The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

shown. Melmotte had already seen the Emperor at a breakfast in Windsor Park, and at a ball in royal halls. But hitherto he had not been presented to the Emperor. Presentations have to be restricted⁠—if only on the score of time; and it had been thought that as Mr. Melmotte would of course have some communication with the hardworked Emperor at his own house, that would suffice. But he had felt himself to be ill-used and was offended. He spoke with bitterness to some of his supporters of the Royal Family generally, because he had not been brought to the front rank either at the breakfast or at the ball⁠—and now, at the India Office, was determined to have his due. But he was not on the list of those whom the Secretary of State intended on this occasion to present to the Brother of the Sun.

He had dined freely. At this period of his career he had taken to dining freely⁠—which was in itself imprudent, as he had need at all hours of his best intelligence. Let it not be understood that he was tipsy. He was a man whom wine did not often affect after that fashion. But it made him, who was arrogant before, tower in his arrogance till he was almost sure to totter. It was probably at some moment after dinner that Lord Alfred decided upon buying the cutting whip of which he had spoken. Melmotte went with his wife and daughter to the India Office, and soon left them far in the background with a request⁠—we may say an order⁠—to Lord Alfred to take care of them. It may be observed here that Marie Melmotte was almost as great a curiosity as the Emperor himself, and was much noticed as the girl who had attempted to run away to New York, but had gone without her lover. Melmotte entertained some foolish idea that as the India Office was in Westminster, he had a peculiar right to demand an introduction on this occasion because of his candidature. He did succeed in getting hold of an unfortunate undersecretary of state, a studious and invaluable young peer, known as Earl De Griffin. He was a shy man, of enormous wealth, of mediocre intellect, and no great physical ability, who never amused himself; but worked hard night and day, and read everything that anybody could write, and more than any other person could read, about India. Had Mr. Melmotte wanted to know the exact dietary of the peasants in Orissa, or the revenue of the Punjaub, or the amount of crime in Bombay, Lord De Griffin would have informed him without a pause. But in this matter of managing the Emperor, the under secretary had nothing to do, and would have been the last man to be engaged in such a service. He was, however, second in command at the India Office, and of his official rank Melmotte was unfortunately made aware. “My Lord,” said he, by no means hiding his demand in a whisper, “I am desirous of being presented to his Imperial Majesty.” Lord De Griffin looked at him in despair, not knowing the great man⁠—being one of the few men in that room who did not know him.

“This is Mr. Melmotte,” said Lord Alfred, who had deserted the ladies and still stuck to his master. “Lord De Griffin, let me introduce you to Mr. Melmotte.”

“Oh⁠—oh⁠—oh,” said Lord De Griffin, just putting out his hand. “I am delighted;⁠—ah, yes,” and pretending to see somebody, he made a weak and quite ineffectual attempt to escape.

Melmotte stood directly in his way, and with unabashed audacity repeated his demand. “I am desirous of being presented to his Imperial Majesty. Will you do me the honour of making my request known to Mr. Wilson?” Mr. Wilson was the Secretary of State, who was as busy as a Secretary of State is sure to be on such an occasion.

“I hardly know,” said Lord De Griffin. “I’m afraid it’s all arranged. I don’t know anything about it myself.”

“You can introduce me to Mr. Wilson.”

“He’s up there, Mr. Melmotte; and I couldn’t get at him. Really you must excuse me. I’m very sorry. If I see him I’ll tell him.” And the poor undersecretary again endeavoured to escape.

Mr. Melmotte put up his hand and stopped him. “I’m not going to stand this kind of thing,” he said. The old Marquis of Auld Reekie was close at hand, the father of Lord Nidderdale, and therefore the proposed father-in-law of Melmotte’s daughter, and he poked his thumb heavily into Lord Alfred’s ribs. “It is generally understood, I believe,” continued Melmotte, “that the Emperor is to do me the honour of dining at my poor house on Monday. He don’t dine there unless I’m made acquainted with him before he comes. I mean what I say. I ain’t going to entertain even an Emperor unless I’m good enough to be presented to him. Perhaps you’d better let Mr. Wilson know, as a good many people intend to come.”

“Here’s a row,” said the old Marquis. “I wish he’d be as good as his word.”

“He has taken a little wine,” whispered Lord Alfred. “Melmotte,” he said, still whispering; “upon my word it isn’t the thing. They’re only Indian chaps and Eastern swells who are presented here⁠—not a fellow among ’em all who hasn’t been in India or China, or isn’t a Secretary of State, or something of that kind.”

“Then they should have done it at Windsor, or at the ball,” said Melmotte, pulling down his waistcoat. “By George, Alfred! I’m in earnest, and somebody had better look to it. If I’m not presented to his Imperial Majesty tonight, by G⁠⸺, there shall be no dinner in Grosvenor Square on Monday. I’m master enough of my own house, I suppose, to be able to manage that.”

Here was a row, as the Marquis had said! Lord De Griffin was frightened, and Lord Alfred felt that something ought to be done. “There’s no knowing how far the pigheaded brute may go