The Way We Live Now - 31

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 of it 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 fêted 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 Liberal 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 Liberal
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
£10,000;--and if he goes on as he is doing now, he had better allow
another £10,000 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.

"I don't believe the 'Evening Pulpit' can prove it,--and I'm sure
that they can't attempt to prove it without an expense of three or
four thousand pounds. That's a game in which nobody wins but the
lawyers. I wonder at Alf. I should have thought that he would have
known how to get all said that he wanted to have said without running
with his head into the lion's mouth. He has been so clever up to
this! God knows he has been bitter enough, but he has always sailed
within the wind."

Mr. Alf had a powerful committee. By this time an animus in regard to
the election had been created strong enough to bring out the men on
both sides, and to produce heat, when otherwise there might only have
been a warmth or possibly frigidity. The Whig Marquises and the Whig
Barons came forward, and with them the liberal professional men,
and the tradesmen who had found that party to answer best, and the
democratical mechanics. If Melmotte's money did not, at last, utterly
demoralise the lower class of voters, there would still be a good
fight. And there was a strong hope that, under the ballot, Melmotte's
money might be taken without a corresponding effect upon the voting.
It was found upon trial that Mr. Alf was a good speaker. And though
he still conducted the "Evening Pulpit," he made time for addressing
meetings of the constituency almost daily. And in his speeches he
never spared Melmotte. No one, he said, had a greater reverence for
mercantile grandeur than himself. But let them take care that the
grandeur was grand. How great would be the disgrace to such a borough
as that of Westminster if it should find that it had been taken in
by a false spirit of speculation and that it had surrendered itself
to gambling when it had thought to do honour to honest commerce.
This, connected as of course it was, with the articles in the paper,
was regarded as very open speaking. And it had its effect. Some men
began to say that Melmotte had not been known long enough to deserve
confidence in his riches, and the Lord Mayor was already beginning to
think that it might be wise to escape the dinner by some excuse.

Melmotte's committee was also very grand. If Alf was supported by
Marquises and Barons, he was supported by Dukes and Earls. But his
speaking in public did not of itself inspire much confidence. He
had very little to say when he attempted to explain the political
principles on which he intended to act. After a little he confined
himself to remarks on the personal attacks made on him by the other
side, and even in doing that was reiterative rather than diffusive.
Let them prove it. He defied them to prove it. Englishmen were too
great, too generous, too honest, too noble,--the men of Westminster
especially were a great deal too high-minded to pay any attention to
such charges as these till they were proved. Then he began again. Let
them prove it. Such accusations as these were mere lies till they
were proved. He did not say much himself in public as to actions
for libel,--but assurances were made on his behalf to the electors,
especially by Lord Alfred Grendall and his son, that as soon as the
election was over all speakers and writers would be indicted for
libel, who should be declared by proper legal advice to have made
themselves liable to such action. The "Evening Pulpit" and Mr. Alf
would of course be the first victims.

The dinner was fixed for Monday, July the 8th. The election for the
borough was to be held on Tuesday the 9th. It was generally thought
that the proximity of the two days had been arranged with the view of
enhancing Melmotte's expected triumph. But such in truth was not the
case. It had been an accident, and an accident that was distressing
to some of the Melmottites. There was much to be done about the
dinner,--which could not be omitted; and much also as to the
election,--which was imperative. The two Grendalls, father and son,
found themselves to be so driven that the world seemed for them to be
turned topsey-turvey. The elder had in old days been accustomed to
electioneering in the interest of his own family, and had declared
himself willing to make himself useful on behalf of Mr. Melmotte. But
he found Westminster to be almost too much for him. He was called
here and sent there, till he was very near rebellion. "If this goes
on much longer I shall cut it," he said to his son.

"Think of me, governor," said the son. "I have to be in the city four
or five times a week."

"You've a regular salary."

"Come, governor; you've done pretty well for that. What's my salary
to the shares you've had? The thing is;--will it last?"

"How last?"

"There are a good many who say that Melmotte will burst up."

"I don't believe it," said Lord Alfred. "They don't know what they're
talking about. There are too many in the same boat to let him burst
up. It would be the bursting up of half London. But I shall tell him
after this that he must make it easier. He wants to know who's to
have every ticket for the dinner, and there's nobody to tell him
except me. And I've got to arrange all the places, and nobody to help
me except that fellow from the Herald's office. I don't know about
people's rank. Which ought to come first: a director of the bank or
a fellow who writes books?" Miles suggested that the fellow from the
Herald's office would know all about that, and that his father need
not trouble himself with petty details.

"And you shall come to us for three days,--after it's over," said
Lady Monogram to Miss Longestaffe; a proposition to which Miss
Longestaffe acceded, willingly indeed, but not by any means as
though a favour had been conferred upon her. Now the reason why Lady
Monogram had changed her mind as to inviting her old friend, and thus
threw open her hospitality for three whole days to the poor young
lady who had disgraced herself by staying with the Melmottes, was as
follows. Miss Longestaffe had the disposal of two evening tickets for
Madame Melmotte's grand reception; and so greatly had the Melmottes
risen in general appreciation, that Lady Monogram had found that she
was bound, on behalf of her own position in society, to be present
on that occasion. It would not do that her name should not be in the
printed list of the guests. Therefore she had made a serviceable
bargain with her old friend Miss Longestaffe. She was to have her two
tickets for the reception, and Miss Longestaffe was to be received
for three days as a guest by Lady Monogram. It had also been conceded
that at any rate on one of these nights Lady Monogram should take
Miss Longestaffe out with her, and that she should herself receive
company on another. There was perhaps something slightly painful at
the commencement of the negotiation; but such feelings soon fade
away, and Lady Monogram was quite a woman of the world.




CHAPTER XLV.

MR. MELMOTTE IS PRESSED FOR TIME.


About this time, a fortnight or nearly so before the election, Mr.
Longestaffe came up to town and saw Mr. Melmotte very frequently. He
could not go into his own house, as he had let that for a month to
the great financier, nor had he any establishment in town; but he
slept at an hotel and lived at the Carlton. He was quite delighted to
find that his new friend was an honest Conservative, and he himself
proposed the honest Conservative at the club. There was some idea of
electing Mr. Melmotte out of hand, but it was decided that the club
could not go beyond its rule, and could only admit Mr. Melmotte
out of his regular turn as soon as he should occupy a seat in the
House of Commons. Mr. Melmotte, who was becoming somewhat arrogant,
was heard to declare that if the club did not take him when he was
willing to be taken, it might do without him. If not elected at once,
he should withdraw his name. So great was his prestige at this moment
with his own party that there were some, Mr. Longestaffe among the
number, who pressed the thing on the committee. Mr. Melmotte was not
like other men. It was a great thing to have Mr. Melmotte in the
party. Mr. Melmotte's financial capabilities would in themselves be
a tower of strength. Rules were not made to control the club in a
matter of such importance as this. A noble lord, one among seven who
had been named as a fit leader of the Upper House on the Conservative
side in the next session, was asked to take the matter up; and men
thought that the thing might have been done had he complied. But he
was old-fashioned, perhaps pig-headed; and the club for the time lost
the honour of entertaining Mr. Melmotte.

It may be remembered that Mr. Longestaffe had been anxious to become
one of the directors of the Mexican Railway, and that he was rather
snubbed than encouraged when he expressed his wish to Mr. Melmotte.
Like other great men, Mr. Melmotte liked to choose his own time for
bestowing favours. Since that request was made the proper time had
come, and he had now intimated to Mr. Longestaffe that in a somewhat
altered condition of things there would be a place for him at the
Board, and that he and his brother directors would be delighted to
avail themselves of his assistance. The alliance between Mr. Melmotte
and Mr. Longestaffe had become very close. The Melmottes had visited
the Longestaffes at Caversham. Georgiana Longestaffe was staying
with Madame Melmotte in London. The Melmottes were living in Mr.
Longestaffe's town house, having taken it for a month at a very
high rent. Mr. Longestaffe now had a seat at Mr. Melmotte's board.
And Mr. Melmotte had bought Mr. Longestaffe's estate at Pickering
on terms very favourable to the Longestaffes. It had been suggested
to Mr. Longestaffe by Mr. Melmotte that he had better qualify for
his seat at the Board by taking shares in the Company to the amount
of--perhaps two or three thousand pounds, and Mr. Longestaffe had
of course consented. There would be no need of any transaction in
absolute cash. The shares could of course be paid for out of Mr.
Longestaffe's half of the purchase money for Pickering Park, and
could remain for the present in Mr. Melmotte's hands. To this also
Mr. Longestaffe had consented, not quite understanding why the scrip
should not be made over to him at once.

It was a part of the charm of all dealings with this great man that
no ready money seemed ever to be necessary for anything. Great
purchases were made and great transactions apparently completed
without the signing even of a cheque. Mr. Longestaffe found himself
to be afraid even to give a hint to Mr. Melmotte about ready money.
In speaking of all such matters Melmotte seemed to imply that
everything necessary had been done, when he had said that it was
done. Pickering had been purchased and the title-deeds made over
to Mr. Melmotte; but the £80,000 had not been paid,--had not been
absolutely paid, though of course Mr. Melmotte's note assenting
to the terms was security sufficient for any reasonable man. The
property had been mortgaged, though not heavily, and Mr. Melmotte
had no doubt satisfied the mortgagee; but there was still a sum of
£50,000 to come, of which Dolly was to have one half and the other
was to be employed in paying off Mr. Longestaffe's debts to tradesmen
and debts to the bank. It would have been very pleasant to have had
this at once,--but Mr. Longestaffe felt the absurdity of pressing
such a man as Mr. Melmotte, and was partly conscious of the gradual
consummation of a new æra in money matters. "If your banker is
pressing you, refer him to me," Mr. Melmotte had said. As for many
years past we have exchanged paper instead of actual money for our
commodities, so now it seemed that, under the new Melmotte régime, an
exchange of words was to suffice.

But Dolly wanted his money. Dolly, idle as he was, foolish as he was,
dissipated as he was and generally indifferent to his debts, liked to
have what belonged to him. It had all been arranged. £5,000 would pay
off all his tradesmen's debts and leave him comfortably possessed of
money in hand, while the other £20,000 would make his own property
free. There was a charm in this which awakened even Dolly, and for
the time almost reconciled him to his father's society. But now a
shade of impatience was coming over him. He had actually gone down
to Caversham to arrange the terms with his father,--and had in fact
made his own terms. His father had been unable to move him, and
had consequently suffered much in spirit. Dolly had been almost
triumphant,--thinking that the money would come on the next day, or
at any rate during the next week. Now he came to his father early in
the morning,--at about two o'clock,--to enquire what was being done.
He had not as yet been made blessed with a single ten-pound note in
his hand, as the result of the sale.

"Are you going to see Melmotte, sir?" he asked somewhat abruptly.

"Yes;--I'm to be with him to-morrow, and he is to introduce me to the
Board."

"You're going in for that, are you, sir? Do they pay anything?"

"I believe not."

"Nidderdale and young Carbury belong to it. It's a sort of Beargarden
affair."

"A bear-garden affair, Adolphus. How so?"

"I mean the club. We had them all there for dinner one day, and a
jolly dinner we gave them. Miles Grendall and old Alfred belong to
it. I don't think they'd go in for it, if there was no money going.
I'd make them fork out something if I took the trouble of going all
that way."

"I think that perhaps, Adolphus, you hardly understand these things."

"No, I don't. I don't understand much about business, I know. What I
want to understand is, when Melmotte is going to pay up this money."

"I suppose he'll arrange it with the banks," said the father.

"I beg that he won't arrange my money with the banks, sir. You'd
better tell him not. A cheque upon his bank which I can pay in to
mine is about the best thing going. You'll be in the city to-morrow,
and you'd better tell him. If you don't like, you know, I'll get
Squercum to do it." Mr. Squercum was a lawyer whom Dolly had employed
of late years much to the annoyance of his parent. Mr. Squercum's
name was odious to Mr. Longestaffe.

"I beg you'll do nothing of the kind. It will be very foolish if you
do;--perhaps ruinous."

"Then he'd better pay up, like anybody else," said Dolly as he left
the room. The father knew the son, and was quite sure that Squercum
would have his finger in the pie unless the money were paid quickly.
When Dolly had taken an idea into his head, no power on earth,--no
power at least of which the father could avail himself,--would turn
him.

On that same day Melmotte received two visits in the city from two
of his fellow directors. At the time he was very busy. Though his
electioneering speeches were neither long nor pithy, still he had to
think of them beforehand. Members of his Committee were always trying
to see him. Orders as to the dinner and the preparation of the house
could not be given by Lord Alfred without some reference to him.
And then those gigantic commercial affairs which were enumerated in
the last chapter could not be adjusted without much labour on his
part. His hands were not empty, but still he saw each of these young
men,--for a few minutes. "My dear young friend, what can I do for
you?" he said to Sir Felix, not sitting down, so that Sir Felix also
should remain standing.

"About that money, Mr. Melmotte?"

"What money, my dear fellow? You see that a good many money matters
pass through my hands."

"The thousand pounds I gave you for shares. If you don't mind, and as
the shares seem to be a bother, I'll take the money back."

"It was only the other day you had £200," said Melmotte, showing that
he could apply his memory to small transactions when he pleased.

"Exactly;--and you might as well let me have the £800."

"I've ordered the shares;--gave the order to my broker the other
day."

"Then I'd better take the shares," said Sir Felix, feeling that it
might very probably be that day fortnight before he could start for
New York. "Could I get them, Mr. Melmotte?"

"My dear fellow, I really think you hardly calculate the value of my
time when you come to me about such an affair as this."

"I'd like to have the money or the shares," said Sir Felix, who was
not specially averse to quarrelling with Mr. Melmotte now that he
had resolved upon taking that gentleman's daughter to New York in
direct opposition to his written promise. Their quarrel would be so
thoroughly internecine when the departure should be discovered, that
any present anger could hardly increase its bitterness. What Felix
thought of now was simply his money, and the best means of getting it
out of Melmotte's hands.

"You're a spendthrift," said Melmotte, apparently relenting, "and I'm
afraid a gambler. I suppose I must give you £200 more on account."

Sir Felix could not resist the touch of ready money, and consented to
take the sum offered. As he pocketed the cheque he asked for the name
of the brokers who were employed to buy the shares. But here Melmotte
demurred. "No, my friend," said Melmotte; "you are only entitled to
shares for £600 pounds now. I will see that the thing is put right."
So Sir Felix departed with £200 only. Marie had said that she could
get £200. Perhaps if he bestirred himself and wrote to some of
Miles's big relations he could obtain payment of a part of that
gentleman's debt to him.

Sir Felix going down the stairs in Abchurch Lane met Paul Montague
coming up. Carbury, on the spur of the moment, thought that he would
"take a rise" as he called it out of Montague. "What's this I hear
about a lady at Islington?" he asked.

"Who has told you anything about a lady at Islington?"

"A little bird. There are always little birds about telling of
ladies. I'm told that I'm to congratulate you on your coming
marriage."

"Then you've been told an infernal falsehood," said Montague passing
on. He paused a moment and added, "I don't know who can have told
you, but if you hear it again, I'll trouble you to contradict it."
As he was waiting in Melmotte's outer room while the Duke's nephew
went in to see whether it was the great man's pleasure to see him, he
remembered whence Carbury must have heard tidings of Mrs. Hurtle. Of
course the rumour had come through Ruby Ruggles.

Miles Grendall brought out word that the great man would see Mr.
Montague; but he added a caution. "He's awfully full of work just
now,--you won't forget that;--will you?" Montague assured the duke's
nephew that he would be concise, and was shown in.

"I should not have troubled you," said Paul, "only that I understood
that I was to see you before the Board met."

"Exactly;--of course. It was quite necessary,--only you see I am a
little busy. If this d----d dinner were over I shouldn't mind. It's
a deal easier to make a treaty with an Emperor, than to give him a
dinner; I can tell you that. Well;--let me see. Oh;--I was proposing
that you should go out to Pekin?"

"To Mexico."

"Yes, yes;--to Mexico. I've so many things running in my head!
Well;--if you'll say when you're ready to start, we'll draw up
something of instructions. You'd know better, however, than we can
tell you what to do. You'll see Fisker, of course. You and Fisker
will manage it. The chief thing will be a cheque for the expenses;
eh? We must get that passed at the next Board."

Mr. Melmotte had been so quick that Montague had been unable to
interrupt him. "There need be no trouble about that, Mr. Melmotte, as
I have made up my mind that it would not be fit that I should go."

"Oh, indeed!"

There had been a shade of doubt on Montague's mind, till the tone
in which Melmotte had spoken of the embassy grated on his ears. The
reference to the expenses disgusted him altogether. "No;--even did