Money (Oxford World’s Classics) (34 page)

At last, after a hasty lunch at Champeaux’s, where he had the pleasure of hearing the pessimistic moanings of Moser and even Pillerault, predicting a further tumbling in the market, Saccard found himself at half-past twelve in the Place de la Bourse. He wanted, as he put it, to see everyone come in. The heat was overpowering, a fierce sun beat directly down, bleaching the steps, and the warmth bouncing off them filled the peristyle with the heavy, burning heat of an oven. The empty chairs seemed to be cracking in the fiery heat, while the speculators remained standing and sought out the slender bars of shade cast by the columns. Under a tree in the garden he noticed Busch and La Méchain, who began to chatter excitedly when they saw him; it even seemed for a moment as if they were going to approach him, but then they thought better of it; did they know something, then? These base ragpickers, always hunting through the refuse of the Bourse? He shuddered at the thought. But then a voice called his name and he recognized Maugendre and Captain Chave,
sitting on a bench quarrelling, for the former was now always jeering at the wretched pettiness of the Captain’s ventures, gaining a mere louis for his cash, the sort of thing he might just as well have done in some obscure provincial café after a few desperate rounds of piquet: honestly, couldn’t he, that day, risk something more substantial on a safe bet? Wasn’t a further fall certain, as clear as daylight? And he called Saccard to witness: wasn’t it true that there’d be a further fall? As for himself, he had bet very heavily on a fall, so convinced indeed that he had staked his entire fortune. Faced by this direct question Saccard replied with smiles and vague shakings of his head, but felt remorseful at not being able to warn this poor man, whom he had known when he was so industrious and clear-headed, still selling his tarpaulins; but he had sworn himself to absolute silence and had the ruthlessness of a gambler determined not to risk disturbing his luck. Just then he was distracted by seeing the coupé of Baroness Sandorff passing by; he followed it with his eye and saw it stop, this time in the Rue de la Banque. Suddenly he thought of Baron Sandorff, Counsellor at the Austrian Embassy; the Baroness must surely know, and she was probably going to wreck everything with some misguided womanly act. He at once crossed the road and hovered round the coupé, now still and silent as if dead, with the coachman sitting stiffly on his box. But one of the windows was lowered, and he bowed gallantly and moved forward.

‘Ah well, Monsieur Saccard, so we’re still going down?’

He thought this might be a trap.

‘Why yes, Madame,’ he replied.

Then, as she was looking at him anxiously, with a certain wavering of the eyes that he had often seen in gamblers, he realized that she knew nothing. He had a rush of hot blood to his head, flooding him with delight.

‘So, Monsieur Saccard, you have nothing to tell me?’

‘Indeed, Madame, doubtless nothing you don’t already know.’

And he left her, thinking: ‘You haven’t been very nice to me, and it will greatly amuse me to see you get your come-uppance. Perhaps another time it will make you more agreeable.’ Never had she seemed to him more desirable; he was certain he would have her when the time was ripe.

As he returned to the Place de la Bourse the sight of Gundermann in the distance, coming out of the Rue Vivienne, set his heart a-quiver
once more. Though foreshortened by the distance it was certainly he, with his slow walk and his head so straight and pale, looking at no one, as if he were alone in his royalty in the midst of the crowd. And Saccard followed him in terror, trying to interpret his every movement. Seeing him approaching Nathansohn, he thought all was lost. But the dealer moved off looking crestfallen, and hope returned. He definitely felt the banker had his usual everyday look. Then suddenly his heart leapt for joy: Gundermann had just entered the sweetshop to make his usual purchase of sweets for his little granddaughters; and that was a certain sign, for he never went there on a day of crisis.

One o’clock struck and the bell announced the opening of the Bourse. It was a memorable Bourse, one of those great days of disaster, one of those disasters caused by a rise in the market, disasters so rare that they are remembered as legendary. In the overpowering heat prices at first continued to fall. Then some sudden, isolated purchases, like the shots of skirmishers before the battle begins, aroused astonishment. But trading was still sluggish amid general distrust. Purchases increased and bids were heard on all sides, at the kerb market under the colonnade and on the balustrade; now the voices of Nathansohn under the colonnade and Mazaud, Jacoby, and Delarocque on the trading-floor made themselves heard, shouting that they would take any stock, whatever the price; and then there was a sort of tremor, an ever-increasing groundswell, but with no one daring to take a risk in the confusion of this inexplicable turnaround. Prices had slightly risen, and Saccard just had time to give new orders to Massias for Nathansohn. He also asked little Flory, who was rushing past, to hand Mazaud a card on which he instructed him to buy and go on buying; so Flory, filled with confidence after reading the card, at once followed the lead of the great man and bought on his own account. It was then, at a quarter to two, that the thunderbolt burst upon the busy Bourse: Austria was surrendering the Veneto to the Emperor—the war was over. Where did the news come from? Nobody knew, it seemed to come from every mouth, seemed to surge from the very paving-stones. Someone had brought the news and everyone repeated it, in a clamour that grew ever louder, like the surge of the equinoctial tide. Prices began to rise in furious leaps and bounds amid a frightful uproar. Before the bell rang for the closing of the Bourse they had gone up forty or fifty francs. It was an indescribable frenzy, one of those battles into which everyone rushes in confusion,
soldiers and officers alike, deafened and blinded, all trying to save their skin, with no clear idea of the situation. Sweat streamed from their brows and the implacable sun beat down on the steps, pitching the Bourse into the blazing heat of a conflagration.

On settlement day, when it became possible to assess the extent of the disaster, it looked immense. The battlefield lay scattered with wreckage and wounded. Moser, the bear trader, was one of the most damaged. Pillerault had been severely punished for his weakness just this one time when he had despaired of a rise. Maugendre lost fifty thousand francs, his first serious loss. Baroness Sandorff had to deal with such heavy debts that Delcambre was said to be refusing to pay for her, and she was quite white with rage and hate at the very mention of her husband, the Counsellor at the Austrian Embassy, who had had the telegram in his hands even before Rougon and had told her nothing. But the big bankers, the Jewish Bank especially, had suffered a terrible defeat, a real massacre. It was said that Gundermann, for his part, had lost eight million francs. And that was truly amazing, how was it that he had not been warned? He, the undisputed master of the market; he, for whom ministers were no more than clerks and who held whole states in his sovereign fiefdom. It had been one of those extraordinary combinations of circumstances that create huge strokes of fortune. It was an unforeseen, idiotic collapse, beyond all reason and logic.

Meanwhile the story spread, and Saccard was seen as a great man. In one stroke, he had raked in almost the whole amount of the money lost by the bear traders. He had personally pocketed two million. The rest was going into the coffers of the Universal, or rather was going to disappear into the hands of its directors. Saccard had great difficulty persuading Madame Caroline that Hamelin’s share in this booty, so legitimately wrested from the Jews, amounted to a million francs. Huret, having taken part in the operation, had cut himself a regal share. As for the others, the Daigremonts, the Bohains, they needed no persuading to accept whatever was coming to them. There was a general vote of thanks and congratulations to the eminent manager. One heart especially burned with gratitude to Saccard, that of Flory, who had gained ten thousand francs, a fortune, enough to live with Chuchu in a little apartment on the Rue Condorcet and go out in the evening to join Gustave Sédille and Germaine Coeur in expensive restaurants. At the newspaper office Jantrou, furious at not having
been forewarned, had to be given a present. Dejoie alone remained melancholy, he would feel eternal regret at having scented the mysterious and vague presence of fortune in the air, all in vain.

This first triumph of Saccard’s seemed like a sort of blossoming of the Empire at its apogee. He became part of the lustre of the reign, one of its glorious reflections. The very evening when he was thriving so well in the midst of shattered fortunes, and when the Bourse was no more than a desolate field of rubble, the whole of Paris was being bedecked and illuminated as if for a great victory; festivities at the Tuileries and rejoicing in the streets all celebrated Napoleon III as master of Europe, so lofty, so great, that kings and emperors chose him as arbiter in their disputes and gave him whole provinces to share out between them. In the Chamber of Deputies there had been some protests, some prophets of doom were confusedly predicting a terrible future: Prussia made stronger by all that France had tolerated, Austria defeated, and Italy ungrateful. But laughter and shouts of anger smothered these anxious voices, and Paris, the centre of the world, set all her avenues and monuments ablaze with light on the morrow of Sadowa, not yet seeing the dark and freezing nights to come, the nights with no gas, nights lit only by the red flashing of shells. That evening Saccard, overflowing with success, paced the streets, the Place de la Concorde, the Champs-Élysées, all the pavements lit by lanterns. Carried along in the growing flood of people, his eyes dazzled by the lights which were bright as day, he was able to imagine that the lights were in his honour: for was he not also the unexpected victor, the one who rose to new heights in the midst of disasters? Just one annoyance marred his joy, the anger of Rougon who, in a terrible fury, had sent Huret packing when he realized the source of the coup at the Bourse. So it wasn’t the great man then, who had shown himself a good brother by sending him the news? Would he therefore have to do without that high patronage, and even be obliged to attack the all-powerful minister? Suddenly, in front of the Palace of the Legion of Honour,
*
which was surmounted by a huge cross of fire glowing in the blackness of the sky, Saccard boldly decided that he would indeed do so as soon as he had sufficient strength. Then, intoxicated by the chanting of the crowd and the flapping of the flags, he returned, through a blazing Paris, to the Rue Saint-Lazare.

Two months later, in September, emboldened by his triumph over Gundermann, he decided to give new momentum to the Universal.
At the Annual General Meeting held at the end of April the balance-sheet for the year 1864 had shown a profit of nine millions, inclusive of the twenty-franc premium on each of the fifty thousand new shares issued when the capital was doubled. The cost of the initial setting-up had now been completely paid off, the shareholders had been paid their five per cent, the directors their ten per cent, a sum of five million had been put into the reserve fund in addition to the regulation ten per cent; and with the remaining million it had been possible to pay a dividend of ten francs per share. It was a handsome result for a company less than two years old. But Saccard operated in feverish leaps and bounds, applying the methods of intensive farming to the financial terrain, heating and overheating the soil at the risk of burning the harvest; and he persuaded first the board of directors then the shareholders, by means of an Extraordinary General Meeting on 15 September, to accept a second increase of capital: it was doubled yet again, raising it from fifty to a hundred million francs by creating a hundred thousand new shares, reserved exclusively for existing shareholders, share for share. But this time the shares were issued at six hundred and seventy-five francs, that is, with a premium of one hundred and seventy-five francs, which was to be paid into the reserve funds. The increasing successes, the profitable deals already made, and above all the grand ventures the Universal was about to launch were the reasons given to justify this enormous increase of capital, now doubled twice over; for it was essential to give the bank an importance and strength appropriate to the interests it represented. Moreover, the result was immediate: the shares which had remained steady at the Bourse at an average rate of seven hundred and fifty rose to nine hundred francs in three days.

Hamelin, who had not been able to return from the Orient to preside at the Extraordinary General Meeting, wrote a worried letter to his sister expressing his fears about this way of driving the Universal at the gallop, in a mad rush. He had a shrewd suspicion that false declarations had once again been made in Maître Lelorrain’s office. Indeed, the new shares had not all been legally subscribed, the bank had retained for itself the shares rejected by the shareholders; and since the payments had not been made, these shares had been transferred, by juggling the books, to the account of Sabatani. In addition, the use of other cover-names, names of directors and employees, had allowed the bank itself to subscribe to its own share-issue, so that it now held
nearly thirty thousand of its own shares, amounting to a sum of seventeen and a half millions. Not only was this illegal but the situation could become dangerous, for experience has shown that any bank that gambles with its own stock is lost. But Madame Caroline nevertheless responded no less cheerily to her brother, joshing him that he had now become the nervous one, and it was she, formerly so suspicious, who had to reassure him. She said she was still keeping an eye on things and saw nothing shady going on but, on the contrary, was amazed at the great things, all of them clear and logical, that she was witnessing. The truth was that she, of course, knew nothing about what was being kept from her, and in addition was blinded by her admiration for Saccard and the feelings of sympathy aroused in her by that little man’s activity and intelligence.