Waiting for the King
I need the King’s permission before my company can shield me from its trade debts. The men with money can wait. The silk merchant cannot. It is 1837 in Lyon, and he wants my signature for his bales by Friday. He knows where my children sleep.
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I know how to dye silk without weakening the thread. Several merchants will put up money for a larger works, but they will not run it. We ask the notary to draw up a société anonyme. If it fails, each of us can lose what he has invested. The law says the government must authorize the company and approve the deed that creates it.
Our papers go to Paris. Weeks pass. Then months. The merchant comes to the workshop again. He will sell me the silk on credit, but he will not wait for a permission I cannot promise him.
One of the investors lays another deed on the table. We can start now as a commandite par actions. His risk ends with the money he puts in. Mine does not. I will manage the works, so I must be the partner who answers for its debts.
My wife reads the deed while our youngest sleeps against her shoulder. She puts her finger beside my name and asks whether the house is part of the bargain. I tell her the orders are good. I sign.
By autumn the vats are working and we have paid six men. Then a fire takes the works and the silk I bought on credit. The investors lose their shares. The merchant still has my signature.
The bailiff writes down our table and then the beds. My son says the King may yet send his answer. I cannot tell him what use it would be now.