Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller

matter with his brain. Five hundred people who sat down to

breakfast entirely uninformed on the whole subject, believed before

they had done breakfast, that they privately and personally knew

Physician to have said to Mr. Merdle, “You must expect to go out,

some day, like the snuff of a candle;” and that they knew Mr.

Merdle to have said to Physician, “A man can die but once.” By

about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, something the matter with the

brain, became the favourite theory against the field; and by twelve

the something had been distinctly ascertained to be “Pressure.”

‘Pressure was so entirely satisfactory to the public mind, and

seemed to make every one so comfortable, that it might have lasted

all day but for Bar’s having taken the real state of the case into

Court at half-past nine. Pressure, however, so far from being

overthrown by the discovery, became a greater favourite than ever.

There was a general moralising upon Pressure, in every street. All

the people who had tried to make money and had not been able to do

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it, said, There you were! You no sooner began to devote yourself

to the pursuit of wealth, than you got Pressure. The idle people

improved the occasion in a similar manner. See, said they, what

you brought yourself to by work, work, work! You persisted in

working, you overdid it, Pressure came on, and you were done for!

This consideration was very potent in many quarters, but nowhere

more so than among the young clerks and partners who had never been

in the slightest danger of overdoing it. These, one and all

declared, quite piously, that they hoped they would never forget

the warning as long as they lived, and that their conduct might be

so regulated as to keep off Pressure, and preserve them, a comfort

to their friends, for many years.’

Just my case – if I had only known it – when I was quietly basking

in the sunshine in my Kentish meadow!

But while I so rested, thankfully recovering every hour, I had

experiences more odd than this. I had experiences of spiritual

conceit, for which, as giving me a new warning against that curse

of mankind, I shall always feel grateful to the supposition that I

was too far gone to protest against playing sick lion to any stray

donkey with an itching hoof. All sorts of people seemed to become

vicariously religious at my expense. I received the most

uncompromising warning that I was a Heathen: on the conclusive

authority of a field preacher, who, like the most of his ignorant

and vain and daring class, could not construct a tolerable sentence

in his native tongue or pen a fair letter. This inspired

individual called me to order roundly, and knew in the freest and

easiest way where I was going to, and what would become of me if I

failed to fashion myself on his bright example, and was on terms of

blasphemous confidence with the Heavenly Host. He was in the

secrets of my heart, and in the lowest soundings of my soul – he! –

and could read the depths of my nature better than his A B C, and

could turn me inside out, like his own clammy glove. But what is

far more extraordinary than this – for such dirty water as this

could alone be drawn from such a shallow and muddy source – I found

from the information of a beneficed clergyman, of whom I never

heard and whom I never saw, that I had not, as I rather supposed I

had, lived a life of some reading, contemplation, and inquiry; that

I had not studied, as I rather supposed I had, to inculcate some

Christian lessons in books; that I had never tried, as I rather

supposed I had, to turn a child or two tenderly towards the

knowledge and love of our Saviour; that I had never had, as I

rather supposed I had had, departed friends, or stood beside open

graves; but that I had lived a life of ‘uninterrupted prosperity,’

and that I needed this ‘check, overmuch,’ and that the way to turn

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