I Pass From Paris To London: ‘Malacoot’

Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the gem industry.

(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:

My principal in Paris was only six years older than I. At the time of which I write, that is, he was twenty eight. At the early age of sixteen he had been pitchforked into Spain by a Spartan father with nothing more than a letter of introduction to a friend’s on who was in a small way of business as a dealer in antiques, or pseudo-antiques, in Madrid.

The young man had what is termed ‘his head screwed on the right way’. In other words, he started making money from the word ‘Go’. He was taken into the Madrid business and within a short time became a full partner. One day he happened to attend a public sale of an Estremaduran hidalgo’s effects. An ancient chest took his fancy and he bid successfully for it. When he got it home its extraordinarily heavy weight made him look it over very carefully, with the result that he found a number of secret drawers crammed with gold doubloons.

Being naturally of an aggressive nature, his early success in life had made him even more self-confident, and it was one of his patent maxims that treading on other people’s toes before they have a chance to tread on yours is one of the secrets of success, and moreover, saves the possessor of big feet a lot of pain. He was not particularly to save my feelings, at any rate, and was over-fond of calling me the French equivalent of ‘bloody fool’. One day he said it once too often and I picked up a heavy inkstand with intention of slinging it at him. Fortunately someone seized my arm, but, of course, the affair left me with no alternative other than handing in my resignation. In fact, I was just able to say very quickly: ‘I’m getting out of here,’ before he could utter: ‘You’re fired.’

Now, I had saved nothing out of my small pay, for I had been helping a younger brother who was serving his apprenticeship to a goldsmith in Paris. There was nothing for me back in Vienna and in any case I had too much pride to return there a failure. I decided to become a gem broker in Paris on my own account.

There are two kinds of broker, the broker attitré and the freelance broker, in Paris. The first is attached to one firm as a kind of commercial traveler working on a commission basis only, but he is usually permitted to have a drawing account which tides him over bad patches. The freelance, on the other hand, works for any firm that will entrust him with goods. He has no drawing account to fall back on.

Before casting myself on the turbulent and shark-infested waters of Paris gem trade, I sought to secure for myself a raft. I asked my ex-principal if I might be one of his accredited brokers with a drawing account. But although he permitted me to to so attach myself, there was no drawing account, and various incidents thereafter forced me to conclude that he had no intention of forgetting the inkstand episode. I cast myself off into complete independence and have remained in that state ever since.

Life as a freelance broker taught me much and I do not regret the bitter lessons of those days. There is no better schooling for one who intends to blossom into a trader on his own account than a long apprenticeship as a broker to the trade. It is always the buyer who is the professor, for he is ever alert to point out what is undesirable in the merchandise you submit for his considerations and to compare your prices with those of your competitors. It is the buyer who puts you on your mettle; it is the buyer you must study if you want to be a success. Please him and you have pleased yourself. From my buyers I have learned to discriminate between the bad, the middling, the good and the exquisite, and from the seller—how to make the most of the least.

I Pass From Paris To London: ‘Malacoot’ (continued)