The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER IV.

  MADAME MELMOTTE'S BALL.

  The next night but one after that of the gambling transaction at theBeargarden, a great ball was given in Grosvenor Square. It was aball on a scale so magnificent that it had been talked about eversince Parliament met, now about a fortnight since. Some people hadexpressed an opinion that such a ball as this was intended to becould not be given successfully in February. Others declared that themoney which was to be spent,--an amount which would make this affairsomething quite new in the annals of ball-giving,--would give thething such a character that it would certainly be successful. Andmuch more than money had been expended. Almost incredible effortshad been made to obtain the co-operation of great people, and theseefforts had at last been grandly successful. The Duchess of Stevenagehad come up from Castle Albury herself to be present at it and tobring her daughters, though it has never been her Grace's wont to bein London at this inclement season. No doubt the persuasion used withthe Duchess had been very strong. Her brother, Lord Alfred Grendall,was known to be in great difficulties, which,--so people said,--hadbeen considerably modified by opportune pecuniary assistance. Andthen it was certain that one of the young Grendalls, Lord Alfred'ssecond son, had been appointed to some mercantile position, for whichhe received a salary which his most intimate friends thought that hewas hardly qualified to earn. It was certainly a fact that he went toAbchurch Lane, in the City, four or five days a week, and that he didnot occupy his time in so unaccustomed a manner for nothing. Wherethe Duchess of Stevenage went all the world would go. And it becameknown at the last moment, that is to say only the day before theparty, that a prince of the blood royal was to be there. How thishad been achieved nobody quite understood; but there were rumoursthat a certain lady's jewels had been rescued from the pawnbroker's.Everything was done on the same scale. The Prime Minister had indeeddeclined to allow his name to appear on the list; but one CabinetMinister and two or three under-secretaries had agreed to comebecause it was felt that the giver of the ball might before long bethe master of considerable parliamentary interest. It was believedthat he had an eye to politics, and it is always wise to have greatwealth on one's own side. There had at one time been much solicitudeabout the ball. Many anxious thoughts had been given. When greatattempts fail, the failure is disastrous, and may be ruinous. Butthis ball had now been put beyond the chance of failure.

  The giver of the ball was Augustus Melmotte, Esq., the father of thegirl whom Sir Felix Carbury desired to marry, and the husband of thelady who was said to have been a Bohemian Jewess. It was thus thatthe gentleman chose to have himself designated, though within thelast two years he had arrived in London from Paris, and had at firstbeen known as M. Melmotte. But he had declared of himself that hehad been born in England, and that he was an Englishman. He admittedthat his wife was a foreigner,--an admission that was necessary asshe spoke very little English. Melmotte himself spoke his "native"language fluently, but with an accent which betrayed at least a longexpatriation. Miss Melmotte,--who a very short time since had beenknown as Mademoiselle Marie,--spoke English well, but as a foreigner.In regard to her it was acknowledged that she had been born out ofEngland,--some said in New York; but Madame Melmotte, who must haveknown, had declared that the great event had taken place in Paris.

  It was at any rate an established fact that Mr. Melmotte had madehis wealth in France. He no doubt had had enormous dealings in othercountries, as to which stories were told which must surely have beenexaggerated. It was said that he had made a railway across Russia,that he provisioned the Southern army in the American civil war, thathe had supplied Austria with arms, and had at one time bought up allthe iron in England. He could make or mar any company by buying orselling stock, and could make money dear or cheap as he pleased. Allthis was said of him in his praise,--but it was also said that hewas regarded in Paris as the most gigantic swindler that had everlived; that he had made that City too hot to hold him; that he hadendeavoured to establish himself in Vienna, but had been warned awayby the police; and that he had at length found that British freedomwould alone allow him to enjoy, without persecution, the fruits ofhis industry. He was now established privately in Grosvenor Squareand officially in Abchurch Lane; and it was known to all the worldthat a Royal Prince, a Cabinet Minister, and the very cream ofduchesses were going to his wife's ball. All this had been donewithin twelve months.

  There was but one child in the family, one heiress for all thiswealth. Melmotte himself was a large man, with bushy whiskers andrough thick hair, with heavy eyebrows, and a wonderful look of powerabout his mouth and chin. This was so strong as to redeem his facefrom vulgarity; but the countenance and appearance of the man wereon the whole unpleasant, and, I may say, untrustworthy. He looked asthough he were purse-proud and a bully. She was fat and fair,--unlikein colour to our traditional Jewesses; but she had the Jewish noseand the Jewish contraction of the eyes. There was certainly verylittle in Madame Melmotte to recommend her, unless it was a readinessto spend money on any object that might be suggested to her by hernew acquaintances. It sometimes seemed that she had a commission fromher husband to give away presents to any who would accept them. Theworld had received the man as Augustus Melmotte, Esq. The world soaddressed him on the very numerous letters which reached him, and soinscribed him among the directors of three dozen companies to whichhe belonged. But his wife was still Madame Melmotte. The daughter hadbeen allowed to take her rank with an English title. She was now MissMelmotte on all occasions.

  Marie Melmotte had been accurately described by Felix Carbury to hismother. She was not beautiful, she was not clever, and she was not asaint. But then neither was she plain, nor stupid, nor, especially, asinner. She was a little thing, hardly over twenty years of age, veryunlike her father or mother, having no trace of the Jewess in hercountenance, who seemed to be overwhelmed by the sense of her ownposition. With such people as the Melmottes things go fast, and itwas very well known that Miss Melmotte had already had one loverwho had been nearly accepted. The affair, however, had gone off.In this "going off" no one imputed to the young lady blame or evenmisfortune. It was not supposed that she had either jilted or beenjilted. As in royal espousals interests of State regulate theirexpedience with an acknowledged absence, with even a proclaimedimpossibility, of personal predilections, so in this case was moneyallowed to have the same weight. Such a marriage would or would notbe sanctioned in accordance with great pecuniary arrangements. Theyoung Lord Nidderdale, the eldest son of the Marquis of Auld Reekie,had offered to take the girl and make her Marchioness in the processof time for half a million down. Melmotte had not objected to thesum,--so it was said,--but had proposed to tie it up. Nidderdale haddesired to have it free in his own grasp, and would not move on anyother terms. Melmotte had been anxious to secure the Marquis,--veryanxious to secure the Marchioness; for at that time terms had notbeen made with the Duchess; but at last he had lost his temper, andhad asked his lordship's lawyer whether it was likely that he wouldentrust such a sum of money to such a man. "You are willing to trustyour only child to him," said the lawyer. Melmotte scowled at the manfor a few seconds from under his bushy eyebrows; then told him thathis answer had nothing in it, and marched out of the room. So thataffair was over. I doubt whether Lord Nidderdale had ever said a wordof love to Marie Melmotte,--or whether the poor girl had expected it.Her destiny had no doubt been explained to her.

  Others had tried and had broken down somewhat in the same fashion.Each had treated the girl as an encumbrance he was to undertake,--ata very great price. But as affairs prospered with the Melmottes, asprinces and duchesses were obtained by other means,--costly no doubt,but not so ruinously costly,--the immediate disposition of Mariebecame less necessary, and Melmotte reduced his offers. The girlherself, too, began to have an opinion. It was said that she hadabsolutely rejected Lord Grasslough, whose father indeed was in astate of bankruptcy, who had no income of his own, who was ugly,vicious, ill-tempered, and without any power of recommending himselfto a gi
rl. She had had experience since Lord Nidderdale, with a halflaugh, had told her that he might just as well take her for hiswife, and was now tempted from time to time to contemplate her ownhappiness and her own condition. People around were beginning to saythat if Sir Felix Carbury managed his affairs well he might be thehappy man.

  There was considerable doubt whether Marie was the daughter of thatJewish-looking woman. Enquiries had been made, but not successfully,as to the date of the Melmotte marriage. There was an idea abroadthat Melmotte had got his first money with his wife, and had gottenit not very long ago. Then other people said that Marie was not hisdaughter at all. Altogether the mystery was rather pleasant as themoney was certain. Of the certainty of the money in daily use therecould be no doubt. There was the house. There was the furniture.There were the carriages, the horses, the servants with the liverycoats and powdered heads, and the servants with the black coats andunpowdered heads. There were the gems, and the presents, and all thenice things that money can buy. There were two dinner parties everyday, one at two o'clock called lunch, and the other at eight. Thetradesmen had learned enough to be quite free of doubt, and in theCity Mr. Melmotte's name was worth any money,--though his characterwas perhaps worth but little.

  The large house on the south side of Grosvenor Square was allablaze by ten o'clock. The broad verandah had been turned into aconservatory, had been covered in with boards contrived to look liketrellis-work, was heated with hot air and filled with exotics atsome fabulous price. A covered way had been made from the door, downacross the pathway, to the road, and the police had, I fear, beenbribed to frighten foot passengers into a belief that they were boundto go round. The house had been so arranged that it was impossible toknow where you were, when once in it. The hall was a paradise. Thestaircase was fairyland. The lobbies were grottoes rich with ferns.Walls had been knocked away and arches had been constructed. Theleads behind had been supported and walled in, and covered andcarpeted. The ball had possession of the ground floor and firstfloor, and the house seemed to be endless. "It's to cost sixtythousand pounds," said the Marchioness of Auld Reekie to her oldfriend the Countess of Mid-Lothian. The Marchioness had come in spiteof her son's misfortune when she heard that the Duchess of Stevenagewas to be there. "And worse spent money never was wasted," saidthe Countess. "By all accounts it was as badly come by," said theMarchioness. Then the two old noblewomen, one after the other, madegraciously flattering speeches to the much-worn Bohemian Jewess, whowas standing in fairyland to receive her guests, almost faintingunder the greatness of the occasion.

  The three saloons on the first or drawing-room floor had beenprepared for dancing, and here Marie was stationed. The Duchesshad however undertaken to see that somebody should set the dancinggoing, and she had commissioned her nephew Miles Grendall, the younggentleman who now frequented the City, to give directions to the bandand to make himself generally useful. Indeed there had sprung up aconsiderable intimacy between the Grendall family,--that is LordAlfred's branch of the Grendalls,--and the Melmottes; which was asit should be, as each could give much and each receive much. It wasknown that Lord Alfred had not a shilling; but his brother was a dukeand his sister was a duchess, and for the last thirty years therehad been one continual anxiety for poor dear Alfred, who had tumbledinto an unfortunate marriage without a shilling, had spent his ownmoderate patrimony, had three sons and three daughters, and had livednow for a very long time entirely on the unwilling contributionsof his noble relatives. Melmotte could support the whole family inaffluence without feeling the burden;--and why should he not? Therehad once been an idea that Miles should attempt to win the heiress,but it had soon been found expedient to abandon it. Miles had notitle, no position of his own, and was hardly big enough for theplace. It was in all respects better that the waters of the fountainshould be allowed to irrigate mildly the whole Grendall family;--andso Miles went into the city.

  The ball was opened by a quadrille in which Lord Buntingford, theeldest son of the Duchess, stood up with Marie. Various arrangementshad been made, and this among them. We may say that it had been partof a bargain. Lord Buntingford had objected mildly, being a young mandevoted to business, fond of his own order, rather shy, and not givento dancing. But he had allowed his mother to prevail. "Of course theyare vulgar," the Duchess had said,--"so much so as to be no longerdistasteful because of the absurdity of the thing. I dare say hehasn't been very honest. When men make so much money, I don't knowhow they can have been honest. Of course it's done for a purpose.It's all very well saying that it isn't right, but what are we to doabout Alfred's children? Miles is to have L500 a-year. And then he isalways about the house. And between you and me they have got up thosebills of Alfred's, and have said they can lie in their safe till itsuits your uncle to pay them."

  "They will lie there a long time," said Lord Buntingford.

  "Of course they expect something in return; do dance with the girlonce." Lord Buntingford disapproved--mildly, and did as his motherasked him.

  The affair went off very well. There were three or four card-tablesin one of the lower rooms, and at one of them sat Lord AlfredGrendall and Mr. Melmotte, with two or three other players, cuttingin and out at the end of each rubber. Playing whist was Lord Alfred'sonly accomplishment, and almost the only occupation of his life. Hebegan it daily at his club at three o'clock, and continued playingtill two in the morning with an interval of a couple of hours for hisdinner. This he did during ten months of the year, and during theother two he frequented some watering-place at which whist prevailed.He did not gamble, never playing for more than the club stakes andbets. He gave to the matter his whole mind, and must have excelledthose who were generally opposed to him. But so obdurate was fortuneto Lord Alfred that he could not make money even of whist. Melmottewas very anxious to get into Lord Alfred's club,--The Peripatetics.It was pleasant to see the grace with which he lost his money, andthe sweet intimacy with which he called his lordship Alfred. LordAlfred had a remnant of feeling left, and would have liked to kickhim. Though Melmotte was by far the bigger man, and was also theyounger, Lord Alfred would not have lacked the pluck to kick him.Lord Alfred, in spite of his habitual idleness and vapid uselessness,had still left about him a dash of vigour, and sometimes thought thathe would kick Melmotte and have done with it. But there were his poorboys, and those bills in Melmotte's safe. And then Melmotte losthis points so regularly, and paid his bets with such absolute goodhumour! "Come and have a glass of champagne, Alfred," Melmottesaid, as the two cut out together. Lord Alfred liked champagne, andfollowed his host; but as he went he almost made up his mind that onsome future day he would kick the man.

  Late in the evening Marie Melmotte was waltzing with Felix Carbury,and Henrietta Carbury was then standing by talking to one Mr. PaulMontague. Lady Carbury was also there. She was not well inclinedeither to balls or to such people as the Melmottes; nor wasHenrietta. But Felix had suggested that, bearing in mind hisprospects as to the heiress, they had better accept the invitationwhich he would cause to have sent to them. They did so; and thenPaul Montague also got a card, not altogether to Lady Carbury'ssatisfaction. Lady Carbury was very gracious to Madame Melmotte fortwo minutes, and then slid into a chair expecting nothing but miseryfor the evening. She, however, was a woman who could do her duty andendure without complaint.

  "It is the first great ball I ever was at in London," said HettaCarbury to Paul Montague.

  "And how do you like it?"

  "Not at all. How should I like it? I know nobody here. I don'tunderstand how it is that at these parties people do know each other,or whether they all go dancing about without knowing."

  "Just that; I suppose when they are used to it they get introducedbackwards and forwards, and then they can know each other as fast asthey like. If you would wish to dance why won't you dance with me?"

  "I have danced with you,--twice already."

  "Is there any law against dancing three times?"

  "But I don't especially want to dance," said Henriett
a. "I thinkI'll go and console poor mamma, who has got nobody to speak to her."Just at this moment, however, Lady Carbury was not in that wretchedcondition, as an unexpected friend had come to her relief.

  Sir Felix and Marie Melmotte had been spinning round and roundthroughout a long waltz, thoroughly enjoying the excitement of themusic and the movement. To give Felix Carbury what little praisemight be his due, it is necessary to say that he did not lackphysical activity. He would dance, and ride, and shoot eagerly, withan animation that made him happy for the moment. It was an affair notof thought or calculation, but of physical organisation. And MarieMelmotte had been thoroughly happy. She loved dancing with all herheart if she could only dance in a manner pleasant to herself. Shehad been warned especially as to some men,--that she should not dancewith them. She had been almost thrown into Lord Nidderdale's arms,and had been prepared to take him at her father's bidding. But shehad never had the slightest pleasure in his society, and had only notbeen wretched because she had not as yet recognised that she had anidentity of her own in the disposition of which she herself shouldhave a voice. She certainly had never cared to dance with LordNidderdale. Lord Grasslough she had absolutely hated, though at firstshe had hardly dared to say so. One or two others had been obnoxiousto her in different ways, but they had passed on, or were passing on,out of her way. There was no one at the present moment whom she hadbeen commanded by her father to accept should an offer be made. Butshe did like dancing with Sir Felix Carbury.

  It was not only that the man was handsome but that he had a power ofchanging the expression of his countenance, a play of face, whichbelied altogether his real disposition. He could seem to be heartyand true till the moment came in which he had really to expose hisheart,--or to try to expose it. Then he failed, knowing nothingabout it. But in the approaches to intimacy with a girl he couldbe very successful. He had already nearly got beyond this withMarie Melmotte; but Marie was by no means quick in discovering hisdeficiencies. To her he had seemed like a god. If she might beallowed to be wooed by Sir Felix Carbury, and to give herself to him,she thought that she would be contented.

  "How well you dance," said Sir Felix, as soon as he had breath forspeaking.

  "Do I?" She spoke with a slightly foreign accent, which gave a littleprettiness to her speech. "I was never told so. But nobody ever toldme anything about myself."

  "I should like to tell you everything about yourself, from thebeginning to the end."

  "Ah,--but you don't know."

  "I would find out. I think I could make some good guesses. I'll tellyou what you would like best in all the world."

  "What is that?"

  "Somebody that liked you best in all the world."

  "Ah,--yes; if one knew who?"

  "How can you know, Miss Melmotte, but by believing?"

  "That is not the way to know. If a girl told me that she liked mebetter than any other girl, I should not know it, just because shesaid so. I should have to find it out."

  "And if a gentleman told you so?"

  "I shouldn't believe him a bit, and I should not care to find out.But I should like to have some girl for a friend whom I could love,oh, ten times better than myself."

  "So should I."

  "Have you no particular friend?"

  "I mean a girl whom I could love,--oh, ten times better than myself."

  "Now you are laughing at me, Sir Felix," said Miss Melmotte.

  "I wonder whether that will come to anything?" said Paul Montague toMiss Carbury. They had come back into the drawing-room, and had beenwatching the approaches to love-making which the baronet was opening.

  "You mean Felix and Miss Melmotte. I hate to think of such things,Mr. Montague."

  "It would be a magnificent chance for him."

  "To marry a girl, the daughter of vulgar people, just becauseshe will have a great deal of money? He can't care for herreally,--because she is rich."

  "But he wants money so dreadfully! It seems to me that there is noother condition of things under which Felix can face the world, butby being the husband of an heiress."

  "What a dreadful thing to say!"

  "But isn't it true? He has beggared himself."

  "Oh, Mr. Montague."

  "And he will beggar you and your mother."

  "I don't care about myself."

  "Others do though." As he said this he did not look at her, but spokethrough his teeth, as if he were angry both with himself and her.

  "I did not think you would have spoken so harshly of Felix."

  "I don't speak harshly of him, Miss Carbury. I haven't said that itwas his own fault. He seems to be one of those who have been born tospend money; and as this girl will have plenty of money to spend, Ithink it would be a good thing if he were to marry her. If Felix hadL20,000 a year, everybody would think him the finest fellow in theworld." In saying this, however, Mr. Paul Montague showed himselfunfit to gauge the opinion of the world. Whether Sir Felix be rich orpoor, the world, evil-hearted as it is, will never think him a finefellow.

  Lady Carbury had been seated for nearly half an hour in uncomplainingsolitude under a bust, when she was delighted by the appearance ofMr. Ferdinand Alf. "You here?" she said.

  "Why not? Melmotte and I are brother adventurers."

  "I should have thought you would find so little here to amuse you."

  "I have found you; and, in addition to that, duchesses and theirdaughters without number. They expect Prince George!"

  "Do they?"

  "And Legge Wilson from the India Office is here already. I spoke tohim in some jewelled bower as I made my way here, not five minutessince. It's quite a success. Don't you think it very nice, LadyCarbury?"

  "I don't know whether you are joking or in earnest."

  "I never joke. I say it is very nice. These people are spendingthousands upon thousands to gratify you and me and others, and allthey want in return is a little countenance."

  "Do you mean to give it then?"

  "I am giving it them."

  "Ah;--but the countenance of the 'Evening Pulpit.' Do you mean togive them that?"

  "Well; it is not in our line exactly to give a catalogue of namesand to record ladies' dresses. Perhaps it may be better for our hosthimself that he should be kept out of the newspapers."

  "Are you going to be very severe upon poor me, Mr. Alf?" said thelady after a pause.

  "We are never severe upon anybody, Lady Carbury. Here's the Prince.What will they do with him now they've caught him! Oh, they're goingto make him dance with the heiress. Poor heiress!"

  "Poor Prince!" said Lady Carbury.

  "Not at all. She's a nice little girl enough, and he'll have nothingto trouble him. But how is she, poor thing, to talk to royal blood?"

  Poor thing indeed! The Prince was brought into the big room whereMarie was still being talked to by Felix Carbury, and was at oncemade to understand that she was to stand up and dance with royalty.The introduction was managed in a very business-like manner. MilesGrendall first came in and found the female victim; the Duchessfollowed with the male victim. Madame Melmotte, who had been on herlegs till she was ready to sink, waddled behind, but was not allowedto take any part in the affair. The band were playing a galop, butthat was stopped at once, to the great confusion of the dancers. Intwo minutes Miles Grendall had made up a set. He stood up with hisaunt, the Duchess, as vis-a-vis to Marie and the Prince, till, aboutthe middle of the quadrille, Legge Wilson was found and made to takehis place. Lord Buntingford had gone away; but then there were stillpresent two daughters of the Duchess who were rapidly caught. SirFelix Carbury, being good-looking and having a name, was made todance with one of them, and Lord Grasslough with the other. Therewere four other couples, all made up of titled people, as it wasintended that this special dance should be chronicled, if not in the"Evening Pulpit," in some less serious daily journal. A paid reporterwas present in the house ready to rush off with the list as soon asthe dance should be a realized fact. The Prince himself did not quiteunders
tand why he was there, but they who marshalled his life forhim had so marshalled it for the present moment. He himself probablyknew nothing about the lady's diamonds which had been rescued, orthe considerable subscription to St. George's Hospital which had beenextracted from Mr. Melmotte as a make-weight. Poor Marie felt asthough the burden of the hour would be greater than she could bear,and looked as though she would have fled had flight been possible.But the trouble passed quickly, and was not really severe. The Princesaid a word or two between each figure, and did not seem to expect areply. He made a few words go a long way, and was well trained in thework of easing the burden of his own greatness for those who were forthe moment inflicted with it. When the dance was over he was allowedto escape after the ceremony of a single glass of champagne drank inthe presence of the hostess. Considerable skill was shown in keepingthe presence of his royal guest a secret from the host himselftill the Prince was gone. Melmotte would have desired to pour outthat glass of wine with his own hands, to solace his tongue byRoyal Highnesses, and would probably have been troublesome anddisagreeable. Miles Grendall had understood all this and had managedthe affair very well. "Bless my soul;--his Royal Highness come andgone!" exclaimed Melmotte. "You and my father were so fast at yourwhist that it was impossible to get you away," said Miles. Melmottewas not a fool, and understood it all;--understood not only that ithad been thought better that he should not speak to the Prince, butalso that it might be better that it should be so. He could not haveeverything at once. Miles Grendall was very useful to him, and hewould not quarrel with Miles, at any rate as yet.

  The Duchess followed with the male victim.]

  "Have another rubber, Alfred?" he said to Miles's father as thecarriages were taking away the guests.

  Lord Alfred had taken sundry glasses of champagne, and for a momentforgot the bills in the safe, and the good things which his boys werereceiving. "Damn that kind of nonsense," he said. "Call people bytheir proper names." Then he left the house without a further wordto the master of it. That night before they went to sleep Melmotterequired from his weary wife an account of the ball, and especiallyof Marie's conduct. "Marie," Madame Melmotte said, "had behaved well,but had certainly preferred 'Sir Carbury' to any other of the youngmen." Hitherto Mr. Melmotte had heard very little of "Sir Carbury,"except that he was a baronet. Though his eyes and ears were alwaysopen, though he attended to everything, and was a man of sharpintelligence, he did not yet quite understand the bearing andsequence of English titles. He knew that he must get for his daughtereither an eldest son, or one absolutely in possession himself.Sir Felix, he had learned, was only a baronet; but then he wasin possession. He had discovered also that Sir Felix's son wouldin course of time also become Sir Felix. He was not therefore atthe present moment disposed to give any positive orders as tohis daughter's conduct to the young baronet. He did not, however,conceive that the young baronet had as yet addressed his girl in suchwords as Felix had in truth used when they parted. "You know who itis," he whispered, "likes you better than any one else in the world."

  "Nobody does;--don't, Sir Felix."

  "I do," he said as he held her hand for a minute. He looked into herface and she thought it very sweet. He had studied the words as alesson, and, repeating them as a lesson, he did it fairly well. Hedid it well enough at any rate to send the poor girl to bed with asweet conviction that at last a man had spoken to her whom she couldlove.