Money (Oxford World’s Classics)

by Emile Zola

  ‘Wait! I’m making up your account. Oh, I know it already!… At the start you had five hundred shares, doubled once, then doubled again, so now you have two thousand. So after our next share-issue, you’ll have three thousand.’

  Hamelin tried to interrupt.

  ‘No, no, I know you have enough money to pay for them, with the three hundred thousand francs of your inheritance on the one hand, and your million from Sadowa on the other… Look! Your first two thousand shares cost you four hundred and thirty-five thousand francs, the other thousand will cost you eight hundred and fifty thousand francs, a total of twelve hundred and eighty-five francs… So, you will still have fifteen thousand francs left to live on, not to mention your salaries of thirty thousand francs, which we’re going to raise to sixty thousand.’

  They both listened in some bewilderment, and in the end became passionately interested in these figures.

  ‘You can see very well that you’re quite honest, that you’re paying for what you get… but all that is just trivial. This is what I wanted to get at…’

  He stood up again, waving his sheet of paper triumphantly.

  ‘At the rate of three thousand, your three thousand shares will give you nine million.’

  ‘What? A rate of three thousand!’ they cried, with a gesture of protest against his obstinate persistence in this madness.

  ‘Yes, of course! I forbid you to sell before that. I shall be able to stop you, yes indeed, by force if necessary, by the right that one has to prevent one’s friends from doing something stupid… And as for the rate of three thousand, I must have it, and I will have it.’

  What response could there be to this terrible man, whose shrill voice, like the crowing of a cock, proclaimed his triumph? They laughed once more, and simply shrugged their shoulders. They declared they were quite unworried, for that fantastic rate would never be reached. Saccard, however, had gone back to the table, where he was making further calculations, this time on his own account. Had he paid, would he pay, for his three thousand shares? That remained very hazy. In fact he must be in possession of an even greater number of shares, but it was difficult to know; for he himself was also one of the company’s straw men, and how could one distinguish, in such a heap of shares, which ones were actually his? His pencil went on endlessly producing line after line of figures. Then, in one lightning stroke, he crossed it all out and crumpled up the paper. That and the two million collected from the mire and blood of Sadowa was his share.

  ‘I have an appointment, so I’ll leave you now,’ he said, picking up his hat, ‘but everything’s agreed, isn’t it? In a week, there’ll be the board of directors, then immediately afterwards, the Extraordinary General Meeting, for the vote.’

  When Madame Caroline and Hamelin were alone again, tired and alarmed, they looked at each other in silence for a moment.

  ‘What’s to be done?’ Hamelin said at last, responding to his sister’s unspoken thoughts. ‘We are in it and we have to stay in it. He’s right to say it would be silly of us to refuse this fortune… As for me, I’ve always considered myself nothing more than a man of science, bringing water to the mill, and I think I have brought it, clear and abundant water, in the shape of excellent business deals, to which the company owes such rapid success. So, since there’s nothing I can be reproached for, let’s not be discouraged, let’s get to work!’

  Madame Caroline rose unsteadily from her chair, stammering.

  ‘Oh! All that money… all that money…’

  And, choked by an overpowering emotion at the thought of those millions that were going to fall upon them, she laid her head on his shoulder and wept. No doubt it was joy, her happiness at seeing him at last worthily rewarded for his intelligence and his work; but it was also pain, pain for which she could not easily account, a mixture of shame and fear. He made a joke of it, and they once more assumed a cheerful mood, yet a certain unease still lingered, a vague feeling of dissatisfaction with themselves, an unspoken remorse for a shameful complicity.

  ‘Yes, he’s right,’ Madame Caroline repeated, ‘it’s the same for everyone. That’s life.’

  The board of directors met in the new room in the sumptuous building of the Rue de Londres. No longer the damp drawing-room slightly tinged with the green from the next-door garden, but a huge room, lit by four windows overlooking the street, and with a high ceiling and majestic walls, adorned with large paintings and gleaming with gold. The chairman’s seat was a real throne, dominating the other chairs which stood in line, superb and grave, as if for a meeting of royal ministers, around an immense table with a cover of red velvet. And on the monumental white-marble fireplace in which, in winter, enormous logs were burned, was a bust of the Pope, a fine and kindly face which seemed to smile mischievously at finding itself there.

  Saccard had managed to get his hands on all the members of the board by, for the most part, simply buying them. Thanks to him the Marquis de Bohain, involved in a backhander bordering on a swindle and caught with his fingers in the till, had been able to stifle the scandal by paying back the company he had robbed; so he was now Saccard’s humble servant, while continuing to carry his head high, like the flower of the nobility and the most handsome ornament of the board. Huret too, ever since Rougon had sacked him over the theft of the telegram announcing the ceding of the Veneto, had devoted himself entirely to the fortunes of the Universal, representing the bank at the Legislative Assembly and fishing on its behalf in the muddy waters of politics, while keeping the major part of his shameless and shady deals, which one day could land him in Mazas.* And Viscount de Robin-Chagot, vice-chairman of the Board, was receiving a hundred thousand francs of secret bonus for giving his signature without hesitation during Hamelin’s long absences; and the banker Kolb was also getting paid for his passive compliance, through being allowed to use the Universal’s power overseas, even going so far as to involve the bank in his arbitrage deals; and Sédille the silk-merchant, himself shaken by a terrible settlement day, had managed to borrow a large sum, that he had been unable to pay back. Only Daigremont still retained his absolute independence of Saccard, a fact that sometimes worried the latter, although the amiable fellow remained charming, inviting him to his parties, and he too signed everything without comment, with the easy grace of the sceptical Parisian who finds everything is quite all right, so long as he’s making money.

  That day, in spite of the exceptional importance of the session, the work of the board was conducted just as speedily as on other days. It had become a matter of habit; all the real work was done in the little meetings on the fifteenth of the month, while the big meetings at the end of the month simply approved the resolutions, with much ceremony. So great now was the indifference of the directors that, as the minutes threatened to be the same banal account of constant approval for every meeting, it had been necessary to invent some scruples and comments for the directors, a wholly imaginary discussion that no one was surprised to hear being read out at the following meeting, and which they all signed with perfect seriousness.

  Knowing the good news, the great news, that Hamelin was bringing, Daigremont had rushed forward to shake his hand.

  ‘Ah, my dear Chairman, how happy I am to congratulate you!’

  Everyone gathered round eagerly welcoming him, even Saccard himself, as if he had not yet seen him, and when the session began, when Hamelin started reading the report that he was to deliver to the General Meeting, they listened—which they never normally did. The excellent results already achieved, the magnificent promise for the future, the ingenious increasing of the capital, which at the same time released the old shares, everything was greeted with admiring nods of the head. And nobody thought of asking for further details. It was perfect. When Sédille pointed out an error in one of the figures, it was even agreed that his remark be omitted from the minutes, so as not to spoil the beautiful unanimity of the meeting, and in their enthusiasm, they all signed rapidly, one after another, without further comment.

/>   The meeting was already over, people were standing up, laughing and joking, surrounded by the glittering gold adornments of the room. The Marquis de Bohain was describing a hunt at Fontainebleau; while Deputy Huret, who had been to Rome, was telling how he had brought back with him the blessing of the Pope. Kolb had just disappeared, rushing off to an appointment. And the other directors, the minor figures, were receiving quiet instructions from Saccard on the position they were to take at the next meeting.

  But Daigremont, irritated by Viscount de Robin-Chagot’s exaggerated praise of Hamelin’s report, grasped the manager’s arm as he went by, and whispered in his ear:

  ‘Not too rapid a rise, eh?’

  Saccard stopped dead and looked at him. He remembered how hesitant he had originally been about bringing him into the affair, knowing him to be unreliable in business matters.

  ‘Ah, if you’re with me, follow me!’ he replied very loudly, so that everyone could hear.

  Three days later, the Extraordinary General Meeting was held in the Grand Function Room of the Hotel du Louvre. For such a solemn occasion, the poor, rather bare room in the Rue Blanche had been rejected, for they wanted a festive hall, still warm, as if between an official banquet and a wedding ball. It was necessary, according to the articles of association, to be possessed of at least twenty shares to be admitted, and there were more than twelve hundred shareholders there, representing more than four thousand votes. The entry formalities, presentation of cards, and signing of the register took nearly two hours. A hubbub of happy chatter filled the room, in which one could see all the directors and many of the senior employees of the Universal Bank. Sabatani was there, in the middle of a group, talking about the Orient, his native land, in a caressing and languorous tone, telling wondrous stories, as if over there one had only to bend down to pick up silver, gold and precious stones; and Maugendre, who had decided in June to buy fifty shares in Universal at twelve hundred francs each, convinced that they would rise, was listening to him open-mouthed, delighted at the flair he had shown; Jantrou, meanwhile, who had fallen into a life of utter depravity since becoming rich, was sniggering to himself, his mouth twisted in an ironic sneer, showing the after-effects of the previous night’s debauchery. After the appointment of the officers, when Hamelin, as rightful chairman, had opened the meeting, Lavignière, re-elected as auditor and who, after his report, was to be raised to the status of director, fulfilling his dream, was invited to read a report on the company’s financial position as it would be on 31 December: this, in order to comply with the statutes, was a way of checking in advance the anticipatory balance-sheet that was to be presented. He recalled the previous balance-sheet, presented at the ordinary meeting in April, that magnificent balance-sheet showing a net profit of eleven-and-a-half million, which, after allowing for the five per cent for shareholders, ten per cent for the directors, and ten per cent for the reserve fund, had still permitted the distribution of a dividend of thirty-three per cent. Next, he demonstrated, with a deluge of figures, that the sum of thirty-six million, given as the rough total of the profits of the current year, far from striking him as exaggerated, was well below the most modest expectations. He did this, no doubt, in good faith, and he must have conscientiously examined the documents submitted for his inspection; but nothing is more illusory, for to study a set of accounts with any thoroughness, it is necessary to create an entirely new set. In any case, the shareholders were not listening. A few devotees, Maugendre and some other minor figures who represented only one or two votes, drank in each and every figure, amid the persistent rumble of conversation. Auditors’ reports were not of the slightest importance. A reverential silence fell only when Hamelin, at last, rose to his feet. Applause broke out even before he opened his mouth, in homage to his zeal, and the obstinate, courageous genius of this man who had travelled so far to seek out barrels of gold to empty over Paris. From this point on, there was nothing but ever-growing success, almost glory. There was applause at a reminder of the previous year’s balance-sheet, on which Lavignière had been unable to make himself heard. But the estimates for the next balance-sheet aroused special delight: millions for the United Steamships, millions for the Carmel Silver Mines, millions for the Turkish National Bank; the list seemed endless, the thirty-six millions fell into place easily and naturally, and poured down, thundering like a waterfall. Then the horizon opened out further on to future operations. The Oriental Railway Company made its appearance: first, the central main line on which work was about to begin, then the branches, the whole network of modern industry cast over Asia, the triumphant return of humanity to its cradle, the resurrection of a world; while in the dim distance, between the sentences, loomed the matter that remained unspoken, the mystery, the crowning of the edifice, which would astonish the peoples of the world. And there was a totally unanimous response when Hamelin, in conclusion, began to outline the resolutions he was going to submit to the vote of the meeting: the raising of the capital, the issuing of a hundred thousand new shares at eight hundred and fifty francs, and the release of the old shares, thanks to the premium on the new shares, and the profits of the next balance-sheet, on which they could draw in advance. A storm of bravos greeted this brilliant idea. Above the heads of the audience, the fat hands of Maugendre could be seen, clapping with all their might. In the front rows, the directors and the bank’s staff were making a huge uproar, led by Sabatani, who was standing up and shouting ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ as if at the theatre. All the resolutions were enthusiastically accepted.

  However, Saccard had organized a little incident, which now occurred. Aware that he was being accused of gambling, he wished to remove even the slightest suspicions of any distrustful shareholders who might be there in the hall.

  Jantrou, primed by Saccard, rose to his feet. And in his thick voice:

  ‘Mr Chairman, I believe I speak for many of the shareholders when I ask whether it is firmly established that the bank holds none of its own shares.’

  Hamelin, who had not been forewarned, was disconcerted for a moment. He turned instinctively to Saccard, who until then had stayed out of sight in his seat, but he now rose, stretching himself up to increase his height, and replied in his strident voice:

  ‘Not one, Mr Chairman!’

  Bravos, for no obvious reason, broke out again at this response. If he was fundamentally lying, it was nevertheless true that the Bank did not hold a single share in its own name, since Sabatani and others were covering for it. And that was all, the applause went on, and the meeting broke up with much gaiety and noise.

  In the days that followed, the report of the meeting in the newspapers produced a huge effect on the Bourse, and on the whole of Paris. Jantrou had kept a last surge of advertisements for this moment, the most deafening fanfare blown for some time on the trumpets of publicity; and there was even a joke going around to the effect that he had had the words ‘Buy Universals’ tattooed on the most secret and delicate parts of good-hearted ladies, launching them too into circulation. Besides, he had just, at last, made his great coup, the buying of La Cote financière, that old, respectable paper with a twelve-year history of impeccable honesty. It had been expensive, but its serious readers, the nervous bourgeois, and the prudent holders of large fortunes, all the self-respecting world of money, were won over. In a fortnight, the rate on the Bourse had risen to fifteen hundred; and in the last week of August, it rose by successive leaps to two thousand. The general infatuation had grown even stronger, and it got worse with every hour, in an epidemic of speculation fever. People were buying and buying, even the most sensible, in the conviction that the rate would continue to rise, would go on rising indefinitely. It was the opening up of the mysterious caves of the Arabian Nights, and the immeasurable wealth of the Caliphs was being delivered to the greed of Paris. All the dreams, whispered for months, were now, it seemed, being realized for an enchanted public: the cradle of humanity reoccupied, the ancient historical cities of the coast, resuscitated from their sand; Da
mascus, Baghdad, then India and China would be exploited by the invading troop of French engineers. That conquest of the East that Napoleon had failed to achieve with the sword would be accomplished by a financial company with an army of pickaxes and wheelbarrows. Asia was being conquered by force of millions, for a return of billions. The women’s crusade was especially triumphant, in little, intimate five-o’clock meetings, and grand midnight receptions, whether at table or in the boudoir. They had foreseen it all: Constantinople was taken, soon they would have Broussa, Angora, and Aleppo, and later on, Smyrna, Trebizond, all the cities besieged by the Universal, until in the end they would have the last one, the sacred city, the one they did not name, and which seemed like the Eucharistic promise of that far-off expedition. Fathers, husbands and lovers, bullied by the passionate ardour of the women, now only went to give orders to their brokers with the repeated cry of ‘It’s the will of God.’* Then there was the frightening horde of the humble, the tramping crowds that follow great armies, as the passion moved down from drawing-room to kitchen, from bourgeois to workman and peasant, and hurled into this mad gallop of millions, poor subscribers with only one, two, three, four, or ten shares, concierges on the point of retiring, old spinster ladies living with their cat, provincial pensioners on a budget of ten sous a day, country priests impoverished by their almsgiving—the whole gaunt and hungry mass of people with tiny incomes, that a catastrophe on the Bourse carries off like an epidemic, and at one stroke lays in a communal paupers’ grave.

  And this exaltation of the Universal shares, this ascension, carrying them up as if on a divine wind, seemed to harmonize with the louder and louder music from the Tuileries and the Champ-de-Mars, and the continual festivities with which the Exhibition was driving Paris mad. The flags flapped more noisily in the heavy air of the warmer days, and there was no evening when the blazing city did not sparkle under the stars like some colossal palace, in the depths of which, debauchery went on until dawn. Joy had spread from house to house, the streets were an intoxication, a cloud of animal vapours, cooking-smells from the feastings, the sweat of couplings, all rolling away to the horizon, carrying over the rooftops the nights of Sodom, Babylon, and Nineveh.* Ever since May, emperors and kings had been coming on pilgrimage from the four corners of the earth in endless processions, nearly a hundred sovereigns, princes, and princesses. Paris was filled to the brim with Majesties and Highnesses; it had welcomed the Emperor of Russia and the Emperor of Austria, the Sultan and the Viceroy of Egypt, and had thrown itself under the wheels of the carriages just to see close-up the King of Prussia, followed by Count von Bismarck like a faithful hound. Jubilant salvos were continually thundering through the Invalides,* while the crowds, crammed into the Exhibition, made a great popular success of Krupp’s huge and sombre cannon that Germany had put on show.* Almost every week the Opéra lit up its chandeliers for some official gala. In the smaller theatres and in the restaurants, people could hardly breathe, and the pavements were not wide enough now for the overflowing torrent of prostitution. Napoleon III decided to distribute in person the awards for the sixty thousand exhibitors, in a ceremony that excelled all others in its magnificence, like a glorious halo glowing on the brow of Paris, the resplendence of the reign, in which the Emperor appeared, in a fairy-tale lie, as master of Europe, speaking with calmness and strength, and promising peace. That same day, news had come to the Tuileries of the appalling catastrophe of Mexico,* the execution of Maximilian, French blood spilt and French money spent, all for nothing; and the news was concealed in order not to cast a blight on the festivities. It was a first death-knell on the evening of this splendid day, still dazzling in the sun.