CHAPTER IV — UNEASY TIMES (1825-36)

 

The Rothschilds were not loved by everyone. If they made the best omelettes, they broke the most eggs, and by the middle of the 1820s their enemies ranged all the way from conservative bankers to liberal intellectuals, both of whom inveighed against the parvenus but for different reasons; the first for introducing change, the second for resisting it.

The intellectuals were the most dangerous for they fought with weapons of ridicule, and delighted in inventing a grotesque contrast between the immaculate Prince Metternich and his imaginary bodyguard of ‘ghetto thugs’. Every generation must have its villains and to the young rebels on the Continent, clamouring for parliamentary government, this Prince who had patched up Europe in favour of the ancien régime, who had restored legitimist rulers whenever possible, represented the darkest forces of reaction. He was architect of the ‘Unholy Alliance’, while the Rothschilds, whose money underpinned his system, carried pitchforks and wore tails. Left-wing cartoonists gloried in depicting ‘the prince of reaction’ and the ‘king of coin’ co-operating to extinguish the freedom of Europe. One cartoon showed a gentleman with marked Semitic features, attired in a seedy caftan and an expensive lace shirt front, standing in a chariot fashioned of a strong box and drawn by the two-headed Imperial Austrian eagle, careering over Europe. In another, entitled ‘Die Generalpümpe’ Rothschild, obese and coarse, stood knee-deep in a pool of gold, and with both arms acting as suction levers poured the world’s wealth into the pockets of monarchs.

Nathan laughed at the cartoons and pinned them on his wall, for in London the Rothschild reputation stood high enough to withstand assault, particularly as the English did not take Metternich seriously. ‘A society hero and nothing else,’ pronounced Nathan’s friend, the Duke of Wellington. ‘An opportunist pure and simple,’ declared Castlereagh, although at times he found Metternich’s machinations praiseworthy. What could be more natural than the attempt of an aristocratic prince, German by birth, French by culture, to introduce a European system of checks and balances designed to preserve peace; particularly as the make-shift Austrian Empire which he served could only survive in a peaceful world?

Whereas Nathan remained indifferent to the attacks on the family, James and Salomon took the criticism to heart. Press articles not only cast aspersions on their politics but on their past, asking embarrassing questions about the sources of their wealth, and hinting at unsavoury reasons for their favour in high places. Even the famous Rothschild courier service became the subject of a scorching indictment.

Ever since Waterloo the brothers had concentrated on assembling the best network of intelligence agents on the continent, and organizing the fastest means of transmitting the intelligence from one point to another. All the branches had carrier pigeons trained to fly to the various capitals as occasion demanded; but now Rothschild ‘stations’ were set up on the main European highways to provide fresh horses and carriages for the Rothschild messengers, dressed conspicuously in the blue and yellow family livery. At Calais and Dunkirk boats and skippers in the exclusive pay of the family crossed the Channel in all weather.

As the Rothschild courier service was more efficient than any other, governments began to take advantage of it; and as the secret perusal of other people’s correspondence was an accepted custom of the time, the Rothschilds did not shrink from it. Sometimes they gleaned intelligence of financial advantage but they had to move warily as wily statesmen liked nothing better than to infiltrate letters into the mail containing false information designed to confuse and mislead the enemy. Thus the courier service became a factor in affairs of state and the brothers a frequent target of furious abuse. On one occasion Salomon was accused of delaying the post from Constantinople for two days outside Vienna in order to gain time ‘to rig the market, and to make some hundreds for the Chancellor, Zichy and the rest of the pack of thieves, with the German fortress caretaker, Rothschild, the King of the Jews and the Jew of Kings at their head.’[42]

This was the sort of vicious broadside that James and Salomon most deplored. However, by the middle of 1824 the “brothers were embroiled in undertakings which took their minds from their troubles. First of all, in July of that year, James married Salomon’s nineteen-year-old daughter, Betty. The new Baroness was an immediate success. Installed on the Rue Laffitte in the magnificent Hôtel de Laborde, once the home of Napoleon’s Police Commissioner (and later renamed the Hotel Fouché), she was soon giving the most elegant parties in Paris. The Royal family took the bride under their wing, while poets and artists sang her praises. Ingres immortalized her in a portrait; Heinrich Heine dedicated a poem to her entitled ‘The Angel’.

James’ honeymoon, however, was only a minor distraction for in 1824 he was preoccupied with the biggest operation yet undertaken by the brothers, a plan to convert the French national debt from five per cent to three per cent. Just as Salomon was banker-in-chief to the Austrian Empire, James was banker-in-chief to Louis XVIII, whose reactionary Government fitted into the Metternich ‘system’. After all, Rothschild money had helped to place the Bourbon King on his throne. Louis was not a prepossessing figure. Lame and bloated, ‘an invalid of time not war’, he presented a pitiful contrast to the great Bonaparte who had led his armies into almost every capital in Europe. Yet he did his best to play a role both regal and royal, placing such exaggerated insistence on ceremony that once, when he fell down, he refused to be helped up except by the Captain of the Guard. His Charter of 1814 had made concessions but stopped short of true parliamentary government; the ministers could be overthrown by the Chambers, only the ninety thousand richest citizens could vote, and only the ten thousand very richest were eligible as deputies.

Louis’s chief minister, M. de Villèle, put the proposition of the loan conversion to Nathan Rothschild in 1823, suggesting that the Rothschild banks should form a consortium in collaboration with Barings of London and the famous financier, Jacques Laffitte, of Paris. The benefit of the conversion as far as the French Government was concerned was obvious: a saving of two per cent in interest payments would net the state a million francs a year. But how could the French rentiers be persuaded to exchange bonds worth five per cent per annum for bonds worth only three per cent? Two temptations must be placed in their way: the old bonds must rise to irresistible heights; the new bonds must threaten to follow. To achieve these results the bankers would have to raise at least £150,000,000; not only would plenty of cash be needed to buy up the old bonds, but bulling the market was always a costly operation. Nathan agreed to undertake the scheme, but for a breath-taking profit; nothing less than the full two per cent saved by the Government in the first year after conversion.

One of the conditions of the deal was that M. de Villèle would seek the consent of the French Chamber des Députés. The minister was so confident of his success, however, that he begged the bankers to begin work at once. Together, the various consortia bought up thousands of francs of old bonds, and drove up the price from 92 to 106. But when Villèle went to the Lower Chamber he was astonished at the outcry. The deputies did not seem to care what price the old bonds had reached; the idea that they were being asked to take two per cent less in interest struck them as an outrageous impertinence. They accused the Government of manipulation, exploitation and dishonesty, personally charging Villèle with robbing the country to enrich the bankers. Poor old Louis XVIII was so upset that he did not dare to show himself on the streets. Nevertheless, the Lower Chamber finally passed Villèle’s bill; but to everyone’s astonishment the Peers, led by the Vicomte de Châteaubriand, who hated both Louis XVIII and his chief minister, threw the bill out.

The consternation among the bankers can be imagined. All the more, as Jacques Laffitte, one of the most influential members of the consortium, suddenly discovered that the Rothschilds for some days past had been selling their five-per-cent bonds in secret. As the rest of the group was trying to bull the market they did not take a kindly view of this private bear operation. A less private manoeuvre was directed by the banker Ouvrard. He successfully drove down the shares, making a profit of millions as they fell. Baring and Laffitte panicked, and got rid of their holdings with severe losses, while the Rothschild group, minus the Rothschilds, barely scrambled out alive.

A year later Villèle managed to get his bill through both chambers and returned to the charge. James and Nathan agreed to have another try, but this time they were careful to safeguard themselves. The scheme was a total failure, only eight per cent of the bond holders cashing in old certificates for the new three-per-cent bonds.

The Liberal peers seized the opportunity to mount a new attack on the Rothschilds, depicting the conversion scheme as a brutal attempt to rob the poor. James and Salomon did everything in their power to improve their public image; but whereas some newspaper owners and journalists bent to the agreeable pressure of Rothschild gifts and hospitality, there were always new writers and new papers to continue the attack. At this point the indefatigable Friedrich von Gentz came forward with a suggestion. For a consideration — rather a handsome consideration — he would write a biographical account of the House of Rothschild which would go a long way to silence the family detractors. Salomon eagerly agreed to collaborate and Gentz set to work. He was successful beyond expectation as he managed to persuade the editors of the famous Brockhaus encyclopaedia to insert his article, in a condensed form, in the edition of 1827.

For nearly a century this work was accepted as the authentic history of the family. The theme, of course, was the triumph of sheer goodness, a simple tale for simple people. Every trace of Rothschild ingenuity was eliminated for the highlights were not only dimmed but extinguished. For instance, Buderus, the key figure of the drama, the middle man who diverted the Elector’s money into Rothschild hands, was relegated to the land of limbo. He did not exist. And as he did not exist it was only logical that there should be no mention of Nathan’s successful speculation with the Elector’s funds; no mention of running gold to Wellington’s armies, or paying subsidies for the British Government; or bearing the French loan to force Europe to recognize Rothschild power.

Credit for the family fortune belonged entirely to the virtuous behaviour of Father Mayer Amschel, who was depicted as a banker, not as a petty trader. Mayer was friend and confidant of the Elector who, when he was forced to flee from the French, entrusted all his worldly goods to him. Mayer hid the millions of money in his ghetto cellar and when, eventually, the French police arrived to search the House of the Green Shield, managed to divert the attention of the marauders by sacrificing his own hard-earned cash. At the end of the war he returned William of Hesse’s treasure intact and the grateful Prince made him a rich man. It was the reward of virtue told with gushing admiration. ‘… It must never be overlooked,’ wrote Gentz, ‘that in addition to the reasonableness of their terms, the punctuality of their services, the simplicity and clarity of their methods and the intelligence with which they are carried through, it is the personal moral character of the five brothers that has the greatest influence upon the success of their relationship …’

All this was perfectly true, but of course there was no mention that the Rothschilds, in partnership with Carl Buderus, had gambled with the Elector’s money without the Elector’s knowledge or permission. Despite the fact that all the money had been returned to William, plus interest and appreciation, the irregularity would not help the brothers to establish themselves as the world’s most scrupulous bankers. So Gentz decided to eliminate it; and the elimination necessitated the suppression of a whole string of events, such as Nathan’s huge purchase of gold which led to his introduction to John Herries and his work for the British Government.

Gentz was amazingly smug. He would not even admit that the Rothschilds had been lucky. ‘In particular instances good or adverse fortune may indeed determine a man’s destiny in life,’ he wrote, ‘though even then not exclusively. But enduring success, like persistent ill-fortune, is always, and to a far greater extent than is commonly supposed, the fruit of personal merit or personal inefficiency or wrong-doing.’

Gentz’ moralizing was greatly appreciated by the family. Indeed, when he died, Salomon wrote sadly to James:

He was a friend whose like I shall certainly never meet again. He cost me something frightful — you have no idea how much. He would just simply write down on a scrap of paper what he required and the amount would be handed to him without further ado. Yet now he is gone I can see how valuable he was to us. Gladly would I give three times as much to have him back.[43]

According to the enemies of the family Gentz’ Biographical Account provided the Rothschilds with a halo which bore a marked resemblance to a life-saver. This of course was greatly exaggerated, for in life all is apt to be well that ends well; and the Elector, who apparently remained permanently in the dark about the way his investments had been handled, was so surprised and delighted to receive back even more money than he had parted with, that he had nothing but praise for the Rothschilds. Although the article gained the brothers a short respite from attack by wrapping them in the impregnable respectability of dullness, it did not prevent them from making another dashing foray — and another costly miscalculation — which again rocked their empire.

This time, as before, the trouble started in Paris. Louis XVIII died in the summer of 1824 and was succeeded by his brother, Charles X, a handsome, white-haired gentleman of sixty-seven, whose stormy youth had given way to an obtuse old age. As Austrian consul-general, James de Rothschild saw the new King crowned at Rheims, little realizing that Charles would go into the history books as the last sovereign to be anointed in the ancient city. James was well pleased with the turn of events, for Charles retained M. de Villèle as his chief minister, and Villèle retained James as his banker-in-chief.

However, the government soon found itself facing the normal dilemma of governments: rising prices, unemployment, popular discontent. In October 1827 Castellane noted in his diary, M. de Villèle has as many supporters … as the plague would have if it awarded government pensions.’ So the King finally dismissed Villèle, appointing instead an even more reactionary chief minister, M. de Polignac, son of Marie Antoinette’s old favourite.

Needless to say conditions did not improve. The King and Polignac were accused of being indifferent to the plight of the people, of interesting themselves in the rebuilding of the Bastille and the abolition of the metric system instead of providing food. Charles x was plotting with Polignac, but for very different reasons. He was drawing up a new and ultra-Royalist Cabinet. When the list was published Charles announced a general election, hoping that the voters (restricted to ninety thousand people) would nominate a Chamber that reflected the conservative views of the new ministry. Instead, the voters returned the old Chamber, a loud slap in the face for the King.

Now the rumours came fast and thick: the Government was planning a show-down; the King was about to sign an order declaring Paris under martial law; Polignac was mobilizing troops to prevent the Chamber from meeting. No one was more agitated by the news than James de Rothschild, as he had just acquired a contract for a large French loan. The new issue had been taken over at an extremely high figure, and if there was any truth in the gossip, riots were bound to occur, perhaps even a revolution, perhaps even a war. In the circumstances what would become of French credit and the expensive new bonds? From London, Nathan Rothschild reported that the energetic Ouvrard was unloading French securities at panic prices and on a truly impressive scale. He advised James to try and stop the downward trend by bulling the market; but first, of course, James must discover the truth.

James could not believe that Ouvrard, who had done his best to ruin the government conversion scheme by bearing the market, had inside information denied to him, Royal banker, government confidant, blue-eyed boy of the Bourbons. M. de Polignac restored James’s confidence. He assured him that Ouvrard was making a fool of himself. Talk of a coup d’état was tittle-tattle. If the government took any dramatic steps James de Rothschild would be the first to know. He could return home and have a good night’s sleep.

This was on the evening of 24 July. The next morning Charles x signed the famous Polignac decree, dissolving the newly elected Chamber, restricting the suffrage and gagging the Press.

Paris took up the challenge and overnight barricades sprang up on every street. The house of banker Jacques Laffitte, the man who had taken umbrage at James de Rothschild’s behaviour during the conversion scheme — was the meeting place for the rebels. Bloody encounters took place between insurgents and military and two thousand people were killed. Old inhabitants said that it was 1789 all over again. Pandemonium reigned on the Bourse with rentes falling thirty points in a day. The King and his ministers, surprised and terrified by the storm they had let loose, fled from the capital. Yet before he shook the Paris dust from his feet the insensitive Charles X was not averse to asking a favour of James de Rothschild, the man he had almost brought tumbling down with him. With complete sang froid he stopped at James’s country house, on the outskirts of the Bois de Boulogne, and asked him for a loan — which James of course gave to him.

Suddenly banker Jacques Laffitte produced a saviour in the form of Louis-Philippe, Duke of Orleans, and a cousin of Charles x. He had all the right credentials, including his famous father, Philippe-Égalité, of the first Revolution. When Louis-Philippe rode among the people he was acclaimed with enthusiasm. The July Revolution was over almost as soon as it had begun, and France had a new sovereign, a Citizen King. Jacques Laffitte was rewarded (over-rewarded some thought) with the office of Chief Minister and Minister of Finance.

This was only one of the bitter pills that the Rothschilds had to swallow. Their holdings had dropped by 17,000,000 gulden and for a few weeks people whispered that the family was facing bankruptcy. The Rothschild courier service, however, had proved its worth, literally, in gold. Long before the news was received by the all-powerful Metternich in Austria, or by Queen Victoria’s ministers in London, or by King Frederick William’s Government in Prussia, the yellow-and-blue-capped messengers had brought the Rothschild brothers an account of the fateful happenings. All over Europe bourses slumped and government securities fell to new lows. But the advance information had allowed Nathan and Salomon to sell before the bottom was reached; and later more information instructed them to buy back in time to recoup their huge losses with a resurgence of confidence that sent the shares rocketing again. No one was more impressed by the Rothschild intelligence service than the former French ambassador to the Court of St James, Prince Talleyrand. ‘The English Ministry,’ he had once written from London to Paris, ‘is always informed of everything by the Rothschilds ten to twelve hours before the despatches of Lord Stuart [the British ambassador] in Paris arrive: and this is necessarily so because the vessels used by the Rothschild couriers belong to the House; they take no passengers and sail in all weathers.’[44]

Although James de Rothschild no longer enjoyed the confidence of the government because of the hostility of Jacques Laffitte, he worked furiously to maintain peace between Austria and France. The Rothschild banks could survive a minor revolution: but would the virus spread across Europe as it had done forty years earlier? And would Metternich decide that the best way to cure the disease was to declare war on the French King, explaining to the world that he was ‘cutting out the cancer’?

Prolonged disturbances of any kind were bad for banking profits but a war could be ruinous: so James organized his own counter-espionage group. He instructed every Rothschild agent in France to keep his ear close to the ground and to winkle out the secrets of the revolutionary emigres who were conspiring to stir up trouble abroad. Although a full-scale revolt broke out in Brussels in the summer, leading to the separation of Holland and Belgium, the trouble did not spread beyond the borders of these countries. Indeed, James managed to scotch intrigues that might have resulted in major uprisings in Germany and Spain.

James’s activities commended him to the new King. Although Louis-Philippe had appointed Jacques Laffitte his Finance Minister, the truth was that the King ceased to be a liberal as soon as he had seized the throne. Laffitte’s radical recommendations annoyed and frightened him, whereas James de Rothschild’s advice to ‘restrain his followers’ struck a sympathetic chord. Furthermore Laffitte’s preoccupation with government business induced him to neglect his own affairs, causing people to question his general competence. Indeed, in London, Nathan Rothschild spoke disparagingly of the man ‘who imagined that he could save the finances of France but was unable to preserve his own fortune’.

The King finally acted on James’s advice to appoint banker Casimir Périer — a staunch friend of the House of Rothschild — as Minister of Finance in Laffitte’s place. In order to soften the blow, Louis-Philippe renamed the Rue d’Artois, where the fallen Minister had his office, the Rue Laffitte. Ironically enough, Messieurs de Rothschild Freres had quarters on the same street. ‘I ask forgiveness of God and the world for my share in the revolution,’ said Laffitte as he retired from power and took his place in the ranks of the Opposition.

Meanwhile the July Revolution continued to provoke repercussions, and Austria and France, as champions respectively of conservative and radical forces, glared at each other with increasing ill-will. In the spring of 1831 uprisings in Italy forced the Duke of Modena to flee from his capital, and Marie Louise to abandon Parma. In Bologna the population threw off the papal yoke.

Metternich responded to the cries for help by sending an army across the Po. Although Louis-Philippe had no desire to find himself embroiled in the struggle, one of his minions in the Foreign Office composed an ultimatum to Prince Metternich. ‘Yesterday,’ James wrote to Salomon, ‘the note was drafted which is to be sent to Austria. It contained the phrase “évacuez immédiatement Boulogna” [sic] … I shall see that this is left out.’ It was, and the temperature dropped.

Throughout the months of crisis James soothed both sides, sending letters to Salomon specially designed for Prince Metternich, whom he referred to as ‘Uncle’. He indulged in profuse flattery and even went to the length of describing Louis-Philippe as a secret Royalist.

If Uncle wants peace, and convinces our Government that he does, we shall have peace; and he will certainly have a firmer control over affairs here than he had in Polignac’s time. For neither the Ministry nor the Chamber are, as had been supposed, ultra-liberal: indeed their views have been modified so much that they are more inclined to Royalism … You can see a proof of this in the way they deal with their Spanish revolutionaries; there are no more clubs or popular gatherings. Each day we have new laws for maintaining peace; there are no posters or tub-thumpers; the revolutionary papers are being suppressed …

And in another letter, not intended for Uncle’s eyes: ‘Do try to find out the position, for even though we are not carrying out any transactions in rentes we have a holding of 900,000 [18,000,000 francs worth]: if peace is preserved they will be worth 75, while in the case of war they will drop to 45 …’[45]

By 1832 everyone could breathe again: peace had been preserved, and Government securities were rising in all the capitals in Europe. At this point a cholera epidemic broke out in Vienna. Salomon was panic stricken and, although Metternich remained in the capital, fled to Paris. Nathan and James raised their eyebrows, but stifled their disapproval, for Salomon was the most highly strung of the four brothers and apt to fly off the handle at any serious criticism. He had always been neurotic about disease and on this occasion the epidemic pursued him to Paris, and before long thirty-two thousand people were dead, among them Casimir Périer, who had insisted on visiting the hospitals.

The Rothschilds mourned the friend whom they had put into power and who, in turn, had helped them to win the confidence of the new King. Louis-Philippe not only gave Messieurs de Rothschild Frères a virtual monopoly of all state loans but delighted James by awarding him the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour.

*

Although James had a genius for survival, he deferred to Nathan as the greatest banker in Europe. Banking was still in such a rudimentary state that even bankers seemed to be baffled by it. Yet to Nathan nothing appeared mysterious. He long ago had grasped the interplay of finance and economics, the effect of political news on the stock exchange, the quickest way of bearing or bulling a market. He understood how the balance of trade affected gold reserves, and how gold reserves affected the rate of exchange. Many of the financial books written during his day quote his views as definitive: … As Mr. Rothschild puts it the balance of payments as to those countries with which you trade is really and truly the only guide for the rate of exchange. If the balance of payments be against you, the exchanges are against you. Vice versa … Mr. Rothschild states it as a matter of fact, within his own experience, that there is a surplus of articles exported from this country above those imported, in consequence of which there is a regular payment of gold to this country from the whole world. ‘I purchase,’ says he, ‘regularly week by week, from £80,000 to £100,000 worth of bills, which are drawn for goods shipped from Liverpool, Manchester, Newcastle, and other places and I send them to the continent to my houses. My houses purchase against them bills upon this country, which are drawn for wines, wool, and other commodities. But if there be not a sufficient supply of bills abroad on this country we are obliged to get gold from Paris, Hamburg, and elsewhere.’ In this way there is, in point of fact, in the ordinary course of things, a regular payment of gold to this country from the whole world, which shows, that the bills drawn abroad are not equal to those drawn at home; and that ‘the bills drawn upon the Royal Exchange must bring gold from all parts of the World’.[46]

Nathan had a prodigious memory. He not only helped to regulate the English exchange rate day by day, but could keep in mind the fluctuating rates through Europe and their relations to one another, which frequently enabled him to make lightning forays on the Stock Exchange and to reap lightning rewards. Visitors to London who wandered through the narrow streets of the City occasionally caught a glimpse of an extraordinary figure standing in a courtyard surrounded by a crowd of people.

He was a very common looking person [wrote an American tourist], with heavy features, flabby pendant lips and projecting fish eyes. His figure which was stout, awkward and ungainly, was enveloped in the loose folds of an ample surtout. Yet there was something commanding in his air and manner, and the deferential respect which seemed voluntarily rendered to him showed that he was no ordinary person. ‘Who is that?’ was the natural question. ‘The King of the Jews’ was the reply. The persons crowding around him were presenting bills of exchange. He would glance for a moment at a paper, return it, and with an affirmatory nod, turn to the next individual pressing for an audience. Two well looking young men, with somewhat of an air of dandyism, stood beside him making a memorandum to assist in the recollections of bargains regulating the whole Continental Exchanges of the day. Even without this assistance he is said to be able to call to mind every bargain he has made. Of these he may now be esteemed the King.[47]

To many people the figure of Nathan Rothschild was even more awesome on the floor of the Stock Exchange, hands always thrust in pockets, hat pulled over eyes, dressed in the funeral black of ghetto days. Indeed, in 1833, a publicity seeker caused an uproar when he usurped the great Rothschild’s favourite pillar and refused to give ground.

A strong sensation was created in the Royal Exchange on Tuesday, [reported the Observer] in consequence of Mr. N. M. Rothschild, the eminent capitalist, being prevented from taking his usual station, with his back leaning against one of the pillars of the building at the south-east comer of the Royal Exchange. A Mr. Rose, of Trinity Square, placed himself in this spot just as Mr. Rothschild entered the ’Change to conduct his transactions in the Foreign Exchanges. In vain did Mr. Rothschild courteously remonstrate with the intruder — in vain did the Exchange porters exert themselves — Mr. Rose would not stir from the pillar, and Mr. Rothschild was ultimately compelled to retreat to the benches in the rear. Mr. Rothschild … was so excited by being displaced that it was some time before he could compose himself and do business. We believe that sometime ago a similar attempt was made to oust Mr. Rothschild from his pillar.[48]

Had Mr Rose taken a bet? Whatever the explanation, the scene was never repeated.

Nathan received a steady stream of eminent foreign visitors at his office at New Court. He was such a celebrity that everyone wanted to meet him. The Prince of Puckler-Muskau, who was touring England in 1826, was determined to call upon the ‘true lion’, ‘the sovereign’ as he called him.

I found him [he wrote] in a poor, obscure-looking place (his residence is in another part of the town) and making my way with some difficulty through the little courtyard, blocked up by a waggon laden with bars of silver, I was introduced into the presence of the Grand Ally of the Holy Alliance. I found the Russian consul in the act of paying his court. He is an acute, clever man, perfect in the part he has to play and uniting the due respect with a becoming air of dignity. 

This was the more difficult because the very original aristocrat of the City did not stand much on ceremony. On presenting my letter of credit, he said ironically, that we were lucky people who could afford to travel about so, and take our pleasure; while he, poor man, had such a heavy burden to bear. He then broke out into bitter complaints that every poor devil who came to England had something or other to ask of them. ‘Yesterday,’ said he, ‘here was a Russian begging of me’ (an episode which threw a bitter-sweet expression over the consul’s face); ‘and,’ added he, ‘the Germans here don’t give me a moment’s peace.’ Now it was my turn to put a good face upon the matter.

After this the conversation took a political turn, and we both of course agreed that Europe could not subsist without him; — he modestly declined our compliment, and said, smiling, ‘Oh no, you are only jesting — I am but a servant, whom people are pleased with because he manages their affairs well, and to whom they let some crumbs fall as an acknowledgement.’

All this said in a language quite peculiar to himself, half English, half German — the English part with a broad German accent, but with the imposing confidence of a man who feels such trifles to be beneath his attention. This truly original language struck me as very characteristic of a man who is unquestionably a person of genius, and of a certain sort of greatness of character.[49]

Some months later the Prince was invited to the Rothschilds’ house at Stamford Hill for dinner. Here he found two or three directors of the East India Company and Nathan’s large family. Nathan was ‘amusing and talkative’ and the Prince was highly diverted to hear him explaining the pictures around his dining room, all of which were portraits of the sovereigns of Europe presented through their ministers, and to hear him talk of the originals, not only as his good friends but his equals. The Prince was impressed by the family’s pride in their Jewish ancestry and religion; but of course this was true of all Rothschilds everywhere. Not only was the family faithful to its past, but it never lost an opportunity to use its influence for the betterment of its co-religionists. When Carl lent money to the Pope he made it a condition that His Holiness should work for the abolition of the Roman ghetto; and in 1829 Nathan presented a petition to the House of Commons asking Parliament to abolish the disabilities of the Jews. In Frankfurt Amschel had scored a great victory in 1823 when he had been instrumental in enacting a law permitting marriages between Christians and Jews. ‘This scandalous law,’ the seventy-four-year-old Goethe had fulminated, ‘will undermine all family sense of morality, intimately associated with religion as it is … How can a Jewess be prevented from becoming principal Lady of the Bedchamber? Foreigners are bound to think that bribery has been at work to make such a law possible. I expect that the all-powerful Rothschilds are behind it.’

Despite the long hours that Nathan worked he was devoted to his wife and seven children; finally, a short time before the Prince of Puckler-Muskau called at New Court, he succumbed to the entreaties of his over-crowded family and moved them into a large house at 107 Piccadilly. Unlike other rich men, Nathan’s pleasure was making money not spending it, and he was annoyed to find himself a target for every art dealer in London. As he was completely indifferent to the furnishings, his wife undertook the responsibility; but occasionally, to please a friend who recommended this artist or that, he bought a picture. ‘Give me any one you like,’ he would instruct the painter, ‘as long as it does not cost over £30.’ His attitude towards music was much the same. When Hannah invited the well-known composer, Spohr, to give a concert, Nathan congratulated the performer, then jingled the coins in his pocket, saying: ‘This is my music.’

Nathan was subjected to a steady stream of people asking him the secret of his riches. Sometimes he replied brusquely: ‘Selling enough of anything.’ Othertimes he moralized: ‘Stick to one business, young man; stick to your brewery, and you may be the great brewer of London. Be a brewer and a banker and a merchant and a manufacturer and you will soon be in the Gazette.’ But Nathan also believed that luck played a part for he once told his friend, Thomas Buxton: ‘I have seen many very clever men who had not shoes to their feet. I never act with them. Their advice sounds very well, but fate is against them. They cannot get on themselves; if they cannot do good to themselves, how can they do good to me?’[50]

On the whole Nathan was a contented man but every now and then the begging letters, the threats, the adulation, and constant pressures because of his money, seemed to disgust him, and then he talked in a cynical vein. ‘Sometimes to amuse myself,’ he told Buxton, ‘I give a beggar a guinea. He thinks I have made a mistake and, for fear I should find it out, off he runs as hard as he can. I advise you to give a beggar a guinea sometimes. It is very amusing.’

Although Nathan did not gladly sit through the interminably long services at the synagogue he considered himself a practising Jew. The notion that any of his children could marry outside the faith shocked him. In 1832 his beautiful seventeen-year-old daughter, Hannah, went to Paris to stay with Aunt Betty and Uncle James. They gave a ball and during the evening Prince Edmond de Clary, the twenty-one-year-old son of a famous Austrian family, fell madly in love with her. He asked his friend Prince Esterhazy, a former ambassador to London, to approach Nathan Rothschild and to press his suit. Esterhazy obliged, but his eloquence had no effect. ‘I will never allow my daughter to marry a Christian,’ Nathan said flatly: and immediately sent a message to Hannah to return home at once.

Normally Nathan left all problems to do with the children to his wife, for domestic affairs bored him. Although he complained about the long hours he worked, he was only really happy at the bank. Not only was he master of his craft but he knew that he had few equals; and as all five Rothschild banks in five countries were branches of the same firm, he master-minded every financial deal made by his brothers.

The German banker, Moritz von Bethmann, believed that the main reason for the Rothschilds’ success was ‘the harmony between the brothers’.

None of them [he wrote] ever thinks of finding fault with another. None of them adversely criticizes any of the others’ business dealings, even when the results do not come up to expectations …[51]

However, occasionally it was expedient for the brothers to pretend that they did not see eye to eye. In 1834 Nathan decided that he must acquire the quick-silver mine at Almeida in Spain. As there were only two such deposits in Europe, and he already owned the mine at Idria in Austria, control of the Spanish mine would give him a monopoly. In order to effect the purchase Nathan had to establish friendly relations with the liberal-minded Queen Regent, Maria Christina. He did this by lending her £600,000. Unfortunately Prince Metternich was financing the Queen’s opponents, the Absolutist Party led by the pretender Don Carlos, and was furious at what he considered ‘an outrageous deception.’

As Metternich’s policies dominated Austria, Prussia and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, where three of the brothers resided, and influenced the Bourbon King of France, where the fourth brother lived, it is not surprising that the Rothschilds were anxious to retain his good will. Salomon tried to mend matters by explaining to Metternich, rather ingeniously, that Nathan’s wife, Hannah, ‘a liberal-minded Cohen’, had prevailed upon her husband to advance the money against his better instincts.

This explanation apparently did not satisfy Metternich and Salomon wrote an even more grovelling letter, referring to Nathan as ‘a child in politics’. ‘Nathan Mayer Rothschild is not particularly bright,’ he confided. ‘He is exceedingly competent in his office but, apart from that, between you and ourselves, he can hardly spell his own name.’[52] This ludicrous apology appeased Metternich who forgot and forgave, while Nathan added several more millions to his brothers’ balance sheets.

*

In June 1836 Nathan’s son and heir, twenty-eight-year-old Lionel, married his cousin Charlotte, only daughter of Carl von Rothschild of Naples. The wedding took place in Frankfurt to please eighty-three-year-old Gutle who still lived in the House of the Green Shield in the ghetto. The fact of a Rothschild marrying a Rothschild had become normal procedure: indeed, of the twelve marriages contracted by the sons of the five brothers, nine were with Rothschild women. It was not only that the young men were brought up to think of good matches in terms of dowries, but the number of attractive Jewesses with the same sophisticated tastes as themselves was limited, that is, outside the family.

Frankfurt was accustomed to splendour. For centuries it had witnessed the crowning of the Holy Roman Emperors, and since 1815 had been the seat of the German Confederation. Yet the general public seemed much more excited by the world-famous Rothschilds, who flowed in for the wedding from the four corners of Europe, than by royalty. The English contingent was flanked by innumerable Cohens and Montefiores, Stems and Goldsmiths and Gompertzes. In the middle of the group was the slightly incongruous figure of the celebrated Rossini, who once upon a time had instructed Nathan’s daughter, Hannah, how to play her pure gold harp — a gift from her father. Crowds lined the streets to see the expensive equipages, the high-stepping horses, the silks and satins, the rustle and bustle. Many houses flew the flags of England and Naples, while the Judengasse was resplendent with floral decorations.

Fifty-nine-year-old Nathan had a carbuncle on his neck and on the day of the wedding was hot and flushed. At the feast he shivered, and finally took to his bed. That was the middle of June: and by the middle of July he was no better, still running a high temperature. His wife sent a courier racing to England to bring the celebrated physician, Benjamin Travers, to his side. Although the poison had spread through Nathan’s system, sometimes causing delirium, much of the time his mind was lucid, enabling him to do a great deal of moralizing. He begged his sons to keep the business property intact, and not to participate in any risky ventures. The world, he said, would try to make money out of them so they must be all the more careful; and above all, they must hold together in unity.

There was a good deal of praying, of course. Ten minutes before his death a rabbi gave him the confessional and he began to read: ‘I acknowledge unto thee, Lord my God and God of my fathers, that both my cure and my death are in thy hands. May it be thy will …’ Then he stopped and put the book aside. ‘It is not necessary that I should pray so much, for believe me, according to my convictions I have not sinned …’

Meanwhile throughout July persistent rumours of Nathan Rothschild’s illness had depressed the London stock-market. ‘The dangerous state in which Mr. Rothschild remains,’ commented a correspondent of The Times in ‘City Intelligence’, on 2 August 1836, ‘by the accounts from Frankfurt has again today had its effect upon Spanish and Portuguese securities and a further depression of 1½ per cent has taken place in them … it seems generally expected that the firm would call in all the loans advanced upon these securities by Mr Rothschild and hence the anxiety of all the borrowers to dispose of their stock …’

On the day of Nathan’s death, 28 July, carrier pigeons were released to fly to Rothschild houses all over Europe to prevent unnecessary losses. Apparently only one pigeon reached the English coast and was inadvertently shot by a farmer who was puzzled by the message the bird was carrying: ‘Il est mort.’ On 27 July The Times had scoffed at the notion that there was anything ‘seriously wrong’ with the banker; and a week later, on 2 August was emphatically denying that the great man had departed from this world. ‘Some of the morning papers give a report of the death of Mr Nathan Rothschild. We have made inquiry and we learn that there is no truth in such a report …’ The body reached London by boat; and the funeral procession took place on 8 August with Lord Mayor, sheriffs, aldermen, ambassadors and ministers following the coffin. The Times, at last on firm ground, declared: The death of Nathan Mayer Rothschild is one of the most important events for the City, and perhaps for Europe, which has occurred for very long time. His financial transactions have pervaded the whole of the Continent, and … influenced money business of every description. No operations on an equally large scale existed in Europe previous to his time … Mr Rothschild, like the rest of his brothers, held a patent of nobility with the title of Baron, but he never assumed it and was more justly proud of that name under which he had acquired a distinction which no title could convey … [4 August 1836]