The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LXXVII.

  ANOTHER SCENE IN BRUTON STREET.

  When Mr. Melmotte made his promise to Mr. Longestaffe and to Dolly,in the presence of Mr. Bideawhile, that he would, on the next day butone, pay to them a sum of fifty thousand pounds, thereby completing,satisfactorily as far as they were concerned, the purchase of thePickering property, he intended to be as good as his word. The readerknows that he had resolved to face the Longestaffe difficulty,--thathe had resolved that at any rate he would not get out of it bysacrificing the property to which he had looked forward as a safehaven when storms should come. But, day by day, every resolutionthat he made was forced to undergo some change. Latterly he had beenintent on purchasing a noble son-in-law with this money,--stilltrusting to the chapter of chances for his future escape from theLongestaffe and other difficulties. But Squercum had been very hardupon him; and in connexion with this accusation as to the Pickeringproperty, there was another, which he would be forced to face also,respecting certain property in the East of London, with which thereader need not much trouble himself specially, but in reference towhich it was stated that he had induced a foolish old gentleman toconsent to accept railway shares in lieu of money. The old gentlemanhad died during the transaction, and it was asserted that the oldgentleman's letter was hardly genuine. Melmotte had certainly raisedbetween twenty and thirty thousand pounds on the property, and hadmade payments for it in stock which was now worth--almost nothing atall. Melmotte thought that he might face this matter successfullyif the matter came upon him single-handed;--but in regard to theLongestaffes he considered that now, at this last moment, he hadbetter pay for Pickering.

  The property from which he intended to raise the necessary funds wasreally his own. There could be no doubt about that. It had never beenhis intention to make it over to his daughter. When he had placed itin her name, he had done so simply for security,--feeling that hiscontrol over his only daughter would be perfect and free from danger.No girl apparently less likely to take it into her head to defraudher father could have crept quietly about a father's house. Nor didhe now think that she would disobey him when the matter was explainedto her. Heavens and earth! That he should be robbed by his ownchild,--robbed openly, shamefully, with brazen audacity! It wasimpossible. But still he had felt the necessity of going about thisbusiness with some little care. It might be that she would disobeyhim if he simply sent for her and bade her to affix her signaturehere and there. He thought much about it and considered that it wouldbe wise that his wife should be present on the occasion, and thata full explanation should be given to Marie, by which she might bemade to understand that the money had in no sense become her own. Sohe gave instructions to his wife when he started into the city thatmorning; and when he returned, for the sake of making his offer tothe Longestaffes, he brought with him the deeds which it would benecessary that Marie should sign, and he brought also Mr. Croll, hisclerk, that Mr. Croll might witness the signature.

  When he left the Longestaffes and Mr. Bideawhile he went at once tohis wife's room. "Is she here?" he asked.

  "I will send for her. I have told her."

  "You haven't frightened her?"

  "Why should I frighten her? It is not very easy to frighten her,Melmotte. She is changed since these young men have been so muchabout her."

  "I shall frighten her if she does not do as I bid her. Bid her comenow." This was said in French. Then Madame Melmotte left the room,and Melmotte arranged a lot of papers in order upon a table. Havingdone so, he called to Croll, who was standing on the landing-place,and told him to seat himself in the back drawing-room till he shouldbe called. Melmotte then stood with his back to the fire-place in hiswife's sitting-room, with his hands in his pockets, contemplatingwhat might be the incidents of the coming interview. He would be verygracious,--affectionate if it were possible,--and, above all things,explanatory. But, by heavens, if there were continued oppositionto his demand,--to his just demand,--if this girl should dare toinsist upon exercising her power to rob him, he would not then beaffectionate,--nor gracious! There was some little delay in thecoming of the two women, and he was already beginning to lose histemper when Marie followed Madame Melmotte into the room. He at onceswallowed his rising anger--with an effort. He would put a constraintupon himself. The affection and the graciousness should be allthere,--as long as they might secure the purpose in hand.

  "Marie," he began, "I spoke to you the other day about some propertywhich for certain purposes was placed in your name just as we wereleaving Paris."

  "Yes, papa."

  "You were such a child then,--I mean when we left Paris,--that Icould hardly explain to you the purpose of what I did." "I understoodit, papa."

  "You had better listen to me, my dear. I don't think you did quiteunderstand it. It would have been very odd if you had, as I neverexplained it to you."

  "You wanted to keep it from going away if you got into trouble."

  This was so true that Melmotte did not know how at the moment tocontradict the assertion. And yet he had not intended to talk of thepossibility of trouble. "I wanted to lay aside a large sum of moneywhich should not be liable to the ordinary fluctuations of commercialenterprise."

  "So that nobody could get at it."

  "You are a little too quick, my dear."

  "Marie, why can't you let your papa speak?" said Madame Melmotte.

  "But of course, my dear," continued Melmotte, "I had no idea ofputting the money beyond my own reach. Such a transaction is verycommon; and in such cases a man naturally uses the name of some onewho is very near and dear to him, and in whom he is sure that he canput full confidence. And it is customary to choose a young person, asthere will then be less danger of the accident of death. It was forthese reasons, which I am sure that you will understand, that I choseyou. Of course the property remained exclusively my own."

  "But it is really mine," said Marie.

  "No, miss; it was never yours," said Melmotte, almost bursting outinto anger, but restraining himself. "How could it become yours,Marie? Did I ever make you a gift of it?"

  "But I know that it did become mine,--legally."

  "By a quibble of law,--yes; but not so as to give you any right toit. I always draw the income."

  "But I could stop that, papa,--and if I were married, of course itwould be stopped."

  Then, quick as a flash of lightning, another idea occurred toMelmotte, who feared that he already began to see that this child ofhis might be stiff-necked. "As we are thinking of your marriage," hesaid, "it is necessary that a change should be made. Settlements mustbe drawn for the satisfaction of Lord Nidderdale and his father. Theold Marquis is rather hard upon me, but the marriage is so splendidthat I have consented. You must now sign these papers in four orfive places. Mr. Croll is here, in the next room, to witness yoursignature, and I will call him."

  "Wait a moment, papa."

  "Why should we wait?"

  "I don't think I will sign them."

  "Why not sign them? You can't really suppose that the property isyour own. You could not even get it if you did think so."

  "I don't know how that may be; but I had rather not sign them. If Iam to be married, I ought not to sign anything except what he tellsme."

  "He has no authority over you yet. I have authority over you. Marie,do not give more trouble. I am very much pressed for time. Let mecall in Mr. Croll."

  "No, papa," she said.

  Then came across his brow that look which had probably first inducedMarie to declare that she would endure to be "cut to pieces," ratherthan to yield in this or that direction. The lower jaw squareditself, and the teeth became set, and the nostrils of his nose becameextended,--and Marie began to prepare herself to be "cut to pieces."But he reminded himself that there was another game which he hadproposed to play before he resorted to anger and violence. He wouldtell her how much depended on her compliance. Therefore he relaxedthe frown,--as well as he knew how, and softened his face towardsher, and turned again to his work. "I a
m sure, Marie, that you willnot refuse to do this when I explain to you its importance to me. Imust have that property for use in the city to-morrow, or--I shallbe ruined." The statement was very short, but the manner in which hemade it was not without effect.

  "Oh!" shrieked his wife.

  "It is true. These harpies have so beset me about the election thatthey have lowered the price of every stock in which I am concerned,and have brought the Mexican Railway so low that they cannot be soldat all. I don't like bringing my troubles home from the city; but onthis occasion I cannot help it. The sum locked up here is very large,and I am compelled to use it. In point of fact it is necessary tosave us from destruction." This he said, very slowly, and with theutmost solemnity.

  "But you told me just now you wanted it because I was going to bemarried," rejoined Marie.

  A liar has many points in his favour,--but he has this against him,that unless he devote more time to the management of his lies thanlife will generally allow, he cannot make them tally. Melmotte wasthrown back for a moment, and almost felt that the time for violencehad come. He longed to be at her that he might shake the wickednessand the folly, and the ingratitude out of her. But he once morecondescended to argue and to explain. "I think you misunderstood me,Marie. I meant you to understand that settlements must be made, andthat of course I must get my own property back into my own handsbefore anything of that kind can be done. I tell you once more, mydear, that if you do not do as I bid you, so that I may use thatproperty the first thing to-morrow, we are all ruined. Everythingwill be gone."

  "This can't be gone," said Marie, nodding her head at the papers.

  "Marie,--do you wish to see me disgraced and ruined? I have done agreat deal for you."

  "You turned away the only person I ever cared for," said Marie.

  "Marie, how can you be so wicked? Do as your papa bids you," saidMadame Melmotte.

  "No!" said Melmotte. "She does not care who is ruined, because wesaved her from that reprobate."

  "She will sign them now," said Madame Melmotte.

  "No;--I will not sign them," said Marie. "If I am to be married toLord Nidderdale as you all say, I am sure I ought to sign nothingwithout telling him. And if the property was once made to be mine,I don't think I ought to give it up again because papa says that heis going to be ruined. I think that's a reason for not giving it upagain."

  "It isn't yours to give. It's mine," said Melmotte gnashing histeeth.

  "Then you can do what you like with it without my signing," saidMarie.

  He paused a moment, and then laying his hand gently upon hershoulder, he asked her yet once again. His voice was changed, and wasvery hoarse. But he still tried to be gentle with her. "Marie," hesaid, "will you do this to save your father from destruction?"

  But she did not believe a word that he said to her. How could shebelieve him? He had taught her to regard him as her natural enemy,making her aware that it was his purpose to use her as a chattel forhis own advantage, and never allowing her for a moment to supposethat aught that he did was to be done for her happiness. And now,almost in a breath, he had told her that this money was wanted thatit might be settled on her and the man to whom she was to be married,and then that it might be used to save him from instant ruin. Shebelieved neither one story nor the other. That she should have doneas she was desired in this matter can hardly be disputed. The fatherhad used her name because he thought that he could trust her. Shewas his daughter and should not have betrayed his trust. But she hadsteeled herself to obstinacy against him in all things. Even yet,after all that had passed, although she had consented to marry LordNidderdale, though she had been forced by what she had learned todespise Sir Felix Carbury, there was present to her an idea that shemight escape with the man she really loved. But any such hope coulddepend only on the possession of the money which she now claimed asher own. Melmotte had endeavoured to throw a certain supplicatorypathos into the question he had asked her; but, though he was in somedegree successful with his voice, his eyes and his mouth and hisforehead still threatened her. He was always threatening her. All herthoughts respecting him reverted to that inward assertion that hemight "cut her to pieces" if he liked. He repeated his question inthe pathetic strain. "Will you do this now,--to save us all fromruin?" But his eyes still threatened her.

  "No;" she said, looking up into his face as though watching for thepersonal attack which would be made upon her; "no, I won't."

  "Marie!" exclaimed Madame Melmotte.

  She glanced round for a moment at her pseudo-mother with contempt."No;" she said. "I don't think I ought,--and I won't."

  "You won't!" shouted Melmotte. She merely shook her head. "Do youmean that you, my own child, will attempt to rob your father just atthe moment you can destroy him by your wickedness?" She shook herhead but said no other word.

  "Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet."

  "Let not Medea with unnatural rage Slaughter her mangled infants on the stage."

  Nor will I attempt to harrow my readers by a close description of thescene which followed. Poor Marie! That cutting her up into pieces wascommenced after a most savage fashion. Marie crouching down hardlyuttered a sound. But Madame Melmotte frightened beyond endurancescreamed at the top of her voice,--"Ah, Melmotte, tu la tueras!"And then she tried to drag him from his prey. "Will you sign themnow?" said Melmotte, panting. At that moment Croll, frightened by thescreams, burst into the room. It was perhaps not the first time thathe had interfered to save Melmotte from the effects of his own wrath.

  "Oh, Mr. Melmotte, vat is de matter?" asked the clerk.

  Melmotte was out of breath and could hardly tell his story. Mariegradually recovered herself, and crouched, cowering, in a corner ofa sofa, by no means vanquished in spirit, but with a feeling thatthe very life had been crushed out of her body. Madame Melmottewas standing weeping copiously, with her handkerchief up to hereyes. "Will you sign the papers?" Melmotte demanded. Marie, lyingas she was, all in a heap, merely shook her head. "Pig!" saidMelmotte,--"wicked, ungrateful pig."

  "Ah, Ma'am-moiselle," said Croll, "you should oblige your fader."

  "Ah, Ma'am-moiselle," said Croll, "you shouldoblige your fader."]

  "Wretched, wicked girl!" said Melmotte, collecting the paperstogether. Then he left the room, and followed by Croll descended tothe study, whence the Longestaffes and Mr. Bideawhile had long sincetaken their departure.

  Madame Melmotte came and stood over the girl, but for some minutesspoke never a word. Marie lay on the sofa, all in a heap, with herhair dishevelled and her dress disordered, breathing hard, bututtering no sobs and shedding no tears. The stepmother,--if she mightso be called,--did not think of attempting to persuade where herhusband had failed. She feared Melmotte so thoroughly, and was sotimid in regard to her own person, that she could not understandthe girl's courage. Melmotte was to her an awful being, powerful asSatan,--whom she never openly disobeyed, though she daily deceivedhim, and was constantly detected in her deceptions. Marie seemed toher to have all her father's stubborn, wicked courage, and very muchof his power. At the present moment she did not dare to tell the girlthat she had been wrong. But she had believed her husband when he hadsaid that destruction was coming, and had partly believed him when hedeclared that the destruction might be averted by Marie's obedience.Her life had been passed in almost daily fear of destruction. ToMarie the last two years of splendour had been so long that they hadproduced a feeling of security. But to the elder woman the two yearshad not sufficed to eradicate the remembrance of former reverses, andnever for a moment had she felt herself to be secure. At last sheasked the girl what she would like to have done for her. "I wish hehad killed me," Marie said, slowly dragging herself up from the sofa,and retreating without another word to her own room.

  In the meantime another scene was being acted in the room below.Melmotte after he reached the room hardly made a reference to hisdaughter,--merely saying that nothing would overcome her wickedobstinacy. He made no allusion to his own
violence, nor had Croll thecourage to expostulate with him now that the immediate danger wasover. The Great Financier again arranged the papers, just as they hadbeen laid out before,--as though he thought that the girl might bebrought down to sign them there. And then he went on to explain toCroll what he had wanted to have done,--how necessary it was that thething should be done, and how terribly cruel it was to him that insuch a crisis of his life he should be hampered, impeded,--he did notventure to his clerk to say ruined,--by the ill-conditioned obstinacyof a girl! He explained very fully how absolutely the property washis own, how totally the girl was without any right to withhold itfrom him! How monstrous in its injustice was the present positionof things! In all this Croll fully agreed. Then Melmotte went onto declare that he would not feel the slightest scruple in writingMarie's signature to the papers himself. He was the girl's father andwas justified in acting for her. The property was his own property,and he was justified in doing with it as he pleased. Of course hewould have no scruple in writing his daughter's name. Then he lookedup at the clerk. The clerk again assented,--after a fashion, not byany means with the comfortable certainty with which he had signifiedhis accordance with his employer's first propositions. But he didnot, at any rate, hint any disapprobation of the step which Melmotteproposed to take. Then Melmotte went a step farther, and explainedthat the only difficulty in reference to such a transaction wouldbe that the signature of his daughter would be required to becorroborated by that of a witness before he could use it. Then heagain looked up at Croll;--but on this occasion Croll did not move amuscle of his face. There certainly was no assent. Melmotte continuedto look at him; but then came upon the old clerk's countenance astern look which amounted to very strong dissent. And yet Croll hadbeen conversant with some irregular doings in his time, and Melmotteknew well the extent of Croll's experience. Then Melmotte made alittle remark to himself. "He knows that the game is pretty wellover." "You had better return to the city now," he said aloud. "Ishall follow you in half an hour. It is quite possible that I maybring my daughter with me. If I can make her understand this thing Ishall do so. In that case I shall want you to be ready." Croll againsmiled, and again assented, and went his way.

  But Melmotte made no further attempt upon his daughter. As soon asCroll was gone he searched among various papers in his desk anddrawers, and having found two signatures, those of his daughter andof this German clerk, set to work tracing them with some thin tissuepaper. He commenced his present operation by bolting his door andpulling down the blinds. He practised the two signatures for the bestpart of an hour. Then he forged them on the various documents;--and,having completed the operation, refolded them, placed them in alittle locked bag of which he had always kept the key in his purse,and then, with the bag in his hand, was taken in his brougham intothe city.