by Emile Zola
He made an emphatic gesture of affirmation.
‘But of course it’s allowed!… Do you think we’d be stupid enough to risk failure? Not to mention the fact that we need to have solid people, people who can influence the market if things are difficult at the beginning… That means four-fifths of our shares are in safe hands. Now we can go to the notary and sign the deed of association.’
She was bold enough to stand her ground.
‘I thought the law required subscription of the whole of the share capital.’
This time, really surprised, he looked her straight in the eye.
‘You’ve been reading the Code?’*
She blushed slightly, for he had guessed right: the evening before, giving in to her uneasiness, that vague fear with no precise cause, she had done some reading on company law. For a moment she was tempted to lie. Then, with a laugh, she admitted it:
‘It’s true, I read the Code yesterday. I came out of it doubting my own honesty and everyone else’s, in the same way one emerges from medical books with every one of the ailments.’
But he was really annoyed, for the fact that she had tried to get information showed her to be distrustful and ready to keep watch over him with those woman’s eyes of hers, so inquisitive and intelligent.
‘Ah!’ he continued, brushing aside such vain scruples with a wave of his hand, ‘if you think we’re going to comply with all the fiddling complications of the Code! We’d never get anywhere that way, we’d be shackled at every step, while others, all our competitors, would be striding ahead right past us! No, no, I’m certainly not going to wait until all the capital has been subscribed; anyway, I prefer to hold back some shares, and I shall find a man we can trust, a frontman in short, for whom I can open an account.’
‘That’s not allowed,’ she declared simply but gravely with her splendid voice.
‘You’re right, it’s not allowed, but every company does it.’
‘Well they shouldn’t, because it’s wrong.’
Keeping his temper by an effort of will, Saccard thought it best to turn to Hamelin, who was listening with some embarrassment but keeping out of it.
‘My dear friend, I hope you don’t have any doubts about me… I’m an old campaigner with plenty of experience, you can place yourself in my hands for the financial side of things. Bring me good ideas and I’ll undertake to make them as profitable as we could wish, at the least possible risk. I believe a practical man can’t say better than that.’
The engineer, with his invincible timidity and weakness, turned the matter into a joke to avoid making a direct reply:
‘Oh, Caroline will keep you in order; she’s a born schoolmistress.’
‘And I’ll be very happy to be in her classroom,’ Saccard gallantly declared.
Even Madame Caroline had started to laugh again. And the conversation continued in a familiar, good-natured manner.
‘The thing is, I’m very fond of my brother, and I’m very fond of you too, more so than you think, and it would really hurt me to see you getting involved in shady dealings, which in the end lead to nothing but disaster and sorrow… And look, while we’re on the subject, I have a real terror of speculation and playing the stock-market. When you had me copy out the proposed statutes I was so pleased when I read Article 8, stating that the company was strictly forbidden to deal in futures. That meant, no speculation, didn’t it? And then you disabused me, making fun of me, explaining that the article was simply cosmetic, a stylistic formula that all companies are honour-bound to include but not one of them observes… Do you know what I would like, if it were up to me? I would like it if, instead of these shares, these fifty thousand shares that you’re launching, you only issued bonds. Oh, you see how knowledgeable I’ve become since reading the Code! I now know that one cannot speculate in bonds, and that a bondholder is simply a lender who earns a certain percentage on his loan without having any part of the profits, while a shareholder is an associate who runs the risk of profit and loss… Tell me, why can’t we have bonds instead?—That would greatly reassure me and I’d be so happy!’
She jokingly exaggerated the tone of supplication in her request, to mask her real anxiety. And Saccard replied in the same vein, with a comic show of anger.
‘Bonds, bonds! Never!… What the devil do you want with bonds, I ask you? That’s just dead stuff… What you have to understand is that speculation, playing the market, is the central motor, the very heart of a vast affair such as ours. Yes! It brings new blood into the system, it takes small streams of it from all over the place then collects it together and sends it out in rivers, in all directions, creating an enormous circulation of money which is the very lifeblood of great enterprises. Without it major movements of capital, and the great civilizing works that result, are fundamentally impossible… It’s the same for limited-liability companies—what an outcry there was against them! Weren’t we told, over and over, that they were disreputable and dangerous? The truth is that without them we wouldn’t have railways or any of the great new enterprises that have modernized the world; no single fortune would have been sufficient to carry them to success, just as no single individual, nor even any group of individuals, would have been willing to take the risks. Risk, that’s the essential, that and the grandeur of the aim too. There has to be a vast project, a project big enough to capture the imagination; there has to be hope of substantial gain, of winning a jackpot that will give ten times the initial outlay, unless of course it gets swept away instead; that’s what provokes passions, so life floods in, everyone brings his money, and the world can be reshaped. What evil do you see in that? The risks are taken voluntarily and spread over an infinite number of people, unevenly and in line with the size of each person’s wealth and audacity. You can lose but you can also win, you hope for a lucky number but you have to be ready for an unlucky one, and mankind has no more stubborn nor more ardent dream than trying one’s luck and winning everything through a whim of fortune, becoming a king, or a god!’
As he went on Saccard wasn’t laughing any more, he was drawing himself up on his short legs, glowing with lyrical ardour and making gestures that flung his words to the four corners of the heavens.
‘Look! What about us with our Universal Bank, shan’t we be opening up the widest horizon, a real opening onto the ancient world of Asia, a limitless field for the pickaxe of progress and the dreams of fortune-hunters? Yes, there’s never been a more colossal ambition, and I grant you, never have the conditions for success or failure been more obscure. But that is precisely why we tick all the right boxes, and why I’m convinced we’ll create a real craze in the public as soon as we get known… Our Universal Bank, my word!—at first it will be a traditional establishment dealing in all kinds of banking business, credit and discounts, taking in funds in current accounts, making contracts, arranging or granting loans. But what I want above all is to make it a vehicle for launching your brother’s great projects: that will be its true role, with its profits increasing and its power gradually dominating the market. It is being founded, in short, to provide support for the financial and industrial companies we’ll be setting up in foreign countries, whose shares we shall hold and which will thus owe their lives to us and guarantee our supremacy… And in the face of this dazzling vision of future conquests, you’re asking me whether it’s permissible to form a syndicate and give its members a bonus that can be written off against start-up costs; you’re worrying about little unavoidable irregularities, some unsubscribed shares that the company will need to keep, using a frontman as cover; in fact you’re declaring war on speculation, on speculation—great heavens!—the very soul, the core, the inner flame of this gigantic mechanism I’m trying to create! You need to realize that all this, so far, is nothing, this paltry little capital of twenty-five million is just a bit of kindling that we’re throwing into the engine to get the fire going! I expect to double it, quadruple it, quintuple it, as our operations expand! We need a hail of gold, a dance of millions, if we wan
t to achieve out there the miracles predicted! But damn it! I can’t guarantee there’ll be no breakages, you can’t go stirring up the world without stepping on a few toes along the way.’
She was watching him, and in her love of life and of everything strong and active, she ended up finding him quite handsome, charming in his verve and conviction. And so, without accepting his theories, which offended her upright and lucid intelligence, she pretended to have been won over.
‘All right, let’s say I’m only a woman and life’s great battles frighten me… Only please try to tread on as few toes as possible, and especially not the toes of anyone I care about!’
Intoxicated by his burst of eloquence, and exulting over the vast project he’d outlined, as if it were all done already, Saccard was now quite benign.
‘Have no fear! I may act the ogre but I’m just teasing… We’re all going to be very rich.’
Then they chatted quietly about the arrangements to be made, and it was agreed that the very next day, after the official foundation of the company, Hamelin would go to Marseilles and from there to the Orient, to put their great plans into operation. However, there was already gossip on the Paris market, rumours were bringing the name of Saccard back from the murky depths into which it had briefly sunk; at first the news was whispered, then spoken more loudly, and then it rang out clearly, promising imminent success, so that once again, as before in the Parc Monceau, Saccard’s waiting-room was full of people every morning. He found Mazaud dropping by to shake his hand and discuss the day’s news; he had visits from other brokers, including Jacoby, the Jew with the booming voice, and his brother-in-law Delarocque, a big red-haired man who caused his wife so much grief. The kerb market came to call too, in the person of Nathansohn, a small and lively fair-haired man, much favoured by fortune. As for Massias, resigned to his hard lot as an unlucky jobber, he was already turning up every day even though there weren’t yet any orders to be had. The crowd kept on growing larger.
One morning Saccard found the waiting-room full though it was only nine o’clock. As he had not yet taken on any special staff he was being helped, very inadequately, by his valet, and most of the time took it upon himself to let people in. That day, as he was opening the door of his office, he saw Jantrou waiting to enter; but he had caught sight of Sabatani, whom he’d been trying to get hold of for two days.
‘Forgive me, my friend,’ he said, stopping the former professor so that he could let the Levantine in first.
Sabatani, with his disturbing, caressing smile and serpentine suppleness, left the talking to Saccard, and he, knowing his man, made his proposition very plainly:
‘My dear fellow, I need you… We need a frontman. I’ll open an account for you and make you the buyer of a certain number of our shares,* that you’ll pay for simply with some juggling of the accounts… As you see, I’m getting straight to the point and treating you as a friend.’
The young man looked at him with his beautiful, velvety eyes, eyes of such softness in his long, dark face.
‘The law, dear Sir, formally requires payment in cash… Oh! it’s not for my sake that I mention this. You’re treating me as a friend, which makes me very proud… I’ll do whatever you want!’
Then Saccard, just to be agreeable, mentioned the high esteem in which Sabatani was held by Mazaud, who now even took his orders without any cover. Then he teased him about Germaine Coeur, with whom he had seen him the day before, and made a crude allusion to the rumours about his being prodigiously well endowed with something exceptionally gigantic, which set the girls in the world of the Bourse dreaming and tormented them with curiosity. Sabatani didn’t deny it, but just laughed noncommittally on this unseemly subject: oh, yes! the ladies were very amusing, the way they chased after him, they all wanted to see for themselves.
‘Ah! By the way,’ Saccard broke in, ‘we shall also need some signatures to regularize certain operations, transfers, for instance… May I send the packets of papers to you for signing?’
‘But certainly, my dear sir. Whatever you want!’
He didn’t even raise the matter of payment, knowing full well that such services are beyond price; and when Saccard added that he would be paid one franc per signature for his time, he simply nodded his agreement. Then, with that smile of his:
‘I also hope, dear sir, that you won’t refuse me your advice. After all, you’ll be so well placed I shall come to you for information.’
‘Absolutely,’ concluded Saccard, catching his meaning. ‘Goodbye, then… Take it easy now, and don’t go giving in too much to the curiosity of the ladies.’
And with renewed amusement, Saccard saw him off through a side-door that allowed callers to be let out without having to go through the waiting-room.
Saccard then went to open the other door and call in Jantrou. He saw at a glance that the man was a wreck, at the end of his tether, the sleeves of his frock-coat frayed from sitting at café tables waiting for work. The Bourse continued to have no love for him yet he still seemed debonair, with his bushy beard, cynical and highly literate, occasionally uttering a flowery phrase that recalled his former career as an academic.
‘I was just about to write to you,’ said Saccard. ‘We’re drawing up a list of personnel, yours was one of the first names I put down, and I expect I’ll be calling you to our share-issuing office.’
Jantrou stopped him with a wave of the hand.
‘That’s very kind of you, thanks… But I have a business proposition for you.’
He didn’t immediately explain himself, but launched into general matters, asking what role newspapers would play in the launching of the Universal Bank. At the first words on this subject Saccard showed eager enthusiasm, declaring that he was in favour of the widest possible publicity and would devote all available money to that end. No newspaper was to be shunned, not even the most downmarket rag, for his motto was that any publicity was good publicity. His dream would be to have control of all the newspapers; but that would be too expensive.
‘So, would you be thinking of organizing our advertising?… That might not be a bad idea at that. We can talk it over.’
‘Yes, later on, if you like… But what would you say to your own newspaper, entirely yours, with me as editor? Every morning you’d have a page to yourself, with articles singing your praises, notes calling attention to you, references to you in pieces quite unrelated to the world of finance… in other words, a thorough campaign about everything and nothing, ceaselessly glorifying you—over the dead bodies of your rivals… Does that sound tempting?’
‘I’ll say! So long as it doesn’t cost a fortune.’
‘No, the cost would be quite reasonable.’
At last he gave the name of the paper, L’Espérance,* a publication founded two years before by a small group of prominent Catholics, the extremists of the party currently waging a fierce war against the Empire. They had enjoyed absolutely no success, and the paper’s imminent disappearance was being announced every day. Saccard protested.
‘But it has a print-run of less than two thousand!’
‘That will be our job, to increase the circulation.’
‘Anyway, it’s impossible: that paper’s been dragging my brother through the mud, and I can’t fall out with my brother right at the start.’
Jantrou gave a gentle shrug.
‘You don’t have to fall out with anyone… You know as well as I do, when a bank owns a paper it’s of little importance whether it supports or attacks the government: if it’s pro-government the bank is sure to be part of every syndicate created by the Minister of Finance to promote the success of state and municipal loans; if it’s for the Opposition the very same minister will have every kind of consideration for the bank it represents, wanting to disarm it and win it over, which usually translates into even more favours… So don’t worry about what colour L’Espérance is. Just have a paper, it’s a source of power.’*
Saccard was silent for a moment, already develo
ping a plan with that lively intelligence of his which instantly allowed him to take over someone else’s idea, explore its possibilities, and adapt it to his needs, making it completely his own: he would buy L’Espérance, get rid of any bitter polemics, and lay it at the feet of his brother, who would be forced to be grateful to him for that; but he would retain its Catholic colouration, keeping this as a threat, as a mechanism always ready to resume its terrible campaign in the name of the interests of religion. And if there was no cooperation he would brandish Rome and the risk of the great Jerusalem coup. That would be a very nice last card to play.
‘Would we be free?’ he asked brusquely.
‘Absolutely free. They’ve had enough of it, the paper has fallen into the hands of a needy chap who will let us have it for ten or so thousand francs. We can do whatever we like with it.’
Saccard took a minute again to reflect.
‘All right then, it’s agreed! Arrange a meeting and bring me your man… You will be editor and I shall put all our publicity in your hands, and I want it to be exceptional, enormous—Oh! later of course, when we have the wherewithal to get the engine going properly.’
He stood up. Jantrou too rose to his feet, trying to hide his joy at finding the means to earn his crust under the bantering laugh of one who has lost his social standing and is weary of the mud of Paris.
‘At last! I’ll be back in my element, my beloved world of letters.’
‘Don’t take anyone on just yet,’ Saccard went on as he escorted him out. ‘And, while I think of it, make a note of a protégé of mine, Paul Jordan, a young man who, in my view, has a remarkable talent and will make an excellent literary journalist for you. I shall write to him telling him to come and see you.’
Jantrou was just going out through the side-door when he was struck by the happy arrangement of the two exits.
‘My word, that’s handy!’ he said with his usual familiarity. ‘People can just disappear… When lovely ladies come calling—like the one I greeted just now in the waiting-room, Baroness Sandorff…’