"If I can only be of any service to you," said Robinson, modestly.
"Of the greatest service," said Mr. Giles. "A tremendous sacrifice, you know,—enormous liabilities,—unreserved sale,—regardless of cost; and all that sort of thing."
"Lord bless you!" said Mr. Burrows. "Do you think he doesn't understand how to do all that better than you can tell him? You'll draw out the headings of the posters; won't you, Mr. Robinson?"
"And put the numbers and figures into the catalogue," suggested Mr. Sloman. "The best way is to put 'em down at about cost price. We find we can generally do 'em at that, if we can only get the people to come sharp enough." And then, as the evening had fallen upon them, at their labours, they adjourned8 to the "Four Swans" opposite, and Robinson was treated to his supper at the expense of his victims.
On the next day the house was closed. This was done in order that the goods might be catalogued and prepared for the final sale. The shop would then be again opened for a week, and, after that, there would be an end of Brown, Jones, and Robinson. In spite of the good-humour which was shown by those from whom ill-humour on such an occasion might have been expected, there was a melancholy9 about this which was inexpressible. It has been said that there is nothing so exciting in trade as a grand final sacrificial sale. But it is like the last act of a tragedy. It is very good while it lasts, but what is to come after it? Robinson, as he descended10 into the darkened shop, and walked about amidst the lumber11 that was being dragged forth from the shelves and drawers, felt that he was like Marius on the ruins of Carthage. Here had been the scene of his glory! And then he remembered with what ecstasy12 he had walked down the shop, when the crowd without were anxiously inquiring the fate of Johnson of Manchester. That had been a great triumph! But to what had such triumphs led him?
The men and women had gone away to their breakfast, and he was standing13 there alone, leaning against one of the counters; he heard a slight noise behind him, and, turning round, saw Mr. Brown, who had crept down from his own room without assistance. It was the first time since his illness that he had left the floor on which he lived, and it had been intended that he should never go into the shop again. "Oh, Mr. Brown, is this prudent14?" said he, going up to him that he might give him the assistance of his arm.
"I wished to see it all once more, George."
"There it is, then. There isn't much to see."
"But a deal to feel; isn't there, George?—a deal to feel! It did look very pretty that day we opened it,—very pretty. The colours seem to have got dirty now."
"Bright colours will become dull and dirty, Mr. Brown. It's the way of the world. The brighter they are in their brightness, the more dull will they look when the tinsel and gloss15 are gone."
"But we should have painted it again this spring, if we'd stopped here."
"There are things, Mr. Brown, which one cannot paint again."
"Iron and wood you can, or anything of the like of that."
"Yes, Mr. Brown; you may repaint iron and wood; but who can restore the faded colours to broken hopes and a bankrupt ambition? You see these arches here which with so light a span bear the burden of the house above them. So was the span of my heart on that opening day. No weight of labour then seemed to be too much for me. The arches remain and will remain; but as for the human heart—"
"Don't, George,—don't. It will kill me if I see you down in the mouth."
"These will be repainted," continued Robinson, "and other breasts will glow beneath them with hopes as high as those we felt when you and the others stood here to welcome the public. But what artist can ever repaint our aspirations16? The soiled columns of these windows will be regilded, and all here will be bright and young again; but for man, when he loses his glory, there is no regilding. Come, Mr. Brown, we will go upstairs. They will be here soon, and this is no place now for you." Then he took him by the hand and led him tenderly to his apartment.
There is something inexpressibly melancholy in the idea of bankruptcy in trade;—unless, indeed, when it may have been produced by absolute fraud, and in such a form as to allow of the bankrupts going forth with their pockets full. But in an ordinary way, I know nothing more sad than the fate of men who have embarked19 all in a trade venture and have failed. It may be, and probably is, the fact, that in almost all such cases the failure is the fault of the bankrupts; but the fault is so generally hidden from their own eyes, that they cannot see the justice of their punishment; and is often so occult in its causes that the justice cannot be discerned by any without deep scrutiny20. They who have struggled and lost all feel only that they have worked hard, and worked in vain; that they have thrown away their money and their energy; and that there is an end, now and for ever, to those sweet hopes of independence with which they embarked their small boats upon the wide ocean of commerce. The fate of such men is very sad. Of course we hear of bankrupts who come forth again with renewed glories, and who shine all the brighter in consequence of their temporary obscurity. These are the men who can manage to have themselves repainted and regilded; but their number is not great. One hears of such because they are in their way memorable21; and one does not hear of the poor wretches22 who sink down out of the world—back behind counters, and to menial work in warehouses23. Of ordinary bankrupts one hears nothing. They are generally men who, having saved a little with long patience, embark18 it all and lose it with rapid impotence. They come forward once in their lives with their little ventures, and then retire never more to be seen or noticed. Of all the shops that are opened year after year in London, not above a half remain in existence for a period of twelve months; and not a half ever afford a livelihood24 to those who open them. Is not that a matter which ought to fill one with melancholy? On the establishment of every new shop there are the same high hopes,—those very hopes with which Brown, Jones, and Robinson commenced their career. It is not that all expect to shine forth upon the world as merchant princes, but all do expect to live upon the fruit of their labour and to put by that which will make their old age respectable. Alas25! alas! Of those who thus hope how much the larger proportion are doomed26 to disappointment. The little lots of goods that are bought and brought together with so much pride turn themselves into dust and rubbish. The gloss and gilding17 wear away, as they wear away also from the heart of the adventurer, and then the small aspirant27 sinks back into the mass of nothings from whom he had thought to rise. When one thinks of it, it is very sad; but the sadness is not confined to commerce. It is the same at the bar, with the army, and in the Church. We see only the few who rise above the waves, and know nothing of the many who are drowned beneath the waters.
Perhaps something of all this was in the heart of our friend Robinson as he placed himself at his desk in his little room. Now, for this next day or two he would still be somebody in the career of Magenta28 House. His services were wanted; and therefore, though he was ruined, men smiled on him. But how would it be with him when that sale should be over, and when he would be called upon to leave the premises29 and walk forth into the street? He was aware now, though he had never so thought of himself before, that in the short days of his prosperity he had taken much upon himself, as the member of a prosperous firm. It had never then occurred to him that he had given himself airs because he was Robinson, of the house in Bishopsgate Street; but now he bethought himself that he had perhaps done so. How would men treat him when he should no longer be the same Robinson? How had he condescended30 to Poppins! how had he domineered at the "Goose and Gridiron!" how had he patronized those who served him in the shop! Men remember these things of themselves quite as quickly as others remember them. Robinson thought of all this now, and almost wished that those visits to Blackfriars Bridge had not been in vain.
But nevertheless it behoved him to work. He had promised that he would use his own peculiar31 skill for the benefit of the creditors32, and therefore, shaking himself as it were out of his despondency, he buckled33 himself to his desk. "It is a grand opportunity," he said, as he thought of the task before him, "but my work will be no longer for myself and partners.
The lofty rhyme I still must make,
Though other hands shall touch the money.
So do the bees for others' sake
Fill their waxen combs with honey."
Then, when he had thus solaced34 himself with verse, he sat down to his work.
There was a mine of wealth before him from which to choose. A tradesman in preparing the ordinary advertisements of his business is obliged to remember the morrow. He must not risk everything on one cast of the die. He must be in some degree modest and circumspect35, lest he shut himself out from all possibility of rising to a higher note on any future opportunity. But in preparing for a final sacrifice the artist may give the reins36 to his imagination, and plunge37 at once into all the luxuries of the superlative. But to this pleasure there was one drawback. The thing had been done so often that superlatives had lost their value, and it had come to pass that the strongest language sounded impotently in the palled38 ears of the public. What idea can, in its own nature, be more harrowing to the soul than that of a TREMENDOUS SACRIFICE? but what effect would arise now-a-days from advertising39 a sale under such a heading? Every little milliner about Tottenham Court Road has her "Tremendous Sacrifice!" when she desires to rid her shelves of ends of ribbons and bits of soiled flowers. No; some other language than this must be devised. A phraseology not only startling but new must be invented in preparing the final sale of the house of Brown, Jones, and Robinson.
He threw himself back in his chair, and sat for awhile silent, with his finger fixed40 upon his brow. The first words were everything, and what should be the first words? At last, in a moment, they came to him, and he wrote as follows:—
RUIN! RUIN!! RUIN!!!
wasteful41 and impetuous sale.
At Magenta House, 81, Bishopsgate Street, on March the 5th, and three following days, the Stock in Trade of the bankrupts, Brown, Jones, and Robinson, valued at 209,657l. 15s. 3d., will be thrown broadcast before the public at the frightful42 reduction of 75 per Cent. on the cost price.
To acquire the impetus43 and force necessary for the realization44 of so vast a property, all goods are quoted for TRUE, HONEST, BONA-FIDE SALE at One-Quarter the Cost Price.
This is a Solemn Fact, and one which well merits the earnest attention of every mother of a family in England. The goods are of the first class. And as no attempt in trade has ever hitherto been made of equal magnitude to that of the bankrupts', it may with absolute truth be said that no such opportunity as this has ever yet been afforded to the public of supplying themselves with the richest articles of luxury at prices which are all but nominal45. How will any lady hereafter forgive herself, who shall fail to profit by such an opportunity as this?
Such was the heading of his bills, and he read and re-read the words, not without a glow of pleasure. One can be in love with ruin so long as the excitement lasts. "A Solemn Fact!" he repeated to himself; "or shall I say a Glorious Fact? Glorious would do well for the public view of the matter; but as it touches the firm, Solemn, perhaps, is more appropriate. Mother of a Family! Shall I say, also, of every Father? I should like to include all; but then the fathers never come, and it would sound loaded." Again he looked at the bill, again read it, and then proceeded to describe with great accuracy, on a fly-leaf, the dimensions of the paper to be used, the size of the different types, and the adaptation of various colours. "That will do," said he; "I think that will do."
But this which he had now done, though, perhaps, the most important part of his task, was by no means the most laborious46. He had before him various catalogues of the goods, and it remained for him to affix47 the prices, to describe the qualities, and to put down the amount of each on hand. This was no light task, and he worked hard at it into the middle of the night. But long before that time came he had thrust away from him the inefficient48 lists with which he had been supplied, and trusted himself wholly to his imagination. So may be seen the inspired schoolmaster who has beneath his hands the wretched verses of a dull pupil. For awhile he attempts to reduce to reason and prosody49 the futile50 efforts of the scholar, but anon he lays aside in disgust the distasteful task, and turning his eyes upwards51 to the Muse52 who has ever been faithful, he dashes off a few genial53 lines of warm poetry. The happy juvenile54, with wondering pen, copies the work, and the parent's heart rejoices over the prize which his child has won. So was it now with Robinson. What could he do with a poor gross of hose, numbered 7 to 10? or what with a score or two of middling kids? There were five dozen and nine left of the Katakairions. Was he to put down such numbers as those in his sacrificial catalogue? For awhile he kept these entries before him as a guide—as a guide which in some sort he might follow at a wide distance. But he found that it was impossible for him to be so guided, even at any distance, and at last he thrust the poor figures from him altogether and trampled55 them under his feet. "Tablecloths56, seven dozen and a half, different sizes." That was the last item he read, and as he pushed it away, the following were the words which his fertile pen produced:—
The renowned57 Flemish Treble Table Damasks, of argentine brightness and snow-like purity, with designs of absolute grandeur58 and artistic59 perfection of outline. To dine eight persons, worth 1l, 8s. 6d., for 7s. 3d.; to dine twelve, worth 1l. 18s. 6d., for 10s. 11?d.; to dine sixteen, worth 3l. 19s. 6d., for 19s. 9?d.; and so on, at the same rate, to any size which the epicurean habits of this convivial60 age can possibly require.
Space will not permit us here to give the bill entire, but after this fashion was it framed. And then the final note was as follows:—
N.B.—Many tons weight of First-Class Table Damasks and Sheetings, soiled but not otherwise impaired61; also of Ribbons, Gloves, Hose, Shirts, Crinolines, Paletots, Mantles62, Shawls, Prints, Towels, Blankets, Quilts, and Flouncings, will be sold on the first two days at BUYERS' OWN PRICES.
"There," said he, as he closed down his ink-bottle at three o'clock in the morning, "that, I suppose, is my last day's work in the house of Brown, Jones, and Robinson. I have worked, not for myself, but others, and I have worked honestly." Then he went home, and slept as though he had no trouble on his mind.
On the following morning he again was there, and Messrs. Giles, Burrows, and Sloman attended with him. Mr. Brown, also, and Mr. Jones were present. On this occasion the meeting was held in Mr. Brown's sitting-room63, and they were all assembled in order that Robinson might read over the sale list as he had prepared it. Poor Mr. Brown sat in a corner of his old sofa, very silent. Now and again, as some long number or specially64 magniloquent phrase would strike his ear, he expressed his surprise by a sort of gasp65; but throughout the whole morning he did not speak a word as to the business on hand. Jones for the first few minutes attempted to criticize; but the authority of Mr. Sloman and the burly aspect of Mr. Giles the paper-dealer, were soon too much for his courage, and he also collapsed66 into silence. But the three gentlemen who were most concerned did not show all that silent acquiescence67 which George Robinson's painful exertions68 on their behalf so richly deserved.
"Impetuous!" said Mr. Sloman. "What does 'impetuous' mean? I never heard tell before of an impetuous sacrifice. Tremendous is the proper word, Mr. Robinson."
"Tremendous is not my word," answered Robinson; "and as to the meaning of impetuous—"
"It sounds well, I think," said Mr. Burrows; and then they went on.
"Broadcast—broadcast!" said Mr. Giles. "That means sowing, don't it?"
"Exactly," said Robinson. "Have not I sown, and are not you to reap? If you will allow me I will go on." He did go on, and by degrees got through the whole heading; but there was hardly a word which was not contested. It is all very well for a man to write, when he himself is the sole judge of what shall be written; but it is a terrible thing to have to draw up any document for the approval of others. One's choicest words are torn away, one's figures of speech are maltreated, one's stops are misunderstood, and one's very syntax is put to confusion; and then, at last, whole paragraphs are cashiered as unnecessary. First comes the torture and then the execution. "Come, Wilkins, you have the pen of a ready writer; prepare for us this document." In such words is the victim addressed by his colleagues. Unhappy Wilkins! he little dreams of the misery69 before him, as he proudly applies himself to his work.
But it is beautiful to hear and see, when two scribes have been appointed, how at first they praise each other's words, as did Trissotin and Vadius; how gradually each objects to this comma or to that epithet70; how from moment to moment their courage will arise,—till at last every word that the other has written is foul71 nonsense and flat blasphemy;—till Vadius at last will defy his friend in prose and verse, in Greek and Latin.
Robinson on this occasion had no rival, but not the less were his torments72 very great. "Argentine brightness!" said Mr. Giles. "What's 'argentine?' I don't like 'argentine.' You'd better put that out, Mr. Robinson."
"It's the most effective word in the whole notice," said Robinson, and then he passed on.
"Tons weight of towelling!" said Mr. Sloman. "That's coming it a little too strong, Mr. Robinson."
This was the end of the catalogue. "Gentlemen," said Robinson, rising from his chair, "what little I have been able to do for you in this matter I have done willingly. There is the notice of your sale, drawn73 out in such language as seems suitable to me. If it answers your purpose, I pray that you will use it. If you can frame one that will do so better, I beg that no regard for my feelings may stand in your way. My only request to you is this,—that if my words be used, they may not be changed or garbled74." Then, bowing to them all, he left the room.
They knew the genius of the man, and the notice afterwards appeared exactly in the form in which Robinson had framed it.
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1
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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7
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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8
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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10
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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16
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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18
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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solaced
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的过去分词 ) | |
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circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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45
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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affix
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| n.附件，附录 vt.附贴，盖(章)，签署 | |
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inefficient
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| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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prosody
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| n.诗体论，作诗法 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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51
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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52
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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53
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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54
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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55
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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56
tablecloths
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| n.桌布，台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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57
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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58
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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60
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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61
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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63
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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64
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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65
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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67
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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68
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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69
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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70
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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71
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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72
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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73
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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garbled
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| adj.（指信息）混乱的，引起误解的v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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