These passions, for progress and for the glory of his name and the name of France, inexorably led Napoleon to support the creation of the Suez Canal. As his prison writings reflected, his enthusiasm for grand engineering projects was no secret. Though he refrained from aggressively endorsing the Suez undertaking in the mid-1850s, rumor was that he favored it. The emperor took no official position, but there were signs; and in a world of imperial-court intrigue, these signs were widely read.
The emperor’s rebuff of Enfantin, for instance, was a clear indication that if the court were to lend its approval it would be to a canal overseen by Lesseps. Then there was the seemingly casual conversation the emperor had with the Turkish foreign minister, Ali Pasha, in April 1856, after a banquet during the Crimea peace conference. Napoleon told Ali that he thought that Suez would benefit everyone. He said that he had been studying the matter and that, though he had no plan to force the issue with England, he couldn’t imagine why any reasonable person would wish to prevent its eventual execution. That, in turn, echoed what the president of the French Senate had said several weeks earlier, when delivering a benediction celebrating the birth of the young prince. In front of the emperor and his empress, the senator announced that the child’s birth would occasion many blessings, one of which was a joining of the oceans: “The East and the West, which have been seeking since the Crusades but are only now finding each other once more, will marry the two seas and their coasts to release a beneficent flow of ideas, of wealth and of civilization.” Saint-Simon could not have put it more eloquently had he been alive to deliver the benediction himself.2
In addition, the protector of the Canal Company was Napoleon’s cousin Prince Napoleon, known as Plon-Plon, who was the son of one of Napoleon Bonaparte’s brothers. The prince had been Napoleon III’s official successor until Eugénie had a son. Plon-Plon was widely disliked as a physically repulsive, petulant, ineffectual, and corrupt presence in the emperor’s inner circle. He made a fortune trading on his connections to the throne, and he used the proceeds to live grandly in a mansion off the Champs-Élysées. He was corrupt, but he was also savvy Early on, Lesseps approached him and asked that he be the official patron of the canal project in France, and the prince, never one to pass up a golden opportunity, accepted. For minimal effort, Plon-Plon was guaranteed maximum financial reward if the venture succeeded. In turn, Lesseps was able to solidify the widespread belief that the emperor himself was a closet canaliste. The presence of Prince Napoleon’s name on all official correspondence for the project deepened suspicions that it was sanctioned not just by the prince but also by his cousin the emperor.
And, finally, there was Lesseps himself, who continually invoked the emperor’s name. Each time he met resistance in London or Constantinople or Cairo, he insinuated that the emperor agreed with whatever course of action Lesseps was suggesting. This use of Napoleon’s name infuriated not just English diplomats, but some of the French as well, who felt that Lesseps was circumventing normal channels of diplomacy. In December 1856, Lord Cowley complained directly to Napoleon that Lesseps was using the emperor’s name inappropriately and giving the impression that the promotion of the canal scheme was the official policy of the French government. Though Napoleon said that Lesseps did not speak for him, Cowley was left with the distinct impression that the emperor was not displeased. He was correct. Lesseps continued to foster the impression that Napoleon wanted the canal to be built, and Napoleon did nothing to suggest otherwise.3
But translating Napoleon’s passive support into an active asset was a different matter. By the end of 1857, Lesseps had accumulated all the good will he could use. The canal had been publicized; plans had been debated; assurances had been given; and there were sufficient numbers of ardent people in each of the relevant countries. But two things were missing: money and actual work.
Said was paying for preliminary studies, for the publication of the company newspaper, and for the basic administrative costs. The expense was not inconsiderable, but it was a fraction of the money needed to build the actual canal. Lesseps intended all along for the project to be funded by a joint stock company, and as he learned more about the vagaries of high finance, he became more determined than ever that the company should consist of thousands of shareholders rather than a limited number of wealthy patrons and banks. But, as much as he liked the idea of floating shares to any and all who wished to buy them, he did investigate other financing options.
A number of the large European bankers—the Barings, the Foulds, the Rothschilds—expressed an interest in arranging financing, and Lesseps met with them. His session with Baron James Rothschild in Paris in 1856 may have tipped the balance once and for all. The two men had known each other for some years, and the baron was eager to participate. Rothschild thought the preliminary figure of two hundred million francs sounded reasonable, and he told Lesseps that he would be happy to set the process in motion. The Rothschilds had family members and branches in every major capital, and they could draw on a network of contacts among the political and financial elites of Europe. The baron agreed that the project would benefit mankind and said that his family would be honored to play a part.
Lesseps was delighted, and expressed his thanks. He had one question: how much would Rothschild’s services cost? “Mon Dieu!” replied the baron. “It’s clear that you are not a man of business. The usual five percent.” “Five percent?” Lesseps answered aghast. “On 200 million? But that’s 10 million francs!” Lesseps indignantly refused, and said that he would rent offices and arrange the financing himself. Rothschild was not pleased, but decades later his family managed to profit from Suez all the same, when the London branch organized the purchase of millions of canal shares by the British government of Lord Disraeli.4
Refusing to fund the venture via the large banks was not, however, a solution to the problem. In order to float shares, the company had to have credibility. Few people would risk the five-hundred-franc price for one share of a company that seemed to have a high chance of failure. Until there was a consensus that the canal was technically feasible and financially practical, it would be impossible to convince large numbers of people to invest. Though Lesseps and his partisans were ready to issue shares as early as 1856, had they tried to, the endeavor would have been a comic failure. Suez did not have the explicit backing of the ruler of France, and the canal had not yet won the ringing endorsement of the engineering community. And however much they celebrated progress, the conservative and cautious middle class in France and England were not yet prepared to entrust the company with their money. As a result, it wasn’t until 1858 that Lesseps could seriously consider floating shares. Only after years of speaking in front of hundreds of audiences and having the issue aired in numerous newspapers and professional journals, and only after attending to tedious diplomatic niceties, did Lesseps arrive at the point where the company could be capitalized.
The year 1858 also marked a shift in Napoleon’s relationship with Great Britain. On the evening of January 14, Napoleon was on his way to the opera. He was accompanied by Eugénie and his usual coterie of courtiers and guards. Shortly before halting in front of the building, the carriage was rocked by explosions. Three bombs were hurled, one after another, toward the emperor’s party. The crowds that had assembled at the entrance scattered in panic, but not before twelve people had been killed and more than a hundred wounded by flying shards of glass and debris. One of the would-be assassins stood at the carriage door, ready to attack the first who exited. The police intercepted him before he had a chance. The empress, unscathed but covered in the blood of one of the injured guards, refused the hand of the theater manager and declared that she would walk alone. The emperor followed her, though he paused briefly to survey the scene. Unsure of whether to tend to the wounded or to demonstrate his fortitude by entering the theater, he took Eugénie’s lead and went inside to the imperial box, where they were greeted by a raucous ovation and shouts of “Vive l’Impératrice” and �
��Vive l’Empereur!”
The mastermind of the plot was an Italian named Felice Orsini. Arrested at the scene, Orsini was tried in February. He made an impassioned speech calling for Italian independence and denouncing Napoleon for betraying the cause of Italy, and was sentenced to death. His plot had repercussions. Napoleon had been ambivalent about using the police to suppress dissent, but the Orsini plot caused him to reconsider. It also propelled him to support Italian independence. He had spent much of his life fighting for lost causes, in Italy and in France, and he respected Orsini’s passion. Within six months of the assassination attempt, Napoleon met secretly with Count Camillo Cavour of Piedmont and conspired against Austria, which was then in control of northern Italy. The brief war between France and Austria in 1859 was won by France and secured Italian independence under the rule of Piedmont and its king, Victor Emmanuel II. In return, France acquired Nice and Savoy.
But, more pertinent to Suez, the Orsini affair deepened tensions between Britain and France. Orsini had spent years in exile in London; the attempt on Napoleon’s life was planned in England, and the bombs had been manufactured in Birmingham. One of the plotters, in fact, remained in London. The French press labeled England “a nest of vipers” and “a laboratory of crime,” and the French government demanded the extradition of the plotter. Palmerston balked at this potential infringement on British sovereignty. French public opinion turned against the English, and there was talk of war. Palmerston’s enemies in Parliament, appalled at his cavalier attitude toward potential hostilities with France and delighted to use the crisis to undermine his ministry, took advantage of the war scare and brought down his government. Though the crisis blew over, Palmerston was out of office for a year.5
Suez thereby received an unexpected boost from an unintended quarter. With the emperor less willing to placate English concern about French plans for a Suez Canal, and with Palmerston temporarily removed, Lesseps suddenly found the field cleared of two obstacles.
That spring of 1858, he stepped up his already hectic pace. He was in Constantinople twice, and he moved from one European city to another in order to prepare public opinion for the funding of the company. Writing from the Ottoman capital, he told Negrelli that the time was near. “In France,” he said, “the opposition to England will be our principal draw.” And yet the refusal of the sultan or his ministers to make a declaration in favor of the canal remained a serious impediment. Ali Pasha and Fuad were no closer to granting approval that spring than they had been in the previous three years, and they were masters of equivocation. Still, even though the Porte remained unprepared to give its official yes, it also remained unprepared to announce an official no. In true cup-half-full fashion, Lesseps decided that, as long as the Ottomans did not actively intervene, the project could move forward. He continued to argue that the concession granted by Said was sufficient, and that the approval of the sultan, while desirable, was not necessary.6
In May, Suez received yet another boost when the French Academy of Sciences submitted its official report. Perhaps the most prestigious of the many societies of scientists and engineers, the academy ratified the plans submitted by Lesseps, Linant, and Mougel, and it saluted Lesseps for his willingness to entertain all objections. The members of the academy, who had once been skeptical that an amateur like Lesseps could lead a complicated project like Suez, acknowledged that he had proved himself to be a man of learning. Rather than resting on one survey, or even two, he had authorized repeated fact-finding missions to the isthmus and presented his notes and those of the project engineers to the scrutiny of all who might question the plans.
The academy subjected these documents to careful study, and its members evaluated the testimony of engineers and men of learning from more than seven different countries. It was not disposed to lend its sanction promiscuously. It was composed of men who took their expertise seriously. In portraits, they looked somber, and exuded an aura of intellectual and cultural superiority, signaling that they considered themselves the guardians of standards. In a culture that genuflected to the wisdom of secular learning, their opinions mattered. And so it was a great victory for the canal when the academy concluded that none of the potential problems should stand in the way of commencing work. The report acknowledged the difficulty of constructing a port at Pelusium, and it cautioned that questions remained about the duration and intensity of the tides on the Mediterranean coast and in the Red Sea, as well as about the potential for silting on the one hand and innundation on the other. But it found that Lesseps had taken due consideration of these problems and had satisfied the academy that he would be able to solve them.
The report also noted that consuls and chambers of commerce throughout Europe had stated an interest in seeing the passage built, and it rebutted criticisms that the canal would be exorbitantly expensive. In the past two decades, Europeans had spent twelve billion francs constructing railroads. At two hundred million francs, therefore, the canal was a bargain, and would be even if the project went over budget. And as a body charged not just with upholding scientific standards but with the implied mandate to protect the interests of society and civilization, the academy saluted the moral implications of the canal: the shorter route to Suez, the report concluded, would “bring the nations of the world together for their common good.”7
The academy report was the latest in a series of high-profile endorsements, and the English opponents of the canal recognized that Lesseps was gaining momentum. The best they could do was to prevent the government from completely caving. In June 1858, the Suez question was debated in the House of Commons in response to a resolution calling on the government not to use its influence to “induce the Sultan to withhold his consent to the project of making a Canal across the Isthmus of Suez.” A heated argument ensued, with opponents declaring that the honor of England was at stake and that the seemingly innocuous resolution could lead to the rise of a new French Empire at England’s expense. Robert Stephenson rehashed his old objections, calling the scheme technically impossible and politically unwise. Gladstone responded with an attack on the government for its stubborn intransigence against an undertaking that would benefit the commerce of England, and which all sane businessmen favored. He used the canal as an excuse for an eloquent assault on Palmerston, who, though out of office, still led his party and possessed immense influence. Gladstone’s fervor notwithstanding, the resolution was soundly defeated. It had become an issue of English pride to oppose the canal, and though many favored its construction, few wanted to give the impression of bowing to French or international pressure.
Lesseps reacted to this debate with a combination of bemusement and indignation. He had given up on converting the British government, but he was bothered by the continued denigration of his integrity and that of the project. Knowing that many influential men of commerce in England wanted the canal built, he was disappointed that their sentiments did not translate into political support. He felt, with some justification, that the English opponents were misrepresenting the technical issues and the political ramifications. He also was losing patience with what he took to be the Hamlet-like indecision of the Ottomans. It had become clear to him that the only way to get things done was for decisive individuals to take action. “If every great improvement had to be suspended until it was sanctioned by some official authority,” he wrote to a friend in 1858, “the world would be stopped in its tracks, or it would move backward.”8
The years of carefully building international support for the canal were essential to its eventual construction, but at this juncture, Lesseps was thoroughly frustrated by the vacillation of the various parties. If the matter were left to the whims of Said, Palmerston, Napoleon, the sultan, and the ministers in Constantinople, Paris, London, Cairo, and Alexandria, the canal would remain a splendid idea whose time had not yet come. Though he was a former diplomat, Lesseps had remarkably little patience with the slow cadence of diplomacy. By the middle of 1858, he had assembled everything he
needed to begin the work—everything, that is, except two hundred million francs. He had the tacit approval of Napoleon III, and the active support of public opinion in France and even in England. It was time, therefore, to raise money and get to work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A UNIVERSAL COMPANY FOR A MARITIME CANAL
ON OCTOBER 15, 1858, Ferdinand de Lesseps released two letters. One was sent to members of the press throughout Europe; the other was addressed to accredited agents of the Suez Canal Company. In both, Lesseps announced that, on November 5, four hundred thousand shares in the company would be offered to the public at a cost of five hundred francs per share.
Both circulars sketched the outlines of the project. Following the statutes drawn up by Lesseps and Said in 1856, the company was to be governed by the shareholders. Its purpose was to construct a canal suitable for ship navigation between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, and an irrigation canal from the Nile to the isthmus. The company was granted rights to all land cultivated by this irrigation canal. The cost of construction was estimated at 160 million francs—though, once interest charges payable to shareholders were factored in, the total cost would equal the two hundred million to be raised from the subscription. Lesseps promised that the anticipated revenues more than justified the expense. Once the canal was complete, at least three million tons of goods would pass through the canal at a charge of ten francs per ton, for an annual revenue of thirty million francs. That figure, Lesseps claimed, was conservative and represented only a modest percentage of the shipping that made the voyage around the Cape of Good Hope. The work was expected to take six years. First the freshwater irrigation canal would be dug. Then, once that was complete and lands were brought under cultivation, revenue would start flowing to the company. After two more years, a rudimentary canal would exist between the two seas, and the rest of the work could then accelerate.
Parting the Desert Page 17