Money (Oxford World’s Classics) (44 page)

Once she was on her own, Madame Caroline felt even more troubled by the hothouse atmosphere in which she was living. Towards the first week of November, the price of two thousand two hundred was reached, and all around her there was rapture, with cries of thankfulness and unlimited hope. Dejoie was brimming over with gratitude; the Beauvilliers ladies now treated her as an equal, as a friend of the god who was going to restore their ancient house. A concert of benedictions arose from the happy crowd of investors, great and small alike, daughters with dowries at last, the poor suddenly rich, their retirement secure, and the rich burning with the insatiable joy of being even richer. With the Exhibition over and Paris intoxicated with pleasure and power, it was a unique moment, a moment of belief in happiness, a conviction of endless good luck. All the stocks and
shares had risen, even the weakest found credulous takers, and the market was flooded with a plethora of highly dubious companies, choking it almost to the point of apoplexy, while underneath lay a resounding emptiness, the real exhaustion of a reign that had greatly enjoyed itself and spent billions on public works, fattening in the process huge financial houses, whose gaping coffers were splitting open on all sides. In this giddy whirl the first sign of any cracking meant disaster. And it was doubtless an anxious foreboding of this sort that made Madame Caroline so alarmed at each new leap in the price of Universals. No bad rumours were going round, only a slight ripple of movement from the astonished and daunted short-sellers. And yet she was definitely uneasy, something seemed already to be undermining the whole edifice; but what? Nothing showed up clearly, and she was obliged to wait, in the dazzle of the ever-growing triumph, in spite of those minor rumbles of disturbance that precede catastrophes.

Besides, Madame Caroline now had another worry. At the Work Foundation they were at last satisfied with Victor, who had become silent and sly; and if she had not already told Saccard of the whole affair it was because of an odd feeling of embarrassment, that made her put off telling him from day to day, suffering over the shame he would feel. On the other hand, Maxime, to whom, at around this time, she returned the two thousand francs out of her own pocket, was greatly amused by the fact that Busch and La Méchain were still demanding their four thousand: these people were robbing her, he said, and his father would be furious. After that she turned a deaf ear to the repeated demands of Busch, who was insisting on being paid the full amount of the promised sum. After innumerable vain efforts he at last grew angry, especially since his old idea of blackmailing Saccard had come back to him, given Saccard’s new situation, that elevated situation in which Busch thought the fear of scandal placed him at his mercy. So one day, exasperated at getting nothing out of such a promising affair, he decided to contact Saccard directly, and wrote asking him to drop into his office to take a look at some old papers found in a house on the Rue de la Harpe. He mentioned the number of the house, and made such clear reference to the events of the past that Saccard, gripped by anxiety, could not fail to obey the summons. But in fact the letter was delivered to the Rue Saint-Lazare and fell into the hands of Madame Caroline, who recognized the writing.
Trembling, she briefly wondered whether to run straight away to see Busch and persuade him to give up. Then she told herself that he was perhaps writing on some other matter entirely, and in any case this was one way to get it over with, and she was even glad, perturbed as she was, that someone else should have to tell the story. But in the evening, when Saccard came home and opened the letter in her presence, she saw him simply take on a serious expression and thought it must be some financial problem. However, Saccard had in fact experienced a considerable shock and a tightening of the throat at the thought of falling into such filthy hands, sensing some vile machination. He calmly put the letter in his pocket and decided he would go to the suggested meeting.

Some days went by, it was the second fortnight in November, and every morning Saccard put off the visit, dazed by the torrent of events carrying him along. The rate of two thousand three hundred francs had just been passed and he was delighted, but still felt that at the Bourse some resistance was forming and growing, as the mad rise continued; clearly some short-sellers were taking up a position, engaging in the battle, timidly thus far, in mere preliminary skirmishes. On two occasions he had felt obliged to give orders to buy, using frontmen, so that the steady rise of the market rates would not be interrupted. The practice of the bank buying its own shares, gambling on them and thus devouring itself, was getting under way.

One evening, stirred up by his passion, Saccard could not help talking to Madame Caroline about it.

‘I really think things are hotting up. We are proving too strong, getting in their way too much… I can scent Gundermann, this is his strategy: he’ll keep on selling at regular intervals, so much today, so much tomorrow, gradually increasing the amount until he makes an impact on us…’

She interrupted him in her grave voice:

‘If he’s holding Universals, he’s quite right to sell.’

‘What? He’s quite right to sell?’

‘Yes indeed. My brother told you, a market price over two thousand is absolutely crazy.’

At this he looked at her and exploded, quite beside himself:

‘Well, sell then, just dare to sell your own shares!… Yes, play against me, since you want me to be defeated.’

She reddened slightly, for just the day before she had indeed sold
a thousand of her shares in obedience to her brother’s orders, and with a certain feeling of relief herself, as if this sale were an act of tardy honesty. Since he did not question her directly she did not admit what she had done, and was all the more embarrassed when he added:

‘In fact I’m sure there were some defections yesterday. A whole parcel of shares came on to the market, and the price would surely have faltered if I hadn’t intervened. That’s not how Gundermann operates. His methods are slower, but more devastating in the long run… Ah! My dear, I am quite confident, but I can’t help trembling a little, for defending one’s life is nothing, the worst thing is defending one’s money and the money of others.’

Indeed, from that moment on Saccard was no longer his own man. He belonged to the millions he was making, still triumphant but always on the verge of being beaten. He no longer had time to go and see Baroness Sandorff in the little apartment on the Rue Caumartin. The truth was that she had wearied him, with the deception of her ardent eyes, and that coldness which even his most perverse endeavours had failed to overcome. Besides, a misadventure had befallen him, the same that he had inflicted on Delcambre: one evening, thanks this time to the stupidity of a chambermaid, he had entered just at the moment when the Baroness lay in the arms of Sabatani. In the stormy discussion that followed, he calmed down only after a total confession, in which she admitted to mere curiosity, culpable of course but so understandable. That Sabatani, all the women talked about him as if he were such a phenomenon, they whispered about this enormous thing of his, and she had not been able to resist the desire to see for herself. And Saccard forgave her when, in answer to a brutal question from him, she had replied—My word! It wasn’t that astonishing after all. He now rarely saw her more than once a week, not because he felt any rancour but simply because he was finding her boring.

Baroness Sandorff, sensing that he was breaking away from her, returned to her former doubts and uncertainties. Ever since she had been sharing his secrets in their hours of intimacy, she had been gambling almost on certainties and winning a great deal, sharing in his good luck. Now she could see he was no longer willing to answer her questions, and she even feared he might lie to her; and whether it was that her luck had changed, or whether he had indeed deliberately sent her off on a false track, it happened that she lost one day, while following
his advice. Her confidence was badly shaken. If he could mislead her like that, who was now going to be her guide? And the worst of it was that the signs of hostility to the Universal at the Bourse, so slight at first, were now growing day by day. As yet it was only rumours, nothing specific was being said and no actual fact was damaging the soundness of the bank. But it was being suggested that there must be something wrong, that there was a worm in the fruit. None of this, however, prevented the increasingly amazing rise of the stock.

After an unsuccessful deal in Italians, the Baroness grew decidedly anxious, and decided to visit the offices of
L’Ésperance
to try to get Jantrou to talk.

‘Come on, what’s going on? You of all people must know… Universals have just gone up again by twenty francs, yet there was a rumour—no one could tell me exactly what, but certainly something not good.’

But Jantrou was equally puzzled. Placed as he was at the very source of rumours, starting them himself when necessary, he jokingly compared himself to a clockmaker living in the midst of hundreds of clocks, but never knowing the right time. Thanks to his advertising agency he was in everybody’s confidence, but had no single, solid opinion he could rely on, for the various pieces of information he received were so contradictory they cancelled each other out.

‘I know nothing, nothing at all.’

‘Oh, you just won’t tell me.’

‘No, on my word of honour, I know nothing! In fact I was thinking of coming to see you to ask you about it! So Saccard isn’t being nice to you any more?’

She made a gesture which confirmed what he had suspected: an end to an affair of which they had both grown weary, the sulking woman and the cooled-off lover no longer talking to each other. For a moment he regretted not having played the role of the well-informed man in order to have her at last, as a treat for himself as he put it, this little Ladricourt, whose father had so enjoyed kicking him. But he felt that his time was not yet come, and he went on looking at her and thinking aloud.

‘Yes, it’s annoying, I was counting on you… Because, don’t you think? If there’s going to be some disaster, we need to know in good time to be able to cope with it… Oh, I don’t think it’s urgent, things are still very solid. But, one sees such odd things…’

Even as he gazed at her, a plan was taking shape in his head.

‘Look,’ he suddenly went on, ‘since Saccard is leaving you, you should get friendly with Gundermann.’

She was startled for a moment.

Then: ‘Why Gundermann?… I know him a little, I’ve met him at the Roivilles and at the Kellers.’

‘All the better if you know him already… Go and see him on some pretext, chat with him, try to become his girlfriend… Just imagine that—be the girlfriend of Gundermann and rule the world!’

He sniggered at the licentious images he conjured up with a gesture, for the Jew was well known for his coldness, and nothing could be more complicated or more difficult than trying to seduce him. The Baroness, taking his meaning, smiled silently without showing any annoyance.

‘But’, she repeated, ‘why Gundermann?’

Jantrou then explained that Gundermann must certainly be directing the group of short-sellers who were beginning to manoeuvre against the Universal. That he knew; he had proof. Since Saccard was not being helpful, didn’t simple prudence suggest making friends with his adversary, without, however, actually breaking with him? With a foot in each camp one could be sure of being on the side of the victor on the day of battle. He proposed this act of treachery in a kindly way, simply as a man offering good advice. If he had a woman working for him, he would sleep better.

‘Eh? What do you say? Let’s work together… We’ll keep each other informed, and share everything we get to know.’

As he then took hold of her hand, she drew it away with an instinctive movement, misreading his intentions.

‘No, no, that’s not what I meant, for we shall now be comrades… Later you’ll be wanting to reward me.’

With a laugh, she now abandoned her hand to him and he kissed it. She had already lost her contempt for him, forgetting the lackey he had been, and no longer seeing on him the marks of the vile debauchery into which he had sunk, with his ravaged face, his handsome beard reeking of absinthe, his new frock-coat covered with stains, and his shiny hat scratched by the plaster of some foul staircase.
*

The Baroness went to see Gundermann the very next day. Ever since Universal shares had reached two thousand francs, he had indeed been conducting a short-selling campaign, though with the
utmost discretion, never going to the Bourse, not even having an official agent there. His reasoning was that a share is worth, first of all, its issue value, then the interest it can bring, which depends on the prosperity of the company and the success of its undertakings. So there is a maximum value that it should not reasonably go beyond, and if it does go beyond that, because of public infatuation, then the rise is artificial and the wise course is to bet on a fall, with the certainty that it will happen. Despite his conviction, and his absolute faith in logic, he was still surprised by Saccard’s rapid achievements and his suddenly increased power, which was beginning to alarm the big Jewish banks. This dangerous rival had to be cut down as soon as possible, not only to recoup the eight million lost after Sadowa, but above all, to avoid having to share the sovereignty of the market with this terrible adventurer, whose reckless actions seemed to be successful against all good sense, as if by miracle. And Gundermann, full of contempt for passion, exaggerated even further his phlegmatic attitude as a mathematical gambler, with the cold obstinacy of a numbers man, still selling in spite of the continuing rise, and losing ever greater sums at each settlement, but always with the serenity of a wise man simply putting his money in the savings bank.

When the Baroness was at last able to get in to see him, in the midst of all the turbulence of the clerks and jobbers, the showers of papers to sign and telegrams to read, she found the banker suffering from a horrible cold, which was tearing at his throat. However, he had been there since six o’clock that morning, coughing and spluttering, utterly exhausted but still standing firm. That day, on the eve of a foreign loan, the huge room was invaded by a flood of visitors even more impatient than usual, who were being very hastily received by two of his sons and one of his sons-in-law. Meanwhile, on the floor near the narrow table he had kept for himself, well back in the embrasure of a window, three of his grandchildren, two girls and a boy, were fighting with shrill cries over a doll whose one arm and one leg lay beside them, already torn off.