Eighteen years later, in 1875, just a few years outside the time-frame of Money, Anthony Trollope created the grand-scale swindler Melmotte, a man of mysterious foreign origins, in The Way We Live Now. Melmotte’s ambitious schemes at times seem to echo those of Saccard, wrapping the pursuit of profit in a mantle of philanthropy: ‘he would be able to open up new worlds, to afford relief to the oppressed nationalities of the over-populated old countries.’6 But his schemes are only words and air, and unlike Saccard he leaves nothing of value behind him, finally ending his life with a dose of prussic acid, whereas Saccard goes on to further ventures. It is striking that one of the arguments offered in defence of Melmotte’s risky activities—‘You have to destroy a thousand living creatures every time you drink a glass of water, but you do not think of that when you are athirst …’7—is very like Saccard’s dismissal of worry about the damage his risky activities may cause: ‘As if life bothered about such matters! With every step we take, we destroy thousands of existences’ (p. 357).

In France, a number of novels on the Bourse and on banking had already been written. Among them was La Comtesse Shylock (1885) by G. d’Orcet, which stressed the dominance of Jews in the banking world. Count Shylock, as Henri Mitterand points out,8 has much in common with Gundermann, being based on the same figure: James de Rothschild. The novel also includes a Baroness Brandorff, addicted to playing the market like Zola’s Baroness Sandorff, as well as an idealist dreamer not dissimilar to Sigismond Busch. It is reasonable to assume that Zola read La Comtesse Shylock, but he takes a wider overview of the banking crash, showing the way the financial world interlocks with the politics and the economy of the time, and introducing the clash between capitalism and socialism. Above all, Zola makes of the subject an epic allegory, dominated by the riveting figure of Saccard.

Saccard

Whether the novel is seen primarily as a socio-political study, a financial document, or a penetrating and poetic reflection on a society on the brink of disaster, the figure of Saccard clearly dominates it. Villain or hero, he is a peculiarly fascinating creation, one who seems indeed to have fascinated his creator. Zola does not usually allow a character to return as frequently as Saccard in the annals of the Rougon-Macquart family.9 In The Fortune of the Rougons (La Fortune des Rougon) Aristide Rougon is an opportunistic republican journalist, who swiftly becomes Bonapartist when success beckons on that side. He changes his name to Saccard in The Kill (La Curée), commenting: ‘there’s money in that name’, and makes a great fortune in property speculation in the wake of Haussmann’s reconstruction of Paris. The Saccard of Money is a more complex and ambiguous figure than the Saccard of The Kill, showing moments of compassion and remorse in the midst of his ruthlessness.

A great dynamic force, he is physically only a small figure, frequently seen stretching upward to gain height—an apt metaphor for the impatient ambition evident from the moment he enters the novel. He sees himself as a Napoleon of finance, aiming to achieve with money what Napoleon failed to achieve with the sword. He is also, as his son Maxime remarks, ‘the poet of the million’. Money is his sword, his delight, his obsession. Even for philanthropic purposes, with no motive of personal gain, as in his dealings with Princess d’Orviedo, he is captivated by the sheer joy of manipulating large sums of money. Fired by ambitious schemes of grandeur, Saccard turns money into magic; it is the royalty of gold, it is a magic wand, conjuring the magic that runs right through the novel in the tinkling of fairy gold, the barrels of treasure straight out of the Arabian Nights, the enchanted cash desks, the magic wand of money and science working together. Saccard dreams of rivers, even oceans, of gold, the dance of millions, which will create grand, colossal things.

In his meeting with the Hamelins, brother and sister, Saccard’s exuberant imagination takes wing, as he imagines the wonders to be performed, and makes the dreams of the Hamelins his own:

‘Look,’ cried Saccard, ‘this Carmel Gorge in this drawing of yours, where there’s nothing but stones and mastic trees, you’ll see, once the silver mine gets going, first a village will spring up, then a town… … And on these depopulated plains, these deserted passes, where our railway lines will run, a veritable resurrection, yes! The fields will cease to lie fallow, roads and canals will appear, new cities will rise from the ground and life will at last return… Yes! Money will perform these miracles.’ (p. 65)

It is Saccard’s energy that produces what he later calls ‘the pickaxe of progress’, his Universal Bank, to sponsor these vast enterprises and at the same time satisfy what seems at times an almost physical, fetishistic need to see ‘heaps of gold’ and ‘hear their music’. His recklessness manifests itself as soon as the Universal is launched, and illegality follows illegality. He aims to wrest control of the Bourse away from Gundermann, and will use every available means to that end. With Jantrou, he makes use of the growing power of the Press; the newspaper he purchases supports the bank with advertising and also provides potential leverage on the government by supporting or attacking the minister Rougon’s policies in its pages. After its first triumph over the leaking of the peace treaty after Sadowa, the Universal goes from strength to strength, with Saccard increasing the bank’s capital and using ‘frontmen’ to buy the bank’s own shares. The share-prices rocket ever upward, and even Gundermann, relying on the force of logic to bring the bank down, is almost on the point of giving up against this seemingly unstoppable success. It is the treachery of Baroness Sandorff that tips the scales and leads to the destruction of the Universal, and it is Saccard’s sexual appetite that has made that possible. In defeat Saccard stands resolutely beside his habitual pillar in the Bourse, not deigning to sit down until the moment of weakness when he thinks of ‘the enormous mass of humble folk, wretched little investors who would be crushed to pieces under the wreckage of the Universal’ (p. 308). Then he allows himself at last to sit, revealing a Saccard capable of real compassion—as he had indeed shown earlier in his dealings with the charitable Work Foundation.

Zola amply signposts Saccard’s energy, creativity, and sexuality: the scene of Saccard caught in flagrante with Sandorff is surprisingly explicit, and his lustfulness is further demonstrated in his frequent visits to ‘actresses’ like Germaine Coeur, and his extravagant but unsuccessful bidding for the favours of pretty little Madame Conin.