Chapter: 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.

 The Merdles are the top of the social heap. Mr. Merdle is rolling in dough. He has bought himself everything Society requires: a wife with a huge rack for jewelry display, a stepson who is dumb but popular, a fancy mansion, and the world's most impressive butler. Merdle throws fancy dinner parties, which he barely attends and doesn't seem to enjoy very much. His guests brag and argue over how much money he has made, and when he finally shows up, they hit him up for donations or investments. The last guest at the Merdle shindig is Physician. It seems Mr. Merdle thinks there's something wrong with him and has been going to see the doctor. The doctor can't figure out what, if anything, is the matter. The other guests think maybe it's stress-related. The narrator hints that we'll see what's wrong with Merdle soon enough.

