Little Dorrit
men,--did everything for Society, and got as little for himself out of
all his gain and care, as a man might.
That is to say, it may be supposed that he got all he wanted, otherwise
with unlimited wealth he would have got it. But his desire was to the
utmost to satisfy Society (whatever that was), and take up all its
drafts upon him for tribute. He did not shine in company; he had not
very much to say for himself; he was a reserved man, with a broad,
overhanging, watchful head, that particular kind of dull red colour
in his cheeks which is rather stale than fresh, and a somewhat uneasy
expression about his coat-cuffs, as if they were in his confidence, and
had reasons for being anxious to hide his hands. In the little he said,
he was a pleasant man enough; plain, emphatic about public and private
confidence, and tenacious of the utmost deference being shown by every
one, in all things, to Society. In this same Society (if that were it
which came to his dinners, and to Mrs Merdle’s receptions and concerts),
he hardly seemed to enjoy himself much, and was mostly to be found
against walls and behind doors. Also when he went out to it, instead of
its coming home to him, he seemed a little fatigued, and upon the
whole rather more disposed for bed; but he was always cultivating it
nevertheless, and always moving in it--and always laying out money on it
with the greatest liberality.
Mrs Merdle’s first husband had been a colonel, under whose auspices the
bosom had entered into competition with the snows of North America, and
had come off at little disadvantage in point of whiteness, and at none
in point of coldness. The colonel’s son was Mrs Merdle’s only child. He
was of a chuckle-headed, high-shouldered make, with a general appearance
of being, not so much a young man as a swelled boy. He had given so few
signs of reason, that a by-word went among his companions that his brain
had been frozen up in a mighty frost which prevailed at St John’s, New
Brunswick, at the period of his birth there, and had never thawed from
that hour. Another by-word represented him as having in his infancy,
through the negligence of a nurse, fallen out of a high window on his
head, which had been heard by responsible witnesses to crack. It is
probable that both these representations were of ex post facto
origin; the young gentleman (whose expressive name was Sparkler) being
monomaniacal in offering marriage to all manner of undesirable young
ladies, and in remarking of every successive young lady to whom he
tendered a matrimonial proposal that she was ‘a doosed fine gal--well
educated too--with no biggodd nonsense about her.’
A son-in-law with these limited talents, might have been a clog upon
another man; but Mr Merdle did not want a son-in-law for himself; he
wanted a son-in-law for Society. Mr Sparkler having been in the Guards,
and being in the habit of frequenting all the races, and all the
lounges, and all the parties, and being well known, Society was
satisfied with its son-in-law. This happy result Mr Merdle would have
considered well attained, though Mr Sparkler had been a more expensive
article. And he did not get Mr Sparkler by any means cheap for
Society, even as it was.
There was a dinner giving in the Harley Street establishment, while
Little Dorrit was stitching at her father’s new shirts by his side that
night; and there were magnates from the Court and magnates from the
City, magnates from the Commons and magnates from the Lords, magnates
from the bench and magnates from the bar, Bishop magnates, Treasury
magnates, Horse Guard magnates, Admiralty magnates,--all the magnates
that keep us going, and sometimes trip us up.
‘I am told,’ said Bishop magnate to Horse Guards, ‘that Mr Merdle has
made another enormous hit. They say a hundred thousand pounds.’
Horse Guards had heard two.
Treasury had heard three.
Bar, handling his persuasive double eye-glass, was by no means clear but
that it might be four. It was one of those happy strokes of calculation
and combination, the result of which it was difficult to estimate. It
was one of those instances of a comprehensive grasp, associated with
habitual luck and characteristic boldness, of which an age presented us
but few. But here was Brother Bellows, who had been in the great Bank
case, and who could probably tell us more. What did Brother Bellows put
this new success at?
Brother Bellows was on his way to make his bow to the bosom, and could
only tell them in passing that he had heard it stated, with great
appearance of truth, as being worth, from first to last, half-a-million
of money.
Admiralty said Mr Merdle was a wonderful man, Treasury said he was a
new power in the country, and would be able to buy up the whole House of
Commons. Bishop said he was glad to think that this wealth flowed into
the coffers of a gentleman who was always disposed to maintain the best
interests of Society.
Mr Merdle himself was usually late on these occasions, as a man still
detained in the clutch of giant enterprises when other men had shaken
off their dwarfs for the day. On this occasion, he was the last arrival.
Treasury said Merdle’s work punished him a little. Bishop said he was
glad to think that this wealth flowed into the coffers of a gentleman
who accepted it with meekness.
Powder! There was so much Powder in waiting, that it flavoured the
dinner. Pulverous particles got into the dishes, and Society’s meats had
a seasoning of first-rate footmen. Mr Merdle took down a countess who
was secluded somewhere in the core of an immense dress, to which she
was in the proportion of the heart to the overgrown cabbage. If so low a
simile may be admitted, the dress went down the staircase like a richly
brocaded Jack in the Green, and nobody knew what sort of small person
carried it.
Society had everything it could want, and could not want, for dinner.
It had everything to look at, and everything to eat, and everything to
drink. It is to be hoped it enjoyed itself; for Mr Merdle’s own share of
the repast might have been paid for with eighteenpence. Mrs Merdle was
magnificent. The chief butler was the next magnificent institution of
the day. He was the stateliest man in the company. He did nothing, but
he looked on as few other men could have done. He was Mr Merdle’s
last gift to Society. Mr Merdle didn’t want him, and was put out of
countenance when the great creature looked at him; but inappeasable
Society would have him--and had got him.
The invisible countess carried out the Green at the usual stage of
the entertainment, and the file of beauty was closed up by the bosom.
Treasury said, Juno. Bishop said, Judith.
Bar fell into discussion with Horse Guards concerning courts-martial.
Brothers Bellows and Bench struck in. Other magnates paired off. Mr
Merdle sat silent, and looked at the table-cloth. Sometimes a magnate
addressed him, to turn the stream of his own particular discussion
towards him; but Mr Merdle seldom gave much attention to it, or did more
than rouse himself from his calculations and pass the wine.
When they rose, so many of the magnates had something to say to Mr
Merdle individually that he held little levees by the sideboard, and
checked them off as they went out at the door.
Treasury hoped he might venture to congratulate one of England’s
world-famed capitalists and merchant-princes (he had turned that
original sentiment in the house a few times, and it came easy to him) on
a new achievement. To extend the triumphs of such men was to extend
the triumphs and resources of the nation; and Treasury felt--he gave Mr
Merdle to understand--patriotic on the subject.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Mr Merdle; ‘thank you. I accept your
congratulations with pride, and I am glad you approve.’
‘Why, I don’t unreservedly approve, my dear Mr Merdle. Because,’
smiling Treasury turned him by the arm towards the sideboard and spoke
banteringly, ‘it never can be worth your while to come among us and help
us.’
Mr Merdle felt honoured by the--
‘No, no,’ said Treasury, ‘that is not the light in which one so
distinguished for practical knowledge and great foresight, can be
expected to regard it. If we should ever be happily enabled, by
accidentally possessing the control over circumstances, to propose
to one so eminent to--to come among us, and give us the weight of his
influence, knowledge, and character, we could only propose it to him as
a duty. In fact, as a duty that he owed to Society.’
Mr Merdle intimated that Society was the apple of his eye, and that its
claims were paramount to every other consideration. Treasury moved
on, and Bar came up.
Bar, with his little insinuating jury droop, and fingering his
persuasive double eye-glass, hoped he might be excused if he mentioned
to one of the greatest converters of the root of all evil into the root
of all good, who had for a long time reflected a shining lustre on the
annals even of our commercial country--if he mentioned, disinterestedly,
and as, what we lawyers called in our pedantic way, amicus curiae, a
fact that had come by accident within his knowledge. He had been
required to look over the title of a very considerable estate in one of
the eastern counties--lying, in fact, for Mr Merdle knew we lawyers
loved to be particular, on the borders of two of the eastern counties.
Now, the title was perfectly sound, and the estate was to be purchased
by one who had the command of--Money (jury droop and persuasive
eye-glass), on remarkably advantageous terms. This had come to Bar’s
knowledge only that day, and it had occurred to him, ‘I shall have the
honour of dining with my esteemed friend Mr Merdle this evening, and,
strictly between ourselves, I will mention the opportunity.’ Such a
purchase would involve not only a great legitimate political influence,
but some half-dozen church presentations of considerable annual value.
Now, that Mr Merdle was already at no loss to discover means of
occupying even his capital, and of fully employing even his active and
vigorous intellect, Bar well knew: but he would venture to suggest that
the question arose in his mind, whether one who had deservedly gained so
high a position and so European a reputation did not owe it--we would
not say to himself, but we would say to Society, to possess himself of
such influences as these; and to exercise them--we would not say for his
own, or for his party’s, but we would say for Society’s--benefit.
Mr Merdle again expressed himself as wholly devoted to that object of
his constant consideration, and Bar took his persuasive eye-glass up the
grand staircase. Bishop then came undesignedly sidling in the direction
of the sideboard.
Surely the goods of this world, it occurred in an accidental way to
Bishop to remark, could scarcely be directed into happier channels than
when they accumulated under the magic touch of the wise and sagacious,
who, while they knew the just value of riches (Bishop tried here to
look as if he were rather poor himself), were aware of their importance,
judiciously governed and rightly distributed, to the welfare of our
brethren at large.
Mr Merdle with humility expressed his conviction that Bishop couldn’t
mean him, and with inconsistency expressed his high gratification in
Bishop’s good opinion.
Bishop then--jauntily stepping out a little with his well-shaped right
leg, as though he said to Mr Merdle ‘don’t mind the apron; a mere form!’
put this case to his good friend:
Whether it had occurred to his good friend, that Society might not
unreasonably hope that one so blest in his undertakings, and whose
example on his pedestal was so influential with it, would shed a little
money in the direction of a mission or so to Africa?
Mr Merdle signifying that the idea should have his best attention,