Tuesday morning, October 8. The secrétaire général came into Madame Lambert’s office. “Excuse me. Premier Laval has been detained in Geneva. He remains there all week sorting out this Ethiopian imbroglio at the League of Nations. This afternoon the finance minister testifies before the Finance Commission of the Chamber of Deputies. Premier Laval was also scheduled to attend. He would like you to go, and from the gallery, take notes. He is interested in the tone and type of questions he will face when he returns. He meets with the commission next week.”
“Yes, I’ll go,” she replied.
The secrétaire général added, “The premier said he wanted the report brief and to the point. He thought of you.”
“Bien sûr, Monsieur le Secrétaire Général.” Of course.
The finance minister sat at the table alone before the Finance Commission of the Chamber of Deputies. Madame Lambert watched from an upper gallery, seated unobtrusively in the rear.
The minister began, “The 1936 budget totals forty billion francs while a separate armament account, to be covered by a loan, will amount to six billion francs.”
The deputies listened to the spending plans with a bored and absent air. The minister droned on.
In the gallery, Madame Lambert listened attentively and took notes.
After the minister concluded his presentation, the chairman opened the hearing to questions. One deputy asked, “When can we tell French business that taxes will be reduced?”
The minister replied, “At this time I see no possibility of reducing direct taxation on incomes or on business. However, we hope that the improvement in the economic situation will soon permit cuts in other taxes.”
Another deputy asked, “Can you assure us that your ministry will deal leniently on tax collections for the small and average businessmen?”
The minister solemnly responded, “The government strives to be fair with regard to tax collections. We observe that tax collections this year are down twelve to fifteen percent across the board. Strictness in enforcement does not seem a problem.”
“What of the public debt?” asked a third deputy.
The minister looked at his papers and then replied, “The government has borrowed five billion francs since assuming power. We have covered the deficit, extra national defense expenditures, and,” and he looked at the deputies from the rural provinces, “maintained the wheat price.” Several deputies nodded in understanding.
A fourth deputy asked, “How much more money does the government need to borrow?”
The minister straightened up, coughed, and gravely replied, “The government can go several more weeks without asking for loans. Possibly at that time the government will discount some treasury bonds through the Bank of France.”
Most of the deputies looked thoughtful upon hearing this forecast. Not unexpected. But always a hard reminder of the stark reality that all French political questions bumped into: the need for money—there was never enough of it.
Madame Lambert wrote down what she heard. She noted which deputy asked which question. She wrote down the reactions of the others. Premier Laval would provide smooth assurances to the troubled deputies when he returned.
Finally, Madame Lambert noted that the government would require additional financing from the Bank of France. She carefully organized her thoughts: yes, this was the pressure point where the Two Hundred Families exerted their power over the Third Republic.
Looking up, Madame Lambert watched the chairman gently tap his gavel and say, “Monsieur le Minister, thank you for taking the time to inform us of the government’s budget proposal.” The chairman turned to the other deputies and said, “We will reconvene when the premier returns from Geneva.”
The minister stood up, nodded at the chairman, and went over and spoke with his aides. The group departed.
In the gallery, Madame Lambert finished her notes. Again, she thought of the Bank of France and the Two Hundred Families. Yes, she thought—own the bank, control the government.