A Tale of Two Cities
that he had never been so intent on his work, and that his hands
had never been so nimble and expert, as in the dusk of the ninth
evening.
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Chapter XXV
AN OPINION
W orn out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry fell asleep at his
post. On the tenth morning of his suspense, he was
startled by the shining of the sun into the room where a
slumber had overtaken him when it was dark night.
He rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when
he had done so, whether he was not still asleep. For, going to the
door of the Doctor’s room and looking in, he perceived that the
shoemaker’s bench and tools were put aside again, and that the
Doctor himself sat reading at the window. He was in his usual
morning dress, and his face (which Mr. Lorry could distinctly see),
though still very pale, was calmly studious and attentive.
Even when he had satisfied himself that he was awake, Mr.
Lorry felt giddily uncertain for some few moments whether the
late shoemaking might not be a disturbed dream of his own; for,
did not his eyes show him his friend before him in his accustomed
clothing and aspect, and employed as usual; and was there any
sign within their range, that the change of which he had so strong
an impression had actually happened?
It was but the inquiry of his first confusion and astonishment,
the answer being obvious. If the impression were not produced by
a real corresponding and sufficient cause, how came he, Jarvis
Lorry, there? How came he to have fallen asleep, in his clothes, on
the sofa in Dr. Manette’s consulting-room, and to be debating
these points outside the Doctor’s bedroom door in the early
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morning.
Within a few minutes, Miss Pross stood whispering at his side.
If he had had any particle of doubt left, her talk would of necessity
have resolved it; but he was by that time clear-headed, and had
none. He advised that they should let the time go by until regular
breakfast-hour, and should then meet the Doctor as if nothing
unusual had occurred. If he appeared to be in his customary state
of mind, Mr. Lorry would then cautiously proceed to seek
direction and guidance from the opinion he had been, in his
anxiety, so anxious to obtain.
Miss Pross, submitting herself to his judgment, the scheme was
worked out with care. Having abundance of time for his usual
methodical toilette, Mr. Lorry presented himself at the breakfast-
hour in his usual white linen, and with his usual neat leg. The
Doctor was summoned in the usual way, and came to breakfast.
So far as it was possible to comprehend him without
overstepping those delicate and gradual approaches which Lorry
felt to be the only safe advance, he at first supposed that his
daughter’s marriage had taken place yesterday. An incidental
allusion, purposely thrown out, to the day of the week, and the day
of the month, set him thinking and counting, and evidently made
him uneasy. In all other respects, however, he was so composedly
himself, that Mr. Lorry determined to have the aid he sought. And
that aid was his own.
Therefore, when the breakfast was done and cleared away, and
he and the Doctor were left together, Mr. Lorry said, feelingly:
“My dear Manette, I am anxious to have your opinion, in
confidence, on a very curious case in which I am deeply
interested; that is to say, it is very curious to me; perhaps, to your
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better information it may be less so.”
Glancing at his hands, which were discoloured by his late work,
the Doctor looked troubled, and listened attentively. He had
already glanced at his hands more than once.
“Dr. Manette,” said Mr. Lorry, touching him affectionately on
the arm, “the case is the case of a particularly dear friend of mine.
Pray give your mind to it, and advise me well for his sake—and
above all, for his daughter’s, my dear Manette.”
“If I understand,” said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, “some
mental shock—?”
“Yes!”
“Be explicit,” said the Doctor. “Spare no detail.”
Mr. Lorry saw that they understood one another, and
proceeded.
“My dear Manette, it is the case of an old and prolonged shock,
of great acuteness and severity to the affections, the feelings, the—
the—as you express it—the mind. The mind. It is the case of a
shock under which the sufferer was borne down, one cannot say
for how long, because I believe he cannot calculate the time
himself, and there are no other means of getting at it. It is the case
of a shock from which the sufferer recovered, by a process that he
cannot trace himself—as I once heard him publicly relate in a
striking manner. It is the case of a shock from which he has
recovered, so completely, as to be a highly intelligent man, capable
of close application of mind, and great exertion of body, and of
constantly making fresh additions to his stock of knowledge,
which was already very large. But, unfortunately, there has been,”
he paused and took a deep breath—“a slight relapse.”
The Doctor, in a low voice, asked, “Of how long duration?”
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“Nine days and nights.”
“How did it show itself? I infer,” glancing at his hands again,
“in the resumption of some old pursuit connected with the
shock?”
“That is the fact.”
“Now, did you ever see him,” asked the Doctor, distinctly and
collectedly, though in the same low voice, “engaged in that pursuit
originally?”
“Once.”
“And when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respects—or
in all respects—as he was then?”
“I think in all respects.”
“You spoke of his daughter. Does his daughter know of the
relapse?”
“No. It has been kept from her, and I hope will always be kept
from her. It is known only to myself, and to one other who may be
trusted.”
The Doctor grasped his hand, and murmured, “That was very
kind. That was very thoughtful!” Mr. Lorry grasped his hand in
return, and neither of the two spoke for a little while.
“Now, my dear Manette,” said Mr. Lorry, at length in his most
considerate and most affectionate way. “I am a mere man of
business, and unfit to cope with such intricate and difficult
matters. I do not possess the kind of information necessary; I do
not possess the kind of intelligence; I want guiding. There is no
man in this world on whom I could so rely for right guidance, as
on you. Tell me, how does this relapse come about? Is there
danger of another? Could a repetition of it be prevented? How
should a repetition of it be treated? How does it come about at all?
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What can I do for my friend? No man ever can have been more
desirous in his heart to serve a friend, than I am to serve mine, if I
knew how. But I don’t know how to originate, in such a case. If
your sagacity, knowledge, and experience, could put me on the
right track, I might be able to do so much; unenlightened and
undirected, I can do so little. Pray discuss it with me; pray enable
me to see it a little more clearly, and teach me how to be a little
more useful.”
Doctor Manette sat meditating after these earnest words were
spoken, and Mr. Lorry did not press him.
“I think it probable,” said the Doctor, breaking silence with an
effort, “that the relapse you have described, my dear friend, was
not quite unforeseen by its subject.”
“Was it dreaded by him?” Mr. Lorry ventured to ask.
“Very much.” He said it with an involuntary shudder.
“You have no idea how such an apprehension weighs on the
sufferer’s mind, and how difficult—how almost impossible—it is,
for him to force himself to utter a word upon the topic that
oppresses him.”
“Would he,” asked Mr. Lorry, “be sensibly relieved if he could
prevail upon himself to impart that secret brooding to any one,
when it is on him?”
“I think so. But it is, as I told you, next to impossible. I even
believe it—in some cases—to be quite impossible.”
“Now,” said Mr. Lorry, gently laying his hand on the Doctor’s
arm again, after a short silence on both sides, “to what would you
refer this attack?”
“I believe,” returned Doctor Manette, “that there had been a
strong and extraordinary revival of the train of thought and
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remembrance that was the first cause of the malady. Some intense
associations of the most distressing nature were vividly recalled, I
think. It is probable that there had long been a dread lurking in
his mind, that those associations would be recalled—say, under
certain circumstances—say, on a particular occasion. He tried to
prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare himself
made him less able to bear it.”
“Would he remember what took place in the relapse?” asked
Mr. Lorry with natural hesitation.
The Doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head,
and answered, in a low voice, “Not at all.”
“Now, as to the future,” hinted Mr. Lorry.
“As to the future,” said the Doctor, recovering firmness, “I
should have great hope. As it pleased Heaven in its mercy to
restore him so soon, I should have great hope. He, yielding under
the pressure of a complicated something, long dreaded and long
vaguely foreseen and contended against, and recovering after the
cloud had burst and passed, I should hope the worst was over.”
“Well, well! That’s good comfort. I am thankful!” said Mr.
Lorry.
“I am thankful!” repeated the Doctor, bending his head with
reverence.
“There are two other points,” said Mr. Lorry, “on which I am
anxious to be instructed. I may go on?”
“You cannot do your friend a better service.” The Doctor gave
him his hand.
“To the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusually
energetic; he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition
of professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to
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many things. Now, does he do too much?”
“I think not. It may be the character of his mind, to be always in
singular need of occupation. That may be, in part, natural to it; in
part, the result of affliction. The less it was occupied with healthy
things, the more it would be in danger of turning in the unhealthy
direction. He may have observed himself, and made the
discovery.”
“You are sure that he is not under too great a strain?”
“I think I am quite sure of it.”
“My dear Manette, if he were overworked now—”
“My dear Lorry, I doubt if that could easily be. There has been
a violent stress in one direction, and it needs a counterweight.”
“Excuse me, as a persistent man of business. Assuming, for a
moment, that he was overworked; it would show itself in some
renewal of this disorder?”
“I do not think so. I do not think,” said Doctor Manette with the
firmness of self-conviction, “that anything but the one train of
association would renew it. I think that, henceforth, nothing but
some extraordinary jarring of that chord could renew it. After
what has happened, and after his recovery, I find it difficult to
imagine any such violent sounding of that string again. I trust, and
I almost believe, that the circumstances likely to renew it are
exhausted.”
He spoke with the diffidence of a man who knew how slight a
thing would overset the delicate organisation of the mind, and yet
with the confidence of a man who had slowly won his assurance
out of personal endurance and distress. It was not for his friend to
abate that confidence. He professed himself more relieved and
encouraged than he really was, and approached his second and
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last point. He felt it to be the most difficult of all; but,
remembering his old Sunday morning conversation with Miss
Pross, and remembering what he had seen in the last nine days, he
knew that he must face it.
“The occupation resumed under the influence of this passing
affliction so happily recovered from,” said Mr. Lorry, clearing his
throat, “we will call Blacksmith’s work, Blacksmith’s work. We will
say, to put a case and for the sake of illustration, that he had been
used, in his bad time, to work at a little forge. We will say that he
was unexpectedly found at his forge again. Is it not a pity that he
should keep it by him?”
The Doctor shaded his forehead with his hand, and beat his foot
nervously on the ground.
“You do not find it easy to advise me?” said Mr. Lorry. “I quite
understand it to be a nice question. And yet I think—” And there
he shook his head, and stopped.
“You see,” said Doctor Manette, turning to him after an uneasy
pause, “it is very hard to explain, consistently, the innermost
workings of this poor man’s mind. He once yearned so frightfully
for that occupation, and it was so welcome when it came; no doubt
it relieved his pain so much, by substituting the perplexity of the
fingers for the perplexity of the brain, and by substituting, as he
became more practised, the ingenuity of the hands, for the
ingenuity of the mental torture; that he has never been able to
bear the thought of putting it quite out of his reach. Even now,
when I believe he is more hopeful of himself than he has ever
been, and even speaks of himself with a kind of confidence, the
idea that he might need that old employment, and not find it, gives
him a sudden sense of terror, like that which one may fancy
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strikes to the heart of a lost child.”
He looked like his allusion as he raised his eyes to Mr. Lorry’s
face.
“But may not—mind! I ask for information, as a plodding man
