Chapter 21: Mr Merdle's Complaint

Little Dorrit

by Charles Dickens

Upon that establishment of state, the Merdle establishment in
Harley Street, Cavendish Square, there was the shadow of no more
common wall than the fronts of other establishments of state on the
opposite side of the street. Like unexceptionable Society, the
opposing rows of houses in Harley Street were very grim with one
another. Indeed, the mansions and their inhabitants were so much
alike in that respect, that the people were often to be found drawn
up on opposite sides of dinner-tables, in the shade of their own
loftiness, staring at the other side of the way with the dullness of
the houses.

Everybody knows how like the street the two dinner-rows of
people who take their stand by the street will be. The
expressionless uniform twenty houses, all to be knocked at and rung
at in the same form, all approachable by the same dull steps, all
fended off by the same pattern of railing, all with the same
impracticable fire- escapes, the same inconvenient fixtures in their
heads, and everything without exception to be taken at a high
valuation--who has not dined with these? The house so drearily out
of repair, the occasional bow-window, the stuccoed house, the
newly-fronted house, the corner house with nothing but angular rooms,
the house with the blinds always down, the house with the hatchment
always up, the house where the collector has called for one quarter
of an Idea, and found nobody at home--who has not dined with these?
The house that nobody will take, and is to be had a bargain--who does
not know her? The showy house that was taken for life by the
disappointed gentleman, and which does not suit him at all--who is
unacquainted with that haunted habitation?

Harley Street, Cavendish Square, was more than aware of Mr and
Mrs Merdle. Intruders there were in Harley Street, of whom it was
not aware; but Mr and Mrs Merdle it delighted to honour. Society was
aware of Mr and Mrs Merdle. Society had said 'Let us license them;
let us know them.'

Mr Merdle was immensely rich; a man of prodigious enterprise; a
Midas without the ears, who turned all he touched to gold. He was in
everything good, from banking to building. He was in Parliament, of
course. He was in the City, necessarily. He was Chairman of this,
Trustee of that, President of the other. The weightiest of men had
said to projectors, 'Now, what name have you got? Have you got
Merdle?' And, the reply being in the negative, had said, 'Then I
won't look at you.'

This great and fortunate man had provided that extensive bosom
which required so much room to be unfeeling enough in, with a nest of
crimson and gold some fifteen years before. It was not a bosom to
repose upon, but it was a capital bosom to hang jewels upon. Mr
Merdle wanted something to hang jewels upon, and he bought it for the
purpose. Storr and Mortimer might have married on the same
speculation.

Like all his other speculations, it was sound and successful.
The jewels showed to the richest advantage. The bosom moving in
Society with the jewels displayed upon it, attracted general
admiration. Society approving, Mr Merdle was satisfied. He was the
most disinterested of 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, Bishop put another case:

Whether his good friend had at all interested himself in the
proceedings of our Combined Additional Endowed Dignitaries Committee,
and whether it had occurred to him that to shed a little money in
that direction might be a great conception finely executed?

Mr Merdle made a similar reply, and Bishop explained his reason
for inquiring.

Society looked to such men as his good friend to do such things.
It was not that he looked to them, but that Society looked to
them.

just as it was not Our Committee who wanted the Additional
Endowed Dignitaries, but it was Society that was in a state of the
most agonising uneasiness of mind until it got them. He begged to
assure his good friend that he was extremely sensible of his good
friend's regard on all occasions for the best interests of Society;
and he considered that he was at once consulting those interests and
expressing the feeling of Society, when he wished him continued
prosperity, continued increase of riches, and continued things in
general.

Bishop then betook himself up-stairs, and the other magnates
gradually floated up after him until there was no one left below but
Mr Merdle. That gentleman, after looking at the table-cloth until
the soul of the chief butler glowed with a noble resentment, went
slowly up after the rest, and became of no account in the stream of
people on the grand staircase. Mrs Merdle was at home, the best of
the jewels were hung out to be seen, Society got what it came for, Mr
Merdle drank twopennyworth of tea in a corner and got more than he
wanted.

Among the evening magnates was a famous physician, who knew
everybody, and whom everybody knew. On entering at the door, he came
upon Mr Merdle drinking his tea in a corner, and touched him on the
arm.

Mr Merdle started. 'Oh! It's you!'

'Any better to-day?'

'No,' said Mr Merdle, 'I am no better.'

'A pity I didn't see you this morning. Pray come to me
to-morrow, or let me come to you. '

'Well!' he replied. 'I will come to-morrow as I drive by.' Bar
and Bishop had both been bystanders during this short dialogue, and
as Mr Merdle was swept away by the crowd, they made their remarks
upon it to the Physician. Bar said, there was a certain point of
mental strain beyond which no man could go; that the point varied
with various textures of brain and peculiarities of constitution, as
he had had occasion to notice in several of his learned brothers; but
the point of endurance passed by a line's breadth, depression and
dyspepsia ensued. Not to intrude on the sacred mysteries of
medicine, he took it, now (with the jury droop and persuasive
eye-glass), that this was Merdle's case? Bishop said that when he
was a young man, and had fallen for a brief space into the habit of
writing sermons on Saturdays, a habit which all young sons of the
church should sedulously avoid, he had frequently been sensible of a
depression, arising as he supposed from an over- taxed intellect,
upon which the yolk of a new-laid egg, beaten up by the good woman in
whose house he at that time lodged, with a glass of sound sherry,
nutmeg, and powdered sugar acted like a charm. Without presuming to
offer so simple a remedy to the consideration of so profound a
professor of the great healing art, he would venture to inquire
whether the strain, being by way of intricate calculations, the
spirits might not (humanly speaking) be restored to their tone by a
gentle and yet generous stimulant?

'Yes,' said the physician, 'yes, you are both right. But I may
as well tell you that I can find nothing the matter with Mr Merdle.
He has the constitution of a rhinoceros, the digestion of an ostrich,
and the concentration of an oyster. As to nerves, Mr Merdle is of a
cool temperament, and not a sensitive man: is about as invulnerable,
I should say, as Achilles. How such a man should suppose himself
unwell without reason, you may think strange. But I have found
nothing the matter with him. He may have some deep- seated recondite
complaint. I can't say. I only say, that at present I have not
found it out.'

There was no shadow of Mr Merdle's complaint on the bosom now
displaying precious stones in rivalry with many similar superb
jewel-stands; there was no shadow of Mr Merdle's complaint on young
Sparkler hovering about the rooms, monomaniacally seeking any
sufficiently ineligible young lady with no nonsense about her; there
was no shadow of Mr Merdle's complaint on the Barnacles and
Stiltstalkings, of whom whole colonies were present; or on any of the
company. Even on himself, its shadow was faint enough as he moved
about among the throng, receiving homage.

Mr Merdle's complaint. Society and he had so much to do with
one another in all things else, that it is hard to imagine his
complaint, if he had one, being solely his own affair. Had he that
deep-seated recondite complaint, and did any doctor find it out?
Patience. in the meantime, the shadow of the Marshalsea wall was a
real darkening influence, and could be seen on the Dorrit Family at
any stage of the sun's course.