Falling asset prices–compounded by shrinking commodity prices–increased pressure on borrowers; and they defaulted by the hundreds, thereby further undermining the stability of lending institutions all over the country. The domino effect led to widespread failures particularly among the land banks and building societies which intensified fears of trading among rank and file investors and depositors, builders, and bankers to say nothing of the panic at the highest levels of government. Victoria premier, James Munro, pleaded for sanity.
By 1892, the Mercantile Bank of Australia—where Alexandra had once kept the bulk of her deposits—filed for suspension then liquidation of its assets. In January of 1893, the prestigious Federal Bank of Australia failed—an unthinkable catastrophe before the fall. Both banks were unfortunately too closely linked to building societies Alexandra and Stenka had so vigorously promoted. Alexandra had saved herself by not communicating her qualms about the over-inflated land and construction industries until she extricated herself. She salved her conscience by whispering the age-old saw that “business is business”. Even average middle-class Aussies developed seriously heightened anxiety about the safety of the other twenty-two banks fueled by newspaper reports telling of personal and business failures and suicides. Many bank shares carried additional liability for both banks and shareholders.
The bank share security measures were triggered by bank suspensions and further wounded investors. Bank shareholders began dumping stock long before depositors began to look for safety elsewhere as Alexandra had done, but it was a case of “too little, too late.” Big banks and heavy investors were left holding the bag in the end; “business was business”.
Compounding those losses came the loss of new deposits which led to dangerous promises such as making guarantees with gold coin and making notes fully convertible to gold coin. That resulted in irretrievable losses and bank failures around the country. The coup de grâce for Melbourne came when the Commercial Bank of Australia–the largest bank in the colony and the center of the land and building speculation boom—shut its doors in April. By six weeks later thirty banks were gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY
SALVATION IN SYDNEY
[All the ancient wisdom] tells us that work is necessary to us, as much a part of our condition as mortality; that good work is our salvation and our joy; that shoddy or dishonest or self-serving work is our curse and our doom. We have tried to escape the sweat and sorrow promised in Genesis–only to find that, in order to do so, we must forswear love and excellence, health and joy.
—Wendell Berry, The Unsettling of America,
The Art of the Commonplace:
The Agrarian Essays. The Unsettling of America, p.44
Number 8, Chapel Street, Sydney, British Colony of New South Wales, Australia, December 1, 1895
From 1860 onwards, Sydney evolved a stable political environment and economy which persisted relatively successfully through the financially tumultuous nineties despite both the gold boom, the land boom, and two subsequent bust eras. Alexandra Yusupov—as she now fashioned herself to escape some of her creditors and a public that held her and Stenka Mazepa responsible for the land bust—found a safe-haven in the burgeoning city months before the collapse of land speculation and supportive banks and other lending institutions hit Melbourne so disastrously. She lost money; but in the instances where she could not sell properties at a profit or even for what she had originally paid, she was at least able to hold on to the land and buildings for long enough to outwait the crash–at least she hoped.
As soon as Alexandra arrived in Sydney, her first project was to buy land in the heart of the city and to build a fine home. Unlike her early experience in Melbourne, her progress was stymied by the antiquarian structure of the law which required that a man—almost always a husband–be responsible for all major family expenditures. A woman was barred from purchasing and owning property herself unless she was a widow whose husband had purchased the property originally. Similarly, her efforts to do business as a realtor or to purchase and sell land for profit met a stone wall placed in front of her by men.
“There, there, my dear,” was the phrase Alexandra loathed the most in all the English language.
Alexandra was not one to give up easily. She looked about for solutions to her problem of having too much money and no way to make use of it for profit; and she did not have a home. She was forced—for the time being—to take up residence in one of Sydney’s better hotels, the Australia Hotel located in Castlereagh Street. It was not as if she would be living in anything even approaching deprivation or squalor. The hotel described itself as “the best-known hotel in all of Australia”, as “the premier hotel in Sydney”, and later more grandiosely, “The Hotel of the Commonwealth.” All of that was true, if a little overinflated.
A major benefit of living in the hotel is that it was situated along one of Sydney’s most important thoroughfares in the bustling city center, granting access to all–or almost all–of the city’s and the country’s movers and shakers in politics, finance, and business; it provided a wide and useful variety of services—for a fee. Alexandra loved the fact that it was next door to the Theatre Royal where such luminaries as Sarah Bernhardt appeared. The drawbacks included: it was too expensive; her quarters were too small to permit her to have an adequate office; and—most important to Alexandra—she could neither own it nor control it.
Harking back to her previous business experience, she took a trip to Chinatown. The community was located in the south of the business district near Darling Harbor within walking distance from her hotel. A few discrete inquiries led her to a five-story–typically Chinese–office building on the corner of George and Hay Streets. Her facility with both major languages—Mandarin and Cantonese—granted her friendly access to local businessmen and women who suggested she meet the main “fixer” in Chinatown. She followed the bilingual street signs to the building, climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, and knocked politely on the door bearing a small brass plaque, “Wáng & Dau”.
After a few minutes wait, the door was opened; and Alexandra met a handsome middle-aged woman who reached out her hand to offer a western handshake.
“Good morning,” the woman said in softly accented English, “I am Wáng Caihong.”
Remembering that the name Wáng was the most common surname in northern China, Alexandra smiled, shook Caihong’s hand and said, in English, “And my name is Alexandra. I am originally from Vladivostok, near Manchuria. Are you comfortable in English, or would you prefer Mandarin? I am fluent.”
Caihong blushed and bowed.
“I am not quite as fluent in English; so, my native tongue would be better, if it pleases you, kind lady. And my father, the venerable Wáng Wen Sheng, is more inclined to be helpful to persons who speak our northern dialect.”
Alexandra changed to Mandarin, “Your name is beautiful, Caihong—a rainbow in the sky—if I remember correctly. And your father is surely aptly named for his being a literate person and is also highly successful.”
Again, Caihong blushed, “You are too kind. Please enter our humble home and place of business. May I tell honorable father the nature of your business with him?”
“Please do. I seek his wise advice on doing business in Sydney. Since I am only a worthless female and unmarried, I have found it difficult even to buy myself a proper home.”
“It is the same for Chinese people,” Caihong said, “honorable father will understand. I am sure he can be of help. If you could sit here at the table and have some chai while I speak to him…?”
“My pleasure, Caihong. Please convey my gratitude for being invited into your pleasant home and for the honor of being able to consult his wisdom.”
The tea was hot and fragrant. The room was decorated in a variation on a theme of red from the Harbin carpets, to the watercolors on the walls, to the molded ceilings decorated with a brightly painted orange-red dragon motif. She heard the distinct shuffling of slippered feet; and, rememb
ering her etiquette, she quickly removed her shoes and stockings and placed them neatly on the chair next to her.
An elderly wraith of a man stepped silently into the room accompanied by his daughter.
She said, “Missy Yusupov, I have the honor to present my venerable father, Wáng Wen Sheng, mandarin of the court of her majesty the empress.”
Alexandra got up from her chair, bowed very low, and with a sober face filled with genuine awe, said, “Mandarin Wáng, I, a mere woman not of your court, bow humbly with full respect. I am aware of your great accomplishments, not least of which is that you passed the jinshi exams with the highest scores in the 2,000 year history of the tests. I know that I stand before a great master of knowledge of the Confucian classics, a remarkable example for us all.”
She bowed even lower and held her reverential position until Mandarin Wáng bade her, “Lift your head, daughter. You do yourself and your family very well with the courtesy you show. You have come a considerable and tiring way to speak with me. Please let us sit and reason together.”
As custom dictated, Caihong assumed a head-down kneeling position behind and to the left of her father. He sat on a low raised platform covered with patterned red silk pillows directly in front of Alexandra. She maintained silence and sat stiffly in her red silk chair until the elderly master of the Qing Chinese dynasty civil service spoke. Alexandra knew him to be a juren [gentleman and judge of upper-gentry status]. It would be a dreadful faux pas—nearly tantamount to an act of lèse-majesté–for any woman to speak before directed by the mandarin.
Mandarin Wáng wore a bright blue colored silk brocade coat indicative of a civil servant of the highest rank and black trousers. The coat was embroidered in black with dragons and his family crest along the sides and a mandarin square [rank badge]—a large embroidered square badge sewn onto the surcoat embroidered with detailed, colorful bird insignias indicating the rank of the official wearing it; in the case of Wáng–a mandarin of the first degree–there were beautiful cranes with wide spread wings in the front and golden pheasants on back. On his head, he wore another symbol of his rank, a Qing Guanmao [consisting of a black hat of woven rattan with a button on the top since it was summer]. Because the family was coming to dinner for a reunion that evening, the mandarin’s button was made into an ornamental finial, almost as if the family expected the empress to attend. Red silk tassels extended down from the finial to cover Wáng’s hat; and a large peacock feather with three “eyes” was attached to the back of the hat, showing that the privilege of wearing it had been granted by the empress herself.
Up close, he was very small, tired looking, and very old with deeply etched yellowing skin. He had a wispy goatee and a long scanty white mustache that appeared to be unmanageable. His face was lined with years, decision making, suffering, and cares. But for all of that, his eyes were alert, intelligent, and dominating. His irises were so dark that he did not appear to have pupils. Despite his obvious age and wrinkles, the man maintained an aura of self-possession and control belying his infirmities of age which transmitted the appearance of a strong man–despite his diminutive size–and one to be reckoned with.
Mandarin Wáng nodded his head slightly and began to speak in a high squeaky voice that required Alexandra and Caihong to lean forward and strain to hear him.
“Missy Yusupov, I have known of your coming to Australia for some time and of your courage and industrious nature both in Melbourne and now in Sydney. You have been wise in protecting yourself against the wolves at the door; and it is my understanding that you have placed your money and treasure in safe, but temporary places. Is that the correct understanding, my dear?”
“Yes, Mandarin, it is; and that is the reason I have come to consult with you and to receive wisdom not available among the Caucasians.”
He laughed–a small short chortle–more like a cough than a laugh.
“The bái mù [stupid, white-eyed, lit. blind] round-eyes seem not to be able to control themselves when they get money. They seem not to know about family or putting away something for the bad days ahead. Knowing nothing, they are unfit to give financial advice. Can you accept advice and help from a person not of your race, Missy Yusupov?”
“I certainly can, Mandarin. It is an honor for me that you would even consider consulting and a lifelong debt of friendship if you can find a way to save me from the growing financial disaster here in Australia.”
“I am tired now, my dear. I will rest, or—as you Europeans say—I’ll sleep on it.”
Alexandra walked back to the Grand with a lightness in her step, having had a figurative weight lifted from her shoulders. Although she had just met the venerable Chinese mandarin, she instinctively trusted him. He would help her; it would be a long-term assistance; and her debt would be considerable, but fair. He had spoken to her as if she were a daughter or a favored niece, and she intended to reciprocate. Leaving Chinatown, she passed a flower market called Tiāntǐ huā [Celestial Flowers] and stopped in to make a purchase. She found ten different paintings of bouquets of flowers offered by the proprietrix which Chinese people love and find a measure of nostalgia attached.
“Madam Lee,” she said, speaking Mandarin and smiling, “Would you be so kind as to send one of each of these bouquets—the best you have–to Miss Caihong Wáng. Her address is…”
“Kind lady, everyone in Chinatown knows the address of the mandarin and his daughter. If I might be so bold, this gesture could be…how do you say?...misinterpreted coming from a…Wàiguó rén [foreigner]…if you will forgive me for using such a word…It is more appropriately the gift of a family member.”
“Thank you, Madam Lee, you are most perceptive and kind to inform me of the etiquette of this custom. However, rest comfortably that I consider myself to be a favored member of Mandarin Wáng’s family, and he and Caihong hold me in similar regard. Please do your best to send a pleasing token of my familial caring for them once each week for the next three months.”
Madam Lee gave Alexandra a very brief quizzical look, then shook her head and attended to business. How could a round-eye understand?
Alexandra realized she was making a very calculated risk and might well be over-stepping, but she wanted more than anything else at the moment to make a deep connection with the mandarin and the Wáng family tong. She crossed her fingers as she made the full payment. It never occurred to her that she would be cheated or short-changed by Madam Lee. It simply was not done.
The following morning, a porter knocked on her hotel room door.
“Yes?” Alexandra asked.
“There is a Chinese man in the front lobby who says he has a message for you. I can send him on his way, if you wish.”
“No thank you, James,” she said reading his nameplate. “Here is a little something for your trouble and effort.”
She gave him a generous tip—in gold, since paper money was suspect during this period.
There was no problem picking out the messenger. He was the only foreign or non-Caucasian person in the entire lobby.
She stopped in front of him and carefully avoided smiling—considered rude in a first meeting or anytime with strangers. He gave her a small polite bow and proffered a small cream-colored envelope with Chinese lettering.
She thanked him and opened the envelope to see what the letter said and to determine if a reply was necessary.
Office of the Mandarin,
Chinatown, Sydney, Australia
10 December, 1895
Alexandra Yusupov:
Estimable Miss Yusupov. My father directs me to inform you that he has made successful inquiries on your behalf. Three days from this day, please meet with the mandarin in his place of business at the noon hour. Other interested and significant persons will attend. The favor of a reply is requested.
Humbly submitted,
Wáng Caihong
Alexandra’s reply was simple and direct:
10 December, 1895
Venerable Mandarin Wáng We
n Sheng:
Dear Zūnjìng de shūshu [Honorable Uncle]: I will be honored to meet with you. Thank you for your service.
Your humble niece,
Yusupov Alexandra
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
FAMILY IN SYDNEY
“I don’t know half of you half as well
as I should like; and I like less than half
of you half as well as you deserve.”
—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
—Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
“Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.”
—George Burns
Office of the Mandarin, 2289 George Street, Chinatown, Sydney, British Colony of New South Wales, Common-wealth of Australia, December 13, 1895
To avoid any possibility of being late for her meeting with Wáng Wen Sheng, Alexandra arranged for carriage by a Hansom Cab. She purposely dressed very modestly, making certain that she chose a dress which did not expose her chest in the least. She chose a simple print high-necked dress which did not hug her curves, had bell-like sleeves, and had black lace frothing at the hem of the dress. Her shoes were low heeled and lace-up—semi-boots. Alexandra thought they were grotesque, style-wise; but she knew she had to keep uppermost in her mind what mattered to the influential mandarin.
She arrived precisely on time at 2289 George Street and climbed the stairs five stories to the mandarin’s office. Caihong showed her in with more warmth than she had shown on Alexandra’s previous visit.
“Best greetings…may I say ‘sister’? And welcome back.”
The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov Page 37