Little Dorrit
been given to render them more worthy of her occupation. In her mind’s
eye, as she lounged there, surrounded by every luxurious accessory that
wealth could obtain or invention devise, she saw the fair bosom that
beat in unison with the exultation of her thoughts, competing with the
bosom that had been famous so long, outshining it, and deposing it.
Happy? Fanny must have been happy. No more wishing one’s self dead now.
The Courier had not approved of Mr Dorrit’s staying in the house of
a friend, and had preferred to take him to an hotel in Brook Street,
Grosvenor Square. Mr Merdle ordered his carriage to be ready early
in the morning that he might wait upon Mr Dorrit immediately after
breakfast.
Bright the carriage looked, sleek the horses looked, gleaming the
harness looked, luscious and lasting the liveries looked. A rich,
responsible turn-out. An equipage for a Merdle. Early people looked
after it as it rattled along the streets, and said, with awe in their
breath, ‘There he goes!’
There he went, until Brook Street stopped him. Then, forth from its
magnificent case came the jewel; not lustrous in itself, but quite the
contrary.
Commotion in the office of the hotel. Merdle! The landlord, though
a gentleman of a haughty spirit who had just driven a pair of
thorough-bred horses into town, turned out to show him up-stairs.
The clerks and servants cut him off by back-passages, and were found
accidentally hovering in doorways and angles, that they might look upon
him. Merdle! O ye sun, moon, and stars, the great man! The rich man, who
had in a manner revised the New Testament, and already entered into the
kingdom of Heaven. The man who could have any one he chose to dine with
him, and who had made the money! As he went up the stairs, people were
already posted on the lower stairs, that his shadow might fall upon them
when he came down. So were the sick brought out and laid in the track of
the Apostle--who had _not_ got into the good society, and had _not_ made
the money.
Mr Dorrit, dressing-gowned and newspapered, was at his breakfast. The
Courier, with agitation in his voice, announced ‘Miss Mairdale!’ Mr
Dorrit’s overwrought heart bounded as he leaped up.
‘Mr Merdle, this is--ha--indeed an honour. Permit me to express
the--hum--sense, the high sense, I entertain of this--ha hum--highly
gratifying act of attention. I am well aware, sir, of the many demands
upon your time, and its--ha--enormous value,’ Mr Dorrit could not
say enormous roundly enough for his own satisfaction. ‘That you
should--ha--at this early hour, bestow any of your priceless time upon
me, is--ha--a compliment that I acknowledge with the greatest esteem.’
Mr Dorrit positively trembled in addressing the great man.
Mr Merdle uttered, in his subdued, inward, hesitating voice, a few
sounds that were to no purpose whatever; and finally said, ‘I am glad to
see you, sir.’
‘You are very kind,’ said Mr Dorrit. ‘Truly kind.’ By this time the
visitor was seated, and was passing his great hand over his exhausted
forehead. ‘You are well, I hope, Mr Merdle?’
‘I am as well as I--yes, I am as well as I usually am,’ said Mr Merdle.
‘Your occupations must be immense.’
‘Tolerably so. But--Oh dear no, there’s not much the matter with _me_,’
said Mr Merdle, looking round the room.
‘A little dyspeptic?’ Mr Dorrit hinted.
‘Very likely. But I--Oh, I am well enough,’ said Mr Merdle.
There were black traces on his lips where they met, as if a little train
of gunpowder had been fired there; and he looked like a man who, if his
natural temperament had been quicker, would have been very feverish that
morning. This, and his heavy way of passing his hand over his forehead,
had prompted Mr Dorrit’s solicitous inquiries.
‘Mrs Merdle,’ Mr Dorrit insinuatingly pursued, ‘I left, as you will be
prepared to hear, the--ha--observed of all observers, the--hum--admired
of all admirers, the leading fascination and charm of Society in Rome.
She was looking wonderfully well when I quitted it.’
‘Mrs Merdle,’ said Mr Merdle, ‘is generally considered a very attractive
woman. And she is, no doubt. I am sensible of her being so.’
‘Who can be otherwise?’ responded Mr Dorrit.
Mr Merdle turned his tongue in his closed mouth--it seemed rather a
stiff and unmanageable tongue--moistened his lips, passed his hand over
his forehead again, and looked all round the room again, principally
under the chairs.
‘But,’ he said, looking Mr Dorrit in the face for the first time, and
immediately afterwards dropping his eyes to the buttons of Mr Dorrit’s
waistcoat; ‘if we speak of attractions, your daughter ought to be the
subject of our conversation. She is extremely beautiful. Both in face
and figure, she is quite uncommon. When the young people arrived last
night, I was really surprised to see such charms.’
Mr Dorrit’s gratification was such that he said--ha--he could not
refrain from telling Mr Merdle verbally, as he had already done by
letter, what honour and happiness he felt in this union of their
families. And he offered his hand. Mr Merdle looked at the hand for a
little while, took it on his for a moment as if his were a yellow salver
or fish-slice, and then returned it to Mr Dorrit.
‘I thought I would drive round the first thing,’ said Mr Merdle, ‘to
offer my services, in case I can do anything for you; and to say that
I hope you will at least do me the honour of dining with me to-day, and
every day when you are not better engaged during your stay in town.’
Mr Dorrit was enraptured by these attentions.
‘Do you stay long, sir?’
‘I have not at present the intention,’ said Mr Dorrit,
‘of--ha--exceeding a fortnight.’
‘That’s a very short stay, after so long a journey,’ returned Mr Merdle.
‘Hum. Yes,’ said Mr Dorrit. ‘But the truth is--ha--my dear Mr Merdle,
that I find a foreign life so well suited to my health and taste, that
I--hum--have but two objects in my present visit to London. First,
the--ha--the distinguished happiness and--ha--privilege which I now
enjoy and appreciate; secondly, the arrangement--hum--the laying out,
that is to say, in the best way, of--ha, hum--my money.’
‘Well, sir,’ said Mr Merdle, after turning his tongue again, ‘if I can
be of any use to you in that respect, you may command me.’
Mr Dorrit’s speech had had more hesitation in it than usual, as he
approached the ticklish topic, for he was not perfectly clear how so
exalted a potentate might take it. He had doubts whether reference to
any individual capital, or fortune, might not seem a wretchedly retail
affair to so wholesale a dealer. Greatly relieved by Mr Merdle’s
affable offer of assistance, he caught at it directly, and heaped
acknowledgments upon him.
‘I scarcely--ha--dared,’ said Mr Dorrit, ‘I assure you, to hope for
so--hum--vast an advantage as your direct advice and assistance. Though
of course I should, under any circumstances, like the--ha, hum--rest of
the civilised world, have followed in Mr Merdle’s train.’
‘You know we may almost say we are related, sir,’ said Mr Merdle,
curiously interested in the pattern of the carpet, ‘and, therefore, you
may consider me at your service.’
‘Ha. Very handsome, indeed!’ cried Mr Dorrit. ‘Ha. Most handsome!’
‘It would not,’ said Mr Merdle, ‘be at the present moment easy for
what I may call a mere outsider to come into any of the good things--of
course I speak of my own good things--’
‘Of course, of course!’ cried Mr Dorrit, in a tone implying that there
were no other good things.
‘--Unless at a high price. At what we are accustomed to term a very long
figure.’
Mr Dorrit laughed in the buoyancy of his spirit. Ha, ha, ha! Long
figure. Good. Ha. Very expressive to be sure!
‘However,’ said Mr Merdle, ‘I do generally retain in my own hands the
power of exercising some preference--people in general would be pleased
to call it favour--as a sort of compliment for my care and trouble.’
‘And public spirit and genius,’ Mr Dorrit suggested.
Mr Merdle, with a dry, swallowing action, seemed to dispose of those
qualities like a bolus; then added, ‘As a sort of return for it. I will
see, if you please, how I can exert this limited power (for people are
jealous, and it is limited), to your advantage.’
‘You are very good,’ replied Mr Dorrit. ‘You are _very_ good.’
‘Of course,’ said Mr Merdle, ‘there must be the strictest integrity
and uprightness in these transactions; there must be the purest faith
between man and man; there must be unimpeached and unimpeachable
confidence; or business could not be carried on.’
Mr Dorrit hailed these generous sentiments with fervour.
‘Therefore,’ said Mr Merdle, ‘I can only give you a preference to a
certain extent.’
‘I perceive. To a defined extent,’ observed Mr Dorrit.
‘Defined extent. And perfectly above-board. As to my advice, however,’
said Mr Merdle, ‘that is another matter. That, such as it is--’
Oh! Such as it was! (Mr Dorrit could not bear the faintest appearance of
its being depreciated, even by Mr Merdle himself.)
‘--That, there is nothing in the bonds of spotless honour between myself
and my fellow-man to prevent my parting with, if I choose. And that,’
said Mr Merdle, now deeply intent upon a dust-cart that was passing the
windows, ‘shall be at your command whenever you think proper.’
New acknowledgments from Mr Dorrit. New passages of Mr Merdle’s hand
over his forehead. Calm and silence. Contemplation of Mr Dorrit’s
waistcoat buttons by Mr Merdle.
‘My time being rather precious,’ said Mr Merdle, suddenly getting up,
as if he had been waiting in the interval for his legs and they had just
come, ‘I must be moving towards the City. Can I take you anywhere, sir?
I shall be happy to set you down, or send you on. My carriage is at your
disposal.’
Mr Dorrit bethought himself that he had business at his banker’s. His
banker’s was in the City. That was fortunate; Mr Merdle would take
him into the City. But, surely, he might not detain Mr Merdle while he
assumed his coat? Yes, he might and must; Mr Merdle insisted on it. So
Mr Dorrit, retiring into the next room, put himself under the hands of
his valet, and in five minutes came back glorious.
Then said Mr Merdle, ‘Allow me, sir. Take my arm!’ Then leaning on
Mr Merdle’s arm, did Mr Dorrit descend the staircase, seeing the
worshippers on the steps, and feeling that the light of Mr Merdle shone
by reflection in himself. Then the carriage, and the ride into the
City; and the people who looked at them; and the hats that flew off grey
heads; and the general bowing and crouching before this wonderful mortal
the like of which prostration of spirit was not to be seen--no, by
high Heaven, no! It may be worth thinking of by Fawners of all
denominations--in Westminster Abbey and Saint Paul’s Cathedral put
together, on any Sunday in the year. It was a rapturous dream to Mr
Dorrit to find himself set aloft in this public car of triumph, making a
magnificent progress to that befitting destination, the golden Street of
the Lombards.
There Mr Merdle insisted on alighting and going his way a-foot, and
leaving his poor equipage at Mr Dorrit’s disposition. So the dream
increased in rapture when Mr Dorrit came out of the bank alone, and
people looked at _him_ in default of Mr Merdle, and when, with the ears of
his mind, he heard the frequent exclamation as he rolled glibly along,
‘A wonderful man to be Mr Merdle’s friend!’
At dinner that day, although the occasion was not foreseen and provided
for, a brilliant company of such as are not made of the dust of the
earth, but of some superior article for the present unknown, shed
their lustrous benediction upon Mr Dorrit’s daughter’s marriage. And Mr
Dorrit’s daughter that day began, in earnest, her competition with that