The Way We Live Now (74 page)

He had dined freely. At this period of his career he had taken to dining freely – which was in itself imprudent, as he had need at all hours of his best intelligence. Let it not be understood that he was tipsy. He was a man whom wine did not often affect after that fashion. But it made him, who was arrogant before, tower in his arrogance till he was almost sure to totter. It was probably at some moment after dinner that Lord Alfred decided upon buying the cutting whip of which he had spoken. Melmotte went with his wife and daughter to the India Office, and soon left them far in the background with a request – we may say an order – to Lord Alfred to take care of them. It may be observed here that Marie Melmotte was almost as great a curiosity as the emperor
himself, and was much noticed as the girl who had attempted to run away to New York, but had gone without her lover. Melmotte entertained some foolish idea that as the India Office was in Westminster, he had a peculiar right to demand an introduction on this occasion because of his candidature. He did succeed in getting hold of an unfortunate under secretary of state, a studious and invaluable young peer, known as Earl De Griffin. He was a shy man, of enormous wealth, of mediocre intellect, and no great physical ability, who never amused himself, but worked hard night and day, and read everything that anybody could write, and more than any other person could read, about India. Had Mr Melmotte wanted to know the exact dietary of the peasants in Orissa, or the revenue of the Punjaub, or the amount of crime in Bombay, Lord De Griffin would have informed him without a pause. But in this matter of managing the emperor, the under secretary had nothing to do, and would have been the last man to be engaged in such a service. He was, however, second in command at the India Office, and of his official rank Melmotte was unfortunately made aware. ‘My lord,' said he, by no means hiding his demand in a whisper, ‘I am desirous of being presented to his Imperial Majesty.' Lord De Griffin looked at him in despair, not knowing the great man – being one of the few men in that room who did not know him.

‘This is Mr Melmotte,' said Lord Alfred, who had deserted the ladies and still stuck to his master. ‘Lord De Griffin, let me introduce you to Mr Melmotte.'

‘Oh – oh – oh,' said Lord De Griffin, just putting out his hand. ‘I am delighted; – ah, yes,' and pretending to see somebody, he made a weak and quite ineffectual attempt to escape.

Melmotte stood directly in his way, and with unabashed audacity repeated his demand. ‘I am desirous of being presented to his Imperial Majesty. Will you do me the honour of making my request known to Mr Wilson?' Mr Wilson was the Secretary of State, who was as busy as a Secretary of State is sure to be on such an occasion.

‘I hardly know,' said Lord De Griffin. ‘I'm afraid it's all arranged. I don't know anything about it myself.'

‘You can introduce me to Mr Wilson.'

‘He's up there, Mr Melmotte; and I couldn't get at him. Really you must excuse me. I'm very sorry. If I see him I'll tell him.' And the poor under secretary again endeavoured to escape.

Mr Melmotte put up his hand and stopped him. ‘I'm not going to stand this kind of thing,' he said. The old Marquis of Auld Reekie was
close at hand, the father of Lord Nidderdale, and therefore the proposed father-in-law of Melmotte's daughter, and he poked his thumb heavily into Lord Alfred's ribs. ‘It is generally understood, I believe,' continued Melmotte, ‘that the emperor is to do me the honour of dining at my poor house on Monday. He don't dine there unless I'm made acquainted with him before he comes. I mean what I say. I ain't going to entertain even an emperor unless I'm good enough to be presented to him. Perhaps you'd better let Mr Wilson know, as a good many people intend to come.'

‘Here's a row,' said the old marquis. ‘I wish he'd be as good as his word.'

‘He has taken a little wine,' whispered Lord Alfred. ‘Melmotte,' he said, still whispering; ‘upon my word it isn't the thing. They're only Indian chaps and Eastern swells who are presented here – not a fellow among 'em all who hasn't been in India or China, or isn't a secretary of state, or something of that kind.'

‘Then they should have done it at Windsor, or at the ball,' said Melmotte, pulling down his waistcoat. ‘By George, Alfred! I'm in earnest, and somebody had better look to it. If I'm not presented to his Imperial Majesty to-night, by G—, there shall be no dinner in Grosvenor Square on Monday. I'm master enough of my own house, I suppose, to be able to manage that. '

Here was a row, as the marquis had said! Lord De Griffin was frightened, and Lord Alfred felt that something ought to be done. ‘There's no knowing how far the pig-headed brute may go in his obstinacy,' Lord Alfred said to Mr Lupton, who was there. It no doubt might have been wise to have allowed the merchant prince to return home with the resolution that his dinner should be abandoned. He would have repented probably before the next morning; and had he continued obdurate it would not have been difficult to explain to His Celestial Majesty that something preferable had been found for that particular evening even to a banquet at the house of British commerce. The Government would probably have gained the seat for Westminster, as Melmotte would at once have become very unpopular with the great body of his supporters. But Lord De Griffin was not the man to see this. He did make his way up to Mr Wilson, and explained to the Amphitryon of the night
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the demand which was made on his hospitality. A thoroughly well-established and experienced political Minister of State always feels that if he can make a friend or appease an enemy without paying a heavy price he will be doing a good stroke of business. ‘Bring
him up,' said Mr Wilson. ‘He's going to do something out in the East, isn't he?' ‘Nothing in India,' said Lord De Griffin. ‘The submarine telegraph is quite impossible.' Mr Wilson, instructing some satellite to find out in what way he might properly connect Mr Melmotte with China, sent Lord De Griffin away with his commission.

‘My dear Alfred, just allow me to manage these things myself,' Mr Melmotte was saying when the under secretary returned. ‘I know my own position and how to keep it There shall be no dinner. I'll be d– if any of the lot shall dine in Grosvenor Square on Monday.' Lord Alfred was so astounded that he was thinking of making his way to the Prime Minister, a man whom he abhorred and didn't know, and of acquainting him with the terrible calamity which was threatened. But the arrival of the under secretary saved him the trouble.

‘If you will come with me,' whispered Lord De Griffin, ‘it shall be managed. It isn't just the thing, but as you wish it, it shall be done.'

‘I do wish it,' said Melmotte aloud. He was one of those men whom success never mollified, whose enjoyment of a point gained always demanded some hoarse note of triumph from his own trumpet.

‘If you will be so kind as to follow me,' said Lord De Griffin. And so the thing was done. Melmotte, as he was taken up to the imperial footstool, was resolved upon making a little speech, forgetful at the moment of interpreters – of the double interpreters whom the Majesty of China required; but the awful, quiescent solemnity of the celestial one quelled even him, and he shuffled by without saying a word even of his own banquet.

But he had gained his point, and, as he was taken home to poor Mr Longestaffe's house in Bruton Street, was intolerable. Lord Alfred tried to escape after putting Madame Melmotte and her daughter into the carriage, but Melmotte insisted on his presence. ‘You might as well come, Alfred – there are two or three things I must settle before I go to bed.'

‘I'm about knocked up,' said the unfortunate man.

‘Knocked up, nonsense! Think what I've been through. I've been all day at the hardest work a man can do.' Had he as usual got in first, leaving his man-of-all-work to follow, the man-of-all-work would have escaped. Melmotte, fearing such defection, put his hand on Lord Alfred's shoulder, and the poor fellow was beaten. As they were taken home a continual sound of cock-crowing was audible, but as the words were not distinguished they required no painful attention; but when the soda-water and brandy and cigars made their appearance in Mr Longestaffe's own back room, then the trumpet was sounded with a full blast. ‘I mean
to let the fellows know what's what,' said Melmotte, walking about the room. Lord Alfred had thrown himself into an arm-chair, and was consoling himself as best he might with tobacco. ‘Give and take is a very good motto. If I scratch their back, I mean them to scratch mine. They won't find many people to spend ten thousand pounds in entertaining a guest of the country's as a private enterprise. I don't know of any other man of business who could do it, or would do it. It's not much any of them can do for me. Thank God, I don't want 'em. But if consideration is to be shown to anybody, I intend to be considered. The prince treated me very scurvily, Alfred, and I shall take an opportunity of telling him so on Monday. I suppose a man may be allowed to speak to his own guests.'

‘You might turn the election against you if you said anything the prince didn't like.'

‘D—the election, sir. I stand before the electors of Westminster as a man of business, not as a courtier – as a man who understands commercial enterprise, not as one of the prince's toadies. Some of you fellows in England don't realize the matter yet; but I can tell you that I think myself quite as great a man as any prince.' Lord Alfred looked at him, with strong reminiscences of the old ducal home, and shuddered. ‘I'll teach them a lesson before long. Didn't I teach 'em a lesson to-night – eh? They tell me that Lord De Griffin has sixty thousand a year to spend. What's sixty thousand a year? Didn't I make him go on my business? And didn't I make 'em do as I chose? You want to tell me this and that, but I can tell you that I know more of men and women than some of you fellows do, who think you know a great deal.'

This went on through the whole of a long cigar; and afterwards, as Lord Alfred slowly paced his way back to his lodgings in Mount Street, he thought deeply whether there might not be means of escaping from his present servitude. ‘Beast! Brute! Pig!' he said to himself over and over again as he slowly went to Mount Street.

Melmotte's success, and Melmotte's wealth, and Melmotte's antecedents were much discussed down in Suffolk at this time. He had been seen there in the flesh, and there is no believing like that which comes from
sight. He had been staying at Caversham, and many in those parts knew that Miss Longestaffe was now living in his house in London. The purchase of the Pickering estate had also been noticed in all the Suffolk and Norfolk newspapers. Rumours, therefore, of his past frauds, rumour also as to the instability of his presumed fortune, were as current as those which declared him to be by far the richest man in England. Miss Melmotte's little attempt had also been communicated in the papers; and Sir Felix, though he was not recognized as being ‘real Suffolk' himself, was so far connected with Suffolk by name as to add something to this feeling of reality respecting the Melmottes generally. Suffolk is very old-fashioned. Suffolk, taken as a whole, did not like the Melmotte fashion. Suffolk, which is, I fear,
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persistently and irrecoverably Conservative, did not believe in Melmotte as a Conservative member of Parliament Suffolk on this occasion was rather ashamed of the Longestaffes, and took occasion to remember that it was barely the other day, as Suffolk counts days, since the original Longestaffe was in trade. This selling of Pickering, and especially the selling of it to Melmotte, was a mean thing. Suffolk, as a whole, thoroughly believed that Melmotte had picked the very bones of every shareholder in that Franco-Austrian Assurance Company.

Mr Hepworth was over with Roger one morning, and they were talking about him – or talking rather of the attempted elopement. ‘I know nothing about it,' said Roger, ‘and I do not intend to ask. Of course I did know when they were down here that he hoped to marry her, and I did believe that she was willing to marry him. But whether the father had consented or not I never inquired.'

‘It seems he did not consent.'

‘Nothing could have been more unfortunate for either of them than such a marriage. Melmotte will probably be in the
Gazette
before long, and my cousin not only has not a shilling, but could not keep one if he had it.'

‘You think Melmotte will turn out a failure.'

‘A failure! Of course he's a failure, whether rich or poor – a miserable imposition, a hollow vulgar fraud from beginning to end – too insignificant for you and me to talk of, were it not that his position is a sign of the degeneracy of the age. What are we coming to when such as he is an honoured guest at our tables?'

‘At just a table here and there,' suggested his friend.

‘No; – it is not that You can keep your house free from him, and so can I mine. But we set no example to the nation at large. They who do
set the example go to his feasts, and of course he is seen at theirs in return. And yet these leaders of the fashion know – at any rate they believe – that he is what he is because he has been a swindler greater than other swindlers. What follows as a natural consequence? Men reconcile themselves to swindling. Though they themselves mean to be honest, dishonesty of itself is no longer odious to them. Then there comes the jealousy that others should be growing rich with the approval of all the world – and the natural aptitude to do what all the world approves. It seems to me that the existence of a Melmotte is not compatible with a wholesome state of things in general.'

Roger dined with the Bishop of Elmham that evening, and the same hero was discussed under a different heading. ‘He has given two hundred pounds,' said the bishop, ‘to the Curates' Aid Society. I don't know that a man could spend his money much better than that.'