_ BOOK III. FRANCE
CHAPTER X. MASTER AND MAN
John Law, idle, preoccupied, sat gazing out at the busy scenes of the street before him. The room in which he found himself was one of a suite in that magnificent Hotel de Soisson, bought but recently of the Prince de Carignan for the sum of one million four hundred thousand livres, which had of late been chosen as the temple of Fortuna. The great gardens of this distinguished site were now filled with hundreds of tents and kiosks, which offered quarters for the wild mob of speculators which surged and swirled and fought throughout the narrow avenues, contending for the privilege of buying the latest issue of the priceless shares of the Company of the Indies.
The System was at its height. The bubble was blown to its last limit. The popular delirium had grown to its last possible degree.
From the window these mad mobs of infuriated human beings might have seemed so many little ants, running about as though their home had been destroyed above their heads. They hastened as though fleeing from the breath of some devouring flame. Surely the point of flame was there, at that focus of Paris, this focus of all Europe; and thrice refined was the quality of this heat, burning out the hearts of those distracted ones.
Yet it was a scene not altogether without its fascinations. Hither came titled beauties of Paris, peers of the realm, statesmen, high officials, princes of the blood; all these animated but by one purpose--to bid and outbid for these bits of paper, which for the moment meant wealth, luxury, ease, every imaginable desire. It seemed indeed that the world was mad. Tradesmen, artisans, laborers, peasants, jostled the princes and nobility, nor met reproof. Rank was forgotten. Democracy, for the first time on earth, had arrived. All were equal who held equal numbers of these shares. The mind of each was blank to all but one absorbing theme.
Law looked over this familiar scene, indifferent, calm, almost moody, his cheek against his hand, his elbow on his chair. "What was the call, Henri," asked he, at length, of the old Swiss who had, during these stormy times, been so long his faithful attendant. "What was the last quotation that you heard?"
"Your Honor, there are no quotations," replied the attendant. "'Tis only as one is able to buy. The
actions of the last issue, three hundred thousand in all, were swept away at a breath at fifteen thousand livres the share."
"Ninety times what their face demands," said Law, impassively.
"True, some ninety times," said the Swiss. "'Tis said that of this issue the regent has taken over one-third, or one hundred thousand, himself. 'Tis this that makes the price of the other two-thirds run the higher, since 'tis all that the public has to buy."
"Lucky regent," said Law, sententiously. "Plenty would seem to have been his fortune!"
He grimly turned again to his study of the crowds which swarmed among the pavilions before his window. Outside his door he heard knockings and cries, and impatient footfalls, but neither he nor the impassive Swiss paid to these the least attention. It was to them an old experience.
"Your Honor, the Prince de Conti is in the antechamber and would see you," at length ventured the attendant, after listening for some time with his ear at an aperture in the door.
"Let the Prince de Conti wait," said Law, "and a plague take him for a grasping miser! He has gained enough. Time was when I waited at his door."
"The Abbe Dubois--here is his message pushed beneath the door."
"My dearest enemy," replied Law, calmly. "The old rat may seek another burrow."
"The Duchesse de la Rochefoucauld."
"Ah, then, she hath overcome her husband's righteousness of resolution, and would beg a share or so? Let her wait. I find these duchesses the most tiresome animals in the world."
"The Madame de Tencin."
"I can not see the Madame de Tencin."
"A score of dukes and foreign princes. My faith! master, we have never had so large a line of guests as come this morning." The stolid impassiveness of the Swiss seemed on the point of giving way.
"Let them wait," replied Law, evenly as before. "Not one of them would listen to me five years ago. Now I shall listen to them--shall listen to them knocking at my door, as I have knocked at theirs. To-day I am aweary, and not of mind to see any one. Let them wait."
"But what shall I say? What shall I tell them, my master?"
"Tell them nothing. Let them wait."
Thus the crowd of notables packed into the anterooms waited at the door, fuming and execrating, yet not departing. They all awaited the magician, each with the same plea--some hope of favor, of advancement, or of gain.
At last there arose yet a greater tumult in the hall which led to the door. A squad of guardsmen pushed through the packed ranks with the cry: "For the king!" The regent of France stood at the closed door of the man who was still the real ruler of France.
"Open, open, in the name of the king!" cried one, as he beat loudly on the panels.
Law turned languidly toward the attendant. "Henri," said he, "tell them to be more quiet."
"My master, 'tis the regent!" expostulated the other, with somewhat of anxiety in his tones.
"Let him wait," replied Law, coolly. "I have waited for him."
"But, my master, they protest, they clamor--"
"Very well. Let them do so--but stay. If it is indeed the regent, I may as well meet him now and say that which is in my mind. Open the door."
The door swung open and there entered the form of Philippe of Orleans, preceded by his halberdiers and followed close by a rush of humanity which the guards and the Swiss together had much pains to force back into the anteroom.
"How now, Monsieur L'as, how now?" fumed the regent, his heavy face glowing a dull red, his prominent eyes still more protruding, his forehead bent into a heavy frown. "You deny entrance to our person, who are next to the body of his Majesty?"
"Did you have delay?" asked Law, sweetly. "'Twas unfortunate."
"'Twas execrable!"
"True. I myself find these crowds execrable."
"Nay, execrable to suffer this annoyance of delay!"
"Your Grace's pardon," said Law, coolly. "You should have made an appointment a few days in advance."
"What! The regent of France need to arrange a day when he would see a servant!"
"Your Grace is unfortunate in his choice of words," replied Law, blandly. "I am not your servant. I am your master."
The regent sank back into a chair, gasping, his hand clutching at the hilt of his sword.
"Seize him! Seize him! To the Bastille with him! The presumer! The impostor!"
Yet even the guards hesitated before the commanding presence of that man whom all had been so long accustomed to obey. With hand upraised, Law gazed at them for one instant, and then gave them no further attention.
"Yet these words I must hasten to qualify," resumed he. "True, I am at this moment your master, your Grace, but two minutes hence, and for all time thereafter, I shall no longer be your master. Your Grace was once so good as to make me head of certain financial matters, and to give me control of them. The fabric of this Messasebe, which you see without, was all my own. It was this which made me master of Paris, and of every man within the gates of Paris. So far, very well. My plans were honest, and the growth of France--nay, let us say the resurrection of France--the new life of France--shows how my own plans were made and how well I knew that which was to happen. I made you rich, your Grace. I gave you funds to pay off millions of your private debts, millions to gratify your fancies. I gave you more millions to pay the debts of France. France and her regent have again taken a position of honor in the eyes of the world. You may well call me master of your fate, who have been able to accomplish these things. So long as you knew your master, you did well. Now your Grace has seen fit to change masters. He would be his own master again. There can not be two in control of a concern like this. Sir, the two minutes hare elapsed. I am your very humble servant!"
The regent still sat staring from his chair, and speech was yet denied him.
"There are your people. There is your France," said Law, beckoning as he turned toward the window and pointing to the crowd without. "There is your France. Now handle it, my master! Here are the reins! Now drive; but see that you be careful how you drive. Come, your Grace," said he, mockingly, over his shoulder. "Come, and see your France!"
The audacity of John Law was a thing without parallel, as had been proved a hundred times in his strange life and in a hundred places. His sheer contemptuous daring brought Philippe of Orleans to his senses. He relaxed now in his purpose, changeable as was his wont, and advanced towards Law with hand outstretched.
"There, there, Monsieur L'as, I did you wrong, perhaps," said he. "But as to these hasty words, pray reconsider them at once. 'Twill have a bad effect should a breath of this get afloat. Indeed, 'twas because of some such thing that I came to see you this morning. A most unspeakable, a most incredible thing hath occurred. It comes to me with certain confirmation that there have been shares sold upon the street at twelve thousand livres to the
action, whereas, as you very well know, fifteen thousand should be the lowest price to-day."
"And what of that, your Grace?" said Law, calmly. "Is it not what you planned? Is it not what you have been expecting?"
"How, sirrah! What do you mean?"
"Why, I mean this, your Grace," said Law, calmly, "that since you have taken the reins, it is you who must drive the chariot. I shall suggest no plans, shall offer no remedy. But, if you still lack ability to see how and why this thing has attained this situation, I will take so much trouble as to make it plain."
"Go on, then, sir," said the regent. "Is not all well? Is there any danger?"
"As to danger," said Law, "we can not call it a time of danger after the worst has happened."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, that the worst has happened. But, as I was about to say, I shall tell you how it happened."
The gaze of the regent fell. His hand trembled as he fumbled at his sword hilt.
"Your Grace," said Law, calmly, "will do me the kindness to remember that when I first asked of you the charter of the Banque Generale, to be taken privately in the name of myself and my brother, I told you that any banker merited the punishment of death if he issued notes or bills of exchange without having their effective value safe in his own strong boxes."
"Well, what of that?" queried the regent, weakly.
"Nothing, your Grace, except that your Grace deserves the punishment of death."
"How, sir! Good God!"
"If the truth of this matter should ever become known, those people out there, that France yonder, would tear your Grace limb from limb, and trample you in the dust!"
The livid face of the regent went paler as the other spoke. There was conviction in those tones which could not fail to reach even his heavy wits.
"Let me explain," went on Law. "I beg your Grace to remember again, that when your Grace was good enough to take out of the hands of my brother and myself our little bank--which we had run honorably and successfully--you changed at one sweep the whole principle of honest banking. You promised to pay something which was unstipulated. You issued a note back of which there was no value, no fixed limit of measurement. Twice you have changed the coinage of the realm, and twice assigned a new value to your specie. No one can tell what one of your shares in the stock of the Indies means in actual coin. It means nothing, stands for nothing, is good for nothing. Now, think you, when these people, when this France shall discover these facts, that they will be lenient with those who have thus deceived them?"
"Yet your theory always was that we had too great a scarcity of money here in France," expostulated the regent.
"True, so I did. We had not enough of good money. We can not have too little of false money, of money such as your Grace--as you thought without my knowledge--has been so eager to issue from the presses of our Company. It had been an easy thing for the regent of France to pay off all the debts of the world from now until the verge of eternity, had not his presses given out. Money of that sort, your Grace, is such as any man could print for himself, did he but have the linen and the ink."
The regent again dropped to his chair, his head falling forward upon his breast.
"But what does it all mean? What shall be done? What will be the result?" he asked, his voice showing well enough the anxiety which had swiftly fallen upon his soul.
"As to that," replied Law, laconically, "I am no longer master here. I am not controller of finance. Appoint Dubois, appoint D'Argenson. Send for the Brothers Paris. Take them to this window, your Grace, and show them your people, show them your France, and then ask them to tell you what shall be done. Cry out to all the world, as I know you will, that this was the fault of an unknown adventurer, of a Scotch gambler, of one John Law, who brought forth some pretentious schemes to the detriment of the realm. Saddle upon me the blame for all this ruin which is coming. Malign me, misrepresent me, imprison me, exile me, behead me if you like, and blame John Law for the discomfiture of France! But when you come to seek your remedies, why, ask no more of John Law. Ask of Dubois, ask of D'Argenson, ask of the Paris Freres; or, since your Grace has seen fit to override me and to take these matters in his own hands, let your Grace ask of himself! Tell me, as regent of France, as master of Paris, as guardian of the rights of this young king, as controller of the finances of France, as savior or destroyer of the welfare of these people of France and of that America which is greater than this France--tell me, what will you do, your Grace? What do you suggest as remedy?"
"You devil! you arch fiend!" exclaimed the regent, starting up and laying his hand on his sword. "There is no punishment you do not deserve! You will leave me in this plight--you--you, who have supplanted me at every turn; you who made that horrible scene but last night at my own table, within the very gates of the Palais Royal; you, the murderer of the woman I adored! And now, you mocker and flouter of what may be my bitterest misfortune--why, sir, no punishment is sharp enough for you! Why do you stand there, sir? Do you dare to mock me--to mock us, the person of the king?"
"I mock not in the least, your Grace," said John Law, "nor do aught else that ill beseems a gentleman. I should have been proud to be known as the friend of Philippe of Orleans, yet I stand before that Philippe of Orleans and tell him that that man doth not live, nor that set of terrors exist, which can frighten John Law, nor cause him to depart from that stand which he once has taken. Sir, if you seek to frighten me, you fail."
"But, look you--consider," said the regent. "Something must be done."
"As I said," replied Law.
"But what is going to happen? What will the people do?"
"First," said Law, judicially, flicking at the deep lace of his cuff as though he were taking into consideration the price of a wig or cane, "first, the price of a share having gone to twelve thousand livres this morning, by two o'clock will be so low as ten thousand. By three o'clock this afternoon it will be six thousand. Then, your Grace, there will be panic. Then the spell will be broken. France will rub her eyes and begin to awaken. Then, since the king can do no wrong, and since the regent is the king, your Grace can do one of two things. He can send a body-guard to watch my door, or he can see John Law torn into fragments, as these people would tear the real author of their undoing, did they but recognize him."
"But can nothing be done to stop this? Can it not be accommodated?"
"Ask yourself. But I must go on to say what these people will do. All at once they will demand specie for their notes. The Prince de Conti will drive his coaches to the door of your bank, and demand that they be loaded with gold. Jacques and Raoul and Pierre, and every peasant and pavior in Paris will come with boxes and panniers, and each of them will also demand his gold. Make edicts, your Grace. Publish broadcast and force out into publicity, on every highway of France, your decree that gold and silver are not so good as your bank notes; that no one must have gold or silver; that no one must send his gold and silver out of France, but that all must bring it to the king and take for it in exchange these notes of yours. Try that. It ought to succeed, ought it not, your Grace?" His bantering tone sank into one of half plausibility.
"Why, surely. That would be the solution."
"Oh, think you so? Your Grace is wondrous keen as a financier! Now take the counsel of Dubois, of D'Argenson, my very good friends. This is what they will counsel you to do. And I will counsel you at the same time to avail yourself of their advice. Tell all France to bring in its gold, to enable you to put something essential under the value of all this paper money which you have been sending out so lavishly, so unthinkingly, so without stint or measure."
"Yes. And then?"
"Why, then, your Grace," said Law, "then we shall see what we shall see!"
The regent again choked with anger. Law continued. "Go on. Smooth down the back of this animal. Continue to reduce these taxes. The specie of the realm of France, as I am banker enough to know, is not more than thirteen hundred millions of livres, allowing sixty-five livres to the marc. Yet long before this your Grace has crowded the issue of our
actions until there are out not less than twenty-six hundred millions of livres in the stock of our Company. Your Brothers Paris, your D'Argenson, your Dubois will tell you how you can make the people of France continue to believe that twice two is not four, that twice thirteen is not twenty-six!"
"But this they are doing," broke in the regent, with a ray of hope in his face. "This they are doing. We have provided for that. In the council not an hour ago the Abbe Dubois and Monsieur d'Argenson decided that the time had come to make some fixed proportion between the specie and these notes. We have to-day framed an edict, which the Parliament will register, stating that the interests of the subjects of the king require that the price of these bank notes should be lessened, so that there may be some sort of accommodation between them and the coin of the realm. We have ordered that the shares shall, within thirty days, drop to seventy-five hundred livres, in another thirty days to seven thousand livres, and so on, at five hundred livres a month, until at last they shall have a value of one-half what they were to-day. Then, tell me, my wise Monsieur L'as, would not the issue of our notes and the total of our specie be equal, one with the other? The only wrong thing is this insulting presumption of these people, who have sold
actions at a price lower than we have decreed."
Law smiled as he replied. "You say excellently well, my master. These plans surely show that you and your able counselors have studied deeply the questions of finance! I have told you what would happen to-day without any decree of the king. Now go you on, and make your decrees. You will find that the people are much more eager for values which are going up than values which are going down. Start your shares down hill, and you will see all France scramble for such coin, such plate, such jewels as may be within the ability of France to lay her hands upon. Tell me, your Grace, did Monsieur d'Argenson advise you this morning as to the total issue of the
actions of this Company?"
"Surely he did, and here I have it in memorandum, for I was to have taken it up with yourself," replied the regent.
"So," exclaimed Law, a look of surprise passing over his countenance, until now rigidly controlled, as he gazed at the little slip of paper. "Your Grace advises me that there are issued at this time in the shares of the Company no less than two billion, two hundred and thirty-five million, eighty-five thousand, five hundred and ninety livres in notes! Against this, as your Grace is good enough to agree with me, we have thirteen hundred millions of specie. Your Grace, yourself and I have seen some pretty games in our day. Look you, the merriest game of all your life is now but just before you!"
"And you would go and leave me at this time?"
"Never in my life have I forsaken a friend at the time of distress," replied Law. "But your Grace absolved me when you forsook me, when you doubted and hesitated regarding me, and believed the protestations of those not so able as myself to judge of what was best. And now it is too late. Will your Grace allow me to suggest that a place behind stout gates and barred doors, deep within the interior of the Palais Royal, will be the best residence for him to-night--perhaps for several nights to come?"
"And yourself?"
"As for myself, it does not matter," replied Law, slowly and deliberately. "I have lived, and I thought I had succeeded. Indeed, success was mine for some short months, though now I must meet failure. I have this to console me--that 'twas failure not of my own fault. As for France, I loved her. As for America, I believe in her to-day, this very hour. As for your Grace in person, I was your friend, nor was I ever disloyal to you. But it sometimes doth seem that, no matter how sincere be one in one's endeavors, no matter how cherished, no matter how successful for a time may be his ambitions, there is ever some little blight to eat the face of the full fruit of his happiness. To-morrow I shall perhaps not be alive. It is very well. There is nothing I could desire, and it is as well to-morrow as at any time."
"But surely, Monsieur L'as," interrupted the regent, with a trace of his old generosity, "if there should be outbreak, as you fear, I shall, of course, give you a guard. I shall indeed see you safe out of the city, if you so prefer, though I had much liefer you would remain and try to help us undo this coil, wherein I much misdoubt myself."
"Your Grace, I am a disappointed man, a man with nothing in the world to comfort him. I have said that I would not help you, since 'twas yourself brought ruin on my plans, and cast down that work which I had labored all my life to finish. Yet I will advise this, as being your most immediate plan. Smooth down this France as best you may. Remit more taxes, as I said. Depreciate the value of these shares gently, but rapidly as you can. Institute great numbers of perpetual annuities. Juggle, temporize, postpone, get for yourself all the time you can. Trade for the people's shares all you have that they will take. You can never strike a balance, and can never atone for the egregious error of this over-issue of stock which has no intrinsic value. Eventually you may have to declare void many of these shares and withdraw from the currency these
actions for which so recently the people have been clamoring."
"That means repudiation!" broke in the regent.
"Certainly, your Grace, and in so far your Grace has my extremest sympathy. I know it was your resolve not to repudiate the debts of France, as those debts stood when I first met you some years ago. That was honorable. Yet now the debts of France are immeasurably greater, rich as France thinks herself to be. Not all France, were the people and the produce of the commerce counted in the coin, could pay the debt of France as it now exists. Hence, honorable or not, there is nothing else--it is repudiation which now confronts you. France is worse than bankrupt. And now it would seem wise if your Grace took immediate steps, not only for the safety of his person, but for the safety of the Government."
"Sir, do you mean that the people would dare, that they would presume--"
"The people are not what they were. There hath come into Europe the leaven of the New World. I had looked there to see a nobler and a better France. It is too late for that, and surely it is too late for the old ways of this France which we see about us. You can not presume now upon the temper of these folk as you might have done fifty years ago. The Messasebe, that noble stream, it hath swept its purifying flood throughout the world! Look you, at this moment there is tumbling this house which we have built of bubbles, one bubble upon another, blowing each bubble bigger and thinner than the last. Mine is not the only fault, nor yet the greatest fault. I was sincere, where others cared naught for sincerity. Another day, another people, may yet say the world was better for my effort, and that therefore at the last I have not failed." _