The Way We Live Now (60 page)

John's mortial strong, Mr Carbury.'

‘If two men have equal pluck, strength isn't much needed. One is a brave man, and the other – a coward. Which do you think is which?'

‘He's your own cousin, and I don't know why you should say everything again him.'

‘You know I'm telling you the truth. You know it as well as I do myself, and you're throwing yourself away, and throwing the man who loves you over – for such a fellow as that! Go back to him, Ruby, and beg his pardon.'

‘I never will – never.'

‘I've spoken to Mrs Pipkin, and while you're here she will see that you don't keep such hours any longer. You tell me that you're not disgraced, and yet you are out at midnight with a young blackguard like that! I've said what I've got to say, and I'm going away. But I'll let your grandfather know.'

‘Grandfather don't want me no more.'

‘And I'll come again. If you want money to go home, I will let you have it. Take my advice at least in this – do not see Sir Felix Carbury any more.' Then he took his leave. If he had failed to impress her with admiration for John Crumb, he had certainly been efficacious in lessening that which she had entertained for Sir Felix.

The very greatness of Mr Melmotte's popularity, the extent of the admiration which was accorded by the public at large to his commercial enterprise and financial sagacity, created a peculiar bitterness in the opposition that was organized against him at Westminster. As the high mountains are intersected by deep valleys, as puritanism in one age begets infidelity in the next, as in many countries the thickness of the winter's ice will be in proportion to the number of the summer musquitoes, so was the keenness of the hostility displayed on this occasion in proportion to the warmth of the support which was manifested. As the great man was praised, so also was he abused. As he was a demi-god to some, so was he a fiend to others. And indeed there was hardly any other way in which it was possible to carry on the contest against him. From the moment in which Mr Melmotte had declared his purpose of standing for Westminster in the Conservative interest, an attempt was made to drive him down the throats of the electors by clamorous assertions of his unprecedented commercial greatness. It seemed that there was but one virtue in the world, commercial enterprise – and that Melmotte was its prophet. It seemed, too, that the orators and writers of the day intended all Westminster to believe that Melmotte treated his great affairs in a spirit very different from that which animates the bosoms of merchants in general. He had risen above any feeling of personal profit His wealth was so immense that there was no longer place for anxiety on that score. He already possessed – so it was said – enough to found a dozen families, and he had but one daughter! But by carrying on the enormous affairs which he held in his hands, he would be able to open up new worlds, to afford relief to the oppressed nationalities of the over-populated old countries. He had seen how small was the good done by the Peabodys and the Bairds,
¹
and resolving to lend no ear to charities and religions, was intent on projects for enabling young nations to earn plentiful bread by the moderate sweat of their brows. He was the head and front of the railway which was to regenerate Mexico. It was presumed that the contemplated line from ocean to ocean across British America would become a fact in his hands. It was he who was to enter into terms with the Emperor of China for farming the tea-fields of that
vast country. He was already in treaty with Russia for a railway from Moscow to Khiva. He had a fleet – or soon would have a fleet of emigrant ships – ready to carry every discontented Irishman out of Ireland to whatever quarter of the globe the Milesian
²
might choose for the exercise of his political principles. It was known that he had already floated a company for laying down a submarine wire from Penzance to Point de Galle,
³
round the Cape of Good Hope – so that, in the event of general wars, England need be dependent on no other country for its communications with India. And then there was the philanthropic scheme for buying the liberty of the Arabian fellahs from the Khedive of Egypt for thirty millions sterling – the compensation to consist of the concession of a territory about four times as big as Great Britain in the lately annexed country on the great African lakes. It may have been the case that some of these things were as yet only matters of conversation – speculations as to which Mr Melmotte's mind and imagination had been at work, rather than his pocket or even his credit; but they were all sufficiently matured to find their way into the public press, and to be used as strong arguments why Melmotte should become member of Parliament for Westminster.

All this praise was of course gall to those who found themselves called upon by the demands of their political position to oppose Mr Melmotte. You can run down a demi-god only by making him out to be a demi-devil. These very persons, the leading Liberals of the leading borough in England as they call themselves, would perhaps have cared little about Melmotte's antecedents had it not become their duty to fight him as a Conservative. Had the great man found at the last moment that his own British politics had been Liberal in their nature, these very enemies would have been on his committee. It was their business to secure the seat. And as Melmotte's supporters began the battle with an attempt at what the Liberals called ‘bounce' – to carry the borough with a rush by an overwhelming assertion of their candidate's virtues – the other party was driven to make some inquiries as to that candidate's antecedents. They quickly warmed to the work, and were not less loud in exposing the Satan of speculation, than had been the Conservatives in declaring the commercial Jove. Emissaries were sent to Paris and Francfort, and the wires were used to Vienna and New York. It was not difficult to collect stories – true or false; and some quiet men, who merely looked on at the game, expressed an opinion that Melmotte might have wisely abstained from the glories of Parliament.

Nevertheless there was at first some difficulty in finding a proper
Liberal candidate to run against him. The nobleman who had been elevated out of his seat by the death of his father had been a great Whig magnate, whose family was possessed of immense wealth and of popularity equal to its possessions. One of that family might have contested the borough at a much less expense than any other person – and to them the expense would have mattered but little. But there was no such member forthcoming. Lord This and Lord That – and the Honourable This and the Honourable That, sons of other cognate lords – already had seats which they were unwilling to vacate in the present state of affairs. There was but one other session for the existing Parliament; and the odds were held to be very greatly in Melmotte's favour. Many an outsider was tried, but the outsiders were either afraid of Melmotte's purse or his influence. Lord Buntingford was asked, and he and his family were good old Whigs. But he was nephew to Lord Alfred Grendall, first cousin to Miles Grendall, and abstained on behalf of his relatives. An overture was made to Sir Damask Monogram, who certainly could afford the contest. But Sir Damask did not see his way. Melmotte was a working bee, while he was a drone – and he did not wish to have the difference pointed out by Mr Melmotte's supporters. Moreover, he preferred his yacht and his four-in-hand.

At last a candidate was selected, whose nomination and whose consent to occupy the position, created very great surprise in the London world. The press had of course taken up the matter very strongly. The
Morning Breakfast Table
supported Mr Melmotte with all its weight. There were people who said that this support was given by Mr Broune under the influence of Lady Carbury, and that Lady Carbury in this way endeavoured to reconcile the great man to a marriage between his daughter and Sir Felix. But it is more probable that Mr Broune saw – or thought that he saw – which way the wind sat, and that he supported the commercial hero because he felt that the hero would be supported by the country at large. In praising a book, or putting foremost the merits of some official or military claimant, or writing up a charity – in some small matter of merely personal interest – the editor of the
Morning Breakfast Table
might perhaps allow himself to listen to a lady whom he loved. But he knew his work too well to jeopardize his paper by such influences in any matter which might probably become interesting to the world of his readers. There was a strong belief in Melmotte. The clubs thought that he would be returned for Westminster. The dukes and duchesses fëted him. The City – even the City was showing a wavering disposition to come round. Bishops begged for his name on the
list of promoters of their pet schemes. Royalty without stint was to dine at his table. Melmotte himself was to sit at the right hand of the brother of the Sun and of the uncle of the Moon, and British royalty was to be arranged opposite, so that every one might seem to have the place of most honour. How could a conscientious editor of a
Morning Breakfast Table
, seeing how things were going, do other than support Mr Melmotte? In fair justice it may be well doubted whether Lady Carbury had exercised any influence in the matter.

But the
Evening Pulpit
took the other side. Now this was the more remarkable, the more sure to attract attention, inasmuch as the
Evening Pulpit
had never supported the Conservative interest. As was said in the first chapter of this work, the motto of that newspaper implied that it was to be conducted on principles of absolute independence. Had the
Evening Pulpit
, like some of its contemporaries, lived by declaring from day to day that all Conservative elements were godlike, and all their opposites satanic, as a matter of course the same line of argument would have prevailed as to the Westminster election. But as it had not been so, the vigour of the
Evening Pulpit
on this occasion was the more alarming and the more noticeable – so that the short articles which appeared almost daily in reference to Mr Melmotte were read by everybody. Now they who are concerned in the manufacture of newspapers are well aware that censure is infinitely more attractive than eulogy – but they are quite as well aware that it is more dangerous. No proprietor or editor was ever brought before the courts at the cost of ever so many hundred pounds – which if things go badly may rise to thousands – because he had attributed all but divinity to some very poor specimen of mortality. No man was ever called upon for damages because he had attributed grand motives. It might be well for politics and literature and art – and for truth in general, if it was possible to do so. But a new law of libel must be enacted before such salutary proceedings can take place. Censure on the other hand is open to very grave perils. Let the editor have been ever so conscientious, ever so beneficent–even ever so true – let it be ever so clear that what he has written has been written on behalf of virtue, and that he has misstated no fact, exaggerated no fault, never for a moment been allured from public to private matters – and he may still be in danger of ruin. A very long purse, or else a very high courage is needed for the exposure of such conduct as the
Evening Pulpit
attributed to Mr Melmotte. The paper took up this line suddenly. After the second article Mr Alf sent back to Mr Miles Grendall, who in the matter was acting as Mr Melmotte's secretary, the ticket of invitation for the dinner,
with a note from Mr Alf stating that circumstances connected with the forthcoming election for Westminster could not permit him to have the great honour of dining at Mr Melmotte's table' in the presence of the Emperor of China. Miles Grendall showed the note to the dinner committee, and, without consultation with Mr Melmotte, it was decided that the ticket should be sent to the editor of a thorough-going Conservative journal. This conduct on the part of the
Evening Pulpit
astonished the world considerably; but the world was more astonished when it was declared that Mr Ferdinand Alf himself was going to stand for Westminster on the Liberal interest.

Various suggestions were made. Some said that as Mr Alf had a large share in the newspaper, and as its success was now an established fact, he himself intended to retire from the laborious position which he filled, and was therefore free to go into Parliament. Others were of opinion that this was the beginning of a new era in literature, of a new order of things, and that from this time forward editors would frequently be found in Parliament, if editors were employed of sufficient influence in the world to find constituencies. Mr Broune whispered confidentially to Lady Carbury that the man was a fool for his pains, and that he was carried away by pride. ‘Very clever – and dashing,' said Mr Broune, ‘but he never had ballast.' Lady Carbury shook her head. She did not want to give up Mr Alf if she could help it. He had never said a civil word of her in his paper – but still she had an idea that it was well to be on good terms with so great a power. She entertained a mysterious awe for Mr Alf – much in excess of any similar feeling excited by Mr Broune, in regard to whom her awe had been much diminished since he had made her an offer of marriage. Her sympathies as to the election of course were with Mr Melmotte. She believed in him thoroughly. She still thought that his nod might be the means of making Felix – or if not his nod, then his money without the nod.

‘I suppose he is very rich,' she said, speaking to Mr Broune respecting Mr Alf.

‘I dare say he has put by something. But this election will cost him ten thousand pounds – and if he goes on as he is doing now, he had better allow another ten thousand for action for libel. They've already declared that they will indict the paper.'

‘Do you believe about the Austrian Insurance Company?' This was a matter as to which Mr Melmotte was supposed to have retired from Paris not with clean hands.