CHAPTER XVI
THE GAMBLERS
In a sense, politics must always represent the game that is mostattractive to the careful gambler. For one may play at it without havinganything to lose. It is one of the few games within the reach of theadventurous, where no stake need be cast upon the table. The gambler whotakes up a political career plays to win or not to win. He may jump upfrom the gutter and shout that he is the man of the moment, withoutoffering any proof of his assertion beyond the loudness of a stridentvoice. And if no one listens to him he loses nothing but his breath.
And in France the man who shouts loudest is almost certain to have thelargest following. In England the same does not yet hold good, but theday seems to be approaching when it will.
In France, ever since the great Revolution, men have leapt up from thegutter to grasp the reins of power. Some, indeed, have sprung from thegutter of a palace, which is no more wholesome, it would appear, than thedrain of any street, or a ditch that carries off the refuse of a cheapPress.
There are certain rooms in the north wing of the Louvre, in Paris, roomshaving windows facing across the Rue de Rivoli toward the Palais Royal,where men must have sat in the comfortable leather-covered chair of theHigh Official and laughed at the astounding simplicity of the Frenchpeople. But he laughs best who laughs last, and the People willassuredly be amused in a few months, or a few years, at the very suddenand very humiliating discomfiture of a gentleman falling face-foremostinto the street or hanging forlornly from a lamp-post at the corner ofit. For some have quitted these comfortable chairs, in these quietdouble-windowed rooms overlooking the Rue de Rivoli, for no better fate.
It was in the August of 1850 that a stout gentleman, seated in one ofthese comfortable chairs, succumbed so far to the warmth of the palacecorridors as to fall asleep. He was not in the room of a high official,but in the waiting-room attached to it.
He knew, moreover, that the High Official himself was scarcely likely todismiss a previous visitor or a present occupation any the earlier forbeing importuned; for he was aware of the official's antecedents, andknew that a Jack-in-office, who has shouted himself into office, isnearly always careful to be deaf to other voices than his own.
Moreover, Mr. John Turner was never pressed for time.
"Yes," he had been known to say, "I was in Paris in '48. Never missed ameal."
Whereas others, with much less at stake than this great banker, hadomitted not only meals, but their night's rest--night after night--inthose stirring times.
John Turner was still asleep when the door leading to the Minister's roomwas cautiously opened, showing an inner darkness such as prevails in analcove between double doors. The door opened a little wider. No doubt thepeeping eye had made sure that the occupant of the waiting-room wasasleep. On the threshold stood a man of middle height, who carriedhimself with a certain grace and quiet dignity. He was pale almost tosallowness, a broad face with a kind mouth and melancholy eyes, withoutany light in them. The melancholy must have been expressed rather by thelines of the brows than by the eye itself, for this was without life orexpression--the eye of a man who is either very short-sighted or isengaged in looking through that which he actually sees, to something hefancies he perceives beyond it.
His lips smiled, but the smile died beneath a neatly waxed moustache andreached no higher on the mask-like face. Then he disappeared in the outerdarkness between the two doors, and the handle made no noise in turning.
In a few minutes an attendant, in a gay uniform, came in by the samedoor, without seeking to suppress the clatter of his boots on the oakfloor.
"Hola! monsieur," he said, in a loud voice. And Mr. John Turner crossedhis legs and leant farther back in the chair, preparatory to opening hiseyes, which he did directly on the new-comer's face, without any of thatvague flitting hither and thither of glance which usually denotes thesleeper surprised.
The eyes were of a clear blue, and Mr. Turner looked five years youngerwith them open than with them shut. But he was immensely stout.
"Well, my friend," he said, soothingly; for the Minister's attendant hada truculent ministerial manner. "Why so much noise?"
"The Minister will see you."
John Turner yawned and reached for his hat.
"The Minister is pressed for time."
"So was I," replied the Englishman, who spoke perfect French, "when Ifirst sat down here, half an hour ago. But even haste will pass in time."
He rose, and followed the servant into the inner room, where he returnedthe bow of a little white-bearded gentleman seated at a huge desk.
"Well, sir," said this gentleman, with the abrupt manner which has cometo be considered Napoleonic on the stage or in the political worldto-day. "Your business?"
The servant had withdrawn, closing the door behind him with an emphasisof the self-accusatory sort.
"I am a banker," replied John Turner, looking with an obese deliberationtoward one of the deep windows, where, half-concealed by the heavycurtain, a third person stood gazing down into the street.
The Minister smiled involuntarily, forgetting his dignity of a two-years'growth.
"Oh, you may speak before Monsieur," he said.
"But I am behind him," was the immediate reply.
The gentleman leaning against the window-breast did not accept thissomewhat obvious invitation to show his face. He must have heard it,however, despite an absorption which was probably chronic; for he made amovement to follow with his glance the passage of some object of interestin the street below. And the movement seemed to supply John Turner withthe information he desired.
"Yes, I am a banker," he said, more genially.
The Minister gave a short laugh.
"Monsieur," he said, "every one in Europe knows that. Proceed."
"And I only meddle in politics when I see the possibility of making anhonest penny."
"Already made--that honest penny--if one may believe the gossip--ofEurope," said the Minister. "So many pence that it is whispered that youdo not know what to do with them."
"It is unfortunate," admitted Turner, "that one can only dine once aday."
The little gentleman in office had more than once invited his visitor tobe seated, indicating by a gesture the chair placed ready for him. Aftera slow inspection of its legs, Mr. John Turner now seated himself. Itwould seem that he, at the same time, tacitly accepted the invitation toignore the presence of a third person.
"Since you seem to know all about me," he said, "I will not waste anymore of your time, or mine, by trying to make you believe that I ameminently respectable. The business that brought me here, however, is ofa political nature. A plain man, like myself, only touches politics whenhe sees his gain clearly. There are others who enter that field frompurer motives, I am told. I have not met them."
The Minister smiled on one side of his face, and all of it went white. Heglanced uncomfortably at that third person, whom he had suggestedignoring.
"And yet," went on John Turner, very dense or greatly daring, "I havelived many years in France, Monsieur le Ministre."
The Minister frowned at him, and made a quick gesture of one hand towardthe window.
"So long," pursued the Englishman, placidly, "as the trains startpunctually, and there is not actually grape-shot in the streets, and onemay count upon one's dinner at the hour, one form of government in thiscountry seems to me to be as good as another, Monsieur le Ministre. ABourbon Monarchy or an Orleans Monarchy, or a Republic, or--well, anEmpire, Monsieur le Ministre."
"_Mon Dieu!_ have you come here to tell me this?" cried the Minister,impatiently, glancing over his shoulder toward the window, and with onehand already stretched out toward the little bell standing on his desk.
"Yes," answered Turner, leaning forward to draw the bell out of reach. Henodded his head with a friendly smile, and his fat cheeks shook. "Yes,and other things as well. Some of those other matters are perhaps evenmore worthy of your earnest attention. It is worth your while to listen.More
especially, as you are paid for it--by the hour."
He laughed inside himself, with a hollow sound, and placidly crossed hislegs.
"Yes; I came to tell you, firstly, that the present form of government,and, er--any other form which may evolve from it--"
"Oh!--proceed, monsieur!" exclaimed the Minister, hastily, while the manin the recess of the window turned and looked over his shoulder at JohnTurner's profile with a smile, not unkind, on his sphinx-like face.
"--has the inestimable advantage of my passive approval. That is why I amhere, in fact. I should be sorry to see it upset."
He broke off, and turned laboriously in his chair to look toward thewindow, as if the gaze of the expressionless eyes there had tickled theback of his neck like a fly. But by the time the heavy banker had gotround, the curtain had fallen again in its original folds.
"--by a serious Royalist plot," concluded Turner, in his thick,deliberate way.
"So, assuredly, would any patriot or any true friend of France," said theMinister, in his best declamatory manner.
"Um--m. That is out of my depth," returned the Englishman, bluntly. "Ipaddle about in the shallow water at the edge and pick up what I can, youunderstand. I am too fat for a _voyant_ bathing-costume, and the deepwaters beyond, Monsieur le Ministre."
The Minister drummed impatiently on his desk with his five fingers, andlooked at Turner sideways beneath his brows.
"Royalist plots are common enough," he said, tentatively, after a pause.
"Not a Royalist plot with money in it," was the retort. "I dare say anhonest politician, like yourself, is aware that in France it is alwayssafe to ignore the conspirator who has no money, and always dangerous totreat with contempt him who jingles a purse. There is only a certainamount of money in the world, Monsieur le Ministre, and we bankersusually know where it is. I do not mean the money that the world poursinto its own stomach. That is always afloat--changing hands daily. I meanthe Great Reserves. We watch those, you understand. And if one of theGreat Reserves, or even one of the smaller reserves, moves, we wonder whyit is being moved and we nearly always find out."
"One supposes," said the Minister, hazarding an opinion for the firsttime, and he gave it with a sidelong glance toward the window, "that itis passing from the hands of a financier possessing money into those ofone who has none."
"Precisely. And if a financier possessing money is persuaded to part withit in such a quarter as you suggest, one may conclude that he has goodreason to anticipate a substantial return for the loan. You, who are abrilliant collaborateur in the present government, should know that, ifany one does, Monsieur le Ministre."
The Minister glanced toward the window, and then gave a good-natured andencouraging laugh, quite unexpectedly, just as if he had been told to doso by the silent man looking down into the street, who may, indeed, havehad time to make a gesture.
"And," pursued the banker, "if a financier possessing money parts withit--or, to state the case more particularly, if a financier possessing nomoney, to my certain knowledge, suddenly raises it from nowhere definite,for the purposes of a Royalist conspiracy, the natural conclusion is thatthe Royalists have got hold of something good."
John Turner leant back in his chair and suppressed a yawn.
"This room is very warm," he said, producing a pocket-handkerchief. Whichwas tantamount to a refusal to say more.
The Minister twisted the end of his moustache in reflection. It was atthis time the fashion in France to wear the moustache waxed. Indeed, mendisplayed thus their political bias to all whom it might concern.
"There remains nothing," said the official at length, with a gracioussmile, "but to ask your terms."
For he who was afterward Napoleon the Third had introduced into Frenchpolitical and social life a plain-spoken cynicism which characterisesboth to this day.
"Easy," replied Turner. "You will find them easy. Firstly, I would askthat your stupid secret police keeps its fingers out; secondly, thatleniency be assured to one person, a client of mine--the woman whosupplies the money--who is under the influence--well, that influencewhich makes women do nobler and more foolish things, monsieur, than menare capable of."
He rose as he spoke, collected his hat and stick, and walked slowly tothe door. With his hand on the handle, he paused.
"You can think about it," he said, "and let me know at your leisure. Bythe way, there is one more point, Monsieur le Ministre. I would ask youto let this matter remain a secret, known only to our two selves and--thePrince President."
And John Turner went out, without so much as a glance toward the window.