez took his seat
in the House of Commons.
" And now, Basil, now, my way seemed clear before me. I was a
member of the most enlightened legislative assembly in the world,
and my reputation was in the keeping of the free press of the land
of liberty. Forests of laurels seemed shooting up before me. I
anticipated fame, I anticipated popularity, I anticipated, I—Great
God!" exclaimed the excited man, interrupting himself, "the
flame of joy and triumph that swelled my veins at that moment
seems rushing back anew into my heart, warm with the glowing
energies of youth. All the wealth of my bursting coffers would
be insufficient to requite the enjoyment of one sunny day of the
unsullied brightness of that boyish confidence !"
" But surely, in parliament, the unjust and groundless prejudice
you have described did not pursue you ?" demanded Annesley, deeply
interested, yet almost alarmed by the vehemence of his companion.
"Even in parliament, sir," resumed Abednego, in a more sub-
dued tone, "even in the parliament of liberal England, enlight-
enecl England, I was still ' Osalez the Jew !' They went further,
these upright legislators, than the bigots of Cadiz. "With them, I
was not the son of the Jew, but the Jew. Though admitting me to
be, by extraction, a Spaniard, by birth, an Englishman, by faith,
a Protestant, I was still 'Osalez the Jew!' My name and face
avouched it; and are not a name and face authentic evidence in
any other spot of earth than a court of justice?
"When I spoke well in the House, it was 'well enough for a
Jew;' when ill, ' what could be expected of a Jew ?' The measures
I advocated were stigmatized by the press, as brought forward
under the protection of the Jews; and the whole repertory of
waggish ana vulgar jocularity was unloosed against me every time
I opened my lips.
" I was almost maddened. Had I entered my public career at a
maturer period of life, I should have known how to repress such
sneers, or how to retort upon my scorners. But I was a boy.^ The
generous impulses of youth were warm within me. _ Writhing
under a sense of injustice, I lost my temper. I sometimes spoke
vilely ; and then, indeed, was the cry redoubled, that' The second
Daniel had broken down. But what could be expected of a man
with such a name as Abednego ?'
tile money-lender. 191
" A sareastio member of the Opposition, whose wit was armed as
with the stings of asps, attacked me one night in reply to an effec-
tive speech on the corn-laws, by which I had commanded the at-
tention of the House, with the sneer that, ' He was aware that the
honourable member's namesake and predecessor was memorable in
scripture history through the persecutions of a king who fed on
grass. But it did not follow that the Abednego of modern times
was to become famous by his association with corn.'
" The House was convulsed with laughter at this sorry jest; and
the laugh of parliament burns as with the caustic impress of the
branding iron. The morning papers enlarged upon the pleasantry,
which was echoed by all the underlings of the press ; and before I
had been three months in the House of Commons, instead of com-
manding the attention due to my abilities and good faitb, I bad
become a laughing-stock as ' Corn-law Abednego.'
" Still, there was comfort in perspective. The woman I loved
was too true, too good, too fond, to be influenced by tbe voice of
vulgar derision. She knew tbat I was neither a Jew, nor tbe son
of a Jew. She knew tbat my education had been liberal, my babits
of life luxurious ; and tbe low-bred citations regarding Monmouth-
street and Duke's-place, over her, at least, could bave little influ-
ence. Even if her father should refuse me her hand, she, my
tender, faithful, trusting love, could not recal the gift of her heart.
" The family returned to England, Basil; tbe family wbicb for
months and months had accepted the hospitality of my father.
Their door was shut in my face !
"In the interim, my engagement with her for whom I would
have sacrificed my life, had been discovered ; and all further inter-
course between us interdicted.
> " The brother was still so infirm as to afford _ a fair plea for re-
tiring instantly into tbe country ; and in tbe aristocratic seclusion
of bis own park, tbe old lord fancied himself able to hold at bay
the presumptuous importunities of tbe grandson of tbe Jew of
Cadiz."
"And you pursued them, of course?" cried Basil Annesley, a
new species of interest mingling with his curiosity. " You ac-
cepted dismissal from no other lips than those of her you loved ?"
" I pursued them," resumed Ms companion, half closing his eyes,
as if to reconcentrate himself into the illusions of retrospection. " I
pursued them. I saw her again. "We met as before, Basil, by
stealth. Tbe summer nights favoured our frequent interviews.
Again she pledged her faith to me; again she swore, through
good or evil report, to be faithful. But we were discovered, and—
spare me the recital! Through the instrumentality of her sisters,
there was a cruel scene of detection. A struggle ensued, a fatal
struggle, in which the infirm brother was disabled. As I live and
breathe, Basil, it was not I who inflicted the fatal injury—but be
died! The inquest absolved me. Surgical examination proved
that the accidental bursting of a blood-vessel had proved fatal.
"To renew my intercourse with the family, after this dreadful
event and the terrible publicity given to our cause of quarrel, was
impossible, The very attempt had been an insult. My beloved
192 THE MONEY-LENDEE.
wrote to me entreating forbearance. Overtures on my part, site
said, would, perhaps, hurry her hroken-hearted father into the
grave. But still she swore, again and. again, with the fervid ear-
nestness that woman only knows how to assume, that, whatever
time or distance might divide us, for this world and the next she
was my own,—'in the sight of God, my wife !'_ In the sight of
God ?—Alas ! even she, perhaps, felt that the mightiest of names
might be appealed to in vain by so utter an outcast as Osalez the
Jew."
" Compose yourself, sir," murmured Basil, in a kindly voice, on
perceiving that big tears were rolling down the withered cheeks of
his companion. " Disturb yourself no further to talk of this."
" Now, or never I" cried the old man, with a strong effort over
his feelings. " I complied, Basil, with her injunctions. The
session was over. I returned to Cadiz with the intention of at least
six months' absence from England and her. But, what a spot had
I chosen to nourish my regrets ! The groves, the gardens, in which
we had wandered, hand in hand,—the same white walls, steeped in
the same moonlight, were ever around me; and she whose soul had
been conjoined there with mine in ecstatic delirium,—she was afar,
weeping, lonely, disconsolate, waiting for me—sorrowing for me!
In that thought, however, there was comfort. My tears flowed the
more, but the more soothingly, when I remembered that all my
sorrows wece shared by that dearest of all human beings.
"Within three months, Basil, from .the day of my arrival at
Cadiz, the newspaper was placed in my hand which announced her
marriage with another!"
" What treachery!" burst involuntarily from the lips of the
young man, though a terrible suspicion had alreadv presented
itself to his mind, connecting the narrative now unfolded with the
revelations of the old gardener.
"Treachery most monstrous and most ungrateful," rejoined,
with kindling eyes, the excited Abednego. " And lo! on that day
I swore an oath before God, an oath to be mightily avenged,
avenged on both,—on all,—the husband,—the wife—the proud, ob-
durate family.—And I was so! My cry to the Almighty for ven-
geance has at least prospered."
"Before you proceed further, sir, consider a moment," inter-
posed Basil, perplexed and distressed._ " Let not the excitement of the
moment betray you into avowals which you may hereafter repent."
"I have considered, and would fain you should know all," re-
plied the old man, in a milder tone.
"And first, to judge me fairly,—to judge me leniently,—reflect
upon the misery of my position. Reflect that I had ventured my
'all of earthly happiness in that frail barque, and that the wreck
was total!' My hopes were withered. Nothing was left me in this
world,—nothing but moxey ! In the first struggles of my anguish,
I resigned my seat in Parliament, and abjured the country by
which I had been so despitefully treated and persecuted. I
abandoned .England. But I brought neither peace nor honour
to my home. My father, whose highest ambitions were baffled
by my despair, became himself surly and desponding, and thus
THE MOSEY-LEXDEE. -193
the cause as well as the victim of despair, like'the stricken
man of Uz, ' my face became foul with weeping, and on my eye-
lids was the shadow of death. My days were past, my purposes
broken off, even the thoughts of my heart. _ Because God had
made me a by-word to the people, when aforetime I was as a tabret.
Because He had stripped me of my glory, and taken my crown
from my head. Because young children despised me: and when I
arose they spake against me. Because my inward friends despised
me, and they whom I loved turned against me.'
" Thus aggrieved and thus resentful, domestic comfort soon for-
sook our gloomy household; and my young sister was fain to look
abroad for comfort. Soon after my return, her mother died; and
thus left alone with her fractious father and surly brother, the poor
girl bestowed her affections on the only individual admitted within
our doors;—Yerelst,—whom her father had engaged for her tuition
in painting,—though, as a man of genius travelling for the per-
fectionment of his art, superior to the condition of an ordinary
professor.
" When apprised of her attachment, my animosity to the young
German, who could afford no home to the cherished flower of our
fireside, and whom I unjustly accused of interested views in his
attachment, sufficed to prove that I had suffered persecution and
learnt no mercy. I advised my father to drive the needy adven-
turer from our gates ; and the consequence was the flight and dis-
astrous marriage of my sister, which precipitated my poor mortified
father into the grave.
"I was now the master of millions! The efforts made by my
father for the realization of his property, with a view to quitting
■Spain, had, by this time, nearly completed the centralization of our
capital. It was, however, indispensable for the full accomplish-
ment of this object, retarded by the old man's death, that I should
visit the East; in various parts of which, my predecessors had
maintained mercantile establishments.
" The expedition pleased me. I wished to behold mankind in an
unconventionalized condition. I wanted to look upon the land
■which had given birth to my ill-fated race. Already, my views of
social morality were sufficiently disorganized;—in the East, I
thoroughly threw off the prejudices of civilization, To behold
other creeds established as firmly, and producing results as bene-
ficial, and more consonant with, the demands of climate and country
than Christianity, convinced me that the all-seeing God,—to whom
altars, like thrones, are but the footstools of his rower,—who, for
his own wise purposes, has apportioned the faith of the Mussulman
to one tropic, of the Brahmin to another,—who revealed, by the
lips of his prophets, centuries and centuries before the birth of
Christ, the great sacrifice of Redemption, and the cruelty of the
Hebrews by which alone it was accomplishable,—must behold
with sentiments of mercy, wide from the vengeance imputed to
■Him by the implacable mind of man, the hereditary responsi-
bility of the children of Israel for the predestined crime of their
forefathers.
"Thenceforward, the Jews with whom I was classed, became,
19+ THE MONEY-LENDEB.
in my eyes, as any other people; save in being more unjustly
aspersed, and consequently more deserving commiseration.
" Amid the succeeding changes of religion and legislation I was
compelled to witness, variations which render morality a matter of
latitude and longitude, and the virtues of one hemisphere the vices
of the other, I began to look around me for a substantial and tan-
gible standard of merit.
'"What,' I exclaimed, 'what constitutes right and wrong?
Where is the Positive, where the True!' The answer, Basil An-
nesley, was—Gold."
" Who will deny that, over all nations and languages, under the
tyranny of one or the tyranny of many, the majesty of the crown
or the majesty of the tiara, Mammon holds the preponderating in-
fluence ?—Gold, gold, gold, constitutes the To KaXov—the sole
divinity,—the Jehovah of the universal earth.
" Once convinced of this, I bowed down my knee and worshipped.
Long and eagerly in search of some First Cause in which to put my
trust, I cried aloud with joy when I had found it. My wandering
ark had stuck upon the top of an Ararat; and I sought no better
land as a resting-place for the sole of my foot."
CHAPTER XIX.
Oh, gorgeous, glorious East!—Of man and Goi>
The better birthplace,—in creation's scale
Heaven aptly placed the first! Vane.
" My projects of earthly happiness had been so various and si)
rudely discomfited, that having at length adopted a system of
positive enjoyment,—a glowing materialism, the means of which
were existent in the vivid impulses of health seething within no®,
and the enormous wealth bursting from my coffers,—I seemed to
begin life anew :—casting behind me all painful retrospections, as
well as every unsatisfactory anticipation for the future.
" Or rather, I had no need of anticipations. I lived in the
moment,—/or the moment. The glorious climate I was inhaling^
the pleasures I was crushing within mv arms, sufficed.
" Believe not those who, visiting India for the vulgar purpose of
amassing the fortune I carried with me, decry the climate as op;-
pressive, the fruits as tasteless. He who goes thither furnished
with the power and means of a satrap, who progresses from king-,
dom to kingdom burdened by those appliances which smooth all
difficulties of travel,—he will attest, if indeed, saving myself, such
a man ever explored the rugged marvels of the ghauts, or luxu-
riated in the more than Grecian pastoralitv of Cashmere, that the
pleasures of Europe are tame and colourless beside those which
vitalize the seemingly languid regions of the East.
" Those courts which we—the real barbarians—tax as barba-
resque more refined in their indolent resources than our pompous
Western show of sovereignty, with its pedantry of etiquette, and
circumstantiality of ostentation. To my thinking, gorgeousnpss is
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 195
Suitable only to a royal pageant, which forms no pretensions to
that moral enlightenment which ought to rise superior to the pomps
and vanities of life.
" In the East, moreover, regal splendour is less superficial. The
gem is pure from the matrix,—the precious ore from the mine. No
false jewels,—no gilding,—no tinsel,—no substitute of art for the
costly treasures lavished on the spot by the prodigality of nature.
Even the smiles of woman, if venal, pretend not to the disin-
terestedness which forms the vilest of masks to European venality.
In the East, I loved the reality I found in everything around me,—
the reality, the abundance, the space, inspiring infinite contempt
for those littlenesses of civilization, which rarely affect grandeur,
without exhibiting the inflated proportions of comic masks in a
winter pantomime. Eor five years or more, I abided in the East,—
in splendour and enjoyment a very satrap !
"Amid my luxurious pleasures, my interests were not neglected;
and bringing to the spot an enormous capital, as well as con-
siderable practical insight into the commercial capabilities of
Europe, I was enabled to double the splendid fortune bequeathed
me by my father.
" Had I not reason, therefore, Basil, to put my trust in my new
idol? Gold had doubled my gold, as well as doubled my pleasures.
Yet with the restlessness natural to one whose divinity promises no
immortality, no spiritual hereafter ennobling our re-absorption
into dust and ashes, at the close of a few years, when my pulse
beat less wantonly, and my senses became palled by the enjoyments
of an enervating climate, I began to ask myself whether intel-
lectual beatitude might not be substituted with advantage for this
paradise of the senses. I was now so thoroughly severed from the
European mass, that I had nothing to fear from their molestation;
and might consequently profit, unheeded, by the prodigious steps
which civilization had been making during my absence.
" Great revolutions had been accomplished in Europe. Thrones
had been flung down,—dynasties extinguished. The consequences
of the French Revolution had made themselves felt even in the
country so belaboured into subordination by the rattan of sceptre
and crosier ; and England still trembled to her centre.
"It was not in England, however, that I was minded to abide.
I hated her hypocritical institutions; I despised her pretended
zeal for Christianizing the forms of the world, yet ever gainsaying,
by her practices, the spirit of Christianity:—persecuting, on pre-
tence of resenting persecution, the -wretched remnant of the
children of Israel; yet faithless to the holy doctrines of the Cross
whenever they traverse her vices or reprove her hardness of
heart.
" France, if more a sinner, was at least candid and explicit in
her sins; and indifferent, as a naturalized subject of Spain, to the
war at that moment proceeding between the Directory and Great
Britain, I hurried to Paris, to reap the fruitful harvest of my golden
sowing.
" At that epoch, Society, disorganized by the still recent Revo-
•iution, was vibrating with those irregular oscillations which
N %
196
THE HONEY-LENDEIl.
precede tlie restoration of order. It was the very moment for a
man, intent, like myself, upon the lawless pursuit of pleasure, to
purchase, at an easy cost, a variety of cumbrous spoils which the
recent political convulsions had left masterless.
' "A princely hotel in the capital, a noble country residence, once
royal, situated on the wooded shores of the Seine, enabled me to
establish myself with a degree of magnificence rivalling that of the
Fermiers Generaux flourishing under the auspices of monarchical
corruption. All that was left of aristocracy in Paris crowded to
my fetes, to luxuriate in a renewal of sensual pleasures long with-
held from their enjoyment. Half of the Almanack des Gourmands,
Basil, was composed upon the strength of experiments made in my
kitchen; and the last effective notes of Garat were uttered in my
Salle de Concert.
"Ho need to corrupt your unsullied imagination, boy, by the
description of my effeminate pleasures. They were such as Sar-
danapalus might have envied ; they were such as the ghost of the
Marechal de Richelieu should have risen to sharethey were such,
that (experience having instructed me in the finite and transient
nature of physical enjoyment, and the ennui that follows it like a
spectral shadow) I have since discerned a charm in privation and
abstinence, as a contrast to the wearisome repletion of former
days. _
" Still, while it lasted, that bewilderment of tumultuous pleasures
was indeed intoxicating. The first artists, wits, and men of letters
crowded my gilded saloons ; even as, before and since, they beset
the antechambers of royalty. Among others, Talleyrand, the
cynical ex-bishop and high-bred future prince, was my frequent
companion; and in our luxurious seclusion, what epigrams did we
not vent upon the servilities of the human race; what blasphemies
against all creeds and faiths, save that of the Golden Calf!
"Amid this 1 " 1-'ical and moral disorganization, arose
avowed Epicurean, I cared only for peace or war as an obstacle or
facilitation to my pleasures; and though war becomes a bitter
penalty in barren England, compelled to seek from the Continent
her accessories of sensual enjoyment, self'-sufficing, fertile, joyous
France looks upon the closing of her ports without anxiety. I re-
joiced among the rest, however, when Consular negotiation brought
about a cessation of hostilities between the rival countries; for it
filled me with glorious hopes to witness the arrival of those shoals
of English travellers who never fail to rush to Paris, when occasion
serves for flinging aside their pall of national gloom.
" "What triumph to deny them access to my house !—What de
light to tantalize them with exclusion from the brilliant hospita •
lities of the wealthy Spaniard !—For I was now redeemed from one
species of obloquy; in Paris, religion had ceased to obtain mention
from lips polite. Osalez the Jew was neither more nor less to them
than Osalez the Gheber; and, whether I worshipped the God of
Christians, or the_ god Fo, was a matter of indifference to those
who quaffed my Sillery and tasted my Salmis. Even the name of
Osalez had, however, become so distasteful to me, from its con-
the Consulate
I took little heed of politics. An
TEE MONEY-LENDEE.: 197
nexion with' my misfortunes, that, from the moment of settling in
Paris, I assumed that of Clerval, derived from the estate I had
purchased on my naturalization.
" Even as I had predicted, scarcely werethe fetes given for the
celebration of the Peace of Amiens (of which those of the Hotel
de Clerval were by far the most gorgeous) at an end,, when I was
beset with applications from English aristocrats aspiring to the
honour of my acquaintance, and access to my gallery and table.
Having visited Paris to amuse themselves, they seemed to care little
at whose cost they were amused.
" "With the exception of a few inquiring tourists, and still fewer
families residing abroad for purposes of economical education,
English residents on the Continent are rarely persons of real merit
or distinction. Spendthrift lords, flying before the face of their
creditors, or roue lords, recreating themselves with lawless indul-
gences which England has denounced as infamous, constitute the
chief frequenters of foreign society. For the transitory indulgence
of their pleasures in a strange country, such men care not with
whom they associate, or to what they have recourse to obtain
means of diversion.
" Among these, I had no fear of recognition. The burning sun
of the East, and the habits of a luxurious satrap, had so tho-
roughly effaced from my features all trace of the boy-member
whom their levity had formerly coughed down, as to place an
irreconcilable incongruity between the presumptuous Jew of Cadiz
and Clerval the millionary. I was accounted in Paris the finest
of fine gentlemen.
" On the other hand, my enormous wealth constituted a rock,
against which innumerable shallow vessels, launched upon the
deceptions sea of Pleasure by fool-hardy London, were successively
split to pieces. Wherever they attempted competition with the
opulent Clerval, whether as regarded financial speculation or the
briefer madness of the gaming-table, ruin ensued. I retained my
prodigious funds in a floating and tangible form; nor was it by
means of mortgages or annuities I had to meet the pretensions of
the enervate lordlings who presumed to confront me in my path,
instead of treading at an humble distance in my footsteps. What
chance, therefore, I entreat you, had the empty fops, whose capital
was contained in the embroidered note-book in their waistcoat-
pockets, against one who, in the days when Rothschilds were not,
was able to influence, by his financial operations, half the money-
markets in Europe ?
" Among the first who. fell a prey to my strength of courage and
purse at the gaming-table was the husband of the elder of those
insolent sisters of the object of my affection, by whose malice my
early hopes had been so cruelly blighted. Lord Willesden (suffer
me to conceal, under that designation, the title of my victim,) was
one of those self-sufficient profligates who, on the pavement_ of
St. James's-street, acquire the authority of a potentate. Arriving
in Paris with Charles Fox, insolent with the favour of Carlton
House, the London puppy affected the same air of defiance when
dinipg at Legacq's, or the Pavilion de Hanpyye, tP which, in his
198
THE MOHEY-LENUEB.
own country, his recognised position lent some colour. For a time,
he affected to brave the man he could not aspire to surpass;—nor
was it till he had lost five thousand livres to me on parole, that he
was forced to recognise my superiority.
" Heartbroken by his system of profligacy, Lady Willesdenwas
now a confirmed invalid, and rarely quitted her hotel. We had,
consequently, never met; whereas her lord was my constant asso-
ciate.*
" Six weeks after his arrival in Paris, Lord Willesden was a
ruined man,—ruined^ beyond hope,—beyond redemption ! His.
estates, his houses, his plate, his jewels, were pledged to those to
whom I furnished the funds destined to flow back, a refluent Pac-
tolus, into my golden coffers. Hazard and roulette had made the
haughty aristocrat my slave. My foot was upon his neck, and
upon the neck of his children's children.
" At that period, Basil, I was stern of heart as some devastating
monster of antiquity. Cruelty was my luxury,—revenge my
pride; and those who had ' spat upon my Jewish gaberdine,' were
making heavy atonement for the fault. I now trampled updn
them in my turn. Talk of a bed of roses, Basil Annesley ? Com*
mend me to the couch whose pillows are inflated by the swelling
sighs of a prostrate enemy;—to the slumbers soothed by the mur-
murs of—"
He paused. An involuntary shudder betraying the disgust of
his companion had startled him into silence. But it was too late.
The innate prejudice, long dormant in the soul of Basil, involun-
tarily retraced these workings of malice to the Jewish origin of
Osalez. For the first time, the young man beheld in his com-
panion a legitimate descendant of the tribe who drove nails into
the hands and feet, and pierced the side, of the meek Jesus-!
So forcibly was this feeling of estrangement depicted in the
countenance of the young man, that, in resuming his narrative^
Abednego hazarded no further reference to the animosities by
which his vengeance had been actuated.
" Suffice it," he resumed, in a milder tone, " that, while realizing
in the more refined "West the warm imaginings of a luxurious
Oriental, I did not lose sight of those still profounder passions and
keener anticipations, engendered by the cold-blooded persecutions
of English pride.
"Lord Willesd< fastidious London
was my daily guest, sometimes at my brilliant hotel, sometimes at
my princely country seat, I scrupulously abstained from entering
his doors. My pretext for declining his invitation was the infirm
health of Lady Willesden, and a disinclination to intrude upon
the sacred domesticity of an invalid fireside; by which means, I
contrived to excite an interest in my favour in the mind of the
afflicted wife. My indulgence as a creditor, and liberality as an
associate, as yet prevented all rumour of her husband's new follies
from reaching her ears; and hearing of Monsieur de Clerval only
as a hospitable host, a paragon of refinement courted in the best
society, she felt grateful for the deference which kept him aloof
from her impoverished seclusion,
coxcomb moved
But though he
THE MONEY-U5NDER. 199
j " Though vain and dissolute, Willesden was fond of his wife*
that is, fond of her after the selfish fashion of the egotist. It
would have been a relief to him, had he left her behind bim in
England, to have suddenly received tidings of her decease. But
he could not bear to see her suffer. Conscious of the injuries he
was inflicting upon her and her children, he shrunk from the spec-<
taele of her altered countenance. The more ill and enfeebled she
became, the deeper he plunged into excesses that banished all
recollection of his embittered home.
" One morning, he entered my breakfast-room earlier than,
usual, and began to execrate, in his ordinary strain, his ill-luck of
the night before.
< "'It is all Maria's fault,' cried he. ' The foolish woman fancies
it disturbs her to hear the porte cochdre open in the dead of night;
and having _ exacted a promise from me not to remain out after
three, last night, just as the luck begait to turn in my favour, I
was forced to quit the table. Bqt nimporte !—my matrimonial
prospects are brightening. Next week, I shall be at liberty to
observe the sun rise where and how I please. My wife's sister is
coming over from England to nurse her. Maria has been dis-
patching, I suspect, such doleful accounts of my neglects, that her
family consider it necessary she should be better cared for.'
" Judge, Basil, how the blood, which for a moment had receded
to my heart, rushed anew to my face when Lord Willesden, in
answer to my almost breathless inquiries, acquainted me with the
name of his expected visitant!
"Yes! It was herself. It was the object of my first and only
attachment. The husband, I thanked Heaven, was not to bear
her.company, his military duties rendering it impossible for him
to leave England. She was to come alone, as the affectionate
attendant of her dying sister.
"Never shall I forget the tumultuous nature of my feelings
during the remainder of the day. The ground appeared unsteady
under my feet; the atmosphere too light to satisfy my respiration.
I scarcely knew how to meet the singular occasion that presented
itself for the gratification of the hungry vengeance I had been
cherishing.
" A few more days, and she arrived. "With assumed careless-
ness, I proceeded to question Lord Willesden concerning his sister-
in-law; and with apparent indifference heard that she had been
wedded against her will, and was a repining wife and unexulting
mother.
" 'Thank Heaven,' was Willesden's concluding phrase, 'she will
be content to devote herself to the sick-room. Though still in the
{>rime of life, poor soul, the world has ceased to attract her. So
ong as she can be induced to remain here therefore, I am at
liberty to divert myself to my heart's content.'
" From that moment, my influence oyer Willesden was exer-
cised with wholly different views. Affecting deep compassion for
the position in which he had placed his children, I was constantly
preaching reformation. _ Aware of the feebleness of his nature, I
was certain that every time his fair sister-in-law pleaded the cause
of his injured family, he would exclaim, ' You are almost as great
206 THE MOtfET-LEKDEK.'
a bore as Cleryal. Just such are the arguments my friend'is
perpetually using.'
"I was observant, nevertheless, while figuring in the novel
character of a Mentor, not to neglect the care of my reputation as a
man of gallantry. The sick-room of Lady Willesden was fee-
quented by the Duchess of Gordon^ and. half-a-dozen other
Englishwomen of rank, who glittered in the gay world of Paris
during the brief cessation of hostilities between the two countries;
and I spared no pains to render my name a constant topic of-
discussion in their fastidious circle.
"Never had fetes excited so supreme a sensation as those which
I devised to dazzle the eyes of my unsuspecting country-women.
Never was exclusiveness so insolent as that which I affected con-
cerning their admittance within my gates. Sometimes, those gates
unclosed for the diversion of hundreds of guests, who were feted
with the prodigality and fancifulness of some Arabian tale. Some--
times, the number of the favoured was limited to a single for--
tunate group, and not a syllable allowed to transpire of the nature
of the entertainment; till, like Louis XIV., I was honoured by
the frivolous beauties of the day with the name of ' The Enchanter.'
"My object was speedily accomplished. I learnt from Willes-"
den that my peculiarities excited considerable curiosity in his-
family circle.
"' Lady Willesden seems revived as by a miracle, by her sister's
arrival,' said he one day, as we were dashing back to Paris from the
Chateau de Clcrval, at the utmost speed of a set of fine English
horses, to be in time for the opera; and the first symptom or her
reviving health is inquisitiveness about yourself. These women
want to make your acquaintance, Clerval. When will you come
and dine with me ?'•
" With sudden reserve, I pleaded old-standing engagements for
a fortnight to come; and Willesden being perfectly aware that
many of these were of my own creation, the sensitiveness of an
embarrassed man attributed my reluctance to join his circle to
the distress of his fireside, and the defects of an unaccomplished
cook.
" ' I am aware,' he retorted, ' that I have nothing to attract an'
Amphytrion like yourself. Nor should I have presumed to invite
so exquisite a gastronome, to fast at my humble board, but for the
importunity of my sister-in-law to make your acquaintance. Your
munificence as a patron of the arts (of which she has taken it into
her flighty head to become a votary, to console herself, I suppose,
for disappointment of the affections) has strangely excited her
interest m your favour.'
"I bowed and smiled, but made no move towards conciliating
the wish thus intimated. On the contrary, the plainer his hints,
the more resolutely did I keep aloof. At length, alarmed lest he
might estrange me from himself by further pertinacity, Lord Wil-
lesden desisted; and my firmness served only to augment the rest-
less curiosity of those against whose peace my manoeuvres were
directed.
" Meanwhile, I had seen her again, From my box at the opera,
THE-MONEY-LENDER. 201
and in "the public promenades, I had beheld the object still and
ever dearest to my heart; and the sight did but still further stimu-
late my projects of vengeance. She had now attained the full
maturity of womanly charms. The lovely girl of eighteen had
become the beautiful and commanding woman of thirty. How
beautiful, the admiration she attracted, whenever seen by glimpses
in the society of Paris, sufficiently attested; hoiv beautiful, the
tumults of my own distracted heart, as I hurried on such occasions
from her presence, afforded a far more painful proof. Unrestrained
in all other pursuits and inclinations, the caution and self-control I
was forced to observe in this, served only to augment the force of my
Sassion. I was becoming madly and desperately in love; far more
esperately than when, with the purer fervour of boyhood, I wooed
her to become mv bride.
" I appreciated too highly, Basil, the gentle nature of that be-
loved being, to suppose it possible the mere dazzlements of vanity
would suffice for her captivation. I knew that she must respect
the man, as well as admire the patron, before the brilliant Clerval
created any serious impression on her feelings. To effect this, I
contrived that, in all her little acts of charity, my name should be
beforehand with hers in the exercise of benevolence. She could
not extend her hand to the orphan or the widow, but mine had
been already outstretched.
"Many of these instances were mere clap-traps, got up to at-
tract her notice. By the aid of money, Basil, anything may be
manufactured to order, even ' cases of extreme distressand little
did that humane woman suspect that the wants she fancied herself
to be relieving were as much an effort of art as the scenery of the
Grand Opera!"
"I scarcely conceive, sir," suddenly interrupted Basil Annes-
ley, " the advantage likely to arise to either of us from these con-
fidences. If an effusion of penitence, it is not for me to grant you
absolution. _ If a matter of vaunt, I entreat you to refrain from
avowals which are gradually exciting my disgust."
" Hear me to an end," cried Abednego. " I address you neither
in a tone of hoastfulness nor of whining remorse ; but as a man
having wrestled hand to hand with the sorest temptations, willing
to impart to one he dearly loves the fatally-earned fruits of his
experience.
" All I can do in deference to your scruples, is to pass over briefly
the snares with which I encompassed the path of my victim:
sometimes hoping, oftener despairing of success. But if unable a
second time to conquer her affections, I was resolved at least to
humble her pride.
" Spring was in its prime, when I announced one of those gor-
geous entertainments, which used to set the fashionable world of
Paris into commotion. It was to be a daylight fete at my chateau
on the Seine ; and a flotilla of Venetian barges, long in preparation^
was launched for the purpose of conveying my guests to the land-
ing stairs. It was speedily rumoured among the invited, that not
a single English person was to be included among the guests of
Mpnsiepr de Clerval; and though "Willesden, my constant com-
202 THE MONEY-LENDER.
panion, flattered himself that, as a matter of course, an exception
would be made in his favour, I took an early opportunity to inform
him that, having an especial object for my Fetes des Lilacs, I was
forced to exclude him among the rest of the English pretendants,
" Though evidently nettled by my communication, Willesden
was too deeply my debtor to hazard a syllable of remonstrance,
Attributing the word ' object* to some reigning lady of my thoughts,
he ventured to banter me concerning the mysterious liaison de-
manding such vast concessions ; and I replied in terms of romantic
gallantry, which, I justly surmised, would be repeated by his fire-
side, and. serve only to excite new interest in my favour.
" Without intending it, Willesden was constantly betraying to
me the fruition of my schemes. While informing me how often he
was forced to become my champion with his wife and sister, bis
silly vanity exposed far more than he intended. Hedidnotdis-
guise from me how grievously his lovely guest was mortified to find
herself excluded from the only house in Paris she had the slightest
curiosity to enter.
"Hooked grave; and when Lord Willesden again approached
the subject, abstained wholly from his society. Nay, if we met, by
chance, in the Bois de Boulogne, I assumed so cold and louring a
countenance, that the poor man was terrified by the wrath he had
provoked.
" The amount of 10 U's, and bonds, bearing his signature, in
my strong box, rendered it unsafe for him to give offence to one so
potential. Abednego the Jew_ had reduced the insolent English
peer to the most abject subservience.
" By degrees, he was compelled to assume a still viler attitude.
The embarrassment of his affairs rendered a further levy of money
indispensable; and not a banker could be found to assist him.
But 1 had so often obliged him, and had of late assumed so forbid-
ding a countenance, that to me he dared not apply ; nor was it till
the humiliation of finding his wife and guest on the eve of be-
coming homeless, drove him to the application, that he once more
addressed me in the subdued tone of a suppliant.
" Before the request had half escaped his lips it was granted,
Nay, the amount of the loan he desired Avas trebled, and forced
upon him, till, in the exuberance of his gratitude, Lord Willesden
would, I verily believe, have subscribed to any terms his creditor
saw fit to propose.
" 'Bo not perplex yourself about such a trifle,' said I, ' I am only
too happy to assist you. If you Avish, my dear Willesden, to oblige
me in your turn, all I have to ask is, that you Avill admit me, as a
friend, into your family circle, in spite of any remonstrances that
may be addressed to you by Lady Willesden and her sister.'
" ' Remonstrances ?' repeated the astonished Willesden. ' Why,
I have been hinting to you for the last week the earnest desire or
the latter to make your acquaintance.'
" ' The lady's good intentions may subside after she has seen me.
Besides, I shall not be satisfied with the concessions of mere ac-
quaintanceship. The object of my ambition is, to stand preeminent
in her favour,'
XffiS MQNET-ZENDBB. 208.
"' In that ease, my dear Clerval, I cannot flatter you with much
prospect of success,' replied Willesden, somewhat embarrassed.
* Though unhappy in her marriage, she is incapable of losing sight
of her duties as a wife and mother.'
" 4 Of course!—All English ladies are so rigid in their principles
—so correct in their conduct, that one cannot but wonder how such
libels as divorce bills are suffered to go unpunished.'
44 4 1 am not vaunting the virtue of my sister-in-law,' replied
Lord Willesden, the blood mantling in his sallow cheek convincing
hue that nothing but his obligations towards me prevented him
from knocking me down. 4 She has no heart to bestow. In early
life she formed a low connexion; the influence of which, my poor
wife assures me, she has never been able to throw off.'
44 It was now my turn to flush with anger. The insolence of the
noble insolvent confirmed me in my evil projects.
44 4 No one is able to calculate upon the caprices and fantasti-
calities of woman's nature,' said I. 4 All I ask of you is a solemn
promise that, whatever ungraciousness may be testified towards
me by Lady Willesden and her sister, you will not deny me access
to your house.'
44 4 Deny you access ?' cried his lordship. 4 You, my best friend,
my benefactor. You, who throughout the winter I have been
courting as a guest ?—Absurd !'
44 4 Absurd, perhaps. But having hitherto resisted your invita-
tions, I will not even now accept them, unless under a written
guarantee that my welcome is secured.'
"After the numberless obligations he had signed in my favour,
this appeared a trifling concession; and laughing heartily at my
squeamishness, Lord Willesden entered readily into what appeared
to be a joke, by drawing up a paper ensuring me access to his
house at all hours, and under all possible circumstances.
"I conclude that, with certain modifications, he announced my
sudden caprice to his wife. For I had reason to know that my
visit was expected and prepared for. I chose, however, to be ex-
pected in vain!
"Nearly a month passed; and Willesden must have attributed
the wayward conditions I had dictated to some momentary whim ;
for, so far from availing myself of the permission I had extorted,
I abstained from associating even with himself. Curiosity and.
interest were, accordingly, excited to the strongest in his family
circle, concerning the man whose movements were erratic as those
of a meteor; and, on my announcing a second summer entertain-
ment at my chateau, La fete des Roses, with similar restrictions
as to the English, with the single exception of Lord Willesden's
family, I rightly conjectured that my invitation would be accepted
with gratitude.
44 Money forms the magic of our epoch. But Paris, above all
Other places, affords an auspicious field for the exercise of its fairy
wand. Resolved that the last fete of the mysterious Clerval should
excel all his previous efforts, I was ably seconded by the genius of
that new renaissance des arts, fostered under the auspices of the
Vonsulate.
204 • THE MONEY-LENDEE.
" But the enormous outlay which afforded ample occupation to tHe
wonderers of the great world, was produced less hy the splendour
of the entertainment than by my conceit of producing, on the
banks of the Seine, an exact reduplication of those weU-remem-
bered gardens of Cadiz, the scene of the happiest moments of my
life. The illusion was complete. Tree for tree,—arbour for ar-
bour,—the spot which had witnessed my midnight interviews with.
her, was reproduced for the occasion.
" It was there, Basil, I received her ! It was there I advanced
to welcome that repining wife, when, in all the exuberance of
matronly beauty and leaning on the arm of her brother-in-law,
she beheld before her the injured lover of her youth."
CHAPTER XX.
A poor, weak woman !
Ay, take up the phrase, ye babbling thousands,
From century to century !—Woman's weakness
The pigmy man hath scope of intellect
To measure !—But by what expanded powers,
What newly kindled energies of soul,
Shall he attain the power to estimate
Her strength,—her truth,—the greatness of her virtue?
When strong, and true, and great, no living thing
Great, true, and strong as she! Akenside.
" In the perversity of my heart, Basil Annesley, I anticipated
with confidence the success of my projects. The humiliations of
former days were effaced by a series of triumphs. Everything, of
late, had prospered with me; and long accustomed to the adoration
of the vain and interested, I doubted not that the woman described
as a ' repining wife,' would be content to atone for all I had under-
gone for her sake.
" But while triumphing in the strength of our vices, we are apt'
to calculate too largely on the weakness of others. Whether as
the arbitrary voluptuary of the East, or the corrupt Epicurean of
Paris, my experience had not prepared me for the integrity of
heart,—the self-respect,—the womanly purity,—the feminine pride,
—arrayed against my pretensions. She not only resented the
manoeuvres by which she had been betrayed into my presence, but
rejected, as an insult, my protestations of unaltered attachment.
" Had I approached her in a less presumptuous guise,—had I
appeared before her poor,—humble,—friendless,—the promptings
of her heart might have stood my friend. But she despised the
ostentatious man who stood before her as a conqueror. Her clear
understanding, her upright purposes, were not to be baffled by
my shallow intrigues; and the net in which my subtlety had entan- -
gled her shallow brother-in-law was unable to enfold her in its
meshes.
"I have not courage to recite the opprobrious terms in which shq
manifested her insight into my views and character.
IHE MONEY-LENDER. 205
My father and family judged wisely,' said she; ' and I now
admit that I was blinded to your real character by partial affection.
The penalty invoked by the blaspheming Jews upon themselves
and their children's children, has converted you,—even you, Osalez,
—into an idolater of Mammon ! You have attempted to dazzle,
by gorgeous prodigality, the heart that might have been moved to
seek you out in penury or affliction. My father was right. There
exists no sympathy between us.'
" Judge of my indignation,—judge of mv despair, on hearing
this bitter condemnation! When she withdrew in all the dignity
of wounded pride from my presence, I felt that the whole aim of
my existence was frustrated !
" For two following days, I shut myself up in surly desperation.
On the third, I emerged from my solitude, with the amended pur-
•pose of imploring forgiveness, and offering atonement. She was
gone. She had quitted Paris. Mistrusting the protection of her
rother-in-law, she was on her road to England,—to the safe keep-
ing of an honourable husband.
"' My unfortunate sister is the companion of my inauspicious
journey,' said the letter she addressed to me from Dover. ' Should
the effort prove too much for her declining health, it is you who
will have sentenced her to death. Apprised by Lord Willesden
of his insolvency and the ruin of her innocent children, she had
not courage to abide, pi a strange land, the penalty likely to be
enforced by a nature ruthless as yours. Her husband remains
behind to answer you with his person. Do your worst. If you
dare, render Lord Willesden your prisoner, as he is already your
dupe!'"
"But you did not dare!" interrupted Basil Annesley, whose
mind appeared suddenly relieved from some terrible apprehension.
"You had not courage to inflict a further injury on this noble-
minded woman ?"
" You say truly. I had not. But others were more relentless.
Some months after her return to England, slanderous tongues an-
nounced to her husband that my flagitious scheming had prospered.
As I live and breathe, Basil, I had no share in the tale of scandal.
It was the diabolical invention of some enemy. Yet groundless as
it was, it drove the unhappy man into the grave !
' " He perished, Basil Annesley, at the head of his regiment, on
the field of honour ; but it was with the cruel conviction that his
wife was an adulteress, and his unborn child the offspring of
shame.—Unhappy woman.—To be cursed with a husband and a
lover alike incapable of appreciating the virtue of her soul. _
" The poor atonement in my power to offer, was not withheld.
But far more contumeliously than even her father had rejected me,
• did she decline the offer of my hand. Regarding me as the assassin
of her brother, the murderer of her husband, she spurned me from
her presence. She spoke of her duty towards her children.—Her
cliildren. 1 he girl had been by its father's will, already withdrawn
tTwmiSd«Sd r"wmir°rtnt F7 ?ow T ^iE
Basil—Basil!—"Why did „ AI offsPnno of crime.—
intercede in my behalf!" ^ ur httlehands upraise themselves to
204 THE MONEY-LENSES.
" But the enormous outlay which afforded ample occupation to the
wonderers of the great world, was produced less by the splendour
of the entertainment than by my conceit of producing, on the
banks of the Seine, an exact reduplication of those well-remem-
bered gardens of Cadiz, the scene of the happiest moments of my
life. The illusion was complete. Tree for tree,—arbour for ar-
bour,—the spot which had witnessed my midnight interviews with.
her, was reproduced for the occasion.
" It was there, Basil, I received her ! It was there I advanced
to welcome that repining wife, when, in all the exuberance of
matronly beauty and leaning on the arm of her brother-in-law,
she beheld before her the injured lover of her youth."
CHAPTER XX.
A poor, weak woman !
Ay, take up the phrase, ye babbling thousands,
From century to century !—Woman's weakness
The pigmy man hath scope of intellect
To measure !—But by what expanded powers,
What newly kindled energies of soul,
Shall he attain the power to estimate
Her strength,—her truth,—the greatness of her virtue?
When strong, and true, and great, no living thing
Great, true, and strong as she! Akenside.
" In the perversity of my heart, Basil Annesley, I anticipated
with confidence the success of my projects. The humiliations of
former days were effaced by a series of triumphs. Everything, of
late, had prospered with me; and long accustomed to the adoration
of the vain and interested, I doubted not that the woman described
as a ' repining wife,' would be content to atone for all I had under-
gone for her sake.
" But while triumphing in the strength of our vices, we are apt'
to calculate too largely on the weakness of others. Whether as
the arbitrary voluptuary of the East, or the corrupt Epicurean of
Paris, my experience had not prepared me for the integrity of
heart,—the self-respect,—the womanly purity,—the feminine pride,
—arrayed against my pretensions. She not only resented the
manoeuvres by which she had been betrayed into my presence, but
rejected, as an insult, my protestations of unaltered attachment.
" Had I approached her in a less presumptuous guise,—had I
appeared before her poor,—humble,—friendless,—the promptings
of Tier heart might have stood my friend. But she despised the
ostentatious man who stood before her as a conqueror. Her clear
understanding, her upright purposes, were not to be baffled by
my shallow intrigues; and the net in which my subtlety had entan-
gled her shallow brother-in-law was unable to enfold her in its
meshes.
"I have not courage to recite the opprobrious terms in which shq
manifested hey insight into my views and character,
ME MOKE Y-LEKDEK. '205
• My father and family judged wisely,' said she; 4 and I now
admit that I was blinded to your real character by partial affection.
The penalty invoked by the blaspheming Jews upon themselves
and their children's children, has converted you,—even you, Osalez,
—into an idolater of Mammon ! You have attempted to dazzle,
by gorgeous prodigality, the heart that might have been moved to
seek you out in penury or affliction. My father was right. There
exists no sympathy between us.'
" Judge of my indignation,—judge of mv despair, on hearing
: this bitter condemnation! When she withdrew in all the dignity
of wounded pride from my presence, I felt that the whole aim of
my existence was frustrated !
" For two following days, I shut myself up in surly desperation.
On the third, I emerged from my solitude, with the amended pur-
■pose of imploring forgiveness, and_ offering atonement. _ She was
gone. She had quitted Paris. Mistrusting the protection of her
brother-in-law, she was on her road to England,—to the safe keep-
ing of an honourable husband.
"'My unfortunate sister is the companion of my inauspicious
journey,' said the letter she addressed to me from Dover. ' Should
the effort prove too much for her declining health, it is you who
will have sentenced her to death. Apprised by Lord Willesden
of his insolvency and the ruin of her innocent children, she had
not courage to abide, ip. a strange land, the penalty likely to be
enforced by a nature ruthless as yours. Her husband remains
behind to answer you with his person. Do your worst. If you
dare, render Lord Willesden your prisoner, as he is already your
dupe!'"
"But you did not dare!" interrupted Basil Annesley, whose
mind appeared suddenly relieved from some terrible apprehension.
" You had not courage to inflict a further injury on this noble-
minded woman ?"
" You say truly. I had not. But others were more relentless.
Some months after her return to England, slanderous tongues an-
nounced to her husband that my flagitious scheming had prospered.
As I live and breathe, Basil, I had no share in the tale of scandal.
It was the diabolical invention of some enemy. Yet groundless as
it was, it drove the unhappy man into the grave !
He perished, Basil Annesley, at the head of his regiment, on
the field of honour ; but it was with the cruel conviction that his
-wife was an adulteress, and his unborn child the offspring of
shame.—Unhappy woman.—To be cursed with a husband and a
lover alike incapable of appreciating the virtue of her soul.
"The poor atonement in my power to offer, was not withheld.
But far more contumeliously than even her father had rejected me,
did she decline the offer of my hand. Regarding me as tlie assassin
of her brother, the murderer of her husband, she spurned me from
her presence. She spoke of her duty towards her children.—Her
children ! The girl had been by its father's will, already withdrawn
from her protection. The boy—the innocent boy now nestling in
her bosom—had been rejected bv him as the offspring of crime.—
Basil—Basil!—Why did not your littlohands upraise themselves to
intercede in my behalf!"
206 THE MONET-LENDER.
"My presentiments, then, have not deceived me!" cried the
young man, starting from his seat. " It is, indeed, my dear and
unfortunate mother who has been through life your victim !"
"My victim ? There was no earthly sacrifice I would not have
made to obtain permission to become the humblest slave of her
household. My victim ! Ho, no, I was hers. Maddened by her
indifference, her abhorrence, I rushed into the most frantic excesses.
I flew to the gaming-table. The cold, calculating Clerval played,
for once, like a child.
" My lucky star deserted me. My long-boasted opulence was
gradually melting away. Even the securities I held in pledge from
willesdcn, were at length staked and lost, and gained by those who
did not hesitate to expose him to reprisals, attributed by his unfor-
tunate wife and family to myself.
" On the brink of ruin, I looked around me for some desperate
chance whereby to retrieve my fortunes, or achieve an honourable
death. War was raging in Germany, and I joined the army of the
Sambre and Meuse as a volunteer. By degrees my heart warmed
to the standard under which I had enlisted. All other pains and
pleasures exhausted, the excitement arising from a military career
was a bewildering novelty; and as a means of inflicting humiliation
on a country allied with my natural enemies, I embarked all the
energies of my nature in the cause of the Eagle of France.
"Like all other men in earnest in their profession during the
supremacy of Napoleon, advancement followed. I was speedily
rewarded by a commission. I was promised further promotion.
But my military career was destined to a cruel interruption.
" In traversing Heidelberg, in the course of my campaign, remem-
hering it to be the birthplace of Verelst, I took occasion to make
such inquiries respecting the condition of my sister as proved that
her letters addressed to my father, intimating her miserable desti-
tution, conveyed no exaggerated picture of poor EachaeFs fallen
fortunes.
" Pampered by prosperity, the stubbornness of cruelty was still
rampant within me; for the evil practised against myself had taken
root in my soul, and was bringing forth bitter fruits. Having
sworn never to behold her more, I made it a virtue to adhere to my
oath; and though moved to alleviate her misfortunes, bestowed my
humble gift upon her in the shape of alms from a stranger, rather
than as an offering of brotherly love.
" The jealous feelings of Verelst took alarm. He pursued the
Capitaine de Clerval who had presumed to send a gift of money to
his lovely wife. But the artist's application for an audience hav-
ing been answered by an insult, the indignant man waylaid my
coming forth, and rewarded my insolence with a blow. 7
" In the intemperance of the moment I drew my sword, rushed
upon him, would fain have fought him—have killed him ! But no
more than a slight wound had signalized my frenzy. I was seized
and placed in arrest. Imperial discipline was rigorous on such
points; and I, so lately the man of millions, might possibly have
been shot like a dog, after a hasty court-martial, had not Verelst
come forward with attestations of—Guess on what plea the fool
pretended to preserve my life—Guess!"
5CHE MONET-LENDER. 207
Basil Annesley shrugged his shoulders in intimation of ignorance.
< " Insanity /—And his wife being my nearest of kin, his attesta-
tions were received with deference. While I stood by, in custody,
and listened, the fellow presumed to swear before my face that, for
some years past, my conduct had been indicative of aberration of
intellect.
" It is true his absurd depositions saved my life. But at what a
cost:—to be sent back to Paris under escort, as a lunatic. To be
•deposited in Charenton, till the physicians decided upon my case !
In the irritation of all I had to undergo, I accused Yerelst and my
sister of getting me shut up for life, with a view to obtain the
administration of my remaining property."
"Yerelst is as incapable of such an act of baseness as the first
noble in the land !" cried Basil, with warm indignation.
"I agree with you, now that I judge the case dispassionately.
But wait, young gentleman, till you have been seized and manacled,
till you have had your head shaved, and been starved and douched
atthe caprice of an experimentalizing apothecary, to judge equitably
.of the motives of your incarcerator I" said Osalez, with a shudder.
" Had my poor brother-in-law entered my cell at Charenton, I am
convinced I should have throttled him on the spot.
"There, however, Basil, there as elsewhere, gold proved my
■ sword and my buckler. One of the visiting surgeons was a shrewd
man, who soon saw through the nature of my malady and position;
-and when he proposed confederacy, I drove no hard bargain in
assigning the sum for which he was to get me placed in a Maison de
Sante, as partly convalescent; and, in process of time, pronounce
me cured, and obtain my enlargement.
" It was during that gloomy interval of imprisonment, Basil, that
-my nature became thoroughly desophisticated. I learnt, by hard
•authority, with how many of the so-styled necessaries of human
life, human nature is able to dispense. I soon found myself the
happier for lacking menial attendance. My greatest luxury was to
be alone. _
. "Within the four bare walls of my cell, the expansion of my
glowing mind supplied all the splendours of the east. I carried
my paradise within me. My dreams were now of the gardens of
Gruhstan, or the white walls of Cadiz, and lo! I said unto my soul,
.what need of costly tapestries, what need of vessels of gold or ves-
sels of silver, what need of the toys of art, the marble of the sculptor,
.the canvas of the painter, since abiding here in solitary self-
■contemplation, I am as much in enjoyment of these things as when
long use and habit rendered them inostensible under the roof of my
stately Spanish palace or Parisian villa. Compulsory starvation,
compulsory vigils, compulsory self-attendance, soon blunted the edge
»f the most cutting hardships. From that period, I became master
of myself, and doubly the master of other people.
• " Hot to weary you with details, suffice it that I was eventually
restored to freedom. But instead of profiting by my liberty to re-
sume the enervate habits of life which four years of thraldom had
rendered irksome, I devoted myself solely and exclusively to the
Worship of Mammon. I resolved to punish my brother-in-law by
210 TILE MOYEY-LENDES.
ing within me; and Peace brooded oyer her dove-like couplets in
my heart.
" I visited the family in disguise. I learnt to love their virtues,
admire their graces. I have less compunction, Basil, for having
abandoned those lovely girls to the rough schooling of adversity;
for it has left them good, true, generous, tender, all that the gilding
of luxury destroys or disguises in the courtly bred. For worlds,
I would not have their honest natures resemble the frippery do-
nothingness of your friends the Maitlands. Nor would I have had
them heartless and proud—like—like her ;—for all the happiness
of old age must arise from their gentle companionship.
" And now, Basil Annesley, (lest I see you again place your hand
on your waistcoat-pocket in search of the toy by which your use-
less moments are admeasured,) I release you. I ask no opinion,
no sentence, on what I have related. I see, by your altered conn-
tenance towards me, that a revolution has been effected in your
mind. Be not over-hasty. Ponder over these things in your
heart, and maturely weigh them ere we meet again."
Believed by this intimation, the young soldier rose calmly and
coldly from his seat, and glanced towards the panel by which he
had accomplished his entrance.
"No need to sneak out thence," cried the old man, assuming a
more cheerful tone. "I shall be proud to introduce you into
another of my households." And throwing open the door of a
dining-room, hung with masterpieces of the old masters, he con-
ducted him through a handsome library into a snug dressing-room,
where his well-brushed coat and hat, his handkerchief and gloves,
formally set out, were awaiting him. Involuntarily, young Annesley
shrugged his shoulders.
"You are thinking of Delahay-street, eh?" observed Osalez,
with a smile. - "To me both places are of the same account. My
heart and soul are not empty enough to find room for petty
wants,
' "When the mind's free, the body's delicate.'
Should you ever acquire objects in life of the engrossing nature
that absorb the attention of a great capitalist, you will cease to
take thought of the softness of your couch, or flavour of your
dishes. Yet why not do myself fuller justice in your eyes, by
avowing that half the privations to which you have seen me expose
myself, were acts of voluntary penance.
"Alas, Basil! if not a Jew, 1 merit, I own, the charge made by
St. Paul, of being ' in all things too superstitious.' I incline much
to sacrifices of atonement. That you sought and befriended me
amid the wretchedness which appeared so real, seems intended by
the Almighty as repayment for my self-inflicted tortures." _
"While buttoning on his coat, Osalez intimated to his visitor a
desire to transport him in his carriage to the West end of the town.
" Still harping on your horse ?" cried he, when his young visitor
again excused himself. " Fear nothing. By my orders, Zebedee
conveyed the beast back to your stables, half an hour ago,"
l'HE MONEY-lENDElt. 211
" "Why, you do not even know my stables," cried Basil, almost
with indignation.
"I know all and everything that concerns you. And now, will
you come back and dine with me quietly in Bernard-street ?"
Already Basil had excused himself, while Osalez was about to
step into a chariot awaiting him at the door of the handsome man-
sion, froin the spacious hall of which they were emerging together,
when an intimation that the Verelsts were already the inmates of
their wealthy kinsman, induced him to pause. His scarcely audible
mutterings about a change of dress were scouted by Abednego.
"How long have you been such a coxcomb ?" cried he. "The
last time you dined with me, you had not changed your dress.
"Why so much respect for the Verelsts ? Have you not been the
child of their house,—the friend of their fireside ? At all events,
come with me, and I will drop you when we reach Temple Bar."
"You have persuaded Verelst, then, to give up his engagements
to the Marquis ?" inquired Basil, as they drove at a rapid pace
through the city.
"On the contrary, I never even attempted it. I appreciate too
highly an artist's independence of mind. Let him distinguish
himself,—immortalize himself, if he can. So much the better and
happier for them all. The girls and their mother will reside with
me during his absence in the North."
On arriving in Bernard-street (for, once installed in the carriage,
Basil found it impossible to resist the old man's solicitations) young
Annesley was as cheerfully welcomed by Mrs. Verelst and her
daughters as ever he had been to their humble fireside, either at
Heidelberg or in London.
"Ungrateful girl!" mused the young soldier, as he contemplated
the open, radiant countenance of his beloved Esther. " Not a
sympathizing care has she bestowed on the wretchedness she must
know her present prospects to be creating."
And, sooth to say, Esther and Salome accosted their young friend
as amiably and frankly as if there had been no Duca di San
Catalda in the world.
" You have already officiated as my valet; let me now act as
yours," cried Osalez, addressing Basil, and motioning to his pompous
butler to lead the way to his dressing-room. "Dine with us,
Basil, you must and shall. I have some Neckar wine which Verelst
swears is superior to Hoehheimer—(Lord Maitland, no doubt, has
made you a judge of Hock!)—and which will open your heart and
his, and carry you both back to your cordial days of old."
O 2
212 the money-lender.
CHAPTER XXI.
H est vrai que dans mon Avril' calme et severe,
J'ai yu s'eteindre plus d'un chimere
Plein de douces choses;—
Mais quoi! me croyez v&us assez fou pour rever
L'&ernite des»rose?? Victor Hugo.
The London season was now in process of revival. Like a ydufl#
crocodile bursting from its egg, it was beginning to sun itself ifi
the unprofitable waste of sand wherein its mischiefs are appOr-
tioned. The pavement of St. James's-street had re-gathered into
a jabbering crowd its insolent population; and hackney-coacheS
began to rumble unnoticed amid the growing multiplicity of pri-
vate equipages, dashing through the streets of the "West-end.
Even old Carrington, at the commencement of his twentieth
season about town, was beginning, like the old sooty trees in St.
Paul's Church-yard, to put forth a few leaves and airs of rejuVen-
escence. New swarms, the produce of the old, were gathering ill
the club windows ; and the cry for news, the habitual croak of the
frogs swamped in the morass of fashionable dulness, waj great in
the land.
They had done with the " smash at Rochester-house." Let H6t
the most prodigal of dukes presume to hope that his ruin will form:
more than a nine days' wonder. The Rochesters were gone abroad,
and nobody so much as cared to know what was become of theni.
Every one had inquired to whom his Grace's French cook had dfi-
gaged himself; and everybody ascertained who were the fortunate
purchasers of his cellar of vines. What more could the fashion-
able world desire to hear about the matter ?
Most welcome, therefore, to the gaping loungers of Crocky's was
the hint in general circulation, that crash the first was about to be
succeeded by crash the second; and that Lord Maitldnd was soon
to follow the example of the Duke of Rochester, and leave forty
thousand pounds' worth of plate and furniture to pay an aggre-
gate of one hundred thousand of debts.
It is true some score or two of intimate friends had, on the break-
up'of the establishment in Arlington-street, had their dinner to
seek elsewhere, twice or thrice a week. Still, this species of world-
ling is seldom of a calculating nature. In the present day of
ostentation, so abundant are the manna and quails of fashionable
prodigality, that it is almost more difficult to find guests fof
dinner-parties, than dinner-parties for guests. There is always
some newly-inheriting blockhead, or ninny just come of age, to be
sponged upon by the cormorants or hangers-on of the aristocracy.
On the whole, therefore, they were almost as well satisfied to
have Lord Maitland's ruin to gossip about, as his claret to drink.
" It really only serves him right!" was the charitable summing-
up of one who had been his co-mate in the Jockey Club and the
House of Lords, ever since they arrived together at years of indis-
cretion. " Maitland used to call himself an unlucky fellow on the
turf. Now, unlucky is a very plausible word for blundering*
THE MONEY-LENDER. 213
When a man is * unlucky' from year's end to year's end, without
a chance of retrieving himself, he must know, or ought to know,
that the bent of his genius does not lie that way. The turf, to
make it answer, requires a man of superior mind. Many a Chan-
cellor of the Exchequer would be puzzled to make up a book!
■And really it was poor Maitland's duty, as a family man, when he
found himself the dupe of every stud-groom or trainer that came
in his way, to adopt some other pursuit. Instead of which, look at
his losses at Ascot, last year, at Epsom this, at Newmarket, every
year of his life."
" Maitland was certainly as regularly done as a man could wish
to be!" rejoined another, whose name was inscribed to the amount
of some thousands in the registers of A. 0. " But what can a man
expect who gets into the hands of the Jews ? To my certain know-
ledge, Maitland has been raising money for years, at the rate of
ten, twenty, thirty per cent. What rent-roll can stand against
that sort of thing ? The moment one's cursed stewards find that
money is an object, they throw such obstacles in one's way as to
double^ the amount of interest clapped on by the Money-lenders.
As to timber, Maitland Castle would be puzzled to furnish a broom-
stick!"
But of all the scoffers who jeered over the downfall of their
hospitable entertainer, Carrington was the worst; inasmuch as the
levity of a grey head is the worst of levities. When taxed by his
brother officers with his attentions to Lucy Maitland, the old beau
kept up the farce of youthful dandyism, by protesting that he had
" meant nothing," and that it was no fault of his if the London
girls made a dead set at a man, and then fancied the advances had
proceeded from himself.
' " I was not more at the Maitlands than twenty other fellows,"
said he, craning his long throat in his stock.
"But at your age, old boy," cried Wilberton, "You have no
business to be doing what twenty other fellows are doing; you
ought to be showing us an example, and mending our manners.
For instance, it was nothing my going to Arlington-street, or Lady
Maitland inviting me, because everybody knew it was only as a
stop-gap. A younger brother—a butterfly like myself, passed in
the house like the idle wind, which men regard not. While you,
my dear Carr, you, with your comfortable little estate in Hamp-
shire—Wiltshire (where the deuce is it,—no matter,) you, with your
comfortable little esta-te and family mansion, cannot pay attention
to a girl without seriously compromising either yourself or her.
If I were John Maitland, I would call you out. We shall be
having the poor girl in a deep decline, produced by the volatility
Of the Dowager Colonel!"
It was partly under the influence of this bantering, and partly
for the gratification of his inordinate curiosity, that Carrington
consented to accompany Wilberton to Arlington-street.
• " It will be but decent," said both, "if we leave a card of com-
pliment before these people go out of town."
^ But Lady Maitland was one of those who both preach and prac-
tise the doctrine of putting a good face upon the worst of matters.
214 THE MONEY-LEHDEK.
Lest any shyness on her part should seem to confirm the unpleasant
rumours in circulation concerning the family, she chose to receive
morning visitors up to the very day of resigning the family man-
sion to the new tenants; and while the two girls sat, nervous and
out of spirits, fully aware of the ruin of at least their prospects in
life, she continued to assign the most plausible pretexts for absent-
ing themselves from town at the commencement of the season.
" It is rather hard on Lucy and her sister, to carry them off just
as the gaieties are beginning," said she. " But these physicians
are so peremptory ! They assure us that Kissingen will be of no
sort of service to Lord Maitland's gout, unless he begins the waters
in the month of June."
"I understood," observed the Dowager Colonel,—who_always
"understood" best the things concerning which people wished to
keep him in the dark,—"that Lord Maitland was to remain at
Mivart's till the close of the session, and then join your ladyship
at Wiesbaden, or Kissingen, or wherever it may be ?"
" Certainly," replied Lady Maitland,—in some confusion,—
"certainly,—certainly. But it is necessary that we should be on
the spot early to secure proper accommodation for the family. In
those kind of places, if you arrive late, you get the worst apart-
ments of the worst hotel at the dearest rate. The Russians
monopolize everything!"
In order to avoid the stare of incredulity manifested in the dis-
agreeable countenance of Old Carrington, her ladyship began to
talk about the charming rococo shops she was assured she should
find at Rotterdam; and an exquisite fan which some curiosity-
hunting countess of her acquaintance had picked up among the
the Dutch Jews on the quays of that amphibious city.
All she could do perforce of hypocrisy was done to give to her
enforced exile the air of a party of pleasure; and Lucy Maitland,
who had hailed with delight the arrival of two of her brother's
friends, in hopes they might let fall tidings of Basil Annesley, felt
ashamed of the adroit disingenuousness with which she heard her
mother varnish over their retreat.
Young Wilberton, who was really good-natured, took pains to
appear convinced they were making an amiable personal sacrifice
to the health of the head of the family; and when, on some allu-
sion to a change in the distribution of the morning-room, produced
by the removal of certain family pictures and the musical instru-
ments of the girls, which had been sent down to Maitland Castle,
he saw tears come into the eyes of Lucy and her sister, felt too
sincerely sorry for them not to put a speedy term to his visit.
"If you should see Mr. Annesley,' stammered Lucy Maitland,
as she extended her parting hand towards him, "tell him how
much we regretted not to have wished him good bye, previous to
our departure from England. I trust we shall often hear through
my brother of his welfare."
Such was the clinging to a vain illusion, with which_ the poor
girl comforted herself in quitting England for her mortifying exile;
and such are the constant results of the injudicious system of
familiarity maintained in England among yoting people, at the
period of life when a look,—a word—may produce a fatal bias in
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 215
the affections. For what can be hoped from the perspicacity of
seventeen in ascertaining whether the attentions of an ingratiating
companion are the mere result of accident and good humour, or of
serious preference ?
For the last two years, the Maitland girls had received from the
knot of young men frequenting their father's house, attentions
such as, in any other country but England, are paid only on the
eve of marriage. Yet not one of these men of wit and pleasure
about town but would, have resented as an injury any insinuation
that the ruined family had peculiar claims on their devotion.
Even the popularity of the Maitlands had vanished with their
father's excellent bills of fare; and had they now required a
friendly arm to assist them through the crush-room at the opera,
or call up their carriage in the crowd, it was only some very young
ensign who was likely to present himself for the duty.
But the conduct which, in such men as Blencowe and Loftus,
arose from utter heartlessness, had been in Basil Annesley the
consequence of pre-occupied feelings and modest self-estimation.
It had always seemed impossible to him that any homage he could
show to any living woman was likely to engage her affections;
least of all, the vain, showy Maitlands, apparently so wedded^ to
the superficialities of life. Moreover, his attachment to Esther
Yerelst had been from the first of so absorbing a nature, as to
render him wholly uncognizant of the susceptibilities of other
women. He had frequented the Maitlands' house like all the rest
of John Maitland's friends; and treated the ladies he found there
with the utmost deference; but, more as belonging to the sex of
his beloved mother and adored Esther, than for any charm he
discovered in their affected prettiness and flippant gossip.
At the moment such tender parting messages were despatched
to him by the mistaken Lucy, he was seated between Mrs. Yerelst
and her daughter, under that hospitable roof where he had very
little expected ever to find guests so completely to his taste. In-
stead of the jargon of stockbrokers, and the lingo of bullion mer-
chants, the table of Osalez was now cheered by a thousand
affe<gfcr&nate references to past pleasures and early enjoyments.
The Drother and sister, with mutual consideration, seemed to over-
look the lapse of the last painful and trying twenty years of their
existence, in order to recur to the brighter season of their youth;
to the happy girlhood of Rachael ere her brother had loved or
suffered; to the_ boyhood of Osalez, ere he conceived it possible
that he should live to become the persecutor of the gentle sister
whose birth was hailed as the second blooming of the family tree.
But if those twain were happy in the renewal of their natural
affections, what was the warm-hearted artist on finding himself
thus hand-in-hand with his former pupil, his generous benefactor!
What were the two girls, in so unlooked-for a restoration to the
intimacy of their better years! What cheerful memories of the
past were summoned up between the four! What happy remini-
scences of pleasure-parties on the banks of the Neekar, in which
Basil was their guest; or fireside evenings during his slow
convalescence at Heidelberg.
Above all, how fondly did Basil, hoping to bring a blush of
216 THE MONEY-LENDEB.
shame to the cheek of the guilty Esther, revert to a certain sum-
mer evening immediately before his departure from Germany, when,
on the invitation of the Graf Yon Ehrenstein, they had enjoyed
together a simple repast of wine and fruits among the ruins of the
old Electoral Castle, cheered by a band of Styrian musicians who
were sojourning in the town.
But though Esther Verelst perfectly remembered that it was on
this occasion she had first become conscious of the womanly nature
of her love for Basil, by her reluctance to join in some pastime
that brought them too familiarly together,—it was Salome who
blushed,—Salome who so rarely heard pronounced the forbidden
name of Ehrenstein, and who had not yet learned to hear it with
indifference.
Still, neither the momentary sadness of one of the sisters, nor
the despair of Basil, at the belief that the thoughts of his com.-
panion were straying to the absent San Catalda, prevented that
evening,—the first-fruits of a family union brought about by his
instrumentality,—from being one of unqualified enjoyment.
"I must not indulge myself often in this way!" exclaimed
Basil to himself, shrugging his shoulders as he quitted the house
containing so many tvho were dear to him. Cheered by their
happiness, I must not lose sight of the dearest and most unfor*
tunate of mothers. In order to determine on what grounds I am
to stand hereafter towards the man whose destinies have been so
strangely intermingled with our own, I must hasten to Barlingham,
open my heart to her, and ascertain what influence this frankness
may exercise in obtaining her confidence in return. Should she
have aught to resent beyond what his admission has unfolded,-*-
dear as they all are to me, never will I look upon the face of one
of them again. They are now happy. They are now prosperous.
They need me not!—It is I who am now to be pitied. The care,
and trouble, and misery of life are henceforward for me and
Barlingham. I can have no further anxiety for the fate of the
future Duchess of San Catalda, or the pampered relatives and
guests of A. 0.
CHAPTER XXII.
The stately ships go by
To their haven under the hill,
But oh! for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still.
Break—break—break,
On tliy cold grey stones, oh sea !
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me !
Tennyson.
At the present season of the year, Basil had little difficulty in
obtaining leave of absence for his purposed visit to his mother.
His brother officers were now as eager to be in London as, three
months before, they had been to get out of it, to Melton; and at
the close of a few days, he set out for Barlingham,
THE MONEY-LENDEK. 217
It was through the twilight of a glorious evening in May, that
he now traversed the fields, a glorious evening, fragrant with the
breath of hawthorns; the springy, thymy herbage buoyant beneath
his feet, and the woodlands quivering with that tender foliage of
early spring, whose beauty is as of an hour's duration.
On reaching the small platform in which the surly old mansion
stood isolated, his heart sunk within him. The dread of his
mother's mournful voice and aspect overpowered his spirits. The
embarrassment, the chill invariably benumbing his feelings in the
only spot on earth where he was entitled to feel at ease, exercised
their usual distressing spell upon his heart.
On entering the sitting-room, he found Lady Annesley seated in
her high-backed ebony chair, at her writing-table beside the open
casement, _ enjoying, in solitary meditation, the balmy sweetness
of that delicious night. The dews were rising, the birds at rest.
All was stillness, holiness, and peace. But though she must have
seen him traverse the little bridge across the moat in order to reach
the old portal, she had not stirred a step to greet her son. Never-
theless Basil flattered himself that he discerned in her countenance
' tokens of more than ordinary good will.
" You are welcome, my dear child! " was as much from the lips
of that austere recluse, as more impassioned caresses from a more
demonstrative parent.
It was always difficult to enter into conversation with one who
took so little interest in worldly events, or the frivolities with
which ordinary women are amusable. Anecdotes of the day,
accounts of a new opera or forthcoming ballet, a brilliant debate or
the last new novel, elicited from her a listless monosyllable—nay,
sometimes the most reproving severity of countenance. On the
present occasion, to his surprise, she was the first to question him
Concerning the dissipations of London.
•'With whom have you been living lately?" said she, in a
cheerful voice. "The breaking up of the establishment at Bo-
Chester House must have been a loss to you,—frequenting it as you
did. The Maitlands, too, _ I find, are about to quit London. You
used to speak of their society as a resource. How will you be able
to part with the pretty fair-haired Lucy, who is said to regard you
with such partiality ? "
" The Maitlands were apt to regard with partiality any disen-
gaged young man disposed to trifle away his time at their house,"
replied Basil, becoming grave in his turn.
" Knowing which, you should have been on your guard against
any entanglement of the poor girl's affections," retorted his
mother. "In such matters, a woman's peace of mind is the last
thing considered; though, Heaven knows, no holier trust is con-
fided to man by the hands of his Maker, than the happiness and
well-being of his apportioned partner."
"I heartly agree with you ! " cried her son; " and should hate
myself were I capable of dealing lightly -with any woman to whom
I believed myself an object of genuine attachment. Lucy Mait-
land, on the contrary, has trifled with me; since, while indulging
in what London calls flirtation, she was prepared to accept the first
elder son, with good prospects, who came in her way."
218 THE MONEY-LENDER.
" And yet," resumed Lady Annesley, "I was assured, in a letter
I this day received from London, tliat your affections were
irrevocably engaged. You have a right to look surprised, Basil.
Few indeed are my London correspondents; and of those, none
occupy my attention with idle gossip. I will not keep you in un-
easy suspense, however. It was Yardyn, my solicitor, who (in
answer to certain instructions I sent him concerning a new codicil
to my will, necessitated by the decease of poor Nicholas,) apprised
me that he had good reason for believing my son to be on the eve of
an advantageous matrimonial connexion with a young lady for
whom he had long entertained an attachment. Some one, you see,
has been imposing on the credulity of poor Yardyn. For he is inca-
pable of the liberty of inventing a report of any kind concerning
you; least of all one calculated to pain me, with the belief that
my child had formed engagements of so serious a nature, without
consulting the parent whose life has been devoted to his in-
terest."
"Believe me, dearest mother," cried Basil, "that had I enter-
tained in the remotest degree the projects which Mr. Yardyn's
officiousness imputes to me, you would have been the first to be
apprised. My intimacy with the Maitlands was never concealed
from you."
" But you assure me that to them the report could not possibly
attach?" <
" Certainly not. Their father is a ruined man. A match with
Lucy Maitland would have been as imprudent in a pecuniary point
of view, as unadvisable in any other."
"The allusion, then, decidedly regards some lady with whose name
lam unfamiliar," resumed Lady Annesley, with hauteur. "Far
be it from me, Basil, to force myself on your secrets. But I am
getting weary of mysteries. As we approach the grave, Basil,
the claims of those we love to our entire confidence, acquire stronger
force. A few short years, and all that can be known of any of us,
must be known to all. To what purpose, then, the petty disguises
and hypocrisies with which, through life, we conceal them from
each other ?"
Basil Annesley was more amazed to hear such a sentence escape
his mother's lips than by all her previous amenity. It seemed as if
aware of the purpose of his visit to Barlingham, she were affording
him encouragement to open his heart.
"I am in some degree aware," said he, with sudden strength of
resolution, "that recent circumstances,—that circumstances in
which I have been involuntarily concerned,—have given rise to a
general belief of my attachment. To make you the confidante of
my feelings on this occasion, dearest mother, was needless. For
the young lady whom your solicitor describes as an heiress and the
future wife of your son, is in fact engaged to another;—another far
richer and more important than a poor lieutenant in the Guards."
"You are unhappy, then," exclaimed Lady Annesley, her
features relaxing into sympathy. "Basil,—my child,—my dear
child—why have you not unfolded your troubles to your mother ?"
" My mother has, I fear, experienced too many of her own to
T3£E MONEY-LENDER. 219
leave me an excuse for aggravating her cares!" replied young
Annesley, deeply touched by this unexpected conciliation. " Some
day or other, when the wound is less recent, I will tell you, mother,
the story of my hopes and disappointments."
" That any living woman should have preferred rank and fortune
to the attachment of such a heart as his!" burst involuntarily
from the lips of Lady Annesley, as she contemplated the fine person
and intelligent countenance of her son.
"My dearest mother," whispered Basil, gently taking her hand,
"you would forgive her and cease to pity me, if you knew all.
Had my attachment been rewarded by the love I sometimes feel
that it deserved, had I indeed obtained the promise of her hand,
your consent to our marriage would never, never have been
granted!" '
"Alas! my dear Basil," replied Lady Annesley, " your supposi-
tion comprehends a world of accusation against your mother.
Great indeed must be your mistrust of my tenderness, since you can
conceive me capable of opposing any marriage likely to secure
your happiness. But harsh and severe, as I may at some moments
have appeared,—no scruples of worldly pride would have deter-
mined me to withhold my sanction to a match where your affec-
tions were engaged. Vardyn described the object of your love as
accomplished, amiable, affluent, all that I could desire in a daughter-
in-law."
"There are prejudices which neither pecuniary_nor personal
advantages might enable you to surmount," rejoined her son,
anxiously.
" As regards mere worldly distinctions," replied Lady Annesley,
with a bitter smile, "I have long ceased to put my trust in
coronets."
"There exist many social degrees below nobility," observed
Basil, in a faltering voice. " "Were the object of my affections, for
instance, of Jewish origin ?"
" Even then,'' interrupted Lady Annesley, " if by faith and pro-
fession a Christian, I should not presume to raise objections.
Listen to me, my son," continued she, in a voice whose subdued
mildness was as balm to the ears of Basil.—"Even such a preju-
dice as that to which you allude proved the means of disuniting
your unhappy mother from the object of her earliest love : nor has
a long life of affliction sufficed to expiate my weakness, in suffering
myself to be torn from his affections, and bestowed upon an
honourable man, to whom I dared to give my hand, while my heart
remained pledged to another. Oh, Basil, Basil! of what faults,
what crimes, has not that weakness been the origin!"
The breath of young Annesley grew shorter and shorter with
agitation. But he had too deliberately provoked this terrible ex-
planation to shrink from the crisis.
" In my own family," resumed Lady Annesley, in a low but
firm voice, " this cruel prejudice produced fatal results. The heir
of my father's house, my infirm but beloved brother, fell the victim
of a struggle arising from the intrusion of my affianced lover under
his father's roof. But nobler victims were yet to be sacrificed.
220 THE MONEY-LENDER.
The object of my early affection was a man of honour and virtue.
Alas ! the disappointments, the humiliations, the slanders to which
he was subjected by the pride of my family, reversed his very
nature, and converted the energetic youth, burning to devote hie
talents to the service of his country, into a vindictive and malig-
nant profligate. Driven from England by the tidings of my en-
forced marriage, he became a wanderer in the East, hopeless, law-
less, reckless; and, on his return to Europe, laden with the spoils of
his prodigious opulence, converted them into means of evil and ven-
geance. The family of my unfortunate sister, to whose interference
and influence he attributed my union with your father, was ruined
by his instrumentality : for a dissolute sensualist now replaced the
accomplished scholar,—the gentle friend,—the aspiring philanthro-
pist. And yet, Basil, this corrupt and selfish egotist not only
presumed to entertain hopes of rekindling the affection effaced from
my heart by the ties of conjugal and maternal affection, but those who
should have j udged me better, the husband to whom I had been a true
and submissive wife, the family which had witnessed my un-
swerving career of wifelike devotion, dared to believe that my
heart reverted repiningly to the object of its first attachment,"
The indignation flashing in the fine eyes of Lady Annesley could
scarcely fail to provoke corresponding glances in those of her son.
"Admit that I was most unhappy!" cried she, encouraged by
this sympathy. " Thwarted in my early hopes of happiness,-—
embittered in heart and soul on the threshold of life,-—yet having
derived fortitude from my sense of duty to embrace with ardour my
appointed destiny,—I was once more smitten to the very heart's com
by finding myself an obj ect of suspicion. Basil! I was again about
to become a mother—your mother, my dariing son;—when some
cruel enemy poisoned your father's heart against me by the most
groundless accusations. Persuaded that a visit I had made to Paris
in behalf of my unfortunate sister was a mere pretext for rejoining
the once loved being who, at that period, under an assumed name,
was outraging, by his vices, all the decencies of' society, your un-
fortunate father denounced me to his family ; loaded me with insult
and cruelty ; then, as if only the more terribly to attest the j ustice
of his accusation, applied for a perilous command in the Peninsula,
and died at the head of his regiment; leaving his widow disgraced
and his orphan son tacitly disowned. Thus, Basil, thus were you
born to me—in tears and misery,—an outcast,—a child of shame
and remorse ; but, as the Almighty hears and judges me, the child
of an irreproachable mother!"
Already, Basil was at his mother's feet, with her hands clasped
between his own, and pressed alternately to his quivering lips and
tearful eyes. For many minutes, all he could utter consisted in
incoherent tributes of affection to that injured woman, and curses
against those whose calumnies had proved so fatally triumphant.
" It was not for me to cherish resentful feelings against him who
had so cruelly expiated his mistrust," faltered Lady Annesley, in
reply to the indignant ejaculations of her son. " The tortures your
unfortunate father must have suffered in the belief of my worth-
THE MONEY-LEXEEE. 221
lessness, sufficiently atoned for mine. Nor was I blameless, Basil,
though, innocent of this great offence; for I had married him to
escape from an unhappy home,—without affection,—my heart still
yearning for another. When first Sir Bernard Annesley burst into
his furious and frantic accusations, this consciousness so weighed
upon my soul as to prevent my replying to his injurious imputa-
tions with the open and fearless self-possession of innocence. I knew
myself guilty of a fault, though not of the crime attributed to me
by the father of my children."
"It was on these grounds, then, dearest mother," said Basil,
anxiously " that the Annesleys had the audacity to remove my
sister from your protection ?"
" They did their duty. Such were the last injunctions of your
father!"
"But, surely, the distress into which they saw you plunged at
his death, might have served to satisfy them of your innocence ?"
"How were they to distinguish between tears of wounded
affection and tears of remorse ? If the eye of a husband had been
so deceived in his estimate of my feelings, what had I to expect
from them f They had never loved me. Suspecting, in the first
instance, the reluctance with which I had given my hand to Sir
Bernard, they had not sufficient greatness of mind to estimate the
deep and anxious devotion by which that fault had been redeemed.
They still saw in me the sullen daughter of Lord L , arming
myself by the protection of an honourable husband against the
resentment of others. Their duty to the dead was consequently
harshly and rigidly performed. In the first agony of my widow-
hood, my girl was taken from me. I remonstrated, and was loaded
with _ scornful reproaches. Ah ! Basil! Basil!—little can you
imagine the bitterness of the tears that fell upon your infant face,—
your first sad baptism into the sorrows of human life."
" I can indeed imagine all you must have suffered, my precious
mother!" cried he, encircling her with his arms. " Yet let me also
dare to hope, that in those early days of affliction your son became,
your solace ? It was for me you lived through your troubles ? Yes,
it must have been for me you lived; for what remained to you but
the helpless infant clinging to your bosom ?"
"I did indeed love you tenderly," replied Lady Annesley,—tears
of affection stealing for once unrepressed down her pale cheeks. " I
loved you as a victim, I loved you as a comfort, I loved you as my
companion in misfortune. They had torn my first-born from my
arms. I knew that my poor Helen was to be reared among those
who would consider it a duty to inspire her with coldness and
contempt towards her father's widow. But my babe,—my nurs-
ling,—my hopeful boy still remained ; and at length I learned to
be almost gratef ul for the stigma cast upon him by his dying father,
as the means of securing him through life to his mother's embraces.
By day, by night, you never quitted my arms. Does your memory
carry you back so far, my son, as those days when we were never
an hour apart ?"
" I remember," faltered Basil, scarcely daring to lift his eyes to
222 TILE MONEY-LENDER.
his mother's face, " a sudden change—an inexplicable change. I
seemed to have become an object almost of loathing in your
sight."—
"Alas ! my son," replied Lady; Annesley, "my passionate affec-
tion had proved the means of confirming the unjust suspicions of the
Annesleys. Contrasting the submission with which, in my con-
sciousness of helplessness, I bad reconciled myself to their assump-
tion of authority over my girl, with my almost frantic fondness for
the poor infant, the only object left for me to love,—they chose to
impute this supposed preference to my love for the father, revived
in the person of the child! In my first interview with the brother
of Sir Bernard, on hazarding an appeal to his feelings in behalf of
the helpless nephew so shamefully disowned, in whose infant
features those of his brother were already developed, he sternly
bade me beware of outraging the memory of the dead! ' To this
wretched child,' said he, ' the law forces us to concede the name of
my brother. But presume not, Madam, to provoke by further
hypocrisy, an exposure of the truth. Let it suffice to the offspring
of your shame, that bis mother lavishes on bis head the affection
she does not even pretend to profess for her legitimate daughter.
The indignant family of the gallant man whom your wantonness
has precipitated into the grave, is neither to be deceived nor
insulted. Nay, more; though, so long as you refrain from public
interference with our plans for your daughter's education ana hap-
piness, the interests of Helen will be cared for, the moment you
abandon the decent retreat into which your remorse has betaken
itself, and appear before the world as the virtuous widow of Sir
Bernard Annesley, all shall be disclosed; and, by the terms of my
brother's will, his fortune forfeited to a public charity.' "
" What insolent tyranny,—what shameful injustice!" cried
Basil, starting up and pacing the room. "For his sake, lucky that
my uncle is in his grave!"
" I believed, ana believe him to have been actuated by a sense
of justice, to the memory of an injured brother," was Lady Annesley's
mild reply, " and for Helen's sake I submitted. The dowry, of
which Sir Bernard was unable to deprive me, and which, in virtue
of the fortune he had received with me, from my father, I felt
entitled to accept, was regularly paid me by the executors ; and
has sufficed, by careful economy, for your education and support.
All the concession I ever claimed at their hands, was an occasional
interview with Helen. But to what purpose? At every fresh
meeting I found her little heart growing colder and colder towards
me. By degrees, her embraces became formal,—at length, reluctant.
I saw that the affections of my child were alienated for ever ; and
frjom that moment, so bitter has it been to me to meet her cold
contemptuous eyes, that from the period of her marriage I have
ceased to claim from her the outward ceremonies of filial duty.
Children have been born to her, Basil, whom I have never held in my
arms ; children in whose veins my blood, and yours, and your mis-
judging father's is flowing; yet who will never be more to us than
the children of the stranger."
"But this must not be!" cried Basil. "Now that I can judge
THE MOHEY-EEHHEK. 223
the full extent of injustice and persecution to which my beloved
mother has been subjected, I will no longer endure the contumely
heaped upon us both. Be it mine to assert your innocence to these
scandalous accusers. Be it mine to assert the unspotted honour of
my mother!"
"Alas! my dearest Basil!" cried Lady Annesley, "who will
believe you ? Interested as you are in the attestation, and with-
out means of proof, the attempt would only draw upon you the
contempt and persecution of those who have hitherto restrained
themselves within bounds of moderation. The Annesleys have left
me unmolested to the happy task of presiding over your welfare,—
I have never complained. I am content.—Be submissive and con-
tented in your turn !"
" Contented, so long as I know there exists a human being who
has dared to vilify my mother ?" exclaimed Basil, with generous
indignation. "No, no !—they shall retract their accusations.—
They shall replace you in your becoming station.—They shall seek
your pardon in contrition and self-abasement—"
" My poor boy!" interrupted Lady Annesley, with a melancholy
smile, " I was in hopes the rough schooling of the world had
moderated your enthusiasm. How are you to achieve all this ?
By what influence, by what authority ?"
" By the influence of truth!—The cause of the just—"
" The cause of the just!" interrupted his mother, " has been for
the last five-and-twenty years, a lost cause. If the agony of my
soul, when emerging in my widow's weeds from the great peril of
childbirth, I swore upon my bended knees that I was falsely accused,
failed to convince these obdurate people, what chance that your
partial and unsupported pleadings will be more successful ?"
" Heavily shall that man account to me, were he even my sis-
ter's husband, who persists in his incredulity !" was young An-
nesley's stern reply.
" God forbid, that I should owe my disculpation to deeds of
violence!_" retorted Lady Annesley, with equal resolution. " Al-
ready this unhappy cause has been the means of spilling human
blood. Let it sink in the ground and be forgotten, as I shall soon
be in my turn. My father, brother, sisters, even poor Nicholas,
has departed. May a succeeding generation be happier, and wiser,
and more blest in the propitiating mercy of Heaven !"
"So long as you live, mother, the act of exculpation remains a
duty!" exclaimed Basil, for once presuming to resist the authority
of his mother.
" Exonerated in your eyes, I am satisfied," replied Lady An-
nesley. " The load of opprobrium under which I have struggled
through my latter days 1 accept as an act of expiation towards the
memory of that noble soldier, of whose services I was the innocent
means of depriving his country. In his grave be buried all remem-
brance of my griefs. Even to you, my only son, I am perhaps un-
justifiable in exposing them !"
" Dearest mother,—your sorrows had already received the tri-
bute> of my tears," murmured Basil, again pressing her hands
'Within his own.—" Already had I heard the tale of that ill-fated
224 THE MOJfEY-EEXDEB.
attachment; already sojourned with you among1 the fragrant gar-
dens of Cadiz; already shared your noble resentment when insulted
at the Chateau de Clerval!"
" You know all, then !" cried Lady Annesley, starting from her
seat. " Thank Heaven, at least, that though thus mysteriously
forestalled in my disclosures, it has not been by the tongue of an
enemy. Had you believed me guilty, my own Basil, you would
not be by my side."
" I know you to be all that is best and noblest in human
nature !" cried her son,—" and will bear witness to it in the face of
the assembled world. It was from him, mother, I learned the
history of your wrongs and misfortunes. It was from his lips
that—"
" My son," interrupted Lady Annesley, her lips quivering with
emotion—" you deceive yourself, or would deceive me. You were
yet a child when that unfortunate man atoned his faults and follies,
by an honourable death! Like your father, Basil, though in a
cause less sanctioned, he fell on the field of battle. Enrolled in the
imperial army as a volunteer, he perished on the plains of Auster-
litz. This—this is all the trace that remains of him on earth !"—
she continued, talcing from the desk the miniature which, on a for-
mer occasion, had excited such agitating surmises in the mind of
her son. " Look upon this face, Basil!—examine the lineaments of
this noble countenance, and own that it excuses the early tender-
ness of your mother!"
"As a pretext for averting his eyes from her own, young An-
nesley gazed for some moments in silence uppn the picture; deli-
berating in what terms to attempt the startling explanations, more
than ever indispensable.
" After the warm interest you have avowed in the original of this
portrait," said he, in a faltering voice, and without daring to lift his
eyes to the face of his mother,—" I scarcely know in what words to
reiterate my assurance that he lives; that only yesterday my hand
was enclasped in his, warm with the throbbing pulses of life and
health. He has been,—he is,—my friend,—my guide—my bene-
factor. It was from the confessions of Osalez I learnt to appre-
ciate all the greatness and goodness of my mother. Next to your-
self, he is the person who has exercised most influence over the mind
and fortunes of your son."
Lady Annesley clasped her hands together in breathless emotion.
" Do not deceive me, Basil!" cried she. " This suspense is per-
haps a greater trial than I can bear. Let me hear those words
again. He lives, you say ;—he has been your friend ?—"
" He lives. He is prosperous,—generous,—powerful. His crimes
have been bitterly repented, cruelly atoned. Sad as has been your
seclusion, mother, the expiations of Osalez have been those of a
voluntary martyr. Till he became acquainted with your son, and
in affection for him re-opened his heart anew to the charities of
life, his existence was that of the most miserable of mankind. It is
only now that—"
The words were suspended on the lips of Basil Annesley, for he
saw that they were uttered in vain. Another moment, and he was
hanging in anxious terror over the body of his insensible mother.
THE MONEY-LENDER. 225
CHAPTER XXIII.
I may not count my sunny days of youth,—
Their brightness dazzles me! Easier the task
To number o'er those cheerless years, whereon
The drizzling rain of sorrow, falling ever,
Made a perpetual atmosphere of clouds,
"Worthy the wretch I am!
Massinger.
Slow and painful was the struggle of returning life to that long-
suffering woman, who had borne the heavy hand of sorrow with
more fortitude than she evinced under tfee reviving touch of com-
fort and affection. It was in vain that, when gradually satisfied
of the accuracy of Basil's strange revelations, she attempted to
lessen the force of her previous admissions ; and right thankful was
her son that the secrets of her heart had been fully developed
before the startling fact of Osalez's survival imposed discretion on
her lips. Basil now knew all. He knew the worst; and that
worst imposed no insuperable enmity between Lady Annesley and.
the lover of her youth.
" Thank Heaven!" exclaimed he, in the joy of his heart, "lam
able to reconcile my duty to my unfortunate mother with grateful
affection towards the family I have adopted as my own. In obtain-
ing justice from my father's representatives, I may also arm myself
with the influence and strength of one, whose evidence none will
gainsay. f Osalez is generous. He will not withhold his aid in sub-
stantiating the innocence of the woman over whose happiness he
has exercised influence so injurious."
On pretence of professional duty, but in reality with the view of
hastening to re-kindle in his sister's heart a sense of duty towards
their injured mother, Basil Annesley, after another day at Barling-
ham spent in_ confidences serving only to enhance their mutual
affection, hurried back to town. He was eager for a further con-
ference with Osalez; eager for new explanations with Mrs. Verelst,
of whom it had delighted him to hear his mother talk with interest
and affection, as little Racnael, the joy of her father's house, at the
happy period when the family of Lord L were the guests of
the elder Osalez.
But on reaching London, he found th at the lapse of those few short
days had sufficed for the creation of new disquietudes. Almost
with the celerity and mystery attendant upon the former disap-
pearances of A. 0., the little family wras ofice more dispersed. At
the earnest invitation of the Marquis of , Mrs. v orelsfc and
Salome had consented, it appeared., to accompany the artist in his
expedition to the Xorth; and during their absence, Esther was to
remain domesticated with the Branzinis.
" The young lady could scarcely have remained here alone, sir,"
observed the confidential butler, in Bernard-street, on noticing the
mortified air of Annesley; "for my master, as you are probably
aware, has quitted England."
"Quitted England? Mr. Osalez quitted England?" exclaimed
r
22 G THE ilO^TEY-LEXDEB..
Basil, irritated out of all patience "by a measure which. he was dis-
posed to regard as the result of one of the mysterious caprices of
A 0., " And whither is ho gone, pray ?—To Spain ?—To Itome?''
" You will learn,sir, at his house of business in the City, to which
he has ordered his letters addressed for transmission to the Conti-
nent. I rather suspect, sir, from what I heard from one of Lord
Maitland's discharged servants, that Mr. Osalez has proceeded to
Germany."
"To Germany!—Lord Maitland!" again reiterated Basil; and
connecting in his mind the recent insinuations of his mother, eon-
cerning his attachment to Lucy, with the former banterings of
Abednego on the same subject, he turned from the door, in inex-
pressible terror, lest the mistaken kindness of Osalez should
prompt him to an uncalled-for interference on his behalf with .the
Maitland family.
" In the kindliness of his heart, he may, perhaps, set about com-
pensating my disappointment of the affections of his niece by pro-
curing me a wife to whom he intends to supply the fortune vaunted
by my mother's solicitor ! More than once lias he alluded to Lucy
Maitland's sentiments in my favour ; nay, if I mistake not, such
was his pretext for the indulgence shown towards her parents,
and for which John Maitland openly and unreservedly thanked
me. How, how shall I escape, without harshness or discourtesy,
an alliance for which Osalez will probably have foreseen and re-
moved every difficulty ! 1 tremble to think of the offieiousness of
this too active friend!"
It was no great sacrifice to young Annesley to proceed to Mr..
Osalez's house of business, in order to ascertain the route taken by
the traveller. But the information he obtained was far from defi-
nite. Osalez had left London in the Antwerp steamer. His letters
were to be addressed to Frankfort-on-the-Maine. The duration of
his absence was uncertain ; and it was supposed that his ultimate
destination might be Vienna.
Could Basil have ascertained the exact whereabout of the man of
whose mysterious ubiquity he had already obtained such bewildering
experience, he would probably have set forth in frustration of projects
which were, perhaps, after all, but the coinage of his own excited
imagination. But, as so Quixotic an expedition was, for the pre-
sent, out of the question, he contented himself with obtaining the
address of the Frankfort banker to whose care the letters of Osalez
were to be addressed, with the intention of explaining himself by
readier and more certain means.
On taking up the pen^for this purpose, however, so slight were
his adducible grounds for the conjectures by which he had suffered
himself to be disturbed, that he had not courage to allude to the
subject. To decline a wife and fortune which no one might have
entertained the least idea of offering to his acceptance, would
afford an endless source of raillery to his sarcastic friend; and in
addressing himself to Osalez, his puerile and selfish _ anxieties
speedily gave way before the influence of those more important,
interests connected with the fatal name of A. 0.
To describe his recent interview with his mother, to avow, with
TEE MONEY-LENDER, 227.
the utmost minuteness, the painful explanations which had ensued
between them, and implore, with earnestness, the assistance of Osalez
in clearing her inj ured reputation in the eyes of the Annesley family,
and, above all, in those of his alienated sister, became his lirst duty;
and after having enlarged, in eloquent terms, upon the sufferings
and sorrows of the injured recluse of Barlingham Grange, and
despatched the letter according to the directions he had received,
the mind of Basil Annesley became comparatively tranquil. Had
he, instead of indulging in chimerical surmises concerning the
journey of his friend, fulfilled the expectations of Abednego by
proceeding to the house of the Branzinis immediately on learning
the dispersion of the family, all had been already explained.
Osalez had left no letter for him, simply because convinced that his
first object would be a visit to Esther, from whom he would hear
the determination of her uncle to exert his interest for the reversal
of the decree of banishment issued on an accusation of political
offences against the imprudent Yerelst.
Tb his favourite niece, Osalez had confided his projects. Appre-
hensive of startling the harassed nerves of his sister, or exciting
the too sanguine expectations of his brother-in-law, to them he
had disclosed nothing. But Esther, who already assumed an almost
matronly dignity in his eyes, was awaue of his earnest desire to com-
plete the happiness of the little family by the union of Salome with
the young Count von Ehrenstein, and the gift of a dowry calculated
to efface all inequalities of birth. Previous, however, to opening
the negotiation, it was necessary to remove the civic disabilities
of her father; and his object in visiting Frankfort was to
secure, in favour of Yerelst, the intercession of various foreign
ministers in the free city, whom the importance of his financial
position had placed in his interest.
Accustomed to study the mountebankeries of human, or rather
conventional nature, Abednego was not a little amused at hearing
certain of these plenipotentiaries express their regret that he should
have taxed their devotion at so low a rate as to require their inter-
cession in favour of so obscure an individual,—a wretched artist,—
of no more consequence in the scale of creation, or the eyes of the
Hessian government, than one of the lackeys of their establish-
ment; so little were they capable of surmising, in a half-starved
drawing-master of the University of Heidelberg, the brother-in-
law of the potent and influential Osalez, whose name was the sup-
port of their loans. Their ignorance was, however, ninety to one in
his favour. For, had they been conscious of the nature of his interest
in favour of the political delinquent, the importance of their inter-
ference would have been of proportionate magnitude. So little,
indeed, did he insist upon the cancelment of the decree of banish-
ment issued against the poor artist, that within a week it was
placed in his hands ; in exchange for a deed of indemnification,
by which Osalez became responsible for the offender in the paltry
sum of ten thousand florins, which would probably have been
quintupled by the Hessian government, had his Grand Ducal High
Transparency been aware of the relative position of the parties;
To despatch to his beloved Esther immediate tidings of her
p 2
228 THE MONEY-EENDEE.
father's restoration to Ms rights was the first impulse of Osalez.
But it occurred to him that his mission was only half accom-
plished; and that the good news would come with a far better
grace, if accompanied with intelligence of his interview with
Ehrenstein.
On the young Count, the associate of the artist in all his political
delinquencies, the sentence so ruinous to the prospects of the poor
professor, had fallen innocuous. He was not born the subject of
the Grand Duchy; and expulsion from the university of Heidel-
berg in such a cause inflicted no injury on a young nobleman inde-
pendent in fortunes as in principles.
Save for the displeasure with which Ms imprudence was visited by
a widowed mother, the somewhat severe guardian of his minority,
he would have seen nothing to regret in the event; save the inter-
ruption of his friendship with Ms good old master, and more than
friendsMp with the lovely fellow-student, whose name he dared no
longer even mention in presence of Ms irritated parent. ^
In the hope that submission might ultimately propitiate the
indignation of the irate dowager, the young Count had in the in-
terim patiently submitted to her caprices, the companion of her
summer tours and winter fireside. On the arrival of Osalez
at the Sehloss von Ehrenstein, he found that the Countess and
her son were installed for the summer at the baths of ScMangen-
bad; and thither he betook himself, not a little amused at being
thus accidentally included among the flocks of cockney tourists
swarming in the environs of the Rhine.
Years had elapsed since Abednego last visited those< beautiful
provinces. It was in the van of Napoleon's still victorious army
he had last crossed the " exulting and abounding river," then
undesecrated by steamboats, and preserving all its majesty of
frontier demarcation. Under the influence of navigation compa-
nies and advertising hotel speculations, all seemed to have subsided
into littleness and vulgarity. The very rocks appeared less ma-
jestic, and the river less noble, when viewed as the lions of plea-
sure-parties and the attractions of contract excursions.
But in the interval which had accomplished those superficial
changes, what moral transitions had he not witnessed: the ex-
tinction of empires,—the dismemberment of kingdoms,—the an-
nihilation of dynasties,—the downfall of governments. AH nations
and languages seemed confounded in the memory of Osalez, when
he recalled to mind that the Prussia of to-day had been the France
of yesterday; that sovereigns now on the throne were at that
period wandering exiles; and the sovereigns now wandering in
exile, then despots on the throne !
By comparison with such vicissitudes, the changes in Ms own
destinies became of poor account. When he reflected that the
mighty army he had seen poured like a torrent on the Rhenish
shores, had subsided into nothingness; that, of the great leaders
whose names, at that period, kept provinces in awe, many had
sunk into a grave already forgotten,—many lived to survive their
immortality,—while a few retained possession of their influence
Over the public mind, only by serving in their old age a cause
THE MONEY-LENDEE. 229
whicli their youth had been devoted to crush and extinguish,—he
ceased to wonder at the inconsistencies of his minor career, and
began to contemplate with less poignant regret the littleness of
the aims and ends to which his great privations, his mighty efforts,
had been laboriously directed. Since even potentates were thus
baffled, since even states and empires appeared such futile toys
and implements in the disposing hands of Providence, since the
gifted leader of that triumphant army had been fated to perish a
repining captive on a barren rock, what right had Abednego
Osalez to repine that the representative of the merchant princes
of Cadiz should feel doubtful of having his tarnished riches
accepted as the dowry of the last remaining scions of his ill-fated
race.
"Yet which among these royal mountebanks," murmured he
to himself, as his travelling carriage slowly ascended one of the
richly-wooded hills of Nassau, " ever enjoyed as I have done the
contemplation of nature, or study of human nature ? What plea-
sure or pastime did their regal grandeurs ensure, in which I have
not luxuriated with means and appliances far more exquisite ? I
have commanded the raptures, secure from the pains and penalties
of royalty, escaping alike the tedium of a throne and the scorn of
dethronement. There was a time when I ambitioned something
beyond these finite sensualities. There was a time when I felt
within me the germ of a more glorious greatness,—the greatness
of mental superiority. But in how many, besides myself, has it
perished undeveloped, for want of favourable contingencies ? High
faculty alone does not suffice for glory; or what names had Bacon
and Mirabeau bequeathed to our admiration ? Like them, I fancied
myself born to predominate over the feebler spirits of my con-
temporaries. Like them, I perceive, in my decline, that moral
strength was wanting to fortify those clearer powers of perception
on which I vainly prided myself. The world judged truly of me.
I was not born to be a great man. It was not my Jewish name
that betrayed me,—it was my Jewish nature; it was a secret
hankering after the thirty pieces of silver; it was an over mer-
cantile estimate of men and things. So long as I can remember,
have I measured every object around me by its weight in gold. I
thought myself a match for Lord L.'s daughter, because I was
rich. I conceived that I had a right to be listened to in the House
of Commons, because I was rich. I fancied myself justified in
trampling on the neck of my sister's low-born but high-minded
husband, because I was rich. I imagined that I should reconquer
the affections of Sir Bernard Annesley's wife, because I was rich.
But for this inborn vulgarity of nature, I might have become a
great man. "When trampled upon, I should have turned upon my
oppressors with the generous rage of the lion, not with the subtle
venom of the serpent. For though the coil of the boa constrictor
may equal the strength of the king of the forest, its triumph is at
best only that of an overgrown reptile."
The man who could examine thus searchingly and comment
thus sarcastically upon his own condition and motives, was not
likely to be more indulgent towards those of other people. Aware
230 THE MOKEY LENDEK.
that the Maitlands were sojourning aUWiesbaden, he was careful
to inscribe himself in the road-books under the travelling name of
Clerval, by which he had been naturalized in France; in order to
become an unsuspected spectator of the reformation Wrought in
the habits of the family by the indulgence and exhortations of A. 0.
That the leopard should change his spots or the Ethiopian his
skin, was, he knew, as reasonable an expectation as that the China
fancier of Arlington-street would renounce the pomps and vanities
of life in deference to the exigencies of her position ; and it conse-
quently afforded him little surprise when he detected the heartless
trifler he had spared, among the most assiduous courtiers of that
petty fry of royalty, abounding in every foreign bathing-place,
and commanding little reverence, except among the lion-and-
unicorn worshippers of Great Britain.
Wherever a royal or serene highness was lodged,—wherever a
landgrave or margrave was taking his bath,—wherever a princess
or grand-duchess was improving her digestion or complexion, the
tall chasseur and showy carriage of Lady Maitland were sure to be
seen in waiting; nor could a sprig of royal or imperial dignity
spend four-and-twenty hours in the duchy, but, with the vigilance
of the police, she managed to detect their arrival, and fasten upon
them her officious assiduities. In a place, the sober habits of which
secure dispensation from the onerous duties of hospitality, she still
persisted in giving dinners. As many, in short, of the costly follies
of May Fair as were transportable to the wilds of Nassau, did the
idlest of the daughters of vanity continue to cultivate, to the injury
of her family and ridicule of her foreign acquaintance.
It needed only the few words of introduction with which Osalez
had been furnished by Esther Verelst, to create an intimacy be-
tween her uncle and young Ehrenstein; and too happy was the
count in this opportunity of obtaining tidings of the family so dear
to him, to have leisure for much waste of amazement on finding the
girl he had loved in modest obscurity, converted into a wealthy
heiress. It was not that he cared to learn. All his desire was to
know that he was kindly remembered by those he had never for-
gotten; that his seeming neglects were unvisited by resentment:
that Salome was still free to love him, and receive his assurances of
undiminished love. Between a nature so frank as his, and a cha-
racter so decided as that of Osalez, a good understanding was speedily
established.
" Yes, I had already heard of you," replied the young count, in
answer to the abrupt interrogations of his new friend. "You are
not in my eyes, as you may fancy, an ideal personage, like the
oncle d'Amerique of a French vaudeville. It could scarcely be
otherwise. Admitted as I was to the confidence of your family,
united with poor Verelst by the bond of a common peril, . I could not
hut hear men' ion of a certain hard-hearted brother, the monopolist of
his family inheritance, who had, however, so memorably abused
his monopoly, that heaven blessed not his riches with -increase.
PoorVerelst fully believed that you had not survived your ruin; but,
if still existing, he supposed you to be as necessitous as himself.
Under such circumstances he spoke of you -with indulgence, and
THE MONET-LENDER. 231
more than once have I heard your name commended, by the falter-
ing lips of his wife, to the mercy and protection of God !"
"They were kinder to me than I deserved," was the candid
rejoinder of Abednego.
"Accept, at least, my congratulations that you still survive to
become grateful for their moderation," retorted Ehrenstein, more
cheerfully. "Allow me_ even to congratulate myself on your re-
suscitation, _ rich, conciliating, and indulgent, to remove the only
obstacles existing to my perfect happiness in this world. _ For your
openness with me, dear sir, calls for perfect candour in return.
The opposition on my mother's part, the dread of which induced
me to suspend all advances towards a reunion with the Yerelsts
during her lifetime, arose rather from their want of fortune than
want of connection. My mother, the daughter of a Frankfort
banker, has no pretence for demanding from my wife such an
addition to the quarterings of the house of Ehrer.stein as she failed
to furnish. My father's marriage was one of the ' acts of fusion' of
the policy of Napoleon; in those days of imperial supremacy when
he conferred crowns and wives on dukes and barons, as carelessly
as he mediatized princes, or decimated provinces."
" I might have guessed as much from her hauteur," murmured
Abednego, half aside. _ "Never did I.find a woman of illustrious
descent vain of her social distinctions."
" You say truly," replied young Ehrenstein, overhearing him.
" It is one of the inherent evils of what are termed mesalliances,
that they engender a false position, equally sure to create moral
discords. Blessed, however, on this occasion, be the despotism of
the emperor, since it entitles me to demand the consent of my
mother to a marriage which, through your liberality, will serve to
restore the dignities of _ our house to a degree of lustre miserably
tarnished by the vicissitudes of war, while it renders mc the hap-
piest of mankind. The proposal had better, however, originate
with yourself. Let me only recommend that you treat with the
countess as if conferring, an obligation, rather than seeking a con-
cession. _ In point of fact, the obligation is wholly on our side."
_ On this hint, and armed with the personal introduction of the
diplomatic patrons who had already so efficiently served his cause,
Osalez hazarded his overtures of alliance to the guadige Grafinn, to
whose ears the offer of a dowry of five hundred thousand crowns
assumed so_ miraculous a sound, that it needed financial as well
as diplomatic guarantee to convince her of the authenticity of the
proposition. Nb longer did she wonder at the exemplary sub-
mission with which her son, abandoning his political visions, had
contented himself for the last two years with the administration of
the Ehrenstein estates, when she found that this propitious alliance
had been the ultimate object of his hopes."
All that remained for even the most fastidious and ex acting _ of
the family to desire on the occasion, was speedily fulfilled, by a dis-
eovery that the generous Osalez had executed a deed of gift to his .
brother-in-law and his sister's children, of an estate he had for
some years past possessed in the Eheingau, intitling them to rank
among the landed, proprietors of the province; and, on their return to
232 THE MOHEY-LEEDEE.
Germany, occupy a sphere more consonant with the hereditary
fortunes of Mrs. Yerelst, and the prospects of her prosperity.
" But now that your betrothment is decided, my dear Earnest,
what will you do with your pretty English miledis ?" inquired the
venerable Countess of her son, as she exchanged a friendly pinch of
snuff with Monsieur de Clerval, whose prodigious riches rendered
him a species of Itubezahl in her eyes.
" Bequeath them to your care for the remainder of the bathing
season, my good mother," replied young Ehrenstein. '' I fear I can
he no further useful to them, since you kindly sanctioned my pro-
ject of returning to England, to bring you back the best and
prettiest of daughters-in-law.
" Pardon me," retorted the shrewd Countess, with a smile, " I
do not accept your legacy. J have also my duties to discharge. I
must hurry back to Ehrenstein, as becomes a thrifty dowager, and
set the old house in order, for the reception of its new chdtelaine."
" In that case you have only to look out for some high-horn
chanoinesse, to take your place in doing the honours of the country
to these distinguished strangers," replied her son, scarcely able to
repress his delight at the motherly eagerness with which she entered
into his prospects of happiness.
" A chanoinesse f" retorted the Countess, contemptuously shaking
from her withered fingers the remaining grains of Osalez' incom-
parable Macouba. " My dear son, you are either the most artful
or the most ingenuous of your sex, to affect ignorance that even a
Margravine or Grand-duchess would forfeit half,her attraction in
the eyes of these ladies, unless endowed with a marriageable son.
Do you suppose that a poor old Countess von Ehrenstein would have
attracted Miledi Maitland and her daughters to climb up three
steep staircases of the Hotel des Guatre Saisons, day after day,
unless the heart and coronet of her son and heir had passed for
disengaged ?"
" Always those Maitlands!" cried Osalez, shrugginghis shoulders.
" When will my fair countrywomen cease to degrade themselves
by their husband-hunting crusades !"
"It is the fault of your institutions, my good sir," cried the
dowager, sentcntiously; "it is all the fault of your social institu-
tions. In England, you limit your daughters to an inheritance so
scandalously mean, that none but rich men can afford to seek them
in marriage. I\ich men naturally exercise the freedom or caprice
of choice; and these poor girls must consequently either remain
degraded and broken-spirited, like the merchandise of a slave-
market, looked over or over-looked by an ever-varying crowd of
purchasers, or hazard rash efforts in their own favour, still more
certain to bring down upon them contempt and mischance."
"Unless," cried Osalez, good humouredly, " they possess a rich
and idle uncle, disposed to travel by sea and land,—steamboat and
railroad, in order to stir up the decaying members of some luke-
warm young gentleman's expiring attachment!"
The reply of Ernest von Ehrenstein to this attack was a hearty
shake of the hand.
" You must not, however, detain me here longer than the time
THE MONEY-LENDEB, 233
necessary to remove a few coats of gamboge from my sallow visage
by the ablution of your Briinnen of Nassau," said he ; " for I have
another task of a similar nature still on my hands, that will pro-
bably require more time and exertion than your openness of heart
and hand have brought into request."
A speedy departure was accordingly agreed upon. The following
week, the Count was to accompany his new relative through Paris
back to England; and the dowager proceed homewards, for the
joy ops task of preparation.
It did not much surprise Osalez that, in the interim, Lady Mait-
land, on learning from the Grafinn von Ehrenstein the happy
prospects of her son, and that the uncle of the bride—a nabob, a
millionnaire, a more than fermier general—was residing in their
hotel, should dispatch a most flattering invitation to him, under
the name of " Monsieur le Marquis de Clerval, etc., etc., etc." For
that a man rolling in riches could be less than a Marquis, in a
century when titles may be had for paying for, was scarcely to be
supposed.
It was a tempting occasion for the Democritus of Delahay-street
to convict the hypocrisy of a letter addressed to him at his city
office the preceeding week by Lady Maitland; describing herself as
in anxious attendance on an invalid daughter, to one whom she
conceived to be as immovable in London, as a limpet on a rock, or
the giants in Guildhall. (
"Monsieur le Marquis" accordingly hastened to announce his
gratified acceptance, and was careful not only to absent himself
from "Wiesbaden in the interim, but that the Maitlands should
hear of him from the pompous old Countess as dining at Monrepos
with the Grand Duke of Nassau, at Amalienbourg with the Grand
Duke of Baden,—and, more ennobling than all, at Frankfort with
the Grand Duke of Lucreland—Rothschild the Great.
_ On the day appointed for the portentous dinner, the two dis-
pirited girls were exhorted to look their best in favour of the
bachelor Croesus, and of the Margraf von Twitterstein-Humberg
the Prince and Princess Adelberg von Schwinken-Schwanken, and
Grand Marshal Prince Gritten-grettenhoff, whom Lady Maitland
had invited with the Ehrensteins, to do honour to the stranger.
With the exemplary punctuality of continental habits, the illus-
trious foreign guests assembled in her ladyship's drawing-room,
redolent of cipre powder and eau de Lubin, exactly ten minutes
before the hour named on the card of invitation; ana, as usual on
such occasions, these moments of suspense were devoted by the
lady of the house to an exposition of the grandeur and consequence
of the expected visitor.
The dinner hour struck. Again did the tall chasseur expend an
effusion of eau a, parfumer les apartemens, in an antechamber
which a whole Niagara of essences would not have purified from
the scent of Dutch tobacco and soupe aux choux. But alas ! the
Marquis de Clerval was still waited for.
At length, when expectation was at its height, and young Ehren-
stein, who had some experience of the caustic and whimsical
humour of his new relative, began to apprehend some eccentric
234: THE MONEY-lENDER.
retort upon their ostentations lady hostess, the doors were thrown
open, and the attendants of Osalez ostentatiously announced
" Monsieur le Marquis de Clerval." With smiling graciousness
Lady Maitland instantly rose from her seat to welcome the noble
stranger; when to her dismay, in his meanest attire, and with his
least engaging demeanour, in glided the object of her terror and
detestation—the Money-lender, A. 0.!
Too late to countermand the preparations of that luxurious ban-
quet!—too late to suppress the evidences of the renewal of her
profligate extravagance !—even the place prepared beside her table
for the expected guest must still remain, allotted to the being she
most dreaded upon earth !
On some occasions tact supplies the place of higher inspirations.
No sooner had Lady Maitland recovered herself sufficiently to look
her guest in the face, than she saw that whatever his contempt for her
hypocrisy, she had nothing to dread from exposure. The laughter
lurking in his eyes was not of a malicious nature. He was there
simply in answer to her ladyship's ill-advised invitation; and, as
her visitor, chose to be accounted one of the most agreeable who
had ever figured at her board. To the astonishment of the girls,
who saw him for the first time and knew him by description only
as a squalid usurer, the stranger rapidly ingratiated himself witn
all present, as an accomplished gentleman and well-informed man
of the world. Few, indeed, had ever enjoyed such opportunities
of instruction and experience; and his former brilliant position at
Paris, at an epoch when the reascendant greatness of that mighty
capital had been a hidden mystery to German and English eyes,
enabled him to season his conversation with anecdotes of the
highest interest, such as rendered Talleyrand an oracle, and im-
parted piquancy to the characteristic small-talk of Montrond.
All the honours of the banquet, in short, were for him whom
Lady Maitland had heretofore treated as scarcely on a level with
the well-liveried helots of her servants' hall.
Before they parted, a single whispered word from her guest
sternly inculcated discretion, and promised discretion in return.
"We meet and part, Madam, as strangers," said he. "Such is
the condition of my forbearance !"
"I had hoped," replied Lady Maitland, trusting to propitiate
him by adroit flattery,—"that I had gained a most agreeable
acquaintance—"
" Instead of which, you have lost the last shadow of a friend ! "
was the grave retort of her departing guest. " From this moment,
expect neither favour nor succour from one who has discovered, as
the Marquis de Clerval, all the falsehood of your promises to your
gratuitous benefactor—A. 0."
the money-lender.
235
CHAPTER XXIY.
Having seen our state,
Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp
Of equipage,—our gardens, and our sports,
And heard our music, are they, simple friend,
As dear to. thee as once, and have thy joys
Lost nothing by comparison with ours ?
Cowper.
_ " Yon do not thank me," cried Osalez, placing his hands affec-
tionately on the shoulders of the Count von Ehrenstein, as they
stood together the following week in the brightness of a July meri-
dian, on the deck of a powerful steam-vessel, pushing its way
through the sparkling waters of the Thames. " You do not thank
me for having procured you one of the finest spectacles in the
universe!" '
" After the noble shores of our mighty Rhine," replied Ehren-
stein, hoping to provoke his pleasant companion into a playful dis-
cussion—" you will not surely find much to say in praise of this
watery desert ? Do you pretend _ to compare the charm of a few
cockney watering-places and citizen's villas with our rocks and
castles ?"
" My dear Count, I trouble myself as little about your ruined
castles as with yonder green-shuttered nutshells," replied Osalez,
pulling his travelling-cap close over his eyes, the better to contem-
plate a noble Indiaman majestically rounding the Xore;—"the
spectacle which lam inclined to boast is the vitality of this throb-
bing artery of our commercial kingdom. Admit that you have seen
more shipping in the last half hour than during your whole pre-
ceding life! Steam-vessels are scudding past you every minute,
such as your Rhenish provinces would stand on tiptoe to contem-
plate; and as you approach nearer the metropolis, even your
German phlegm will probably be moved with amazement at the
stir and bustle of this greatest water-way of the world. I, you
know, contemplate such matters with a commercial eye; and I
swear to you, that an emperor, surrounded by his glittering court,
affords not, in my estimation, half so majestic a spectacle as reek-
ing, sooty London, begirt by her restless docks and manufacturing
suburbs."
Arrived in town, instead of consigning the young Count, whom
he was so desirous to impress with the greatness of England, to his
dreary residence in Bernard-street,— a quarter of the town as de-
serted in the month of July, as a city visited by the plague,—he
took up his abode in the hotel overlooking London Bridge, to
which the everlasting movement and traffic of the river flowing
beneath its -windows, supplies an animated panorama.
" Here, indeed, you have a monument to be proud of!" exclaimed
Ehrenstein, pointing to the noble bridge of granite, which forms so
striking a contrast to the miserable wooden causeways traversing
the Rhine. " What a busy world,—tvhat life,—what activity!
We provincials contemplate Frankfort as a commercial town? yet
236 THE MONEY-LEKDEB.
it is as the stillness of Herculaneum compared with this perpetual
motion and overwhelming population !"
After thus extorting from his young friend a tribute to the im-
pressive greatness of our metropolitan activity, he chose to con-
trast the busy quays in which his own far-sighted eye took such
keen delight, with the aristocratic mansuetude of Hyde Park; and
when, at eight o'clock that evening, they sat down to dinner at the
Clarendon, Osalez had the satisfaction of hearing from the Count
von Ehrenstein as warm a tribute to the charm of that delightful
summer promenade, as his patriotism could desire. The green-
sward beside the glassy Serpentine,—the line old trees,—the fair
and graceful equestrians,—tne beauty, breeding, and spirit of the
horses,—seemed to have bewildered the young German's imagina-
tion. His narrow experience had not conceived it possible that so
vast a concourse of high-bred loungers could be gathered together,
unmolested by popular intrusion.
" There is something almost chivalrous in such a spectacle !"
cried he, with rapture. " It seems to owe its origin to a modern-
ized phase of the same animus which, in centuries less polished,
created the tournament and tilt."
Basil Annesley, who by the earnest invitation of Osalez, occupied
a third seat at. their table, smiled at the enthusiasm of his young
friend; who, since their parting on the shores of the Neckar, seemed
to have lost none of that ardour of spirit which the cares of life
had somewhat abated in his own more sober bosom.
The young guardsman forgot that Ehrenstein at that moment
beheld all he looked upon through the prismatic illusions of happy
love; that to his ear there was music even in the discordant
London cries, because on the morrow he was to listen to the voice of
Salome ; and that if the grassy ride beside the Serpentine excelled
in his estimation the shores of the Rhine or the oaken shades of the
Prater, it was because he was to set off at daybreak for L Castle,
—where, at the express invitation of the amiable Marquis, he was
to be united to the younger daughter of Yerelst.
That the countenance of poor Basil exhibited so gloomy an ex-
pression arose, on the other hand, from similar motives. The dis-
contents of his heavy heart rendered it difficult for him to praise
the climate of a London July, or even do justice to the centaur-like
perfection of English horsemanship. He was out of sorts with
himself and all the world.
Even to the humorous account given by Osalez of his interview
with Lady Maitland, Basil could scarcely accord the tribute of a
smile. When he reflected on the absurd notion he had conceived,
only a few weeks before, that his friend's expedition to Germany
arose from a desire to find him a wife in that indiscreet family, he
had not courage to join in the general laugh at her ladyship's ex-
pense.
" I can scarcely excuse to my conscience,'' said Osalez, after a vain
attempt to persuade his German nephew, that curious old Port was
a desirable substitute for Asmannhauser, "having deprived those
painstaking misses of their destined prey. _ Do not flatter yourself,
Basil, that you are the only little fish which has slipped through
THE KOHEY-LEHEEE. 237
their meshes. Know that Ehrenstein, yonder, demure as he loots,
has been deluding the Dowager Colonel's Ariadne into the expecta-
tion of becoming a Countess of the Holy Roman Empire; and I
only trust he may be able to give as good a colouring to his flirta-
tions, to Salome, as you have managed to do to yours, as regards
her sister."
A vivid blush rose to Basil Annesley's temples at this reckless
allusion; nor was his embarrassment diminished by perceiving,
from certain expressions let fall by his young companion, that
Ehrenstein conceived he was to make one of their party to L—;—
Castle. By way of undeceiving him, Basil hastened to charge him
with a message to Yerelst.
" But why not tell him all this yourself ?"_ cried the Count, with
joyous pleasantry. " I intend to nave no leisure for commissions
for many days after my arrival. After three years' absence from
those one loves, who has time to become gossip-bearer to a friend ?"
"I suspect poor Yerelst will find as little, to listen even to the
civilities of his favourite pupil," added Osalez. " The reversion
of his sentence of banishment, the study and execution of the
title-deeds of his new estate, added to the completion of his en-
gagements with Lord L. preparatory to the arrangements for his
homeward journey, will probably absorb all his attention."
" Too true ?" sighed poor Annesley, in reply. " You will all be
too happy to think of your absent friends."
" But I do not understand," cried Ehrenstein, in the warmth of
his heart, "why you thus affect to place yourself among the spec-
tators. It has been no small enhancement of the joy of my present
prospects, my dear Annesley, to know that they included a friend
of so much value, in our circle of happiness. That I was about to
hail you as a brother, was one among many delights I know to be
awaiting me in London."
" Unhappily, I am less fortunate than you suppose," was Basil
Annesley's embarrassed reply.
"Unfortunate—unhappy? "What the deuce is all this about?"
demanded Osalez, in his turn, satisfied that their conversation, in
German, was safe as a despatch-box from the comprehension of
the two somewhat boozy members of Parliament, who alone dis-
puted with them possession of the coffee-room. " Your face, my
dear Basil, is growing as long as a judge's under his condemning
cap. I trusted to find you, on my return, alert and joyous as a
lark."
"/have not been enjoying a gay tour of the Brunnen of [Nassau,
to quicken my sense of enjoyment," observed Annesley. " The
only excursion from town I have made since we parted, was to
Barlingham; and the gloom of my mother's quiet residence was
little likely to remove the depression under which I was labouring
when we parted."
" But my dear fellow, since then, you have had three weeks to
recover yourself and look about you; and, as we left poor Esther
in London, for the express purpose of assisting your enlightenment, I
was in hopes that, on my return, I should find you upon velvet, with
nothing left for the poor old uncle to do, but bestow his blessing
238 THE MONEY-LENDEE.
and his money-bag's,—if, indeed, you are inclined to complete his
happiness by accepting them."
"If J am inclined!" burst in a scarcely intelligible cry, from
the lips of young- Annesley; for he began to fancy himself once
more a victim to the inexplicable mockeries of A. 0.
" It is then as I feared. Your mother persists in visiting upon
that poor child the errors I have so cruelly expiated!" exclaimed
Osalez, in a tone of bitterness. " This accounts for my sister's
letter of this morning. Itachael assures me that my niece has re-
turned to them, instead of the triumphant creature they hoped
to welcome, a broken-hearted invalid ! Basil, this is your doing."
" I have not so much as seen Miss Yerelst since you left Lon-
don !" cried Annesley, eagerly.
" Miss Yerelst, indeed, and three weeks in town without an
interview ; _ yet affect surprise that she should be ill and unhappy.
The Branzinis and San Cataldas, who conveyed her to L Castle
on their way to a tour of the Highlands, insinuated to her mother,
their fears that your strange alienation was the origin of her
illness."
" The San Cataldas?" reiterated Basil, in his turn. " The Duke
accuse me of coldness towards Esther?"
" Let us conclude that it was his ivife ; for you appear strangely
inclined to pick a quarrel, this evening, with any man disposed
to find fault with your proceedings."
" The wife of the Duke of San Catalda?" exclaimed Annesley,
leaning for support against the back of the chair from which he
had arisen.
" You have yet, perhaps, to make acquaintance with the Duchess,
who was recovering slowly .from her confinement when I left
town; and had been too great an invalid throughout the spring
to appear at her sister, Madame Branzini's parties."
"The Duke of San Catalda married to the sister of Madame
Branzini ? Blockhead—madman—that I have been!" cried Basil,
with sudden enlightenment; and, on explaining to his friend the
error into which he had fallen, Osalez found the mistake so in-
credible, even with due allowance for the jealous susceptibility
of a lover and sullen reserve of the English character, that for
some time he still feared Basil must be seeking some plausible
apology for his mother's opposition to his marriage with a grand-
child of " Osalez the Jew."
The eager entreaties of Basil that he might be permitted to
accompany them on their journey the following day eventually
modified his opinion; and right gladly did he assent to a proposal
which he knew was alone wanting to complete the happiness of
the family.
"But what pretence have we for proceeding with so enormous
a caravan to the house of a stranger?" inquired the Count von
Ehrenstein, with some anxiety.
" We shall soon teach you better notions of English hospitality!'
cried Osalez, with a smile " Lord L , like the best of friends,.
and most liberal of men, has given me carte blanche to make his
house my own (or rather Yerelst's,) during his absence from Eng-
THE MONEY-LEXDEIU 239-,
land. The man with whom yon saw me walking and talking in
the gardens of the Tuileries, dnring the half hour that seemed to
make you so impatient, t'other day when passing through Paris,
was the Marquis of L . You admired him, if you remember,
as a distinguished man. By to-morrow night, you will be able to
decide whether the aspect of his castle pleases you as well as that
of his person."
By the morrow night, however, Ehrenstein had other thoughts
in his head than of castles or marquises; nor were the ideas
of Basil Annesley much more disposed for criticism. L Castle
was Paradise to both.
It is true that, independent of the peculiar charm of the moment,
the spot was eminently entitled to be so considered. The stately
old mansion, whose venerable antiquity might have appeared too
stern unless softened down by the sylvan beauty of the surrounding
park, on which revolving springs conferred a perpetual renovation
of youth and amenity, compelled the Count von Ehrenstein to
admit that England can boast her relics of the feudal ages fully
rivalling those of his own country. Even the majestic oaks, which,
according to a common Teutonic pretension, he had hitherto
deemed peculiar to Germany, and never more glorious than in his
own forests at Ehrenstein, amazed him by their Druidical dignity
amid the noble scenery of L Chase.
You were- complaining the other day, my dear Count, as we
passed through the Odenwald," cried Osalez, "that the earth was
growing bald. "What say you to the unrivalled timber of Eng-
land ? Hot, I trust, (as the Duke of Rochester once did,) that
trees are an excrescence of the earth, provided for the payment
of a gentleman's debts of honour. At all events, if you are still
disposed to dispute the palm with us for forest scenery, admit
that not even the palaces of the Continent exhibit so exquisite a
floral triumph as the conservatories of L Castle."
" I admit, certainly, that you do your utmost, perforce of stoves
and steam, to remedy the defects of a detestable climate, and
evince a laudable zeal in bringing from more favoured regions
charming substitutes for the thistles and clover which two out of
your three kingdoms have appropriately adopted as symbolic of
your native Elora! But forgive me for avowing that plants reared
with such tremendous outlay of coal and coke, appear, to my im-
perfect senses, to smell of smoke, instead of emitting the exquisite
fragrance peculiar to our German gardens. _ And now, my dear
sir, that I have said my worst, get you gone, like a dear good uncle,
and leave us to enjoy the shade of this delicious shrubbery, or,
when next you pretend to compare L Castle to the Garden of
Eden, I may chance to compare you to the spirit of mischief, mar-
ring the blessedness of its green retreats."
Fortunately, there were " delicious shrubberies" enough in those
widely-spreading gardens to favour solitary walks of more than one
happy couple. For it was among the grassy knolls and furzy
thickets of the domain, that Basil Annesley found courage to con-,
fide to his beloved Esther the jealous pangs he had endured on her
account, from the date of her rash engagement at the Opera, to he*;
240 THE MONEY-1ENPEE.
intimacy with the family of San Catalda!—how he had loved,
her,—how he had watched over her,—how he had served her,
when hopeless that circumstances would ever bring about the happy
crisis which now seemed likely to unite them by indissoluble ties.
They were very happy,—almost too happy,—and. never weary of
recapitulating, chapter by chapter, the story of their mutual love
and mutual misunderstanding. It is said that lovers are seldom
tired of each other's company, because they talk only of them-
selves; and certain it is that Osalez was more than once tempted
to exclaim against their egotism, when, on addressing himself to
either of his nieces, as she leaned on the arm of her dear Basil, or
dear Ernest, he was sure to find her pursuing the same train of
conversation in which he had last left them absorbed,—reminis-
cences of past distresses, or anticipation of happiness to come.
On such occasions, however, he had a pleasant retreat for his
discontent, in the oriel window of the library, commanding one of
the finest vistas of the park;—where sat his quiet, gentle, happy
sister,—without a remaining care on earth.
It was to her alone Abednego acknowledged his anxiety, lest the
answer despatched by Lady Annesley to her son's application for
her consent to his marriage, should be less gracious than he de-
sired; and on the day on which her letter was expected at the
Castle, Mrs. Yerelst noticed, with regret, that the trembling of her
brother's hands, while attempting to open the post-bag, rendered
it necessary for him to delegate his habitual task to the care of
servants.
It was an anxious moment for them all. But it was but a
moment. Scarcely had young Annesley cast his eyes over the
momentous letter, bearing the date of " Barlingham Grange,"
when he started from his chair, and, rushing to Mrs. Yerelst,
pressed her cold hands to his lips with such eager impetuosity, ere
for the first time he ventured to snatch his beloved Esther to his
heart as his affianced wife, that all present recognised in an instant
that there existed no obstacle to his happiness.
On the morrow came a letter from Lady Annesley to Mrs. Yerelst,
addressing her as the beloved Rachael of former days, and talking
of the happiness of "their children" in terms consolatory indeed
to the hearts of the whole family.
"Surely," observed Ernest^von Ehrenstein, as he was spending
a confidential hour in the picture-gallery beside thev easel of his
friend Verelst, who had already^ made him acquainted with the
peculiar mystery uniting the destinies of Osalez and the mother of
Basil Annesley,—" surely^ since this haughty lady exhibits such
early symptoms of relenting, at some future time, she may be
brought to realize, in the autumn of life, the hopes untimely
blighted in her spring ?"
"If I am any judge of human character, I should say not," re-
plied the artist. "It is something—nay, much—that Lady An-
nesley has been brought to consent to the marriage of her son.
Further concessions are past praying for."
Nevertheless, when Annesley, tearing himself heroically from
the midst of perfect happiness, quitted L——- Castle the following
THE MO^EY-IENEEK. 241
day, announcing1 a "weelc's absence, _ Ehrenstein and the two girls
felt convinced that the object of bis absence was to attempt a
complete reconciliation between the persons dearest to him on
earth;—the benefactor^to whom he was indebted for the noble
fortune of his future wife,—the mother, to whom he was indebted
for all beside.
^ But they were mistaken. The mission of Annesley was to his
sister. No longer a boy, he sought the presence of Mr. and Mrs.
Yernon with the authority of manhood, and the firmness created
by a sense ,of injury; ana such was the eloquence derived from
these sources, that he succeeded in producing in their minds con-
viction and repentance.
Now that the uncle, whose prejudices had influenced thfi youth-
ful feelings of poor Helen against her calumniated mother, was no
longer at hand to interpose his vindictive misrepresentations, her
ears and heart were opened; and Basil had not only the happiness
of being fondly clasped in the arms of his sister, but of proceeding
to Barlingham, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Yernon, and their
children.
The affecting nature of that meeting may readily be conjectured;
and the exemplary and long suffering mother felt herself nobly
rewarded for her patient years of cloistral loneliness and privation,
by the delight of finding, her little grandchildren on her knees,
and hearing, in the exclamations of all present, spontaneous testi-
mony to the singular resemblance between Helen Yernon's hand-
some boys and their uncle Basil.
So happy, indeed, were Mr. and Mrs. Yernon in this unexpected
extension of their domestic sympathies, that it was agreed they
should remain the guests of the gratified Lady Annesley during
the preparations for Basil's marriage, which was to take place in
London previous to the departure of the Yerelsts and Ehrensteins
for their native country. Already, Osalez, with proud conscious-
ness of the embarrassment his presence might occasion, had an-
nounced his intention of quitting L Castle at the same moment
■with the Count von Ehrenstein and his bride, in order to start for
Spain;—a determination approved by the whole family, who felt
that overtures for a perfect reconciliation with Lady Annesley
would come with a better grace, and to better purpose, at a more
remote period.
It was necessary that, in the interim, he should meet Basil in
town, for the preparation of those marriage settlements, which
conferred five thousand per annum on the husband of his favourite
niece, and a charming estate in Berkshire, which would eventually
assist in placing him in Parliament.
" You need entertain no scruples of delicacy concerning the
origin of this property, dear Basil," said Osalez,—justly interpret-
ing the blush that rose to the temples of young Annesley, when he
found himself seated with lfis old friend, for the discussion of
business, in the very chamber in which he had witnessed the hate-
ful interview between Lady Yfiifteriield and A. 0. " The fortune
I inherited from my father, and which I have a right to besto w
upon my father's grandchildren, quadrupled the provision I hayo
242 THE MONEY-LENDER.
been able to mate for Esther and Salome; and a more extended
acquaintance with the monied world, Basil, will serve to convince
you that the foundations of my renovated opulence was laid by
Osalez the stockbroker, not by the Money-lender, A. 0."
" I rejoice to hear it—I truly rejoice to hear it!" cried Basil,
eagerly.
" And since I know you to be somewhat fastidious on certain
points," continued Osalez, in a more subdued tone, " do me the
favour before you leave this house, to cast your eyes over the
ledgers which lie open in the adjoining room for your inspection,
and which Zebedee, who is in waiting there, will explain; that
you may ascertain from the entries the falsehood of the charges of
extortion brought against me by such people as Lady Winter-
held, Carrington, Loftus, and Co. Though a Money-lender, I have
never been an usurer. The transaction which brought us ac-
quainted, Basil, was but the type of my usual dealings. It was
only because, relying on a moderate rate of interest, it Jjecame
necessary to be doubly cautious concerning the validity of seen-
rities, that I obtained the name of a Barabbas."
" I am content to take your extenuation on your own authority,"
was Annesley's grave reply. " The sight of such documents would
be painful to my feelings."
"Well, well,—you shall make a bonfire'of them if you will,"
retorted Osalez; "and the spruce page who ushered you in, (and
who looked so grievously disappointed, my dear Basil, that you
did not deign to recognise your fellow-labourer Bill, the street-
sweeper of l)elahay-street,)_ shall assist in the operations; always
with due reverence to the rights of the Lhcenix fire-office, and the
safety of our neighbours."
Bight welcome was the proposal to Basil; and that very day,
to the amazement of the impudent clerk, his kingdom, as a money-
changer, was taken from him, and the landmarks of its frontier
destroyed. A still pleasanter moment, however, awaited Basil
Annesley when he joined that day at dinner, in Bernard-street, a
circle composed of some of the first mercantile thrones and
dominions of the day; and witnessed anew the respect commanded
among them by his new relative. With them, all the eccen-
tricities of Osalez were laid aside ; and Basil was struck with sur-
prise and admiration of the versatility of his nature, while no-
ticing the air of dignified self-possession with which he delivered
his political Oracles.
Irom the personal consideration conceded to himself by these
worshippers of the golden calf, Basil readily discerned that he was
announced to them as the co-heir of the rich Osalez; and there
were moments when the painful knowledge of his family history
rendered embarrassing the almost impassioned affection testified
towards him by the man who, from the eventful period of his
illness in Delahay-street, had really loved him as a son.
As they stood together, side by side, the following week, in the
private chapel at L House, as witnesses to the marriage of the
Count von Ehrenstein with the lovely and happy Salome, Basil
could not but detect a certain sadness in the countenance of big
THE MONET-LENDER. 243
old friend, which, lie justly conjectured to arise from the impossi-
hility of performing a kinsman's duty at the solemnization of his
own. To so kindly a heart as that of Basil, it was impossible not
to express a participation in this regret; and a wish that he would
at least find some other object for his projected journey than a
winter at Cadiz.
"It cannot be, my dear boy!" was Abednego's reply. "Do
not unman myresolution. Already, I am fifty-fold happier than
I deserve. With one exception, all my worldly wishes are accom-
plished; and but for this single drawback, I should feel myself
bound to yet heavier duties of expiation. Surrounded by happy
faces and grateful hearts, were I to pretend to the happiness you
have in prospect for me, I should perhaps forget, in the pride of
my heart and happiness of my family, that I owe peculiar acts of
atonement to society for having tarnished by my vindictive spirit
and its cruel influence, the honour of an unblemished family.
Henceforward, Basil, my joy will be in your prosperity. Though
you have renounced your profession, as inauspicious to domestic
happiness, you must not become an idle man. The cares of your
estate will, for the present, interest your attention. But some
years hence, I trust to see you in parliament, realizing the hopes
of distinction I was forced to forego. To behold you an honour to
your country and a blessing to the best of mothers, will efface
from my mind, in my progress to the grave, all the bitterness en-
gendered by the name of Osalez the Jew; all the repentance
connected with the hateful calling of the Money-lender!
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u
All th
define*
All th
and ot
All the
Loudo
as give
Kingdi
All th
as give
BlainvJ
selves'
langua]
1.—It
lish
fini
the
2.—It
der1
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ITJ.—COMEDY OF ERRORS.
IV.—ROMEO AND JULIET.
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