"Mr. Rothschild insisted that I meet you."
John Morgan's words made Lionel's facial muscles tighten slightly.
His interactions with Mrs. Eleonore Rothschild were no secret in the ladies' salons of Paris.
The kind of relationship between artists and noble patrons was generally considered elegant and a social norm.
But far away in New York, for a figure like John Morgan to be reminded by her husband to meet him, this was completely beyond the realm of "normality."
John Morgan picked up a trimmed cigar and offered one to Lionel.
Lionel waved his hand, indicating he didn't need it, so he lit his own, took a deep puff, and exhaled thick smoke.
"Let me explain briefly—our Morgan family primarily collaborates closely with the Rothschild family in London. You can view us as their agents in the New World."
Although he used the word "agents," there was no humility in his tone, but rather a great calmness.
"This time, the one who insisted I meet you was Mr. James Mayer Rothschild of Paris. Honestly, the Rothschild family in Paris has never shown much interest in our America. But last year, a huge sum of money from Russia needed to be held in trust by our bank. Because of this business, James personally came to New York, and we established a good rapport!"
At this point, John Morgan paused and flicked the ash from his cigar:
"Just before your arrival, I received a telegram from him. In the telegram, he emphasized that while you were visiting New York, I absolutely had to meet you. He said it would be very useful for the future investments of our Morgan family."
"A huge sum of money from Russia"?
So that's it!
Sophia Ivanovna Durova-Shcherbatova's arrogant face immediately flashed in Lionel's mind.
And, of course, the Shcherbatov family behind her, eager to break into Paris's top social circles.
The exclusion and suppression of Sophia and her mother by Mrs. Rothschild in the Paris salon earlier, that "duel" between noblewomen, its true battlefield was never at the balls and salons!
James Rothschild simply didn't care about the baseless rumors between his wife and a young writer.
What he cared about was how to use every opportunity to solidify and expand his family's business network.
John Morgan's voice interrupted Lionel's thoughts:
"Since James recommended you so solemnly, I naturally couldn't neglect it. Therefore, at last night's ball, you didn't receive any other dinner invitations—I gave a heads-up in advance. In New York, guests I wish to entertain privately usually have no other plans."
Lionel asked directly:
"Mr. Morgan, what then does Mr. Rothschild wish for you to discuss with me?"
John Morgan grinned, stood up, and said,
"Business? No hurry. Let's enjoy dinner first. I've prepared a little taste of home for you."
He made a gesture of invitation and personally led Lionel out of the study, through the corridor, and towards the banquet hall.
The banquet hall was exceptionally luxurious—giant chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, large oil paintings adorned the walls, and the dining table stretched out of sight.
On the table were sparkling gold or silver cutlery, and an abundant variety of crystal glasses.
Most striking was the lighting system of the entire hall—no flickering flames of gas lamps, but rather steadily glowing electric lights!
They were embedded in the chandeliers and wall sconces, emitting a bright and uniform yellowish-white light, illuminating the entire space as if it were day.
John Morgan sat at the head of the table, simultaneously gesturing for Lionel to sit on his right:
"Please have a seat, Mr. Sorel."
Servants silently began serving, and indeed, it was a full exquisite French feast—from appetizers to soup, then main courses and post-dinner desserts, paired with excellent vintage Bordeaux wine, perfectly replicating a luxurious French restaurant.
During the meal, John Morgan didn't mention business at all, but instead enthusiastically discussed art collecting with Lionel.
He showed a strong interest in French Impressionist painters.
John Morgan, while cutting a juicy piece of grouse leg meat, asked,
"I hear you're well acquainted with Renoir, Monet, and the others? And that young man named Paul Gauguin, I heard he also received your support?"
Lionel was somewhat surprised that Morgan would pay attention to these things.
He nodded,
"Yes, we have some interactions. They are all highly talented artists."
John Morgan said with a confident tone,
"I'm very optimistic about them. Many people still don't understand their paintings, finding them crude and the colors too jarring. But I dare say that in less than twenty years, their works will become very valuable. Art investment sometimes has more potential than railroad bonds."
At this point, he looked at Lionel:
"What do you think?"
Lionel's response was polite yet distant:
"The value of art is indeed difficult to measure by common sense, but time will prove everything."
Of course, John Morgan wasn't truly interested in discussing art; he was demonstrating his foresight and power, while also testing Lionel and showing him that he was very familiar with him.
After dinner, John Morgan stood up again and, along with Lionel, left the banquet hall for a brightly lit living room.
The wall sconces and table lamps here also all used electric lights.
Morgan pointed to the light bulbs overhead and finally got to the main topic:
"These are Thomas's masterpieces, very bright, aren't they? For my mansion, he specifically installed a generator. The effect is good, but the problem lies here too—too many generators are needed, the wiring is complex, and the cost is high."
At this point, he shook his head:
"New York is vast, with a large population, and its buildings are denser than in Paris. If the entire city wants to use these electric lights, relying on Thomas's direct current, far too many power plants would need to be built! No city can build such densely packed power plants, let alone maintain them—it's unrealistic."
He walked to the desk and picked up several newspapers; they weren't today's papers, but old ones from over a month ago.
"I saw the performance of 'Sorel-Tesla Electric' at the electricity exhibition. You used small light beads to illuminate a 'miniature Paris.' This was very intuitive, very effective!
The newspapers said that this demonstrated alternating current's clear advantage over direct current in lighting systems—it can transmit over long distances, the voltage can be transformed, and it doesn't need so many damn power stations!"
He put down the newspapers, leaning his hands on the desk:
"I'm very interested. I want to collaborate with your 'Sorel-Tesla Electric' on alternating current. I can invest, provide capital, and offer the Morgan family's business network to establish and develop your electric lights in New York, and even throughout America. I believe this is a much larger market than direct current."
Lionel was truly surprised this time:
"Mr. Morgan, if I'm not mistaken, you have always been Mr. Edison's staunchest patron and collaborator. He has poured almost all his efforts into the research and promotion of direct current and electric lights. For you to do this..."
John Morgan interrupted him:
"Business is business, Mr. Sorel."
His tone had no fluctuation, frightfully calm:
"As for the cost problem of DC lighting, I see no hope of a solution. As for the electric light itself..."
He snorted, with clear dissatisfaction:
"To find a suitable filament material, Thomas spent over a hundred thousand dollars! Do you know?
The bamboo filament he's using now has to be shipped from Japan, and the cost is ridiculously high! And that's just for one lamp!
What I want is stable, sustainable profit, not endless investment in a research project with no end in sight. Thomas is a great inventor, but sometimes he's too stubborn!"
Lionel could only sigh at this; for these top capitalists, emotions and loyalty were as fragile as biscuits in the face of immense business interests!
Edison's long-standing friendship with John Morgan could also be easily disregarded when confronted with a technology with greater market potential.
He looked up, a smile on his face:
"Then, Mr. Morgan, where do you think we should begin?"
(End of Chapter)