At last Gundermann leaned over and allowed him quietly to explain his planned creation of the Universal Bank. However, Saccard was sparing of details and made just one allusion to the projects in Hamelin’s portfolio, having sensed from his very first words that the banker wanted to get him to tell all, being resolved in advance to turn him away afterwards.
‘Another bank, my dear friend, another bank!’ Gundermann repeated in a mocking tone. ‘But what I’d rather put my money into would be a machine, yes, a guillotine, to chop the heads off all these banks that are being set up… Hmm? Or a rake to clean out the Bourse. Hasn’t your engineer got one of those among his papers?’
Then, affecting a paternal air, he said with tranquil cruelty:
‘Come on, be sensible, you know what I told you… You’re wrong to go back into business, I’m doing you a favour in refusing to launch your syndicate… You will inevitably go down, it’s a mathematical certainty; you’re too passionate and you have too much imagination; besides, things always go wrong when one is dealing with other people’s money… Why doesn’t your brother find you a nice position, hmm? As a prefect or collector of revenues or—no, not a collector of revenues, that’s too dangerous. Beware, my friend, beware!’
Trembling, Saccard had risen to his feet.
‘So it’s quite decided, you won’t take any shares, you don’t want to be with us?’
‘With you? Absolutely never! You’ll be eaten up within three years.’
There was a silence, pregnant with battle, and a sharp exchange of challenging looks.
‘Goodbye then… I haven’t had lunch yet and I’m hungry. We shall see which one of us gets eaten up.’
And Saccard left him surrounded by his tribe still noisily scoffing pastries, receiving the last tardy dealers, occasionally closing his eyes in weariness while he finished his bowl in little sips, his lips all white with milk.
Saccard flung himself into his cab, giving the address of the Rue Saint-Lazare. One o’clock was striking, the day was wasted, and he went home to have lunch, beside himself with rage. Oh, that dirty Jew! Now there, for sure, was one he would really have liked to crush with a single bite, the way a dog crunches a bone! But as for devouring him, he was too terrible and large a morsel. But then, who could tell? Even the greatest empires had collapsed, and the time always comes when even the powerful succumb. No, he shouldn’t try to devour him but take a bite out of him, tear a few shreds off his billion; and then devour him, yes! Why not? And so destroy them all in the person of their undisputed king, these Jews who thought themselves the masters of the feast! And these reflections, this anger that he carried away from his meeting with Gundermann, filled Saccard with a furious zeal, a need for business, a need for immediate success: he would have liked to build his banking house with a wave of his hand and set it to work, to triumph, and crush the rival banks. Suddenly the memory of Daigremont came back to him, and with no pause for further thought, in one irresistible movement, he leaned forward and shouted to the coachman to drive to the Rue Rochefoucauld. If he wanted to see Daigremont he needed to make haste, he could always lunch later on, for he knew Daigremont went out at about one o’clock. Without any doubt this Christian was worth two Jews, he was viewed as an ogre who devoured new enterprises entrusted to his care. But at that moment Saccard would have dealt with Cartouche* himself for the sake of victory, even if it meant sharing the winnings. Later on they’d see, he would be the victor.
Meanwhile the cab, climbing with difficulty the steep slope of the street, came to a halt before the high monumental gate of one of the last grand mansions of this district, which had seen some very fine ones. The main body of buildings, at the far end of a vast, paved courtyard, had an air of royal grandeur; and the garden beyond, still lined with century-old trees, remained a real park, quite remote from the crowded streets. All of Paris knew this mansion for its splendid entertainments, and above all, its admirable collection of paintings which no grand-duke on his travels would fail to visit. Married to a woman renowned for her beauty, like his paintings, and who was brilliantly successful in society as a singer, the master of the house led the life of a prince, as proud of his racing stable as his gallery; he belonged to one of the grand clubs, was seen with the most expensive women, had a box at the Opéra, a chair at the Hôtel Drouot,* and a reserved seat in all the fashionable, disreputable places. And all of this expansive life, this luxury, blazing in an apotheosis of caprice and art, was entirely paid for by speculation, a constantly shifting fortune which seemed as infinite as the sea, but also ebbed and flowed like the sea, with differences of two or three hundred thousand francs at every fortnightly settlement.
When Saccard had climbed up the majestic front steps a valet announced him, and led him through three reception-rooms laden with marvels to a small smoking-room where Daigremont was just finishing a cigar before going out. Already forty-five, battling against stoutness, he was tall, very elegant with an immaculate hairstyle, and sported just a moustache and a goatee beard, like a true devotee of the Tuileries.* He showed great amiability and total self-confidence, certain of having the upper hand.
He hurried forward at once.
‘Ah! My dear friend, what have you been doing with yourself? I was just thinking of you the other day… But aren’t we now neighbours?’
However, he calmed down, abandoning the effusiveness he kept for the rank-and-file, when Saccard, deciding there was no need for excessive subtlety, came straight to the point of his visit. He spoke of his great project, and explained that before founding the Universal Bank with a capital of twenty-five million francs he was looking to form a syndicate of friends, bankers, and industrialists who would guarantee in advance the success of the share issue, by committing themselves to taking up four-fifths of the issue, in other words, at least forty thousand shares. Daigremont had become very serious, listening and watching him as if probing the depths of his brain, to see what effort, what activity useful to himself he might yet get out of this man whom he had seen so active, so full of marvellous qualities in his disorganized enthusiasm. At first he hesitated.
‘No, no, I’m overloaded already, I don’t want to take on anything new.’
Then, tempted all the same, he asked some questions, wanting to know what projects the new lending-house would sponsor, projects which his interlocutor was wise enough to outline only with the utmost restraint. And when he learned of the first project which would be launched, the consolidation of all the transport companies of the Mediterranean under the corporate name of the United General Steamboat Company, he seemed very struck by the idea and gave in all at once.
‘Very well, I agree to join in. But on one condition… How do things stand with your brother, the Minister?’
Saccard, surprised, was frank enough to show his bitterness.
‘With my brother… Oh! He takes care of his business and I take care of mine. He’s rather short of fraternal feeling, my brother.’
‘Ah well, too bad then,’ Daigremont declared firmly, ‘I will only be with you if your brother is in it too… You understand, I don’t want you to be on bad terms.’
With an angry gesture of impatience, Saccard protested. What did they need Rougon for? Wasn’t that just looking for chains to bind themselves hand and foot? But at the same time a voice of good sense, stronger than his irritation, was telling him that he had at least to ensure the neutrality of the great man. Meanwhile he went on refusing violently.
‘No, no, he’s always been too much of a swine to me. I will never take the first step.’
‘Listen,’ Daigremont went on, ‘I’m expecting Huret at five o’clock about a little job he’s doing for me… You go along to the Chamber of Deputies, take Huret aside and tell him your plans; he will talk to Rougon about it straight away and find out what he thinks, then we’ll have the answer at five… So! Meet here at five?’
With lowered head, Saccard was thinking it over.
‘Oh Lord! If that’s what you want!
’
‘Yes, absolutely! Without Rougon, nothing; with Rougon, whatever you like.’
‘Very well. I’ll go.’
He was leaving, after a vigorous handshake, when the other called him back.
‘Ah! Look here, if you feel that things are starting to come together, then on your way back, drop in on the Marquis de Bohain, and Sédille, let them know that I’m in, and ask them to join us… I want them to be in on it.’
At the door Saccard found his cab, which he had kept even though he only had to go to the end of the street to get home. He sent it away, reflecting that he could use his own carriage in the afternoon, and quickly went home to have lunch. They had given up waiting for him, so it was the cook herself who served him a slice of cold meat, which he devoured, all the while quarrelling with the coachman; for the latter, when summoned, had recounted the visit to the vet, the result of which was that the horse had to be allowed to rest for three or four days. With his mouth full, Saccard accused the coachman of not looking after the horse properly and threatened him with Madame Caroline, who would soon sort him out. In the end he shouted at him at least to go and find a cab. An utterly torrential downpour was once more sweeping across the street, and Saccard had to wait more than a quarter of an hour for the carriage, finally getting in under a deluge of water and flinging out the address:
‘The Chamber of Deputies!’
His plan was to arrive before the session began, so as to catch Huret on the way in and have a quiet word with him. Unfortunately a heated debate was expected to take place that day, for a member of the Opposition was going to bring up the constantly recurring question of Mexico; and Rougon, no doubt, would be forced to reply.
As Saccard entered the long entrance hall he was lucky enough to chance upon the deputy. Huret took him into one of the little reception-rooms nearby; there they were alone, thanks to the great excitement going on in the corridors. The Opposition was becoming more and more of a threat, the wind of disaster was starting to blow, a wind that would grow stronger and blow everything down. So the preoccupied Huret didn’t immediately understand and made Saccard explain twice over the mission he was being given. This only increased his alarm.
‘Oh! My dear friend, what are you thinking of? Try to talk to Rougon just now? He’ll send me packing for sure!’
Then concern for his own personal interests came to the fore. He only existed through the great man, to whom he owed his official candidature, his election, and his position as a general dogsbody, living on the crumbs of his master’s favour. In this job for the past two years, thanks to bribes, and some prudent under-the-counter earnings, he had been enlarging his vast estates in Calvados, with the intention of retiring there and living like a lord after the downfall. His broad face, that of a wily peasant, had darkened, showing his confusion at this request for him to intervene without giving him time to work out whether this would be to his personal benefit or detriment.
‘No, no! I cannot… I passed on your brother’s wishes to you, I can’t go back to him again. Good heavens! Have some consideration for me. He’s hardly what you’d call gentle with people who bother him, and Lord! I have no desire to take the rap for you, and lose my standing with him.’
Then Saccard, getting the drift, now concentrated solely on convincing Huret of the millions to be gained in the launching of the Universal Bank. In broad strokes, with his ardent words transforming a business venture into a poetic tale, he outlined the magnificent operations and the certain and colossal success. Daigremont, full of enthusiasm, was putting himself at the head of the syndicate. Bohain and Sédille had already asked to be part of it. It was impossible that he, Huret, should not take part: these gentlemen were insisting he should be with them, on account of his high political position. They were even hoping that he would consent to be on the board of directors, since his name stood for order and probity.
At the promise of appointment to the board Huret looked him straight in the eye.
‘All right then, what is it you want of me? What response do you want me to get from Rougon?’
‘My word!’ said Saccard. ‘For myself, I would happily have done without my brother. But it’s Daigremont who insists that I make my peace with him. Maybe he’s right… So I think you should simply tell the terrible fellow about our business, and obtain, if not his help, then at least a promise that he won’t be against us.’
Huret, with half-closed eyes, still could not decide.
‘Look! If you bring back a kind word, just a kind word, do you understand? Then Daigremont will be satisfied and the three of us will get it all sewn up this evening.’
‘Well then, I’ll try,’ the deputy declared roughly, affecting a peasant’s bluntness. ‘But just as well it’s for you, because he’s not an easy man, oh no, especially when he’s being teased by the Left … Five o’clock, then!’
‘Five o’clock!’
Saccard stayed on for nearly an hour, very worried by the rumours going round about a struggle. He heard one of the great Opposition orators announce that he was going to speak. On hearing this he wanted for a moment to get back to Huret, to ask him if it wouldn’t be wiser to put off the meeting with Rougon until the next day. Then, fatalistic and believing in chance, he trembled at the idea of everything being compromised if he altered what had been decided. Perhaps, in all the commotion, his brother would more easily let slip the word they hoped for. And to allow things to sort themselves out, he left, got back in his cab, and was already on the way back to the Pont de la Concorde when he remembered the wish that Daigremont had expressed.
‘Driver, Rue de Babylone.’
The Rue de Babylone was where the Marquis de Bohain lived. He occupied the former outbuildings of a grand mansion, a building which had once housed the stable staff and which had been made into a very comfortable modern house. The furnishings were luxurious, with a fine air of chic aristocracy. His wife was never seen, being unwell, said the Marquis, and kept to her apartment by infirmity. However, the house and furniture were hers, and he merely lodged there in a furnished apartment, owning only his personal effects, in a trunk he could have carried away in a cab; they had been legally separated ever since he started living on speculation. There had been two catastrophes already, in which he had blankly refused to pay what he owed and the official receiver, having taken stock of the situation, had not even bothered to send him an official document. The slate was simply wiped clean. As long as he won, he pocketed the money. Then, when he lost, he didn’t pay: everyone knew it and everyone was resigned to it. He had an illustrious name, he made an excellent ornament for boards of directors; so new companies, looking for golden mastheads, fought over him: he was never unemployed. At the Bourse he had his own chair on the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires side, the side of the rich speculators who pretended to take no interest in the petty rumours of the day. He was respected, and much-consulted. He had often had an influence on the market. In short, he was a real personage.
Saccard knew him well, but was nevertheless impressed by the extreme courtesy of the reception he received from this handsome old man of sixty, his very small head set on the body of a colossus, and his pale face, framed by a dark wig, looking extremely grand.
‘Monsieur le Marquis, I’ve come to seek your help…’
He explained the reason for his visit, without at first going into details. Besides, from his very first words the Marquis stopped him.
‘No, no, my time is all taken up, I already have ten proposals that I shall have to refuse.’
Then, when Saccard smiled and added: ‘It was Daigremont who sent me, it was he who thought of you…’, he at once cried:
‘Ah! you have Daigremont in with you… Fine! Fine! If Daigremont is involved then so am I. You can count on me.’
And when the visitor tried to provide him with at least a bit of information to let him know what sort of business he was getting into, he silenced him with the amiable nonchalance of a great lord who doesn’t go int
o such details and has a natural confidence in the honesty of people.
‘Please, don’t say another word… I do not wish to know. You need my name, I lend it to you, and I am very happy to do so, that’s all… Just tell Daigremont to arrange things as he thinks best.’
As he got back in his cab Saccard, greatly cheered, laughed to himself.
‘He’ll be expensive, that fellow,’ he thought, ‘but he really is very charming.’
Then, aloud, he said:
‘Driver, Rue des Jeûneurs.’
That was where Sédille had his warehouses and offices, which occupied the whole of the vast ground floor at the far end of a courtyard. After thirty years of work, Sédille, who came from Lyons, where he still had some workshops, had at last succeeded in making his silk business one of the best-known and most solid in Paris when, after some chance incident, a passion for speculation had manifested itself and spread right through him with the violent destructiveness of a fire. Two considerable wins, one after another, made him lose his head. What was the point of giving thirty years of one’s life to earning a paltry million, when one could pocket that much in one hour with a simple transaction on the Bourse? From that moment on he had gradually lost all interest in his business, which carried on under its own momentum; but he now lived entirely in the hope of some financial coup on the market; and since bad luck had come his way, and persisted, he had begun to swallow up in his gambling all the profits from his business. The worst of this fever is that one loses the taste for legitimate earnings, and ends up having no clear idea at all about money. And ruin inevitably lay ahead if the workshops in Lyons earned him two hundred thousand francs while he lost three hundred thousand on the stock-market.
Saccard found Sédille looking agitated and worried, for, as a speculator, he was neither stoical nor philosophical. He lived in a state of constant guilt, always hopeful, always disappointed, and sick with uncertainty, for he remained an honest man at heart. The settlement at the end of April had just proved disastrous for him. However, his plump face with thick blond sideburns took on some colour at Saccard’s first words.