Millionaire - Janet Gleeson [32]
He was still adding to his substantial fortune. According to Gray, the Dutch were renowned as “a very close wary people, but will give in to anything where there is any prospect of Gain.” Law, said Gray, seized the opportunity to introduce them to the delights of a national lottery, based on the one his old friend Neale had set up in London but “improved” to his own advantage. In Rotterdam Law’s ploy was discovered: he had “calculated these lotteries entirely to his own benefit, and to the prejudice of the People, having got about 200,000 guilders by them.” He was asked to leave the country. Recent research suggests, however, that Law was in fact operating a form of insurance scheme offering investors a way of reducing their losses should all their tickets lose: for a fee of 100 guilders, investors could lodge ten tickets with Law, and claim three times the sum if all ten lost. Later the scheme was modified so that the price dropped but all winnings over a certain level were payable to Law, who was employing his understanding of risk to his own profit, in much the same way as he did in games of chance. Such ventures were highly lucrative; two years later his fortune was said to have grown to $800,000.
In France, meanwhile, his luck had begun to turn. The signing of the peace of Utrecht in April 1713 had brought the long war to a close. Louis XIV, now seventy-five and still in remarkably robust health, brooded over the ruins of his kingdom. His sense of loss was compounded by a tragic sequence of events that had transformed the French succession. In the space of three years, three heirs—his son the Dauphin, his grandson the Duc de Bourgogne, and his great-grandson the Duc de Bretagne—had died. The heir to the throne was now Louis’s second great-grandson, a four-year-old child, and Law’s ally, the Duc d’Orléans, stood in line as regent.
Louis’s sorrow promised opportunity for Law. More than ever France needed an answer to her financial problems. Sensing that the king’s contempt for him might now have mellowed, Law returned to Paris. On Christmas Eve he wrote to Nicolas Desmarets, Louis’s new finance minister, begging for an audience “to discuss matters, which I trust will be agreeable, being for the service of the King and the well-being of his subjects.” Orléans’s support was beginning to work in Law’s favor, and his request was received slightly more favorably. Desmarets scribbled a note to his clerk, “when he comes I will speak to him,” at the top of Law’s letter. But either the office was inefficient and no word was sent to Law, or some of the old distrust lingered and Desmarets dragged his feet. Nearly a fortnight later, having heard nothing, Law wrote again, this time more impatiently: “On 24 December I took the liberty of writing to your lordship to beg you to allow me a private audience to discuss the service of His Majesty. As my business affairs oblige me to leave shortly I would like to know if this honour will be granted.” Again the honor was not