House of All Nations

by Christina Stead

  ‘So do I; so does Claire. That was smart of her to get the children. Effie wants to divorce Paul! Effie has the best nose for money in the world. That shows she thinks we’re going down. Let her go!’

  They laughed. ‘Where is Michel?’

  ‘Gone to see his mother in Alsace, I think: I don’t care.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said William. ‘We could use him still. Send him a nice letter, saying we want him back as soon as his health’s better. Tell him we’ll pay him his salary as soon as he comes back.’

  ‘Do what you like! What good is he? He didn’t get the books from Newchurch.’

  ‘You’re wandering: you told him to keep out of it.’

  ‘What difference does it make! He should have had the gumption to go against me.’

  William looked through his brother, seeing a thing to come, perhaps. He did not reply to this last, but said, ‘We’re in a good position if the market goes down again. We’ll have enough to leave the bank about seventy-five per cent solvent. Alphendéry can explain away a lot with that much dough.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Michel,’ Jules cried, in a scot. ‘Worry about me.

  ‘What do you bet Michel won’t come back?’ William asked, jingling his coins.

  ‘He’ll come back if I ask him.’

  Aristide came back, not in triumph, but in another paroxysm. His calculations had shown him that if there was a run on the bank, the clients demanding a transfer of their positions, and the market being against Jules, there was not enough money in the bank to buy back and pay out even his own clients. Aristide saw no gold accounts; the partially informed accountants in London made him think that every share which arrived in the bank was immediately sold out, that even bonds were sold out, and even bonds on deposit and lottery bonds had been sold. On the train back, Aristide, figuring with Marianne, had seen the figures of indebtedness mounting and mounting. The bank was also a debtor of Claire-Josèphe for two million francs, to Claire’s mother for half a million, to big preferred clients like Plowman and Campoverde’s family for several millions. The Comtesse de Voigrand, Jean de Guipatin’s client, the richest woman in France, it was said, would be paid out before Aristide’s Napoleonic princesses, Chicago comtesses, and stage queens. He could not get back quickly enough. Yet he was too timid to take the airplane.

  * * *

  Scene Ninety-two: Carrière

  He went first to Carrière and saw him with his secretary and his mother in his home in the Avenue Montaigne. He showed both his sets of books and showed his calculations.

  ‘The best thing, Dr. Carrière, is to close the bank at once, arrest Mr. Bertillon, by making a general complaint, in the hope of preserving what assets he has. How do we know he won’t fly the country?’

  Carrière said, ‘Where would your clients be, Aristide? You wouldn’t get preference over the other men. Better to draw your clients out carefully first. If they pay them out, you’ll be able to bring down Bertillon afterwards. If they don’t pay them out, you can complain to the police on that ground. Don’t be rash. You’ve given Bertillon a scare. He may have moved his movable assets in case you make a scandal. Go quietly.’

  ‘I haven’t the strength, Dr. Carrière.’

  ‘Then you should never have started this, Raccamond. You can’t get out of it now. Don’t forget that I have an account in the bank. You’re not thinking of me, are you? You know I have a foreign account with them. With the books in the disorganization they are now, and everyone upset, an incursion by the police might only reveal what we are anxious to conceal. Think of my own situation: a man about to run as Mayor, who defies the Poincaré law and avoids taxes by keeping his bonds abroad? I know everyone does it and you’ve got to do it to protect yourself, but the little people will always make a fearful stink about that sort of thing. Now, Aristide, if you’re looking to me for help, you’ve got to consider me, too. We’ve got to pussyfoot for a few days. Go home. I’ll call upon you this evening, if I may.’

  When he had got rid of Aristide, Dr. Carrière said to his secretary, ‘Now’s my chance! Jules has refused to pay me the last sterling drafts, despite the court decision. This fool Raccamond will burst out one of these days and bring down the house—I’ve got to get in first, for Jules is my kill. I’m going to plaster the bank for everything that’s owed to me—how much is that?—a million and a quarter in all? I’m going to bring Jules down. See the lawyer—and get him to send in the bailiffs when the bank opens tomorrow morning. I’ll be there too: I’ll see Jules ruined.’ He laughed healthily. Nothing was going right but his affair with Jules. ‘And after,’ he said, ‘give Aristide chicken feed but never let him in here again. I don’t want that amateur sleuth round here.’

  ‘Why close the bank, Jacques?’ asked his mother Inès. ‘Why not get your money? You know that while Jules’s bank is open he can still get in accounts. Why shouldn’t he work for you for a bit? Frighten him, make him sign something, but give him a chance to pay you. You need the money, Jacques: I’m not going to keep you.’

  The mother prevailed. Thus, when Aristide came to the bank early in the morning, without his books, but with a long memorandum of requirements, Jacques told him, trembling, that Dr. Carrière was already upstairs. Dr. Carrière came in early in the morning, made a great scene, waved his arms, and threatened to close up the bank.

  ‘What is to become of us?’ said poor Jacques. The tellers were talking in the booths; one or two clerks and secretaries were going about their businesses with mousy tread and earthy faces. A noise of shouting could be heard from upstairs. Aristide rushed out of the room and upstairs. He listened in the corridor for a moment and heard Carrière’s voice: ‘Unless you pay me the lot over counter now, I’m going to close you up, Bertillon!’

  ‘Go to blazes,’ said Jules. ‘You won’t get a cent.’

  ‘Then you won’t be here this evening,’ cried Carrière. ‘My lawyers have the seizure papers ready.’

  Raccamond rushed in, breathless, thinking that Carrière had been seized with fear. ‘Dr. Carrière, don’t do that! Remember what you said. Don’t ruin Mr. Bertillon. Think of my clients, think of our clients! Mr. Bertillon will make an agreement with us: he will pay us. He has accounts, he has some money somewhere. He’ll pay us. We’ll make a settlement; you’ll get your money and I’ll get my money. Why should we rush things like this! Let’s look at it all ways and get the best we can out of it.’

  Carrière smiled unpleasantly. ‘But I want the money, Raccamond. You got two hundred thousand francs out of this place last year: what do you want?’

  ‘My clients,’ stammered Raccamond in terror. ‘I won’t have a client in Paris. You can’t ruin me, Dr. Carrière. I’ve always been loyal to you.’

  Jules watched them playing this scene, with a grimace. Aristide seized the telephone, in so much of a panic that he was no longer playing a part, and asked for the lawyers, Maître Beaubien’s friend, Maître Metz, and Maître Beaubien.

  ‘We can settle it all in a friendly manner,’ said Aristide. ‘These two meet socially: there need be no unpleasantness. You’ll get your money, Dr. Carrière. I’ll see to that myself. And then I’ll get out my clients. The bank must close up then. That is the only way.’

  Carrière, curious and faintly amused at the change in Raccamond, sank into a chair. The lawyers would be there in fifteen minutes.

  Jean de Guipatin hurried in from downstairs, visibly upset. He heard the story from Jacques and Jacques had no doubt been listening in the corridor.

  ‘What are you doing, Jacques?’ he turned to Carrière. ‘Why do you want to shut Jules up?’

  ‘For money,’ said Carrière. ‘He’s a simple fourflusher, although you’ve covered him with romance.’

  ‘Jacques, you know Jules will pay if you give him time. He naturally feels a little piqued at the arrangement. It’s a question of pique: Jules felt humiliated
at the publicity in your friends’ newspapers. You could have gone about it in a decent fashion, Jacques.’

  But Jean had no charm today: he was too anxious. He was ready for Raccamond; he was not prepared for a plot between Raccamond and Carrière. Carrière was of his own world and would not be impressed by his title of comte or his rich relations. Jules seemed to be wilting now. Raccamond busily got a hard chair, drew it up to Jules’s desk. ‘How much is owed to you, Dr. Carrière? Three hundred thousand francs before the court decision?’ He wrote it down. ‘If we pay that off straightway, will you accept payment of the rest of the money, the two drafts owing, at a rate of 20,000 francs a month? …’

  ‘No,’ said Carrière. ‘I want the three hundred thousand francs now, spot cash, and the two drafts owing in a check to be sent to my home tonight … I don’t want to upset your cash balances,’ he explained to Raccamond, ignoring Jules. He took a pleasure in humiliating the head of the bank and treating the vain employee as the real chief. ‘If I’m not paid the three hundred thousand francs before I move out of this chair, I’ll close the bank.’ He looked stern, for he really needed the cash for current debts.

  Aristide said, ‘Sit there, Dr. Carrière, you’ll get the money. I’ll go and get the manager, Mr. William: he’ll pay you immediately. Everything will be in order. I’ll take it on myself to see that you are paid.’ Jules sat there as if he had fallen asleep or fainted. Only a faint chagrin showed on his thin face. Aristide ran out to fetch William. The three sat there, without looking at each other, waiting. Jules felt as if the slightest move would bring him disaster. Carrière savored the bizarre moment.

  William came in hurriedly. ‘What are you doing, Jules?’

  ‘I am taking care of this, Mr. William,’ said Aristide. ‘I am trying to do the best for both, but Dr. Carrière must be paid. Otherwise he will close the bank.’

  William looked grimly, but hopelessly at them all. Jules’s voice was heard clear and faint, ‘Pay him, William.’

  ‘Three hundred thousand francs?’ William said angrily.

  ‘Whatever he wants.’

  ‘I’ll let you pay me off the total amount at today’s rate,’ offered Carrière with an unpleasant smile.

  William bit his lip. If their struggles of months were to come to this—that Carrière was to be paid the moment he walked in … He took Jules’s telephone. ‘Mr. Martin? Send Vallat up here immediately with three hundred thousand francs in thousand-franc notes. I’ll give you the order. Mlle. Dalbi, bring your notebook to my brother’s office! Mr. Manray! Have Maîtres Beaubien and Metz arrived yet? Ask them to go straight up. Tell Etienne to send them straight up.’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Carrière. ‘I don’t want to do you harm, Jules.’

  Jules stretched out his long hand, picked up a paper knife, and began to tap with a real, a morbid indifference.

  ‘My brother is relieved,’ William explained. ‘He has been thinking all along that you did want to do him harm. How could he have made such a mistake? You have such a sweet reputation, Jacques.’

  Carrière smiled wryly. ‘Yes, I know. I do my best to justify it.’

  When the lawyers arrived, Aristide, with Carrière, had formulated an agreement to pay, by Jules and William, giving Carrière the right to close the bank for debt, if his drafts were not paid on the dot.

  Maître Beaubien frowned when he saw it. ‘Absurd! Would you support your client in this, Maître Metz? If this is what they want to impose on you,’ he said to Jules, who had recovered his voice and sweet manners, ‘you would do better to close the bank.’

  ‘Carrière, Raccamond, Jules, and the lawyers all want to close the bank and each one is holding off the others,’ commented William. ‘Thus we can all get together if we close the bank. Why not do it?’

  ‘Nothing doing,’ said Carrière. He signed the receipt for the three hundred bills which he had received and pushed the memorandum towards Jules. Jules scarcely looked at it.

  ‘I’ll sign it.’

  William said, ‘I’m damned if I will.’

  Carrière got up in a fury. ‘I’ll get the bailiff in, damn you.’

  Aristide jumped to his feet, his eyes wide open. ‘Dr. Carrière, I beg you. Mr. Bertillon, this is for the best. Why should there be a tragedy? Why should any of us go without our money? It can be arranged.’ He was reassured since the three hundred bills had come up, and he began to regret that Dr. Carrière had got in before him.

  Jean shrugged his shoulders sadly. ‘It’s true, Jacques: do be reasonable. You may want to get Jules, but what about us? What harm have we done you? You have been paid at once this morning. Jules is sending you a check tonight. I will take it upon myself to persuade William and Jules to the rest. So will Aristide. Would you rather see Jules in court, or your drafts fully paid up? If it’s the first, you’re not what I thought you were …’

  Carrière abruptly terminated the scene. He disliked it himself and Raccamond who was anxiously watching his face. ‘Oh, get your man to sign and it’ll be all right,’ he flung at Jean de Guipatin. ‘It’s the same to me either way. But no caviling and no further refusals to pay. If our positions had been reversed, he would expect me to pay. Jules is a cheat. He’s smooth and languid. He says I’m a bounder, but he’s a cheat. That’s what it all comes down to.’

  Raccamond accompanied him to the front door with many grand gestures.

  When he had gone with his lawyer, Maître Beaubien said, looking at the agreement, ‘You have signed it, Mr. Bertillon! How do you stand with this Raccamond? If you keep making treaties of this type with these two men, you are lost. You would do better to close the bank and fly: I say it as a friend, not as a lawyer. These men are voracious, unstable, bitter, and they keep sharpening each other’s appetite. They’re dividing your bank between them: on that they’re both agreed. Why fight? I tell you frankly, I wouldn’t. It’s hopeless, as far as I can see.’

  ‘I am not ready to go yet,’ Jules said quietly. ‘I’ll sign to give myself a breathing space, and I’ll ditch them all. Let them wait.’

  ‘I don’t see how you can do it!’

  The maître heard Raccamond returning and gathered his papers. Raccamond entered, ‘I think you can thank me for saving you from a nasty moment. Carrière was determined to shut the bank. He’s a dangerous enemy.’

  ‘Enemies and friends act the same nowadays,’ said William. ‘They all want to close the bank. It’s a serious mania that half the population of Paris is suffering from. Collective bank-closing mania. Anyone would think it was the U.S.A. Say, they’ve got a dandy law over there that would settle a few hashes over here: they jail fellows who go round spreading rumors about a bank. You couldn’t make a living over there, Aristide!’

  ‘You owe about eighty million francs. I presume this debit is covered by your holdings of bonds, gold, and fully paid-up stocks. I wish to see those holdings … first of all.’

  ‘We have not made a statement,’ Jules said starkly, ‘but I am willing to go round the safety deposits with you and show you our gold and bonds. That is all. That must satisfy you. No statement. No statement. You can’t drag one out of me, so don’t harp on it.’

  Aristide suddenly gave in. ‘Well, it’s not satisfactory; but I will see your assets. I have a plan here for buying in the sold-out shares; a pro-rata scheme which I propose to work through myself. I want control of the stock-exchange department while doing so.’

  ‘Well, Alphendéry isn’t here. I’ve dismissed him.’

  Raccamond was so pleased that he did not insist.

  ‘One can always do business with a man as thoughtful as you, Aristide.’

  ‘The point is that I am thinking of the house and the clients, whereas a man like Carrière is only thinking of personal vengeance, or some single motive; the multiple motive takes care of everyone’s interest.’

  ‘We’ll write that all d
own in the agreement,’ said Jules. ‘I don’t see why not: I see you’ve got the hang of things.’

  * * *

  Scene Ninety-three: Restitution

  After lunch, William’s door opened, and Raccamond’s hulk filled the doorway; he stood there, tragically holding open the swing-leaf, with well-marked misgiving, then said gloomily, ‘Mr. Bertillon wishes to see you in his office.’ Aristide looked ill.

  They got up simultaneously and went in, in slow time. Jules, leaning back in his chair, highhanded and sour, said, ‘Raccamond has another agreement for us to sign, a six-months’ schedule for restitution.’

  Raccamond waved his hand. ‘I have worked it out—a question of insuring the clients, while making the Carrière payments; I think it better to make separate agreements for each part of our compromise, so as not to seem to make one article contingent on another. It gives better guarantees. It is better for Mr. Bertillon as it does not give away the whole basis of the agreement.’

  ‘Raccamond is right,’ murmured Jules.

  They read:

  We, Jules Bertillon, founder of and chief partner in the Banque Bertillon Frères, and William Bertillon, junior partner in and having power of attorney for Bertillon Frères and Paul and Francis Bertillon, junior partners, agree hereby to restore, in the amounts and quantities and values and to the numbers showing in each account, the share positions of the clients of this bank, within a period of from three to six months from this date, without loss to the bank if possible. Aristide Raccamond is hereby designated head of the entire stock-exchange department, and all books, papers, files, and relevant records are to be open to his inspection at any time, in Paris or in the branches abroad. All steps towards safeguarding the accounts of clients and aligning the real share position with that shown on the books are to be taken privately by the persons named above, so that no surprise or discontent will be caused among the employees or clients of the bank.

  A weighty and wordy document which pleased Aristide entirely and gave him control of their business. For their profits arose, not, evidently, from the relatively small amount of exchange business, or the small charge for keeping accounts abroad, but from the manipulation of stock-exchange accounts. He had now, by slowly munching over the situation with his wife, and by a comparison of the books, been convinced of this himself. He had decided slowly to profit by this knowledge on a later occasion, when he had withdrawn his accounts from Bertillon. Either he would take his clients to a small bank and insist on control of their accounts, or he would set up a bank himself, with the backing of Carrière. A study of the Bertillon accounts, which had first shocked him, had later enlightened him.