'The City must organise a fund to rescue Barings. Or at least to get it through the next few weeks, until it can realise its assets and stop in an orderly fashion. That can only be done – you would only have the time to do that – if the Bank of France reversed its policy of withdrawing bullion from London. And if the Russians stopped pulling gold out of Barings. Better still if they signalled their intention of depositing some more. In the circumstances, the rate of interest they might demand could be high, and not payable solely in money. But at the very least we need to know their terms. May I ask if your bank has heard anything about this?'
'Nothing has been communicated to me. But that is no surprise. There are no close relations at the moment between us and the Bank of France. There are many in France who detest the Rothschilds as much as they detest the English. The question is what to do about it. As it seems the British Empire is insufficiently important for the Government to risk its own reputation, then I, like you, feel we have no alternative but to explore other possibilities.'
And so it was settled. I was to return to Paris as soon as possible, with a letter to Alphonse de Rothschild and instructions to discover what, if any, price the French would accept. At the same time I was to organise a veritable insurrection amongst the moneyed elite of France, have them storming the barricades of the Banque de France, demanding calm in the markets. And I was to do this without citing the authority of the British Government in any way. This was to be a deal between bankers. It must not have anything to do with foreign policy. There would be no concessions there whatsoever.
My chances? I put them at about none. I had a matter of days to reverse what seemed to be a major move in French foreign policy, and cobble together an unprecedented alliance amongst people I did not know. Even Natty Rothschild seemed pessimistic. He walked out with Wilkinson and me, then asked if I would take a turn with him around Green Park before I headed back for Victoria.
'A thankless task, Mr Cort,' he rumbled as we walked in the direction of Green Park. It was chilly and getting dark, and there were few people around except for the occasional office worker, and governesses pushing prams. 'If you succeed, no one will know; if you fail, you will undoubtedly be blamed.'
'That is reassuring. Thank you.'
'Which brings up the obvious question. Why do you choose to do this? It is a strange life you lead.'
Evidently he knew more about me than I thought.
I shrugged. 'I don't know. I wasn't a good banker . . .'
'A very inadequate answer.'
'I like it, then. I like making people do things they do not wish to do, I like discovering things I am not meant to know. I think I like taking bad actions and turning them to good ends. It is so often the reverse. But I can take lies and betrayal and turn them into patriotism.'
'Not the other way round?'
'Not for me, no.'
'I see. I think you are going to need all your skills in the next week. You will be trying to mix foreign policy and finance, and control them through your arts. Are you skilled enough, do you think?'
'I don't know.'
'My cousin will give you all the help he can, and a great deal of advice as well. You may trust him. I ask only one thing: if you fail, let him know. I'll be damned if the house of Rothschild is going to be brought to ruin by Barings.'
I arrived back in Paris at five o'clock on Tuesday morning. I was exhausted. I crossed the Channel twice in one day, had scarcely slept for two days and had been in meetings much of the rest of the time. I should, properly, have launched into action, but I could not. I did manage to get someone to take the message to Alphonse de Rothschild, sent another to M. Netscher, but that was all. I could do no more without sleep, so sleep I did. And, dare I add, I slept well; quite extraordinarily well in the circumstances.
The meeting with Rothschild and Netscher began after lunch. I very nearly disgraced myself by being late, but I arrived at the Rothschild mansion in the eighth arrondissement with a few minutes to spare. There were four people there: the committee for the defence, or so I came to call them in my mind. All people who wished to resolve this, if only they could do so without bringing national opprobrium down on their heads. All were fatalistic, and had a low opinion of their many colleagues, of politicians and of the people of France in general. They were fools, was the general opinion, who understood nothing of money, who had no conception of how delicate and refined were the financial structures which so efficiently delivered the comforts and necessities on which all people increasingly depended. Had it been left to politicians, said Netscher, then the bulk of mankind would still be scraping a living in the fields, dressed in rags and prone to starvation and disease. They needed to be saved from themselves.
