Chapter 11
CHAPTER V. The Jackal. Those were drinking days, and most men drank hard. So very great is the improvement time has brought about in such habits that a moderate statement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow
in the course of a night without any detriment to his reputation as a perfect gentleman would seem in these days a ridiculous exaggeration. The learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any other learned profession in its bacchanalian propensities. Neither was Mr. Stryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative
practice behind his compiers in this particular any more than in the drier parts of the legal race. A favorite at the Old Bailey and eke at the Sessions, Mr. Stryver had begun cautiously to hew away the lowest staves of the ladder on which he mounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favorite,
specially to their longing arms, and shouldering itself towards the visage of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of King's Bench, the florid countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen bursting out of the bed of wigs like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from among a rank garden full of flaring companions. It had once been noted
at the bar that while Mr. Stryver was a glib man and an unscrupulous and a ready and a bold, he had not that faculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements which is among the most striking and necessary of the Advocate's accomplishments. But a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The more business he got, the greater his
power seemed to grow of getting at its pith and marrow, and however late at night he sat carousing with Sidney Carton, he always had his points at his fingers' ends in the morning. Sidney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver's great ally. What the two drank together between Hilary Turm and Michaelmas
might have floated a king ship. Stryver never had a case in hand anywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling of the court. They went the same circuit, and even there they prolonged their usual orgies later into the night, and Carton was rumoured to be seen at broad day going home stealthily and unsteadily
to his lodgings like a dissipated cat. At last it began to get about, among such as were interested in the matter, that although Sidney Carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity. "'Ten o'clock, sir,' said the man at the tavern, whom he had charged
to wake him. "'Ten o'clock, sir.' "'What's the matter?' "'Ten o'clock, sir.' "'What do you mean? Ten o'clock at night?' "'Yes, sir. Your honor told me to call you.'
"'Oh, I remember. Very well, very well.' After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man dexterously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five minutes, he got up, tossed his hat on, and walked out. He turned into the temple, and, having revived himself by twice pacing the pavements of king's bench
walks and paper buildings, turned into the Stryver chambers. The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had gone home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his slippers on and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his greater ease. He had that rather wild-strained seared marking about the eyes, which
may be observed in all free-livers of his class, from the portraits of Jefferies downwards, and which can be traced under various disguises of art through the portraits of every drinking-age. "'You're a little late, memory,' said Mr. Stryver. "'About the usual time. It may be a quarter of an hour late.'
They went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with papers where there was a blazing fire. A kettle steamed upon the hob, and in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone with plenty of wine upon it, and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and lemons. "'You have had your bottle, I perceive, Sidney. Two to-night, I think.
I have been drinking with the day's client, or seeing him dine, it's all one. It was a rare point, Sidney, that you brought to bear upon the identification. How did you come by it? When did it strike you?' "'I thought he was a rather handsome fellow, and I thought I should have been much the same sort of fellow if I had had any luck.'
Mr. Stryver laughed till he shook his precocious paunch. "'You and your luck, Sidney. Get to work, get to work.' Suddenly enough the jackal loosened his dress and went into an adjoining room and came back with a large jug of cold water, a basin, and a towel or two. Steeping the towels in the water and partially wringing them
out, he folded them on his head in a manner hideous to behold, sat down at the table, and said, "'Now I am ready.' "'Not much boiling down to be done to-night, memory,' said Mr. Stryver gaily as he looked among his papers.
"'How much?' "'Only two sets of them. I'll give you the worst first.' "'There they are, Sidney. Fire away.' The lion then composed himself on his back on a sofa on one side of the drinking-table, while the jackal sat at his own paper-bestrown table
proper on the other side of it, with the bottles and glasses ready to his hand. Both resorted to the drinking-table without stint, but each in a different way, the lion for the most part reclining with his hands in his waistband, looking at the fire, or occasionally flirting with some lighter document, the jackal with knitted brows and intent face so deep
in his task that his eyes did not even follow the hand he stretched out for his glass, which often groped about for a minute or more before it found the glass for his lips. Two or three times the matter in hand became so naughty that the jackal found it imperative on him to get up and steep his towels anew. From these pilgrimages to the jug and basin
he returned with such eccentricities of damp head-gare as no words can describe which were made the more ludicrous by his anxious gravity. At length the jackal had got together a compact repast for the lion and proceeded to offer it to him. The lion took it with care and caution, his selections from it, and his remarks upon it, and the jackal
assisted both. When the repast was finally discussed the lion put his hands in his waistband again and lay down to meditate. The jackal then invigorated himself with a bumper for his throttle and a fresh application in his head, and applied himself to the collection of a second meal. This was administered to the lion in the same manner, and
was not disposed of until the clocks struck three in the morning. And now we have done, Sidney. Fill a bumper of punch,' said Mr. Stryver. The jackal removed the towels from his head, which had been steaming again, shook himself, yawned, shivered, and complied.
"'You were very sound, Sidney, in the matter of those crown witnesses to-day. Every question told.' "'I always am sound, am I not? I don't gainsay it. What has roughened your temper? Put some punch to it and smooth it again.' With a deprecatory grunt the jackal again complied.
"'The old Sidney Carton of old Shrewsbury School,' said Stryver, nodding his head over him as he reviewed him in the present and the past. The old Seesaw, Sidney, up one minute and down the next, now in spirits and now in despondency. Ah! return the other side, yes, the same Sidney with the same luck. Even then I did exercises for other
boys and seldom did my own. And why not? God knows it was my way, I suppose.' He sat with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out before him, looking at the fire. "'Carton,' said his friend, squaring himself at him with a bullying
air, as if the fire-grade had been the furnace in which sustained endeavour was forged, and the one delicate thing to be done for the old Sidney Carton of old Shrewsbury School was to shoulder him into it. Your way is, and always was, a lame way. You summon no energy and purpose. Look at me!'
"'Oh, botheration,' returned Sidney, with a lighter and more good humoured length. Don't you be moral.' "'How have I done what I have done?' said Stryver. "'How do I do what I do?' "'Partly through paying me to help you, I suppose, but it's not worth
your while to apostrophize me or the air about it. What you want to do you do. You were always in the front rank, and I was always behind. I had to get into the front rank. I was not born there, was I?' "'I was not present at the ceremony, but my opinion is you were,' said Carton. At this he laughed again, and they both laughed.
"'Before Shrewsbury, and at Shrewsbury, and ever since Shrewsbury,' pursued Carton, you have fallen into your rank, and I have fallen into mine. Even when we were fellow students in the student quarter of Paris, picking up French and French law and other French crumbs that we didn't get much good of, you were always somewhere, and I was always
nowhere. And whose fault was that? Upon my soul I am not sure that it was not yours. You were always driving and writhing and shouldering and passing to that restless degree that I had no chance for my life but in rust and repose. It's a gloomy thing, however, to talk about one's own past with the day breaking. Turn me in some other direction before I go.'
"'Well, then, pledge me to the pretty witness,' said Stryver, holding up his glass. "'Are you turned in a pleasant direction?' Apparently not, for he became gloomy again. "'Pretty witness,' he mustered, looking down into his glass.
"'I have had enough of witnesses to-day and to-night. Who's your pretty witness? The picturesque doctor's daughter, Miss Manette. She pretty, is she not? No. Why, madden life, she was the admiration of the whole court. Rot the admiration of the whole court! Who made the old Bailey a judge of beauty? She was a golden-haired doll.'
"'Do you know, Cindy,' said Mr. Stryver, looking at her with sharp eyes and slowly drawing a hand across his floored face, "'do you know I rather thought of the time that you sympathized with the golden-haired doll and were quick to see what happened to the golden-haired doll?' "'Quick to see what happened? If a girl, doll or no doll, swoons within
a yard or two of a man's nose, he can see it without a perspective glass. I pledge you, but I deny the beauty. And now I'll have no more drink. I'll get to bed.' When his host followed him out onto the staircase with a candle to light him down the stairs, the day was coldly looking in through its grimy
windows. When he got out of the house the air was cold and sad, the dull sky overcast, the river dark and dim, the whole scene like a lifeless desert. And wreaths of dust were spinning round and round before the morning blast, as if the desert sand had risen far away and the first spray of it in its advance had begun to overwhelm the city. Waste forces
within him and a desert all around, this man stood still on his way across a silent terrace and saw for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of honorable ambition, self-denial and perseverance. In the fair city of this vision there were airy galleries from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of
love hung ripening, waters of hope that sparkled in his sight. A moment and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses he threw himself down at his clothes on a neglected bed and its pillow was wet with wasted tears. Sadly, sadly the sun rose. It rose upon no sadder sight than the man of
good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
