"Tell me, then, Monsieur L'as, of this new America. I would fain have some information at first hand. There was rumor, I know not how exact, that you once traveled in those regions."
Thus spake his Grace Philippe, Duke of Orléans, regent of France, now, in effect, ruler of France. It was the audience which had been arranged for John Law, that opportunity for which he had waited all his life. Before him now, as he stood in the great council chamber, facing this man whose ambitions ended where his own began—at the convivial board and at the gaming table—he saw the path which led to the success that he had craved so long. He, Law of Lauriston, sometime adventurer and gambler, was now playing his last and greatest game.
"Your Grace," said he, "there be many who might better than I tell you of that America."
"There are many who should be able, and many who do," replied the regent. "By the body of the Lord! we get nothing but information regarding these provinces of New France, and each advice is worse than the one preceding it. The gist of it all is that my Lord Governor and my very good intendant can never agree, save upon one point or so. They want more money, and they want more soldiers—ah, yes, to be sure, they also want more women, though we sent them out a ship load of choice beauties not more than a six-month ago. But tell me, Monsieur L'as, is it indeed true that you have traveled in America?"
"For a short time."
"I have heard nothing regarding you from the intendant at Quebec."
"Your Grace was not at that time caring for intendants. 'Twas many years ago, and I was not well known at Quebec by my own name."
"Eh bien?Some adventure, then, perhaps? A woman at the bottom of it, I warrant."
"Your Grace is right."
"'Twas like you, for a fellow of good zest. May God bless all fair dames. And as to what you found in thus following—or was it in fleeing—your divinity?"
"I found many things. For one, that this America is the greatest country of the world. Neither England nor France is to be compared with it."
The regent fell back in his chair and laughed heartily.
"Monsieur, you are indeed, as I have ever found you, of most excellent wit. You please me enormously."
"But, your Grace, I am entirely serious."
"Oh, come, spoil not so good a jest by qualifying, I beseech you! England or France, indeed—ah, Monsieur L'as, Monsieur L'as!"
"Your own city of New Orléans, Sire, will lie at the gate of a realm greater than all France. Your Grace will hand to the young king, when he shall come of age, a realm excellently worth the ownership of any king."
"You say rich. In what way?" asked the regent. "We have not had so much of returns after all. Look at Crozat? Look at—"
"Oh fie, Crozat! Your Grace, he solved not the first problem of real commerce. He never dreamed the real richness of America."
Philippe sat thoughtful, his finger tips together. "Why have we not heard of these things?" said he.
"Because of men like Crozat, of men like your governors and intendants at Quebec. Because, your Grace, as you know very well, of the same reason which sent me once from Paris, and kept me so long from laying before you these very plans of which I now would speak."
"And that cause?"
"Maintenon."
"Oh, ah! Indeed—that is to say—"
"Louis would hear naught of me, of course. Maintenon took care that he should find I was but heretic."
"As for myself," said Philippe the regent, "heretic or not heretic makes but small figure. 'Twill take France a century to overcome her late surfeit of religion. For us, 'tis most a question of how to keep the king in the saddle and France underneath."
"Precisely, your Grace."
"Frankly, Monsieur L'as, I take it fittest now not so much to ponder over new worlds as over how to keep in touch with this Old World yet awhile. France has danced, though for years she danced to the tune of Louis clad in black. Now France must pay for the music. My faith, I like not the look of things. This joyful France to-day is a hideous thing. These people laugh! I had sooner see a lion grin. Now to govern those given us by Providence to govern," and the regent smiled grimly at the ancient fiction, "it is most meet that the governed should produce somewhat of funds in order that they may be governed."
"Yes, and the error has been in going too far," said Law. "These people have been taxed beyond the taxation point. Now they laugh."
"Yes; and by God, Monsieur L'as, when France laughs, beware!"
"Your Grace admits that France has no further resources."
"Assuredly."
"Then tax New France!" cried Law, his hand coming down hard upon the table, his eyes shining. "Mortgage where the security doubles every year, where the soil itself is security for wealth greater than all Europe ever owned."
"Oh, very well, Monsieur; though later I must ask you to explain."
"You admit that no more money can be forced from the people of France."
"Ask the farmers of the taxes. Ask Chamillard of the Treasury. My faith, look out of the window! Listen! Do I not tell you that France is laughing?"
"Very well. Let us also laugh. Let us all laugh together. There is money in France, more money in Europe. I assure you these people can be brought to give you cheerfully all they have."
"It sounds well, Monsieur L'as, but let me ask you how?"
"France is bankrupt—this is brutal, but none the less true. France must repudiate her obligations unless something be swiftly done. It is not noble to repudiate, your Grace. Yet, if we cancel and not repudiate, if we can obtain the gold of France, of Europe—"
"Body of God! but you speak large, my friend."
"Not so large. All subjects shrink as we come close to them by study. 'Tis easy to see that France has not money enough for her own business. If we had more money in France, we should have more production, and if we had more production, we might have taxes. Thereby we might have somewhat in our treasury wherewith to keep the king in the saddle, and not under foot."
"Then, if I follow you," said Philippe, leaning slightly forward and again placing his finger tips judicially together, "you would coin greater amounts of money. Then, I would ask you, where would you get your gold for the coinage?"
"It is not gold I would coin," said Law, "but credit."
"The kingdom hath been run on credit for these many years."
"No, 'tis not that kind of credit that I mean. I mean the credit which comes of confidence. It is fate, necessity, which demands a new system. The world has grown too much for every man to put his sixpence into the other man's hand, and carry away in a basket what he buys. We are no longer savages, to barter beads for hides. Yet we were as savages, did we not come to realize that this insufficient coin must be replaced in the evolution of affairs, just as barter has long ago been, replaced."
"And by what?"
"As I said, by credit."
"Do not annoy me by things too deep, but rather suggest some definite plan, if that may be."
"First of all, then, as I said to you years ago, we need a bank, a bank in which all the people of France shall have absolute confidence."
"You would, then, wish a charter of some sort?"
"Only provided your Grace shall please. I have of my own funds a half million livres or more. This I would put into a bank of general nature, if your Grace shall please. That should be some small guarantee of my good faith in these plans."
"Monsieur L'as would seem to have followed play to his good fortune."
"Never to so good fortune as when first I met your Grace," replied Law. "I have given to games of chance the severest thought and study. Just as much more have I given thought and study to this enterprise which I propose now to lay before you."
"And you ask the patent of the Crown for your bank?"
"It were better if the institution received that open endorsement."
A slow frown settled upon the face of the other. "That is, at the beginning, impossible, Monsieur L'as," said the regent. "It is you who must prove these things which you propose."
"Let it be so, then," said Law, with conviction. "I make no doubt I shall obtain subscriptions for the shares. Remember my words. Within a few months you shall see trebled the energies of France. Money is the only thing which we have not in France. Why, your Grace, suppose the collectors of taxes in the South of France succeed in raising the king's levies. That specie must come by wheeled vehicle all the way to Paris. Consider what loss of time is there, and consider what hindrance to the trade of the provinces from which so much specie is taken bodily, and to which it can return later only a little at a time. Is it any wonder that usury is eating up France? There is not money enough—it is the one priceless thing; by which I mean only that there is not belief, not confidence, not credit enough in France. Now, given a bank which holds the confidence of the people, and I promise the king his taxes, even as I promise to abolish usury. You shall see money at work, money begetting money, and that begetting trade, and that producing comfort, and comfort making easier the collection of the king's taxes."
"By heaven! you begin to make it somewhat more plain to me."
"One thing I beg you to observe most carefully, your Grace," said Law, "nor must it ever be forgotten in our understanding. The shares of this bank must have a fixed value in regard to the coin of the realm. There must be no altering of the value of our coin. Grant that the coin does not fluctuate, and I promise you that my bankactions, notes of the chief bank of Paris, shall soon be found better than gold or silver in the eyes of France. Moreover, given a greater safety to foreign gold, and I promise you that too shall pour into Paris in such fashion as has never yet been seen. Moreover, the people will follow their coin. Paris will be the greatest capital of Europe. This I promise you I can do."
"In effect," said the regent, smiling, "you promise me that you can build a new Paris, a new world! Yet much of this I can in part believe and understand. Let that be as it may. The immediate truth is that something must be done, and done at once."
"Obviously."
"Our public debt is twenty-six hundred millions of livres. Its annual interest is eighty millions of livres. We can not pay this interest alone, not to speak of the principal. Obviously, as you say, the matter admits of no delay. Your bank—why, by heaven, let us have your bank! What can we do without your bank? Lastly, how quickly can we have it?"
"Sire, you make me the happiest man in all the world!"
"The advantage is quite otherwise, sir. But my head already swims with figures. Now let us set the rest aside until to-morrow. Meantime, I must confess to you, my dear friend, there is somewhat else that sits upon my mind."
A change came upon the demeanor of his Grace the regent. Laying aside the dignity of the ruler with the questions of state, he became again more nearly that Philippe of Orléans, known by his friends as gay, care free and full ofcamaraderie.
"Your Grace, could I be of the least personal service, I should be too happy," said Law.
"Well, then, I must admit to you that this is a question of a diamond."
"Oh, a diamond?"
"The greatest diamond in the world. Indeed, there is none other like it, and never will be. This Jew hounds me to death, holding up the thing before mine eyes. Even Saint Simon, that priggish little duke of ours, tells me that France should have this stone, that it is a dignity which should not be allowed to pass away from her. But how can France, bankrupt as she is, afford a little trifle which costs three million francs? Three million francs, when we can not pay eighty millions annual interest on our debts!"
"'Tis as you say, somewhat expensive," said Law.
"Naturally, for I say to you that this stone had never parallel in the history of the world. It seems that this overseer in the Golconda mines got possession of it in some fashion, and escaped to Europe, hiding the stone about his person. It has been shown in different parts of Europe, but no one yet has been able to meet the price of this extortioner who owns it."
"And yet, as Saint Simon says, there is no dignity too great for the throne of France."
"Yet, meantime, the king will have no use for it for several years to come. There is the Sancy stone—"
"And, as your Grace remembers, this new stone would look excellent well upon a woman?" said Law. He gazed, calm and unsmiling, directly into the eyes of Philippe of Orléans.
"Monsieur L'as, you have the second sight!" cried the latter, unblushingly. "You have genius. May God strike me blind if ever I have seen a keener mind than thine!"
"All warm blood is akin," replied John Law. "This stone is perhaps for your Grace's best beloved?"
"Eh—ah—which? As you know—"
"Ah! Perhaps for La Parabère. Richly enough she deserves it."
"Ah, Monsieur L'as, even your mind is at fault now," cried the regent, shaking his finger exultingly. "I covet this new stone, not for Parabère nor for any one of those dear friends whom you might name, and whom you may upon occasion have met at some of my little suppers. It is for another, whose name or nature you can not guess."
"Not that mysterious beauty of whom rumor goes about this week, the woman rated surpassing fair, who has lately come into the acquaintance of your Grace, and whom your Grace has concealed as jealously as though he feared to lose her by some highway robbery?"
"It is the same, I must admit!"
Law remained thoughtful for a time. "I make no doubt that the Hebrew would take two million francs for this stone," said he.
"Perhaps, but two millions is the same as three millions," said Philippe. "The question is, where to get two millions."
"As your Grace has said, I have been somewhat fortunate at play," replied Law, "but I must say that this sum is beyond me, and that both the diamond and the bank I can not compass. Yet, your Grace has at disposal the crown jewels of France. Now, beauty is the sovereign of all sovereigns, as Philippe of Orléans must own. To beauty belongs the use of these crown jewels. Place them as security, and borrow the two millions. For myself, I shall take pride in advancing the interest on the sum for a certain time, until such occasion as the treasury may afford the price of this trinket. In a short time it will be able to do so, I promise your Grace; indeed able to buy a dozen such stones, and take no thought of the matter."
"Monsieur L'as, do you actually believe these things?"
"I know them."
"And you can secure for me this gem?"
"Assuredly. We shall have it. Let it be called the 'Regent's Diamond,' after your Grace of Orléans. And when the king shall one day wear it, let us hope that he will place it as fitly as I am sure your Grace will do, on the brow of beauty—even though it be beauty unknown, and kept concealed under princely prerogative!"
"Ah! You are too keen, Monsieur L'as, too keen to see my new discovery. Not for a little time shall I take the risk of introducing this fair friend to one so dangerous as yourself; but one of these times, my very good friend, if you can secure for me this diamond, you shall come to a very little supper, and see where for a time I shall place this gem, as you say, on the brow of beauty. For the sake of Monsieur L'as, head magician of France my mysterious alien shall then unmask."
"And then I am to have my bank?"
"Good God, yes, a thousand banks!"
"It is agreed?"
"It is agreed."
The regent of France kept his promise to Law, and the latter in turn fulfilled his prophecy to the regent. Moreover, he swiftly went far toward verifying his boast to the Lady Catharine Knollys; for in less than a month his name was indeed on every tongue in Paris. The Banque Générale de L'as et Compagnie was seized upon by the public, debtor and creditor alike, as the one new thing, and hence as the only salvation. As ever, it pleased Paris to be mystified. In some way the rumor spread about that Monsieur L'as wasphilosophique; that the Banque Générale was founded upon "philosophy." It was catch-word sufficient for the time.
"ViveJean L'as,le philosophe—Monsieur L'as, he who has saved France!" So rang the cry of the shallow-witted people of an age splendid even in its contradictions. And meantime the new bank, crudely experimental as it was, flourished as though its master spirit had indeed in his possession the philosopher's stone, turning all things to gold.
One day, shortly after the beginning of that brilliantly spectacular series of events destined so soon to make Paris the Mecca of the world, there sat at table, in a little, obscurecabaretof the gay city, a group of persons who seemed to have chosen that spot for purposes of privacy. Yet privacy was difficult where all the curious passers-by stared in amaze at the great coach near the door, half filling the narrow and unclean street—a vehicle bearing the arms of no less a person than that august and unscrupulous representative of the French nobility, the Prince de Conti. No less a person than the prince himself, thin-faced, aquiline and haughty, sat at this table, looking about him like any common criminal to note whether his speech might be overheard. Next to him sat a hook-nosed Jew from Austria, Fraslin by name, one of many of his kind gathered so quickly within the last few weeks in Paris, even as the scent of carrion fetches ravens to the feast. Another of the party was a man of middle age, of handsome, calm, patrician features and an unruffled mien—that De la Chaise, nephew of the confessor of Louis the Grand, who was later to represent the young king in the provinces of Louisiana.
Near by the latter, and indeed the central figure of this gathering, was one less distinguished than either of the above, evidently neither of churchly ancestry nor civic distinction—Henri Varenne, sometime clerk for the noted Paris Frères, farmers of the national revenues. Varenne, now serving but as clerk in the new bank of L'as et Compagnie, could have been called a man of no great standing; yet it was he whose presence had called hither these others to this unusual meeting. In point of fact, Varenne was a spy, a spy chosen by the jealous Paris Frères, to learn what he might of the internal mechanism of this new and startling institution which had sprung into such sudden prominence.
"As to the bank of these brothers L'as," said the Prince de Conti, rapping out emphasis with his sword hilt on the table, "it surely has much to commend it. Here is one of its notes, and witness what it says. 'The bank promises to pay to the bearer at sight the sum of fifty livres in coin of the weight and standard of this day.' That is to say, of this date which it bears. Following these, are the words 'value received.' Now, my notary tells me that these words make this absolutely safe, so that I know what it means in coin to me at this day, or a year from now. Is it not so, Monsieur Fraslin?"
The Jew reached out his hand, took the note, and peered over it in close scrutiny.
"'Tis no wonder, Monsieur le Prince," said he, presently, "that orders have been given by the Government to receive this note without discount for the payment of the general taxes. Upon my reputation, I must say to you that these notes will pass current better than your uncertain coin. The specie of the king has been changed twice in value by the king's orders. Yet this bases itself upon a specie value which is not subject to any change. Therein lies its own value."
"It is indeed true," broke in Varenne. "Not a day goes by at this new bank but persons come to us and demand our notes rather than coin of the realm of France."
"Yes, yes," broke in the prince, "we are agreed as to all this, but there is much talk about further plans of this Monsieur L'as. He has the ear of his Grace the regent, surely. Now, sir, tell us what you know of these future affairs."
"The rumor is, as I understand it," answered Varenne, "that he is to take over control of the Company of the West—to succeed, in short, to the shoes of Anthony Crozat. There come curious stories of this province of Louisiana."
"Of course," resumed the prince, with easy wisdom, "we all of us know of the voyage of L'Huillier, who, with his four ships, went up this great river Messasebe, and who, as is well known, found that river of Blue Earth, described by early writers as abounding in gold and gems."
"Aye, and there comes the strange part of it, and this is what I would lay before your Lordships, as bearing upon the value of the shares of this new bank, since it is taking over the charter of the Company of the West. It is news not yet known upon the street. The story goes that the half has not been told of the wealth of these provinces.
"Now, as you say, L'Huillier had with him four ships, and it is well known that his gentlemen had with them certain ladies of distinction, among these a mysterious dame reported to have earlier traveled in portions of New France. The name of this mysterious female is not known, save that she is reported to have been a good friend of asous-lieutenantof the regiment Carignan, sometime dweller at Quebec and Montréal, and who later became a lieutenant under L'Huillier. It is said that this same mysterious fair, having returned from America and having cast aside her lieutenant, has come under protection of no less a person than his Grace Philippe of Orléans, the regent. Now, as you know, the bank is the best friend of the regent, and this mysterious dame, as we are advised by servants of his Grace's household, hath told his Grace such stories of the wealth of the Messasebe that he has secretly and quickly made over the control of the trade of those provinces to this new bank. There is story also that his Grace himself will not lack profit in this movement!"
The hand of Conti smote hard upon the table. "By heaven! it were strange thing," said he, "if this foreign traveler should prove the same mysterious beauty Philippe is reported to have kept in hiding. My faith, is it indeed true that we are come upon a time of miracles?"
"Listen!" broke in again Varenne, his ardor overcoming his obsequiousness. "These are some of the tales brought back—and reported privately, I can assure you, gentlemen, now for the first time and to yourselves. The people of this country are said to be clad in beauteous raiment, made of skins, of grasses, and of the barks of trees. Their ornaments are made of pure, yellow gold, and of precious gems which they pick up from the banks of the streams, as common as pebbles here in France. The climate is such that all things grow in the most unrivaled fruitfulness. There is neither too much sun nor too much rain. The lakes and rivers are vast and beautiful, and the forests are filled with myriads of strange and sweet-voiced birds. 'Tis said that the dream of Ponce de Leon hath been realized, and that not only one, but scores of fountains of youth have been discovered in this great valley. The people are said never to grow old. Their personal beauty is of surpassing nature, and their disposition easy and complaisant to the last degree—"
"My faith, say on!" broke in De la Chaise. "'Tis surely a story of paradise which you recount."
"But, listen, gentlemen! The story goes yet farther. As to mines of gold and silver, 'twas matter of report that such mines are common in all the valley of the Messasebe. Indeed the whole surface of the earth, in some parts, is covered with lumps of gold, so that the natives care nothing for it. The bottoms of the streams, the beaches of the lakes, carry as many particles of gold as they have pebbles and little stones. As for silver, none take note of it. 'Tis used as building stone."
"In the name of Jehovah, is there support for these wonders you have spoken?" broke in Fraslin the Jew, his eyes shining with suppressed excitement.
"Assuredly. Yet I am telling not half of the news which came to my knowledge this very morning—the story is said to have emanated from the Palais Royal itself, and therefore, no doubt, is to be traced to this same unknown queen of the Messasebe. She reports, so it is said, that beyond the country where L'Huillier secured his cargo of blue earth, there is a land where grows a most peculiar plant. The meadows and fields are covered with it, and it is said that the dews of night, which gather within the petals of these flowers, become, in the course of a single day, nothing less than a solid diamond stone! From this in time the leaves drop down, leaving the diamond exposed there, shining and radiant."
"Ah, bah!" broke in Fraslin the Jew. "Why believe such babblings? We all know that the diamond is a product not of the vegetable but of the mineral world!"
"So have we known many things," stoutly replied Varenne, "only to find ourselves frequently mistaken. Now for my part, a diamond is a diamond, be it born in a flower or broken from a rock. And as for the excellence of these stones, 'tis rumored that the lady hath abundant proof. 'Tis no wonder that the natives of the valley of the Messasebe robe themselves in silks, and that they deck themselves carelessly with precious stones, as would a peasant of ours with a chain of daisy blossoms. Now, if there be such wealth as this, is it not easy to see the profit of a bank which controls the trade with such a province? True, there have been some discoveries in this valley, but nothing thorough. 'Tis but recent the thing hath been done thorough."
The Prince de Conti sat back in his chair and drew a long breath. "If these things be true," said he, "then this Monsieur L'as is not so bad a leader to follow."
"But listen!" exclaimed Varenne once more. "I have not even yet told you the most important thing, and this is rumor which perhaps your Grace has caught. 'Tis whispered that the bank of the brothers L'as is within a fortnight to be changed."
"What is that?" queried Fraslin quickly. "'Tis not to be abandoned?"
"By no means. Abandoned would be quite the improper word. 'Tis to be improved, expanded, increased, magnified! My Lords, there is the opportunity of a life-time for every one of us here!"
"Say on, man, say on!" commanded the prince, the covetousness of his soul shining in his eyes as he leaned forward.
"I mean to say this," and the spy lowered his voice as he looked anxiously about. "The regent hath taken a fancy to be chief owner himself of an enterprise so profitable. In fine, the Banque Générale is to become the Banque Royale. His Majesty of France, represented by his Grace the regent, is to become the head banker of France and Europe! Monsieur L'as is to be retained as director-general of this Banque Royale. There are to be branches fixed in different cities of the realm, at Lyons, at Tours, at Amiens, at Rochelle, at Orléans—in fact, all France is to go upon a different footing."
The glances of the Prince de Conti and the Austrian met each other. The Jew drew a long breath as he sat back in his chair, his hands grasping at the edge of the table. Try as he might, he scarce could keep his chin from trembling. He licked out his tongue to moisten his lips.
"There is so much," resumed Varenne, "that 'tis hard to tell it all. But you must know that this Banque Royale will be still more powerful than the old one. There will be incorporated with it, not only the Company of the West, but also the General Company of the Indies, as you know, the most considerable mercantile enterprise of France. Now listen! Within the first year the Banque Royale will issue one thousand million livres in notes. This embodiment of the Compagnie Générale of the Indies will warrant, as I know by the secret plans of the bank, the issue of notes amounting to two billion livres. Therefore, as Monsieur de la Chaise signifies, he who is lucky enough to-day to own a fewactionsof the Banque Royale, or even the oldactionsof Monsieur L'as' bank, which will be redeemed by its successor, is in a way to gain greater sums than were ever seen on the face of any investment from the beginning of the world until to-day! Now, as I was about to ask of you, Monsieur Fraslin—"
The speaker turned in his chair to where Fraslin had been but a moment before. The chair was empty.
"Our friend stepped to the door but on the instant," said De la Chaise. "He is perhaps—"
"That he has," cried Varenne. "He is the first of us to profit! Monsieur le Prince, in virtue of what I have said to you, if you could favor me with an advance of a few hundred louis, I could assure my family of independence. Monsieur le Prince! Monsieur le Prince—"
Monsieur le Prince, however, was not so far behind the Austrian! Varenne followed him, tugging at his coat, but Conti shook him off, sprang into his carriage and was away.
"To the Place Vendôme!" he cried to his coachman, "and hasten!"
De la Chaise, aristocratic, handsome and thick-witted, remained alone at the table, wondering what was the cause of this sudden commotion. Varenne re-appeared at the door wringing his hands.
"What is it, my friend?" asked De la Chaise. "Why all this haste? Why this confusion?"
"Nothing!" exclaimed Varenne, bitterly, "except that every minute of this day is worth a million francs. Man, do you know?"—and in his frenzy he caught De la Chaise by the collar and half shook him out of his usual calm—"man, can you not see that Jean L'as has brought revolution into Paris? Oh! This L'as, this devil of a L'as! A thousand louis, my friend, a hundred, ten—give me but ten louis, and I will make you rich! A day of miracles is here!"
There sprang now with incredible swiftness upward and outward an Aladdin edifice of illusion. It was as though indeed this genius who had waved his wand and bidden this fairy palace of chimera to arise, had used for his material the intangible, iridescent film of bubbles, light as air. Wider and wider spread the balloon of phantasm. Higher and higher it floated, on it fixed the eyes of France. And France laughed, and asked that yet other bubbles should be blown.
All France was mad, and to its madness there was joined that of all Europe. The population of Paris doubled. The prices of labor and commodities trebled in a day. There was now none willing to be called artisan. Every man was broker in stocks. Bubbles, bubbles, dreams, fantasies—these were the things all carried in their hands and in their hearts. These made the object of their desire, of their pursuit unimaginably passionate and frenzied.
With a leap from the somberness of the reign of Louis, all France went to the extreme of levity. Costumes changed. Manners, but late devout, grew debonair. Morals, once lax, now grew yet more lax. The blaze and tinsel, the music and the rouge, the wine, the flowing, uncounted gold—all Paris might have been called a golden brothel of delirious delight, tenanted by a people utterly gone mad.
It was a house made of bubbles. Its domes were of bubbles. Its roof was of bubbles, and its walls. Its windows were of that nacreous film. Even its foundations had naught in them more substantial than an evanescent dream of gauze-like web, frail as the spider's house upon the dew-hung grasses.
Yet as to this latter, there should be somewhat of qualification. The wizard who created this fairy structure saw it swiftly grow beyond its original plan, saw unforeseen results spring from those causes which were first well within his comprehension.
Berated by later generations as an adventurer, a schemer, a charlatan, Law originally deserved anything but such a verdict of his public. Dishonest he was not, insincere he never was; and as a student of fundamentals, he was in advance of his age, which is ever to be accursed. His method was but the forerunner of the modern commercial system, which is of itself to-day but a tougher faith bubble, as may be seen in all the changing cycles of finance and trade. His bank was but a portion of a nobler dream. His system was but one vast belief, one glorious hope.
The Company of the West—this it was that made John Law's heart throb. America—its trade—its future! John Law, dead now and gone—he was the colossal pioneer! He saw in his dreams what we see to-day in reality; and no bubble of all the frenzied Paris streets equaled this splendid dream of a renewed and revived humanity that is a fact to-day.
But there came to this dreamer and doer, at the very door of his success, that which arrested him even upon his entering in. There came the preliminary blow which in a flash his far-seeing mind knew was to mean ultimate ruin. In a word, the loose principles of a dissolute man were to ruin France, and with it one who had once saved France from ruin.
Philippe of Orléans found it ever difficult to say no to a friend, and more so if that friend were a woman; and of the latter sort, none had more than he. Men and women alike, these could all see only this abundance of money made of paper. What, then, was to prevent the regent, all powerful, from printing more and yet more of it, and giving it to his friends? The regent did so. Never were mistresses better paid than those of Philippe of Orléans, receiving in effect faithlessness in return for insincerity.
Philippe of Orléans could not see why, since credit based on specie made possible a great volume of accepted notes, a credit based on all France might not warrant an indefinite issue of such notes. He offered his director-general all the concessions which the crown could give, all the revenue-producing elements of France—in effect, all France itself, as security. In return he asked but the small privilege of printing for himself as much money as he chose and whenever he saw fit!
The notes of the private bank of Law were an absolute promise to pay a certain and definite sum, not a changeable or indefinite sum; and Law made it a part of his published creed that any banker was worthy of death who issued notes without having the specie wherewith to pay them. He insisted that the payment should mean specie in the value of the day on which the note was issued. This item the regent liked little, as being too irksome for his temper. Was it not of record how Louis, the Grand Monarque, had twice made certain millions for himself by the simple process of changing the value of the coin? Dicing, drinking, amorous Philippe, easy-going, shallow-thinking, truly wert thou better fitted for a throne than for a banker's chair!
The royal bank, which the regent himself hastened to foster when he saw the profits of the first private bank of circulation and discount France had ever known, issued notes against which Law entered immediately his firm protest. He saw that their tenor spelled ruin for the whole system of finance which, at such labor, he had erected. These notes promised to pay, for instance, fifty livres "in silver coin," not "in coin of the weight and standard of this day," as had the honester notes of Law's bank. That is to say, the notes meant nothing sure and nothing definite. They might be money for a time, but not forever; and this the director-general was too shrewd a man not to know.
"But under this issue you shall have all France," said the regent to him one day, as they renewed their discussion yet again upon this scheme. "You shall have the farming of the taxes. I will give you all the foreign trade as monopoly, if you like—will give you the mint—will give you, in effect, as I have said, all France. But, Monsieur my director-general, I must have money. It is for that purpose that I appoint you director-general—because I find you the most remarkable man in all the world."
"Your Grace," said Law, "print your notes thus, and print them to such extent as you wish, and France is again worse than bankrupt! Then, indeed, you have worse than repudiated the debts of France."
"Ah bah!mon drôle!You are ill to-day. You have amigraine, perhaps? What folly for you to speak thus. France hath swiftly grown so strong that she can never again be ruined. What ails my magician, my Prince of Golconda, this morning? France bankrupt! Even were it so, does that relieve me of this begging of De Prie, of Parabère, and all the others? My God, Monsieur L'as, they are like leeches! They think me made of money."
"And your Grace thinks France made of money."
"Nay; I only think my director-general is made of money, or can make it as he likes."
And this was ever the end of Law's reproaches and his expostulations. This, then, was to be the end of his glorious enterprises, thought he, as he sat one morning, staring out of the window when left alone. This sordid love for money for its own sake—this was to be the limit of an ambition which dealt in theories, in men, in nations, and not in livres and louis d'or! Law smiled bitterly. For an instant he was not the confident man of action and of affairs, not the man claiming with assurance the perpetual protection of good fortune. He sat there, alone, feeling nothing but the great human craving for sympathy and trust. A line of carriages swept back across the street at his window, and streams of nobles besought entrance at his door. And the man who had called out all these, the man for whose friendship all Europe clamored—that man sat with aching heart, longing, craving, begging now of fortune only the one thing—a friend!
At last he arose, his face showing lean and haggard. He passed into another room.
"Will," said he, "I am at a place where I am dizzy and need a hand. You know what hand it means for me. Can you go—will you take her, as you did once before for me, a message? I can not go. I can not venture into her presence. Will you go? Tell her it is the last time! Tell her it is the last!"
"You do not know my brother, Lady Catharine."
Thus spoke Will Law, who had been admitted but a half hour since at the great door of the private hotel where dwelt the Lady Catharine Knollys.
"'Twould seem, then, 'tis by no fault of his," replied Lady Catharine, hotly.
"And is that not well? There are many in Paris who would fain change places with you, Lady Catharine."
"Would heaven they might!" exclaimed she. "Would that my various friends, or the prefect of police, or heaven knows who that may have spread the news of my acquaintance with your brother, would take me out of that acquaintance!"
"They might hold his friendship a high honor," said Will.
"Oh, an honor! Excellent well comes this distinguished honor. Sirrah, carriages block my street, filled with those who beseech my introduction to John Law. I am waylaid if I step abroad, by women—persons of quality, ladies of the realm, God knoweth what—and they beg of me the favor of an introduction to John Law! There seems spread, I know not how, a silly rumor of the child Kate. And though I did scarce more than name a convent for her attendance, there are now out all manner of reports of Monsieur John Law's child, and—what do I say—'tis monstrous! I protest that I have come closer than I care into the public thoughts with this prodigy, this John Law, whose favor is sought by every one. Honor!—'tis not less than outrage!"
"'Tis but argument that my brother is a person not without note."
"But granted. 'We have seen his carriage at your curb,' they say. I insist that it is a mistake. 'But we saw him come from your door at such and such an hour.' If he came, 'twas but for meeting such answer as I have always given him. Will they never believe—will your brother himself never believe that, though did he have, as he himself says, all France in the hollow of his hand, he could be nothing to me? Now I will make an end to this. I will leave Paris."
"Madam, you might not be allowed to go."
"What! I not allowed to go! And what would hinder a Knollys of Banbury from going when the hour shall arrive?"
"The regent."
"And why the regent?"
"Because of my brother."
"Your brother!"
"Assuredly. My brother is to-day king of Paris. If he liked he could keep you prisoner in Paris. My brother does as he chooses. He could abolish Parliament to-morrow if he chose. My brother can do all things—except to win from you, Lady Catharine, one word of kindness, of respect. Now, then, he has come to the end. He told me to come to you and bear his word. He told me to say to you that this is the last time he will importune, the last time that he will implore. Oh, Lady Catharine! Once before I carried to you a message from John Law—from John Law, not in distress then more than he is now, even in this hour of his success."
Lady Catharine paled as she sank back into her seat. Her white hand caught at the lace at her throat. Her eyes grew dark in their emotion.
"Yes, Madam," went on Will Law, tears shining in his own eyes, "'twas I, an unfaithful messenger, who, by an error, wrought ruin for my brother and for yourself, even as I did for myself. Madam, hear me! I would be a better messenger to-day."
Lady Catharine sat still silent, her bosom heaving, her eyes gone wide and straining.
"I have seen my brother weep," said Will, going on impulsively. "I have seen him walk the floor at night, have heard him cry out to himself. They call him crazed. Indeed he is crazed. Yet 'tis but for one word from you."
"Sir," said Lady Catharine, struggling to gain self-control, and in spite of herself softened by this appeal, "you speak well."
"If I do, 'tis but because I am the mouth-piece of a man who all his life has sought to speak the truth; who has sought—yes, I say to you even now, Lady Catharine—who has sought always to live the truth. This I say in spite of all that we both know."
There came no reply from the woman, who sat still looking at him, not yet moved by the voice of the proxy as she might then have been by the voice of that proxy's principal. Vehemently the young man, ordinarily so timid and diffident, approached her.
"Look you!" exclaimed he. "If my brother said he could lay France at your feet, by heaven! he can well-nigh do so now. See! Here are some of the properties he has lately purchased in the realm of France. The Marquisat d'Effiat—'tis worth eight hundred thousand livres; the estate of Rivière—worth nine hundred thousand livres; the estate of Roissy—worth six hundred and fifty thousand livres; the estates of Berville, of Fontaine, of Yville, of Gerponville, of Tancarville, of Guermande—the tale runs near a score! Lately my brother has purchased the Hôtel Mazarin, and the property at Rue Vivienne, paying for them one million two hundred thousand livres. He has other city properties, houses in Paris, estates here and there, running not into the hundreds of thousands, but into the millions of livres in actual value. Among these are some of the estates of the greatest nobles of France. Their value is more than any man can compute. Is this not something? Moreover, there goes with it all the dignity of the most stupendous personal success ever made by a single man since the world began. 'Tis all yours, Lady Catharine. And unless you share it, it has no value to my brother. I know myself that he will fling it all away, calling it worthless, since he can not have that greatest fortune which he craves!"
"Sirrah, I have entertained much speech of both yourself and your brother, because I would not seem ungracious nor forgetful. Yet this paying of court by means of figures, by virtue of lists of estates—do you not know how ineffectual this must seem?"
"If you could but understand!" cried Will. "If you could but believe that there is none on earth values these less than my brother. Under all this he has yet greater dreams. His ambition is to awaken an old world and to build a new one. By heaven! Lady Catharine, I am asked to speak for my brother, and so I shall! These are his ambitions. First of all, Lady Catharine, you. Second, America. Third, a people for America—a people who may hope! Oh, I admit all the folly of his life. He played deep, yet 'twas but to forget you. He drank, but 'twas to forget you. Foolish he was, as are all men. Now he succeeds, and finds he can not forget you. I have told you his ambitions, Madam, and though others may never know nor acknowledge them, you, at least, must do so. And I beg you to remember, Madam, that of all his ambitions, 'twas you, Lady Catharine, your favor, your kindness, your mercy, that made his first and chief desire."
"As for that," said the woman, somewhat scornfully, "if you please, I had rather I received my protestations direct; and your brother knows I forbid him further protestations. He has, it is true, raised some considerable noise by way of enterprises. That I might know, even did I not see this horde of dukes and duchesses and princes of the blood, clamoring for the recognition of even his remotest friends. I know, too, that he is accepted as a hero by the people."
"And well he may be. Coachmen and valets have liveries of their own these days. Servants now eat from plate, and clerks have their own coaches. Paris is packed with people, and, look you, they are people no longer clamoring for bread. Who has done this? Why, my brother, John Law of Lauriston, Lady Catharine, who loves you, and loves you dearly."
The old wrinkle of perplexity gathered between the brows of the woman before him. Her face was clouded, the changeful eyes now deep covered by their lids.
Lacking the precise word for that crucial moment, Will Law broke further on into material details. "To be explicit, as I have said," resumed he, "everything seems to center about my brother, the director-general of finance. He took the old notes of the government, worth not half their face, and in a week made them treble their face value. The king owes him over one hundred million livres to-day. My brother has taken over the farming of the royal taxes. And now he forms a little Company of the Indies; and to this he adds the charter of the Senegal Company. Not content, he adds the entire trade of the Indies, of China and the South Seas. He has been given the privilege of the royal farming of tobacco, for which he pays the king the little trifle of two hundred million livres, and assures to the king certain interest moneys, which, I need not say, the king will actually obtain. In addition to these things, he has lately been given the mint of France. The whole coinage of the realm has been made over to this Company of the Indies. My brother pays the king fifty million livres for this privilege, and this he will do within fifteen months. All France is indeed in the hands of my brother. Now, call John Law an adventurer, a gambler, if you will, and if you can; but at least admit that he has given life and hope to the poor of France, that he has given back to the king a people which was despoiled and ruined by the former king. He has trebled the trade of France, he has saved her honor, and opened to her the avenues of a new world. Are these things nothing? They have all been done by my brother, this man whom you believe incapable of faith and constancy. Good God! It surely seems that he has at least been constant to himself!"
"Oh, I hear talk of it all. I hear that a share in the new company promises dividends of two hundred livres. I hear talk of shares and 'sub-shares,' called 'mothers,' and 'daughters,' and 'granddaughters,' and I know not what. It seems as though half the coin were divided into centimes, and as though each centime had been planted by your brother and had grown to be worth a thousand pounds. I admit somewhat of knowledge of these miracles."
"True, Lady Catharine. Can there not be one miracle more?"
Lady Catharine Knollys bent her face forward upon her hands, unhappiness in every gesture.
"Sir," said she, "it grieves my heart to say it; yet this answer you must take to your brother, John Law. That miracle hath not yet been wrought which can give us back the past again."
"This," said Will Law, sadly, "is this all the message I may take?"
"It is all."
"Though it is the last?"
"It is the last."