Millionaire - Janet Gleeson [53]
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THE FIRSTMILLIONAIRE
He was civil, and his fortune did not seem to have puff ’d him up. He was a fine handsome man, of a fair complexion as the English generally are, and had a very noble past.
Baron de Pollnitz,
Memoirs (1738)
WHILE PARIS WAS TRANSMUTING INTO AN ENCHANTED city, John Law, the enigmatic outsider who had effected the magical transformation, was recast as an international superstar. The Law residence in the Place Vendôme drew the eminent like pilgrims to some sacred shrine. Once-scornful princes, prelates, and grandees scurried to ingratiate themselves, waiting for hours in his antechamber, which, said du Hautchamp, was “never empty of noblemen and ladies, whose sole occupation seemed to be a desire to pay court to him.”
Most came with the intention of asking for a few extra shares at a preferential rate. Many had their requests granted—Law’s generosity was almost as legendary as the economic miracles he wrought. Saint-Simon, however, was sickened by the mass cupidity: “Law . . . saw his door forced, his windows entered from the garden, while some of them came tumbling down the chimney of his cabinet.” Like royalty, Law restricted most callers to formal audiences, and gaining entry was no easy feat. The Baron de Pollnitz, one of the many who wanted to meet the great man, grumbled that he had to bribe a succession of guards, footmen, and butlers.
Ladies had always found Law attractive; now that he had celebrity and vast wealth, they openly adored him. Haughty duchesses and elegant mesdames prostrated themselves before him, overturned their carriages in front of his house, inveigled their way into his home—anything to get themselves noticed. “If Law wanted it, the French ladies would kiss his backside,” grumbled the regent’s mother, aghast at their shamelessness. She related one incident in which Law had granted an audience to several ladies, then begged to be excused because he needed to relieve himself. The women refused, saying, “Oh, if it’s only that, it doesn’t matter, go ahead, piss, and listen to us.” In sheer desperation, he took them at their word; they were unabashed. Madame de Bouchu was another audacious lady whom Law was eager to avoid. Undeterred by his rebuffs, she followed him to a dinner given by an aristocratic rival, who had pointedly excluded her, and ordered her coachman to drive in front of the house and shout, “Fire.” On hearing the alarm, the guests, including Law, left the table and ran into the street. Madame de Bouchu spotted her quarry and pounced on him, but he managed to make a speedy escape.
As a man who had always cherished his privacy and livedmuch of his life ignoring convention, Law must have found the constant fuss, formality, and fawning hard to bear. In later years he would remember, “Every day I had a hundred impertinent demands.” He remained, for the most part, gracious, affable, and irrepressibly witty. When an elderly lady stumbled over her words in her eagerness to ask him for shares and said, “Give me, I beg you, a conception” instead of “a concession,” Law hid a smile and replied kindly, “It is not possible at the moment.”
According to the gossips, he was not always immune to the charms of those who offered themselves to him. Through his royal connections he was introduced to Claudine de Tencin, a renowned hostess whose salon was famous for attracting leading intellectuals and beauties. She was a vivacious, glamorous adventuress who had run away from a convent and given birth to a