The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXX.

  MR. MELMOTTE'S PROMISE.

  On the following Saturday there appeared in Mr. Alf's paper, the"Evening Pulpit," a very remarkable article on the South CentralPacific and Mexican Railway. It was an article that attracted a greatdeal of attention and was therefore remarkable, but it was in nothingmore remarkable than in this,--that it left on the mind of its readerno impression of any decided opinion about the railway. The Editorwould at any future time be able to refer to his article with equalpride whether the railway should become a great cosmopolitan fact,or whether it should collapse amidst the foul struggles of a hordeof swindlers. In utrumque paratus, the article was mysterious,suggestive, amusing, well-informed,--that in the "Evening Pulpit"was a matter of course,--and, above all things, ironical. Next toits omniscience its irony was the strongest weapon belonging tothe "Evening Pulpit." There was a little praise given, no doubt inirony, to the duchesses who served Mr. Melmotte. There was a littlepraise, given of course in irony, to Mr. Melmotte's Board of EnglishDirectors. There was a good deal of praise, but still alloyed by adash of irony, bestowed on the idea of civilising Mexico by joiningit to California. Praise was bestowed upon England for taking up thematter, but accompanied by some ironical touches at her incapacityto believe thoroughly in any enterprise not originated by herself.Then there was something said of the universality of Mr. Melmotte'scommercial genius, but whether said in a spirit prophetic of ultimatefailure and disgrace, or of heavenborn success and unequalledcommercial splendour, no one could tell.

  It was generally said at the clubs that Mr. Alf had written thisarticle himself. Old Splinter, who was one of a body of menpossessing an excellent cellar of wine and calling themselves PaidesPallados, and who had written for the heavy quarterlies any time thislast forty years, professed that he saw through the article. The"Evening Pulpit" had been, he explained, desirous of going as far asit could in denouncing Mr. Melmotte without incurring the danger ofan action for libel. Mr. Splinter thought that the thing was cleverbut mean. These new publications generally were mean. Mr. Splinterwas constant in that opinion; but, putting the meanness aside,he thought that the article was well done. According to his viewit was intended to expose Mr. Melmotte and the railway. But thePaides Pallados generally did not agree with him. Under such aninterpretation, what had been the meaning of that paragraph in whichthe writer had declared that the work of joining one ocean to anotherwas worthy of the nearest approach to divinity that had been grantedto men? Old Splinter chuckled and gabbled as he heard this, anddeclared that there was not wit enough left now even among the PaidesPallados to understand a shaft of irony. There could be no doubt,however, at the time, that the world did not go with old Splinter,and that the article served to enhance the value of shares in thegreat railway enterprise.

  Lady Carbury was sure that the article was intended to write up therailway, and took great joy in it. She entertained in her brain asomewhat confused notion that if she could only bestir herself in theright direction and could induce her son to open his eyes to his ownadvantage, very great things might be achieved, so that wealth mightbecome his handmaid and luxury the habit and the right of his life.He was the beloved and the accepted suitor of Marie Melmotte. He wasa Director of this great company, sitting at the same board with thegreat commercial hero. He was the handsomest young man in London. Andhe was a baronet. Very wild ideas occurred to her. Should she takeMr. Alf into her entire confidence? If Melmotte and Alf could bebrought together what might they not do? Alf could write up Melmotte,and Melmotte could shower shares upon Alf. And if Melmotte would comeand be smiled upon by herself, be flattered as she thought that shecould flatter him, be told that he was a god, and have that passageabout the divinity of joining ocean to ocean construed to him as shecould construe it, would not the great man become plastic under herhands? And if, while this was a-doing, Felix would run away withMarie, could not forgiveness be made easy? And her creative mindranged still farther. Mr. Broune might help, and even Mr. Booker. Tosuch a one as Melmotte, a man doing great things through the force ofthe confidence placed in him by the world at large, the freely-spokensupport of the Press would be everything. Who would not buy shares ina railway as to which Mr. Broune and Mr. Alf would combine in sayingthat it was managed by "divinity"? Her thoughts were rather hazy, butfrom day to day she worked hard to make them clear to herself.

  On the Sunday afternoon Mr. Booker called on her and talked to herabout the article. She did not say much to Mr. Booker as to her ownconnection with Mr. Melmotte, telling herself that prudence wasessential in the present emergency. But she listened with all herears. It was Mr. Booker's idea that the man was going "to make aspoon or spoil a horn." "You think him honest;--don't you?" askedLady Carbury. Mr. Booker smiled and hesitated. "Of course, I meanhonest as men can be in such very large transactions."

  "Perhaps that is the best way of putting it," said Mr. Booker.

  "If a thing can be made great and beneficent, a boon to humanity,simply by creating a belief in it, does not a man become a benefactorto his race by creating that belief?"

  "At the expense of veracity?" suggested Mr. Booker.

  "At the expense of anything?" rejoined Lady Carbury with energy. "Onecannot measure such men by the ordinary rule."

  "You would do evil to produce good?" asked Mr. Booker.

  "I do not call it doing evil. You have to destroy a thousand livingcreatures every time you drink a glass of water, but you do not thinkof that when you are athirst. You cannot send a ship to sea withoutendangering lives. You do send ships to sea though men perish yearly.You tell me this man may perhaps ruin hundreds, but then again he maycreate a new world in which millions will be rich and happy."

  "You are an excellent casuist, Lady Carbury."

  "I am an enthusiastic lover of beneficent audacity," said LadyCarbury, picking her words slowly, and showing herself to be quitesatisfied with herself as she picked them. "Did I hold your place,Mr. Booker, in the literature of my country,--"

  "I hold no place, Lady Carbury."

  "Yes;--and a very distinguished place. Were I circumstanced as youare I should have no hesitation in lending the whole weight of myperiodical, let it be what it might, to the assistance of so greata man and so great an object as this."

  "I should be dismissed to-morrow," said Mr. Booker, getting upand laughing as he took his departure. Lady Carbury felt that, asregarded Mr. Booker, she had only thrown out a chance word thatcould not do any harm. She had not expected to effect much throughMr. Booker's instrumentality. On the Tuesday evening,--her regularTuesday as she called it,--all her three editors came to herdrawing-room; but there came also a greater man than either of them.She had taken the bull by the horns, and without saying anything toanybody had written to Mr. Melmotte himself, asking him to honour herpoor house with his presence. She had written a very pretty note tohim, reminding him of their meeting at Caversham, telling him thaton a former occasion Madame Melmotte and his daughter had been sokind as to come to her, and giving him to understand that of all thepotentates now on earth he was the one to whom she could bow the kneewith the purest satisfaction. He wrote back,--or Miles Grendall didfor him,--a very plain note, accepting the honour of Lady Carbury'sinvitation.

  The great man came, and Lady Carbury took him under her immediatewing with a grace that was all her own. She said a word about theirdear friends at Caversham, expressed her sorrow that her son'sengagements did not admit of his being there, and then with theutmost audacity rushed off to the article in the "Pulpit." Herfriend, Mr. Alf, the editor, had thoroughly appreciated the greatnessof Mr. Melmotte's character, and the magnificence of Mr. Melmotte'sundertakings. Mr. Melmotte bowed and muttered something that wasinaudible. "Now I must introduce you to Mr. Alf," said the lady.The introduction was effected, and Mr. Alf explained that it washardly necessary, as he had already been entertained as one of Mr.Melmotte's guests.

  "There were a great many there I never saw, and probably never shallsee," said Mr. Melmotte. />
  "I was one of the unfortunates," said Mr. Alf.

  "I'm sorry you were unfortunate. If you had come into the whist-roomyou would have found me."

  "Ah,--if I had but known!" said Mr. Alf. The editor, as was proper,carried about with him samples of the irony which his paper used soeffectively, but it was altogether thrown away upon Melmotte.

  Lady Carbury finding that no immediate good results could be expectedfrom this last introduction, tried another. "Mr. Melmotte," she said,whispering to him, "I do so want to make you known to Mr. Broune. Mr.Broune I know you have never met before. A morning paper is a muchheavier burden to an editor than one published in the afternoon. Mr.Broune, as of course you know, manages the 'Breakfast Table.' Thereis hardly a more influential man in London than Mr. Broune. Andthey declare, you know," she said, lowering the tone of her whisperas she communicated the fact, "that his commercial articles aregospel,--absolutely gospel." Then the two men were named to eachother, and Lady Carbury retreated;--but not out of hearing.

  "Getting very hot," said Mr. Melmotte.

  "Very hot indeed," said Mr. Broune.

  "It was over 70 in the city to-day. I call that very hot for June."

  "Very hot indeed," said Mr. Broune again. Then the conversation wasover. Mr. Broune sidled away, and Mr. Melmotte was left standing inthe middle of the room. Lady Carbury told herself at the moment thatRome was not built in a day. She would have been better satisfiedcertainly if she could have laid a few more bricks on this day.Perseverance, however, was the thing wanted.

  But Mr. Melmotte himself had a word to say, and before he leftthe house he said it. "It was very good of you to ask me, LadyCarbury;--very good." Lady Carbury intimated her opinion that thegoodness was all on the other side. "And I came," continued Mr.Melmotte, "because I had something particular to say. OtherwiseI don't go out much to evening parties. Your son has proposed tomy daughter." Lady Carbury looked up into his face with all hereyes;--clasped both her hands together; and then, having unclaspedthem, put one upon his sleeve. "My daughter, ma'am, is engaged toanother man."

  "You would not enslave her affections, Mr. Melmotte?"

  "I won't give her a shilling if she marries any one else; that's all.You reminded me down at Caversham that your son is a Director at ourBoard."

  "I did;--I did."

  "I have a great respect for your son, ma'am. I don't want to hurt himin any way. If he'll signify to my daughter that he withdraws fromthis offer of his, because I'm against it, I'll see that he doesuncommon well in the city. I'll be the making of him. Good night,ma'am." Then Mr. Melmotte took his departure without another word.

  Here at any rate was an undertaking on the part of the great manthat he would be the "making of Felix," if Felix would only obeyhim--accompanied, or rather preceded, by a most positive assurancethat if Felix were to succeed in marrying his daughter he would notgive his son-in-law a shilling! There was very much to be consideredin this. She did not doubt that Felix might be "made" by Mr.Melmotte's city influences, but then any perpetuity of such makingmust depend on qualifications in her son which she feared that he didnot possess. The wife without the money would be terrible! That wouldbe absolute ruin! There could be no escape then; no hope. There wasan appreciation of real tragedy in her heart while she contemplatedthe position of Sir Felix married to such a girl as she supposedMarie Melmotte to be, without any means of support for either ofthem but what she could supply. It would kill her. And for thoseyoung people there would be nothing before them, but beggary and theworkhouse. As she thought of this she trembled with true maternalinstincts. Her beautiful boy,--so glorious with his outward gifts,so fit, as she thought him, for all the graces of the grand world!Though the ambition was vilely ignoble, the mother's love was nobleand disinterested.

  But the girl was an only child. The future honours of the houseof Melmotte could be made to settle on no other head. No doubtthe father would prefer a lord for a son-in-law; and, having thatpreference, would of course do as he was now doing. That he shouldthreaten to disinherit his daughter if she married contrary to hiswishes was to be expected. But would it not be equally a matter ofcourse that he should make the best of the marriage if it were onceeffected? His daughter would return to him with a title, thoughwith one of a lower degree than his ambition desired. To herselfpersonally, Lady Carbury felt that the great financier had been veryrude. He had taken advantage of her invitation that he might come toher house and threaten her. But she would forgive that. She couldpass that over altogether if only anything were to be gained bypassing it over.

  She looked round the room, longing for a friend, whom she mightconsult with a true feeling of genuine womanly dependence. Her mostnatural friend was Roger Carbury. But even had he been there shecould not have consulted him on any matter touching the Melmottes.His advice would have been very clear. He would have told her to havenothing at all to do with such adventurers. But then dear Roger wasold fashioned, and knew nothing of people as they are now. He livedin a world which, though slow, had been good in its way; but which,whether bad or good, had now passed away. Then her eye settled onMr. Broune. She was afraid of Mr. Alf. She had almost begun to thinkthat Mr. Alf was too difficult of management to be of use to her. ButMr. Broune was softer. Mr. Booker was serviceable for an article,but would not be sympathetic as a friend. Mr. Broune had been verycourteous to her lately;--so much so that on one occasion she hadalmost feared that the "susceptible old goose" was going to be agoose again. That would be a bore; but still she might make useof the friendly condition of mind which such susceptibility wouldproduce. When her guests began to leave her, she spoke a word asideto him. She wanted his advice. Would he stay for a few minutes afterthe rest of the company? He did stay, and when all the others weregone she asked her daughter to leave them. "Hetta," she said, "I havesomething of business to communicate to Mr. Broune." And so they wereleft alone.

  "I'm afraid you didn't make much of Mr. Melmotte," she said smiling.He had seated himself on the end of a sofa, close to the arm-chairwhich she occupied. In reply, he only shook his head and laughed."I saw how it was, and I was sorry for it; for he certainly is awonderful man."

  "I suppose he is, but he is one of those men whose powers do not lie,I should say, chiefly in conversation. Though, indeed, there is noreason why he should not say the same of me;--for if he said little,I said less."

  "It didn't just come off," Lady Carbury suggested with her sweetestsmile. "But now I want to tell you something. I think I am justifiedin regarding you as a real friend."

  "Certainly," he said, putting out his hand for hers.

  She gave it to him for a moment, and then took it backagain,--finding that he did not relinquish it of his own accord."Stupid old goose!" she said to herself. "And now to my story. Youknow my boy, Felix?" The editor nodded his head. "He is engaged tomarry that man's daughter."

  "Engaged to marry Miss Melmotte?" Then Lady Carbury nodded her head."Why, she is said to be the greatest heiress that the world has everproduced. I thought she was to marry Lord Nidderdale."

  "She has engaged herself to Felix. She is desperately in love withhim,--as is he with her." She tried to tell her story truly, knowingthat no advice can be worth anything that is not based on a truestory;--but lying had become her nature. "Melmotte naturally wantsher to marry the lord. He came here to tell me that if his daughtermarried Felix she should not have a penny."

  "Do you mean that he volunteered that,--as a threat?"

  "Just so;--and he told me that he had come here simply with theobject of saying so. It was more candid than civil, but we must takeit as we get it."

  "He would be sure to make some such threat."

  "Exactly. That is just what I feel. And in these days young peopleare not often kept from marrying simply by a father's fantasy. But Imust tell you something else. He told me that if Felix would desist,he would enable him to make a fortune in the city."

  "That's bosh," said Broune with decision.

  "Do you think it must be
so;--certainly?"

  "Yes, I do. Such an undertaking, if intended by Melmotte, would giveme a worse opinion of him than I have ever held."

  "He did make it."

  "Then he did very wrong. He must have spoken with the purpose ofdeceiving."

  "You know my son is one of the Directors of that great AmericanRailway. It was not just as though the promise were made to a youngman who was altogether unconnected with him."

  "Sir Felix's name was put there, in a hurry, merely because he has atitle, and because Melmotte thought he, as a young man, would not belikely to interfere with him. It may be that he will be able to sella few shares at a profit; but, if I understand the matter rightly, hehas no capital to go into such a business."

  "No;--he has no capital."

  "Dear Lady Carbury, I would place no dependence at all on such apromise as that."

  "You think he should marry the girl then in spite of the father?"

  Mr. Broune hesitated before he replied to this question. But it wasto this question that Lady Carbury especially wished for a reply.She wanted some one to support her under the circumstances of anelopement. She rose from her chair, and he rose at the same time."Perhaps I should have begun by saying that Felix is all but preparedto take her off. She is quite ready to go. She is devoted to him. Doyou think he would be wrong?"

  "That is a question very hard to answer."

  "People do it every day. Lionel Goldsheiner ran away the other daywith Lady Julia Start, and everybody visits them."

  "Oh yes, people do run away, and it all comes right. It was thegentleman had the money then, and it is said you know that old LadyCatchboy, Lady Julia's mother, had arranged the elopement herself asoffering the safest way of securing the rich prize. The young lorddidn't like it, so the mother had it done in that fashion."

  "There would be nothing disgraceful."

  "I didn't say there would;--but nevertheless it is one of thosethings a man hardly ventures to advise. If you ask me whether Ithink that Melmotte would forgive her, and make her an allowanceafterwards,--I think he would."

  "I am so glad to hear you say that."

  "And I feel quite certain that no dependence whatever should beplaced on that promise of assistance."

  "I quite agree with you. I am so much obliged to you," said LadyCarbury, who was now determined that Felix should run off with thegirl. "You have been so very kind." Then again she gave him her hand,as though to bid him farewell for the night.

  "And now," he said, "I also have something to say to you."