CHAPTER LXIX.
MELMOTTE IN PARLIAMENT.
Melmotte did not return home in time to hear the good news thatday,--good news as he would regard it, even though, when told to himit should be accompanied by all the extraneous additions with whichMarie had communicated her purpose to Madame Melmotte. It was nothingto him what the girl thought of the marriage,--if the marriage couldnow be brought about. He, too, had cause for vexation, if not foranger. If Marie had consented a fortnight since he might have sohurried affairs that Lord Nidderdale might by this time have beensecured. Now there might be,--must be, doubt, through the follyof his girl and the villany of Sir Felix Carbury. Were he oncethe father-in-law of the eldest son of a marquis, he thought hemight almost be safe. Even though something might be all but provedagainst him,--which might come to certain proof in less augustcircumstances,--matters would hardly be pressed against a Member forWestminster whose daughter was married to the heir of the Marquis ofAuld Reekie! So many persons would then be concerned! Of course hisvexation with Marie had been great. Of course his wrath against SirFelix was unbounded. The seat for Westminster was his. He was to beseen to occupy it before all the world on this very day. But he hadnot as yet heard that his daughter had yielded in reference to LordNidderdale.
There was considerable uneasiness felt in some circles as to themanner in which Melmotte should take his seat. When he was putforward as the Conservative candidate for the borough a good deal offuss had been made with him by certain leading politicians. It hadbeen the manifest intention of the party that his return, if he werereturned, should be hailed as a great Conservative triumph, and bemade much of through the length and the breadth of the land. He wasreturned,--but the trumpets had not as yet been sounded loudly. On asudden, within the space of forty-eight hours, the party had becomeashamed of their man. And, now, who was to introduce him to theHouse? But with this feeling of shame on one side, there was alreadyspringing up an idea among another class that Melmotte might becomeas it were a Conservative tribune of the people,--that he might bethe realization of that hitherto hazy mixture of Radicalism andold-fogyism, of which we have lately heard from a political master,whose eloquence has been employed in teaching us that progress canonly be expected from those whose declared purpose is to stand still.The new farthing newspaper, "The Mob," was already putting Melmotteforward as a political hero, preaching with reference to hiscommercial transactions the grand doctrine that magnitude in affairsis a valid defence for certain irregularities. A Napoleon, though hemay exterminate tribes in carrying out his projects, cannot be judgedby the same law as a young lieutenant who may be punished for crueltyto a few negroes. "The Mob" thought that a good deal should beoverlooked in a Melmotte, and that the philanthropy of his greatdesigns should be allowed to cover a multitude of sins. I do not knowthat the theory was ever so plainly put forward as it was done by theingenious and courageous writer in "The Mob;" but in practice it hascommanded the assent of many intelligent minds.
Mr. Melmotte, therefore, though he was not where he had been beforethat wretched Squercum had set afloat the rumours as to the purchaseof Pickering, was able to hold his head much higher than on theunfortunate night of the great banquet. He had replied to the letterfrom Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, by a note written in the ordinaryway in the office, and only signed by himself. In this he merely saidthat he would lose no time in settling matters as to the purchase ofPickering. Slow and Bideawhile were of course anxious that thingsshould be settled. They wanted no prosecution for forgery. To makethemselves clear in the matter, and their client,--and if possibleto take some wind out of the sails of the odious Squercum;--thiswould suit them best. They were prone to hope that for his own sakeMelmotte would raise the money. If it were raised there would beno reason why that note purporting to have been signed by DollyLongestaffe should ever leave their office. They still protestedtheir belief that it did bear Dolly's signature. They had variousexcuses for themselves. It would have been useless for them tosummon Dolly to their office, as they knew from long experience thatDolly would not come. The very letter written by themselves,--as asuggestion,--and given to Dolly's father, had come back to them withDolly's ordinary signature, sent to them,--as they believed,--withother papers by Dolly's father. What justification could be clearer?But still the money had not been paid. That was the fault ofLongestaffe senior. But if the money could be paid, that would seteverything right. Squercum evidently thought that the money wouldnot be paid, and was ceaseless in his intercourse with Bideawhile'speople. He charged Slow and Bideawhile with having delivered up thetitle-deeds on the authority of a mere note, and that a note witha forged signature. He demanded that the note should be impounded.On the receipt by Mr. Bideawhile of Melmotte's rather curt reply Mr.Squercum was informed that Mr. Melmotte had promised to pay the moneyat once, but that a day or two must be allowed. Mr. Squercum repliedthat on his client's behalf he should open the matter before the LordMayor.
But in this way two or three days had passed without any renewalof the accusation before the public, and Melmotte had in a certaindegree recovered his position. The Beauclerks and the Luptonsdisliked and feared him as much as ever, but they did not quite dareto be so loud and confident in condemnation as they had been. Itwas pretty well known that Mr. Longestaffe had not received hismoney,--and that was a condition of things tending greatly to shakethe credit of a man living after Melmotte's fashion. But there wasno crime in that. No forgery was implied by the publication of anystatement to that effect. The Longestaffes, father and son, mightprobably have been very foolish. Whoever expected anything but follyfrom either? And Slow and Bideawhile might have been very remissin their duty. It was astonishing, some people said, what thingsattorneys would do in these days! But they who had expected to seeMelmotte behind the bars of a prison before this, and had regulatedtheir conduct accordingly, now imagined that they had been deceived.
Had the Westminster triumph been altogether a triumph it would havebecome the pleasant duty of some popular Conservative to express toMelmotte the pleasure he would have in introducing his new politicalally to the House. In such case Melmotte himself would have beenwalked up the chamber with a pleasurable ovation and the thing wouldhave been done without trouble to him. But now this was not theposition of affairs. Though the matter was debated at the Carlton,no such popular Conservative offered his services. "I don't think weought to throw him over," Mr. Beauclerk said. Sir Orlando Drought,quite a leading Conservative, suggested that as Lord Nidderdale wasvery intimate with Mr. Melmotte he might do it. But Nidderdale wasnot the man for such a performance. He was a very good fellow andeverybody liked him. He belonged to the House because his father hadterritorial influence in a Scotch county;--but he never did anythingthere, and his selection for such a duty would be a declarationto the world that nobody else would do it. "It wouldn't hurt you,Lupton," said Mr. Beauclerk. "Not at all," said Lupton; "but I also,like Nidderdale, am a young man and of no use,--and a great deal toobashful." Melmotte, who knew but little about it, went down to theHouse at four o'clock, somewhat cowed by want of companionship, butcarrying out his resolution that he would be stopped by no phantomfears,--that he would lose nothing by want of personal pluck. He knewthat he was a Member, and concluded that if he presented himselfhe would be able to make his way in and assume his right. But hereagain fortune befriended him. The very leader of the party, the veryfounder of that new doctrine of which it was thought that Melmottemight become an apostle and an expounder,--who, as the reader mayremember, had undertaken to be present at the banquet when hiscolleagues were dismayed and untrue to him, and who kept his promiseand sat there almost in solitude,--he happened to be entering theHouse, as his late host was claiming from the door-keeper thefruition of his privilege. "You had better let me accompany you,"said the Conservative leader, with something of chivalry in hisheart. And so Mr. Melmotte was introduced to the House by the head ofhis party! When this was seen many men supposed that the rumours hadbeen proved to be altogether false. Was not
this a guaranteesufficient to guarantee any man's respectability?
Lord Nidderdale saw his father in the lobby of the House of Lordsthat afternoon and told him what had occurred. The old man had beenin a state of great doubt since the day of the dinner party. Hewas aware of the ruin that would be incurred by a marriage withMelmotte's daughter, if the things which had been said of Melmotteshould be proved to be true. But he knew also that if his son shouldnow recede, there must be an end of the match altogether;--and hedid not believe the rumours. He was fully determined that the moneyshould be paid down before the marriage was celebrated; but if hisson were to secede now, of course no money would be forthcoming. Hewas prepared to recommend his son to go on with the affair still alittle longer. "Old Cure tells me he doesn't believe a word of it,"said the father. Cure was the family lawyer of the Marquises of AuldReekie.
"There's some hitch about Dolly Longestaffe's money, sir," said theson.
"What's that to us if he has our money ready? I suppose it isn'talways easy even for a man like that to get a couple of hundredthousand together. I know I've never found it easy to get a thousand.If he has borrowed a trifle from Longestaffe to make up the girl'smoney, I shan't complain. You stand to your guns. There's no harmdone till the parson has said the word."
"You couldn't let me have a couple of hundred;--could you, sir?"suggested the son.
"No, I couldn't," replied the father with a very determined aspect.
"I'm awfully hard up."
"So am I." Then the old man toddled into his own chamber, and aftersitting there ten minutes went away home.
Lord Nidderdale also got quickly through his legislative duties andwent to the Beargarden. There he found Grasslough and Miles Grendalldining together, and seated himself at the next table. They were fullof news. "You've heard it, I suppose," said Miles in an awfulwhisper.
"Heard what?"
"I believe he doesn't know!" said Lord Grasslough. "By Jove,Nidderdale, you're in a mess like some others."
"What's up now?"
"Only fancy that they shouldn't have known down at the House! Vossnerhas bolted!"
"Bolted!" exclaimed Nidderdale, dropping the spoon with which he wasjust going to eat his soup.
"Bolted," repeated Grasslough. Lord Nidderdale looked round the roomand became aware of the awful expression of dismay which hung uponthe features of all the dining members. "Bolted by George! He hassold all our acceptances to a fellow in Great Marlbro' that's called'Flatfleece.'"
"I know him," said Nidderdale shaking his head.
"I should think so," said Miles ruefully.
"A bottle of champagne!" said Nidderdale, appealing to the waiterin almost a humble voice, feeling that he wanted sustenance in thisnew trouble that had befallen him. The waiter, beaten almost to theground by an awful sense of the condition of the club, whisperedto him the terrible announcement that there was not a bottle ofchampagne in the house. "Good G----," exclaimed the unfortunatenobleman. Miles Grendall shook his head. Grasslough shook his head.
"Not a bottle of champagne in the house."]
"It's true," said another young lord from the table on the otherside. Then the waiter, still speaking with suppressed and melancholyvoice, suggested that there was some port left. It was now the middleof July.
"Brandy?" suggested Nidderdale. There had been a few bottles ofbrandy, but they had been already consumed. "Send out and get somebrandy," said Nidderdale with rapid impetuosity. But the club was soreduced in circumstances that he was obliged to take silver out ofhis pocket before he could get even such humble comfort as he nowdemanded.
Then Lord Grasslough told the whole story as far as it was known.Herr Vossner had not been seen since nine o'clock on the precedingevening. The head waiter had known for some weeks that heavy billswere due. It was supposed that three or four thousand pounds wereowing to tradesmen, who now professed that the credit had been given,not to Herr Vossner but to the club. And the numerous acceptancesfor large sums which the accommodating purveyor held from many ofthe members had all been sold to Mr. Flatfleece. Mr. Flatfleece hadspent a considerable portion of the day at the club, and it was nowsuggested that he and Herr Vossner were in partnership. At thismoment Dolly Longestaffe came in. Dolly had been at the club beforeand had heard the story,--but had gone at once to another club forhis dinner when he found that there was not even a bottle of wineto be had. "Here's a go," said Dolly. "One thing atop of another!There'll be nothing left for anybody soon. Is that brandy you'redrinking, Nidderdale? There was none here when I left."
"Had to send round the corner for it, to the public."
"We shall be sending round the corner for a good many things now.Does anybody know anything of that fellow Melmotte?"
"He's down in the House, as big as life," said Nidderdale. "He's allright I think."
"I wish he'd pay me my money then. That fellow Flatfleece was here,and he showed me notes of mine for about L1,500! I write such abeastly hand that I never know whether I've written it or not. But,by George, a fellow can't eat and drink L1,500 in less than sixmonths!"
"There's no knowing what you can do, Dolly," said Lord Grasslough.
"He's paid some of your card money, perhaps," said Nidderdale.
"I don't think he ever did. Carbury had a lot of my I. O. U.'s whilethat was going on, but I got the money for that from old Melmotte.How is a fellow to know? If any fellow writes D. Longestaffe, am Iobliged to pay it? Everybody is writing my name! How is any fellowto stand that kind of thing? Do you think Melmotte's all right?"Nidderdale said that he did think so. "I wish he wouldn't go andwrite my name then. That's a sort of thing that a man should be leftto do for himself. I suppose Vossner is a swindler; but, by Jove,I know a worse than Vossner." With that he turned on his heels andwent into the smoking-room. And, after he was gone, there was silenceat the table, for it was known that Lord Nidderdale was to marryMelmotte's daughter.
In the meantime a scene of a different kind was going on in the Houseof Commons. Melmotte had been seated on one of the back Conservativebenches, and there he remained for a considerable time unnoticed andforgotten. The little emotion that had attended his entrance hadpassed away, and Melmotte was now no more than any one else. Atfirst he had taken his hat off, but, as soon as he observed that themajority of members were covered, he put it on again. Then he satmotionless for an hour, looking round him and wondering. He had neverhitherto been even in the gallery of the House. The place was verymuch smaller than he had thought, and much less tremendous. TheSpeaker did not strike him with the awe which he had expected, and itseemed to him that they who spoke were talking much like other peoplein other places. For the first hour he hardly caught the meaning of asentence that was said, nor did he try to do so. One man got up veryquickly after another, some of them barely rising on their legs tosay the few words that they uttered. It seemed to him to be a verycommon-place affair,--not half so awful as those festive occasions onwhich he had occasionally been called upon to propose a toast or toreturn thanks. Then suddenly the manner of the thing was changed, andone gentleman made a long speech. Melmotte by this time, weary ofobserving, had begun to listen, and words which were familiar to himreached his ears. The gentleman was proposing some little additionto a commercial treaty and was expounding in very strong languagethe ruinous injustice to which England was exposed by being temptedto use gloves made in a country in which no income tax was levied.Melmotte listened to his eloquence caring nothing about gloves,and very little about England's ruin. But in the course of thedebate which followed, a question arose about the value of money, ofexchange, and of the conversion of shillings into francs and dollars.About this Melmotte really did know something and he pricked up hisears. It seemed to him that a gentleman whom he knew very well in thecity,--and who had maliciously stayed away from his dinner,--one Mr.Brown, who sat just before him on the same side of the House, and whowas plodding wearily and slowly along with some pet fiscal theory ofhis own, understood nothing at all of what he was saying. Here
was anopportunity for himself! Here was at his hand the means of revenginghimself for the injury done him, and of showing to the world at thesame time that he was not afraid of his city enemies! It requiredsome courage certainly,--this attempt that suggested itself to him ofgetting upon his legs a couple of hours after his first introductionto parliamentary life. But he was full of the lesson which he was nowever teaching himself. Nothing should cow him. Whatever was to bedone by brazen-faced audacity he would do. It seemed to be very easy,and he saw no reason why he should not put that old fool right. Heknew nothing of the forms of the House;--was more ignorant of themthan an ordinary schoolboy;--but on that very account felt lesstrepidation than might another parliamentary novice. Mr. Brown wastedious and prolix; and Melmotte, though he thought much of hisproject and had almost told himself that he would do the thing,was still doubting, when, suddenly, Mr. Brown sat down. There didnot seem to be any particular end to the speech, nor had Melmottefollowed any general thread of argument. But a statement had beenmade and repeated, containing, as Melmotte thought, a fundamentalerror in finance; and he longed to set the matter right. At any ratehe desired to show the House that Mr. Brown did not know what hewas talking about,--because Mr. Brown had not come to his dinner.When Mr. Brown was seated, nobody at once rose. The subject was notpopular, and they who understood the business of the House were wellaware that the occasion had simply been one on which two or threecommercial gentlemen, having crazes of their own, should be allowedto ventilate them. The subject would have dropped;--but on a suddenthe new member was on his legs.
Now it was probably not in the remembrance of any gentleman therethat a member had got up to make a speech within two or three hoursof his first entry into the House. And this gentleman was onewhose recent election had been of a very peculiar kind. It hadbeen considered by many of his supporters that his name should bewithdrawn just before the ballot; by others that he would be deterredby shame from showing himself even if he were elected; and again byanother party that his appearance in Parliament would be prevented byhis disappearance within the walls of Newgate. But here he was, notonly in his seat, but on his legs! The favourable grace, the air ofcourteous attention, which is always shown to a new member when hefirst speaks, was extended also to Melmotte. There was an excitementin the thing which made gentlemen willing to listen, and a consequenthum, almost of approbation.
As soon as Melmotte was on his legs, and, looking round, found thateverybody was silent with the intent of listening to him, a good dealof his courage oozed out of his fingers' ends. The House, which, tohis thinking, had by no means been august while Mr. Brown had beentoddling through his speech, now became awful. He caught the eyes ofgreat men fixed upon him,--of men who had not seemed to him to beat all great as he had watched them a few minutes before, yawningbeneath their hats. Mr. Brown, poor as his speech had been, had, nodoubt, prepared it,--and had perhaps made three or four such speechesevery year for the last fifteen years. Melmotte had not dreamed ofputting two words together. He had thought, as far as he had thoughtat all, that he could rattle off what he had to say just as he mightdo it when seated in his chair at the Mexican Railway Board. Butthere was the Speaker, and those three clerks in their wigs, and themace,--and worse than all, the eyes of that long row of statesmenopposite to him! His position was felt by him to be dreadful. He hadforgotten even the very point on which he had intended to crush Mr.Brown.
But the courage of the man was too high to allow him to be altogetherquelled at once. The hum was prolonged; and though he was red in theface, perspiring, and utterly confused, he was determined to makea dash at the matter with the first words which would occur to him."Mr. Brown is all wrong," he said. He had not even taken off his hatas he rose. Mr. Brown turned slowly round and looked up at him. Someone, whom he could not exactly hear, touching him behind, suggestedthat he should take off his hat. There was a cry of order, which ofcourse he did not understand. "Yes, you are," said Melmotte, noddinghis head, and frowning angrily at poor Mr. Brown.
Melmotte in Parliament.]
"The honourable member," said the Speaker, with the most good-naturedvoice which he could assume, "is not perhaps as yet aware thathe should not call another member by his name. He should speakof the gentleman to whom he alluded as the honourable memberfor Whitechapel. And in speaking he should address, not anotherhonourable member, but the chair."
"You should take your hat off," said the good-natured gentlemanbehind.
In such a position how should any man understand so many and suchcomplicated instructions at once, and at the same time remember thegist of the argument to be produced? He did take off his hat, and wasof course made hotter and more confused by doing so. "What he saidwas all wrong," continued Melmotte; "and I should have thought a manout of the City, like Mr. Brown, ought to have known better." Thenthere were repeated calls of order, and a violent ebullition oflaughter from both sides of the House. The man stood for a whileglaring around him, summoning his own pluck for a renewal of hisattack on Mr. Brown, determined that he would be appalled and putdown neither by the ridicule of those around him, nor by his want offamiliarity with the place; but still utterly unable to find wordswith which to carry on the combat. "I ought to know something aboutit," said Melmotte sitting down and hiding his indignation and hisshame under his hat.
"We are sure that the honourable member for Westminster doesunderstand the subject," said the leader of the House, "and we shallbe very glad to hear his remarks. The House I am sure will pardonignorance of its rules in so young a member."
But Mr. Melmotte would not rise again. He had made a great effort,and had at any rate exhibited his courage. Though they might all saythat he had not displayed much eloquence, they would be driven toadmit that he had not been ashamed to show himself. He kept his seattill the regular stampede was made for dinner, and then walked outwith as stately a demeanour as he could assume.
"Well, that was plucky!" said Cohenlupe, taking his friend's arm inthe lobby.
"I don't see any pluck in it. That old fool Brown didn't know what hewas talking about, and I wanted to tell them so. They wouldn't let medo it, and there's an end of it. It seems to me to be a stupid sortof a place."
"Has Longestaffe's money been paid?" said Cohenlupe opening his blackeyes while he looked up into his friend's face.
"Don't you trouble your head about Longestaffe, or his moneyeither," said Melmotte, getting into his brougham; "do you leave Mr.Longestaffe and his money to me. I hope you are not such a fool asto be scared by what the other fools say. When men play such a gameas you and I are concerned in, they ought to know better than to beafraid of every word that is spoken."
"Oh, dear; yes;" said Cohenlupe apologetically. "You don't supposethat I am afraid of anything." But at that moment Mr. Cohenlupe wasmeditating his own escape from the dangerous shores of England, andwas trying to remember what happy country still was left in which anorder from the British police would have no power to interfere withthe comfort of a retired gentleman such as himself.
That evening Madame Melmotte told her husband that Marie was nowwilling to marry Lord Nidderdale;--but she did not say anything asto the crossing-sweeper or the black footman, nor did she allude toMarie's threat of the sort of life she would lead her husband.