The famous name of Merdle became, every day, more famous in the land.
Nobody knew that the Merdle of such high renown had ever done any good
to any one, alive or dead, or to any earthly thing; nobody knew that he
had any capacity or utterance of any sort in him, which had ever thrown,
for any creature, the feeblest farthing-candle ray of light on any path
of duty or diversion, pain or pleasure, toil or rest, fact or fancy,
among the multiplicity of paths in the labyrinth trodden by the sons
of Adam; nobody had the smallest reason for supposing the clay of which
this object of worship was made, to be other than the commonest clay,
with as clogged a wick smouldering inside of it as ever kept an image of
humanity from tumbling to pieces.
All people knew (or thought they knew)
that he had made himself immensely rich; and, for that reason alone,
prostrated themselves before him, more degradedly and less excusably
than the darkest savage creeps out of his hole in the ground to
propitiate, in some log or reptile, the Deity of his benighted soul.
Nay, the high priests of this worship had the man before them as
a protest against their meanness. The multitude worshipped on
trust--though always distinctly knowing why--but the officiators at the
altar had the man habitually in their view. They sat at his feasts, and
he sat at theirs.
There was a spectre always attendant on him, saying to
these high priests, 'Are such the signs you trust, and love to honour;
this head, these eyes, this mode of speech, the tone and manner of this
man? You are the levers of the Circumlocution Office, and the rulers of
men. When half-a-dozen of you fall out by the ears, it seems that mother
earth can give birth to no other rulers. Does your qualification lie in
the superior knowledge of men which accepts, courts, and puffs this man?
Or, if you are competent to judge aright the signs I never fail to
show you when he appears among you, is your superior honesty your
qualification?' Two rather ugly questions these, always going about
town with Mr Merdle; and there was a tacit agreement that they must be
stifled.
In Mrs Merdle's absence abroad, Mr Merdle still kept the great
house open for the passage through it of a stream Of visitors. A few of
these took affable possession of the establishment. Three or four ladies
of distinction and liveliness used to say to one another, 'Let us dine
at our dear Merdle's next Thursday. Whom shall we have?' Our dear Merdle
would then receive his instructions; and would sit heavily among
the company at table and wander lumpishly about his drawing-rooms
afterwards, only remarkable for appearing to have nothing to do with the
entertainment beyond being in its way.
The Chief Butler, the Avenging Spirit of this great man's life, relaxed
nothing of his severity. He looked on at these dinners when the bosom
was not there, as he looked on at other dinners when the bosom was
there; and his eye was a basilisk to Mr Merdle. He was a hard man, and
would never bate an ounce of plate or a bottle of wine. He would not
allow a dinner to be given, unless it was up to his mark. He set forth
the table for his own dignity.