Book II - Chapter III. A Disappointment

by Charles Dickens

　　Mr. Attorney-General had to inform the jury, that the prisoner beforethem, though young in years, was old in the treasonable practiceswhich claimed the forfeit of his life. That this correspondence withthe public enemy was not a correspondence of to-day, or of yesterday,or even of last year, or of the year before. That, it was certainthe prisoner had, for longer than that, been in the habit of passingand repassing between France and England, on secret business of whichhe could give no honest account. That, if it were in the nature oftraitorous ways to thrive (which happily it never was), the realwickedness and guilt of his business might have remained undiscovered.That Providence, however, had put it into the heart of a person whowas beyond fear and beyond reproach, to ferret out the nature of theprisoner's schemes, and, struck with horror, to disclose them to hisMajesty's Chief Secretary of State and most honourable Privy Council.That, this patriot would be produced before them. That, his positionand attitude were, on the whole, sublime. That, he had been theprisoner's friend, but, at once in an auspicious and an evil hourdetecting his infamy, had resolved to immolate the traitor he couldno longer cherish in his bosom, on the sacred altar of his country.That, if statues were decreed in Britain, as in ancient Greece andRome, to public benefactors, this shining citizen would assuredlyhave had one. That, as they were not so decreed, he probably wouldnot have one. That, Virtue, as had been observed by the poets (inmany passages which he well knew the jury would have, word for word,at the tips of their tongues; whereat the jury's countenancesdisplayed a guilty consciousness that they knew nothing about thepassages), was in a manner contagious; more especially the brightvirtue known as patriotism, or love of country. That, the loftyexample of this immaculate and unimpeachable witness for the Crown,to refer to whom however unworthily was an honour, had communicateditself to the prisoner's servant, and had engendered in him a holydetermination to examine his master's table-drawers and pockets, andsecrete his papers. That, he (Mr. Attorney-General) was prepared tohear some disparagement attempted of this admirable servant; but that,in a general way, he preferred him to his (Mr. Attorney-General's)brothers and sisters, and honoured him more than his(Mr. Attorney-General's) father and mother. That, he called withconfidence on the jury to come and do likewise. That, the evidenceof these two witnesses, coupled with the documents of theirdiscovering that would be produced, would show the prisoner to havebeen furnished with lists of his Majesty's forces, and of theirdisposition and preparation, both by sea and land, and would leave nodoubt that he had habitually conveyed such information to a hostilepower. That, these lists could not be proved to be in the prisoner'shandwriting; but that it was all the same; that, indeed, it wasrather the better for the prosecution, as showing the prisoner to beartful in his precautions. That, the proof would go back five years,and would show the prisoner already engaged in these perniciousmissions, within a few weeks before the date of the very first actionfought between the British troops and the Americans. That, for thesereasons, the jury, being a loyal jury (as he knew they were), andbeing a responsible jury (as they knew they were), must positivelyfind the prisoner Guilty, and make an end of him, whether they likedit or not. That, they never could lay their heads upon their pillows;that, they never could tolerate the idea of their wives laying theirheads upon their pillows; that, they never could endure the notion oftheir children laying their heads upon their pillows; in short, thatthere never more could be, for them or theirs, any laying of headsupon pillows at all, unless the prisoner's head was taken off. Thathead Mr. Attorney-General concluded by demanding of them, in the nameof everything he could think of with a round turn in it, and on thefaith of his solemn asseveration that he already considered theprisoner as good as dead and gone.

　　When the Attorney-General ceased, a buzz arose in the court as ifa cloud of great blue-flies were swarming about the prisoner, inanticipation of what he was soon to become. When toned down again,the unimpeachable patriot appeared in the witness-box.

　　Mr. Solicitor-General then, following his leader's lead, examinedthe patriot: John Barsad, gentleman, by name. The story of his puresoul was exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had described it to be--perhaps, if it had a fault, a little too exactly. Having releasedhis noble bosom of its burden, he would have modestly withdrawnhimself, but that the wigged gentleman with the papers before him,sitting not far from Mr. Lorry, begged to ask him a few questions.The wigged gentleman sitting opposite, still looking at the ceilingof the court.

　　Had he ever been a spy himself? No, he scorned the base insinuation.What did he live upon? His property. Where was his property?He didn't precisely remember where it was. What was it? No businessof anybody's. Had he inherited it? Yes, he had. From whom? Distantrelation. Very distant? Rather. Ever been in prison? Certainly not.Never in a debtors' prison? Didn't see what that had to do with it.Never in a debtors' prison?--Come, once again. Never? Yes. How manytimes? Two or three times. Not five or six? Perhaps. Of what profession?Gentleman. Ever been kicked? Might have been. Frequently? No.Ever kicked downstairs? Decidedly not; once received a kick on thetop of a staircase, and fell downstairs of his own accord. Kicked onthat occasion for cheating at dice? Something to that effect was saidby the intoxicated liar who committed the assault, but it was nottrue. Swear it was not true? Positively. Ever live by cheating atplay? Never. Ever live by play? Not more than other gentlemen do.Ever borrow money of the prisoner? Yes. Ever pay him? No. Was notthis intimacy with the prisoner, in reality a very slight one, forcedupon the prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets? No. Sure he sawthe prisoner with these lists? Certain. Knew no more about thelists? No. Had not procured them himself, for instance? No. Expectto get anything by this evidence? No. Not in regular government payand employment, to lay traps? Oh dear no. Or to do anything? Oh dear no.Swear that? Over and over again. No motives but motives of sheer patriotism?None whatever.

　　The virtuous servant, Roger Cly, swore his way through the case at agreat rate. He had taken service with the prisoner, in good faithand simplicity, four years ago. He had asked the prisoner, aboardthe Calais packet, if he wanted a handy fellow, and the prisoner hadengaged him. He had not asked the prisoner to take the handy fellowas an act of charity--never thought of such a thing. He began tohave suspicions of the prisoner, and to keep an eye upon him, soonafterwards. In arranging his clothes, while travelling, he had seensimilar lists to these in the prisoner's pockets, over and over again.He had taken these lists from the drawer of the prisoner's desk.He had not put them there first. He had seen the prisoner show theseidentical lists to French gentlemen at Calais, and similar lists toFrench gentlemen, both at Calais and Boulogne. He loved his country,and couldn't bear it, and had given information. He had never beensuspected of stealing a silver tea-pot; he had been maligned respectinga mustard-pot, but it turned out to be only a plated one. He hadknown the last witness seven or eight years; that was merely acoincidence. He didn't call it a particularly curious coincidence;most coincidences were curious. Neither did he call it a curiouscoincidence that true patriotism was his only motive too. He was atrue Briton, and hoped there were many like him.

　　The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr. Jarvis Lorry.

　　"Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson's bank?"

　　"I am."

　　"On a certain Friday night in November one thousand seven hundred andseventy-five, did business occasion you to travel between London andDover by the mail?"

　　"It did."

　　"Were there any other passengers in the mail?"

　　"Two."

　　"Did they alight on the road in the course of the night?"

　　"They did."

　　"Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one of those two passengers?"

　　"I cannot undertake to say that he was."

　　"Does he resemble either of these two passengers?"

　　"Both were so wrapped up, and the night was so dark, and we were allso reserved, that I cannot undertake to say even that."

　　"Mr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner. Supposing him wrapped upas those two passengers were, is there anything in his bulk andstature to render it unlikely that he was one of them?"

　　"No."

　　"You will not swear, Mr. Lorry, that he was not one of them?"

　　"No."

　　"So at least you say he may have been one of them?"

　　"Yes. Except that I remember them both to have been--like myself--timorous of highwaymen, and the prisoner has not a timorous air."

　　"Did you ever see a counterfeit of timidity, Mr. Lorry?"

　　"I certainly have seen that."

　　"Mr. Lorry, look once more upon the prisoner. Have you seen him,to your certain knowledge, before?"

　　"I have."

　　"When?"

　　"I was returning from France a few days afterwards, and, at Calais,the prisoner came on board the packet-ship in which I returned, andmade the voyage with me."

　　"At what hour did he come on board?"

　　"At a little after midnight."

　　"In the dead of the night. Was he the only passenger who came onboard at that untimely hour?"

　　"He happened to be the only one."

　　"Never mind about `happening,' Mr. Lorry. He was the only passengerwho came on board in the dead of the night?"

　　"He was."

　　"Were you travelling alone, Mr. Lorry, or with any companion?"

　　"With two companions. A gentleman and lady. They are here."

　　"They are here. Had you any conversation with the prisoner?"

　　"Hardly any. The weather was stormy, and the passage long and rough,and I lay on a sofa, almost from shore to shore."

　　"Miss Manette!"

　　The young lady, to whom all eyes had been turned before, and were nowturned again, stood up where she had sat. Her father rose with her,and kept her hand drawn through his arm.

　　"Miss Manette, look upon the prisoner."

　　To be confronted with such pity, and such earnest youth and beauty,was far more trying to the accused than to be confronted with all thecrowd. Standing, as it were, apart with her on the edge of his grave,not all the staring curiosity that looked on, could, for the moment,nerve him to remain quite still. His hurried right hand parcelledout the herbs before him into imaginary beds of flowers in a garden;and his efforts to control and steady his breathing shook the lipsfrom which the colour rushed to his heart. The buzz of the greatflies was loud again.

　　"Miss Manette, have you seen the prisoner before?"

　　"Yes, sir."

　　"Where?"

　　"On board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on thesame occasion."

　　"You are the young lady just now referred to?"

　　"O! most unhappily, I am!"

　　The plaintive tone of her compassion merged into the less musicalvoice of the Judge, as he said something fiercely:"Answer the questions put to you, and make no remark upon them."

　　"Miss Manette, had you any conversation with the prisoner on thatpassage across the Channel?"

　　"Yes, sir."

　　"Recall it."

　　In the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: "When thegentleman came on board--"

　　"Do you mean the prisoner?" inquired the Judge, knitting his brows.

　　"Yes, my Lord."

　　"Then say the prisoner."

　　"When the prisoner came on board, he noticed that my father," turningher eyes lovingly to him as he stood beside her, "was much fatiguedand in a very weak state of health. My father was so reduced that Iwas afraid to take him out of the air, and I had made a bed for himon the deck near the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at his sideto take care of him. There were no other passengers that night, butwe four. The prisoner was so good as to beg permission to advise mehow I could shelter my father from the wind and weather, better thanI had done. I had not known how to do it well, not understanding howthe wind would set when we were out of the harbour. He did it for me.He expressed great gentleness and kindness for my father's state, andI am sure he felt it. That was the manner of our beginning to speaktogether."

　　"Let me interrupt you for a moment. Had he come on board alone?"

　　"No."

　　"How many were with him?"

　　"Two French gentlemen."

　　"Had they conferred together?"

　　"They had conferred together until the last moment, when it wasnecessary for the French gentlemen to be landed in their boat."

　　"Had any papers been handed about among them, similar to these lists?"

　　"Some papers had been handed about among them, but I don't know whatpapers."

　　"Like these in shape and size?"

　　"Possibly, but indeed I don't know, although they stood whisperingvery near to me: because they stood at the top of the cabin steps tohave the light of the lamp that was hanging there; it was a dull lamp,and they spoke very low, and I did not hear what they said, and sawonly that they looked at papers."

　　"Now, to the prisoner's conversation, Miss Manette."

　　"The prisoner was as open in his confidence with me--which arose outof my helpless situation--as he was kind, and good, and useful to myfather. I hope," bursting into tears, "I may not repay him by doinghim harm to-day."

　　Buzzing from the blue-flies.

　　"Miss Manette, if the prisoner does not perfectly understand that yougive the evidence which it is your duty to give--which you must give--and which you cannot escape from giving--with great unwillingness,he is the only person present in that condition. Please to go on."

　　"He told me that he was travelling on business of a delicate anddifficult nature, which might get people into trouble, and that hewas therefore travelling under an assumed name. He said that thisbusiness had, within a few days, taken him to France, and might,at intervals, take him backwards and forwards between France andEngland for a long time to come."

　　"Did he say anything about America, Miss Manette? Be particular."

　　"He tried to explain to me how that quarrel had arisen, and he said that,so far as he could judge, it was a wrong and foolish one on England'spart. He added, in a jesting way, that perhaps George Washingtonmight gain almost as great a name in history as George the Third.But there was no harm in his way of saying this: it was said laughingly,and to beguile the time."

　　Any strongly marked expression of face on the part of a chief actorin a scene of great interest to whom many eyes are directed, will beunconsciously imitated by the spectators. Her forehead was painfullyanxious and intent as she gave this evidence, and, in the pauses whenshe stopped for the Judge to write it down, watched its effect uponthe counsel for and against. Among the lookers-on there was the sameexpression in all quarters of the court; insomuch, that a greatmajority of the foreheads there, might have been mirrors reflectingthe witness, when the Judge looked up from his notes to glare at thattremendous heresy about George Washington.

　　Mr. Attorney-General now signified to my Lord, that he deemed itnecessary, as a matter of precaution and form, to call the younglady's father, Doctor Manette. Who was called accordingly.

　　"Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner. Have you ever seen him before?"

　　"Once. When he caged at my lodgings in London. Some three years, orthree years and a half ago."

　　"Can you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet,or speak to his conversation with your daughter?"

　　"Sir, I can do neither."

　　"Is there any particular and special reason for your being unable todo either?"

　　He answered, in a low voice, "There is."

　　"Has it been your misfortune to undergo a long imprisonment, withouttrial, or even accusation, in your native country, Doctor Manette?"

　　He answered, in a tone that went to every heart, "A long imprisonment."

　　"Were you newly released on the occasion in question?"

　　"They tell me so."

　　"Have you no remembrance of the occasion?"

　　"None. My mind is a blank, from some time--I cannot even say what time--when I employed myself, in my captivity, in making shoes,to the time when I found myself living in London with my deardaughter here. She had become familiar to me, when a gracious Godrestored my faculties; but, I am quite unable even to say how shehad become familiar. I have no remembrance of the process."

　　Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the father and daughter sat down together.

　　A singular circumstance then arose in the case. The object in handbeing to show that the prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotteruntracked, in the Dover mail on that Friday night in November fiveyears ago, and got out of the mail in the night, as a blind, at aplace where he did not remain, but from which he travelled back somedozen miles or more, to a garrison and dockyard, and there collectedinformation; a witness was called to identify him as having been atthe precise time required, in the coffee-room of an hotel in thatgarrison-and-dockyard town, waiting for another person. The prisoner'scounsel was cross-examining this witness with no result, except thathe had never seen the prisoner on any other occasion, when the wiggedgentleman who had all this time been looking at the ceiling of thecourt, wrote a word or two on a little piece of paper, screwed it up,and tossed it to him. Opening this piece of paper in the next pause,the counsel looked with great attention and curiosity at the prisoner.

　　"You say again you are quite sure that it was the prisoner?"

　　The witness was quite sure.

　　"Did you ever see anybody very like the prisoner?"

　　Not so like (the witness said) as that he could be mistaken.

　　"Look well upon that gentleman, my learned friend there," pointing tohim who had tossed the paper over, "and then look well upon the prisoner.How say you? Are they very like each other?"

　　Allowing for my learned friend's appearance being careless andslovenly if not debauched, they were sufficiently like each other tosurprise, not only the witness, but everybody present, when they werethus brought into comparison. My Lord being prayed to bid my learnedfriend lay aside his wig, and giving no very gracious consent, thelikeness became much more remarkable. My Lord inquired of Mr. Stryver(the prisoner's counsel), whether they were next to try Mr. Carton(name of my learned friend) for treason? But, Mr. Stryver replied tomy Lord, no; but he would ask the witness to tell him whether whathappened once, might happen twice; whether he would have been soconfident if he had seen this illustration of his rashness sooner,whether he would be so confident, having seen it; and more.The upshot of which, was, to smash this witness like a crockery vessel,and shiver his part of the case to useless lumber.

　　Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust off hisfingers in his following of the evidence. He had now to attend whileMr. Stryver fitted the prisoner's case on the jury, like a compactsuit of clothes; showing them how the patriot, Barsad, was a hired spyand traitor, an unblushing trafficker in blood, and one of the greatestscoundrels upon earth since accursed Judas--which he certainly didlook rather like. How the virtuous servant, Cly, was his friend andpartner, and was worthy to be; how the watchful eyes of those forgersand false swearers had rested on the prisoner as a victim, becausesome family affairs in France, he being of French extraction, didrequire his making those passages across the Channel--though whatthose affairs were, a consideration for others who were near and dearto him, forbade him, even for his life, to disclose. How the evidencethat had been warped and wrested from the young lady, whose anguish ingiving it they had witnessed, came to nothing, involving the merelittle innocent gallantries and politenesses likely to pass betweenany young gentleman and young lady so thrown together;--with theexception of that reference to George Washington, which was altogethertoo extravagant and impossible to be regarded in any other light thanas a monstrous joke. How it would be a weakness in the government tobreak down in this attempt to practise for popularity on the lowestnational antipathies and fears, and therefore Mr. Attorney-General hadmade the most of it; how, nevertheless, it rested upon nothing, savethat vile and infamous character of evidence too often disfiguringsuch cases, and of which the State Trials of this country were full.But, there my Lord interposed (with as grave a face as if it had notbeen true), saying that he could not sit upon that Bench and sufferthose allusions.

　　Mr. Stryver then called his few witnesses, and Mr. Cruncher had nextto attend while Mr. Attorney-General turned the whole suit of clothesMr. Stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out; showing how Barsad andCly were even a hundred times better than he had thought them, and theprisoner a hundred times worse. Lastly, came my Lord himself, turningthe suit of clothes, now inside out, now outside in, but on the wholedecidedly trimming and shaping them into grave-clothes for theprisoner.

　　And now, the jury turned to consider, and the great flies swarmed again.

　　Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the court,changed neither his place nor his attitude, even in this excitement.While his teamed friend, Mr. Stryver, massing his papers before him,whispered with those who sat near, and from time to time glancedanxiously at the jury; while all the spectators moved more or less,and grouped themselves anew; while even my Lord himself arose from hisseat, and slowly paced up and down his platform, not unattended by asuspicion in the minds of the audience that his state was feverish;this one man sat leaning back, with his torn gown half off him, hisuntidy wig put on just as it had happened to fight on his head afterits removal, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ceiling asthey had been all day. Something especially reckless in his demeanour,not only gave him a disreputable look, but so diminished the strongresemblance he undoubtedly bore to the prisoner (which his momentaryearnestness, when they were compared together, had strengthened),that many of the lookers-on, taking note of him now, said to oneanother they would hardly have thought the two were so alike.Mr. Cruncher made the observation to his next neighbour, and added,"I'd hold half a guinea that he don't get no law-work to do.Don't look like the sort of one to get any, do he?"

　　Yet, this Mr. Carton took in more of the details of the scene than heappeared to take in; for now, when Miss Manette's head dropped uponher father's breast, he was the first to see it, and to say audibly:"Officer! look to that young lady. Help the gentleman to take her out.Don't you see she will fall!"

　　There was much commiseration for her as she was removed, and muchsympathy with her father. It had evidently been a great distress tohim, to have the days of his imprisonment recalled. He had shownstrong internal agitation when he was questioned, and that ponderingor brooding look which made him old, had been upon him, like a heavycloud, ever since. As he passed out, the jury, who had turned backand paused a moment, spoke, through their foreman.

　　They were not agreed, and wished to retire. My Lord (perhaps withGeorge Washington on his mind) showed some surprise that they were notagreed, but signified his pleasure that they should retire under watchand ward, and retired himself. The trial had lasted all day, and thelamps in the court were now being lighted. It began to be rumouredthat the jury would be out a long while. The spectators dropped offto get refreshment, and the prisoner withdrew to the back of the dock,and sat down.

　　Mr. Lorry, who had gone out when the young lady and her father went out,now reappeared, and beckoned to Jerry: who, in the slackened interest,could easily get near him.

　　"Jerry, if you wish to take something to eat, you can. But, keep inthe way. You will be sure to hear when the jury come in. Don't be amoment behind them, for I want you to take the verdict back to the bank.You are the quickest messenger I know, and will get to Temple Bar longbefore I can."

　　Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and he knuckled it inacknowedgment of this communication and a shilling. Mr. Carton cameup at the moment, and touched Mr. Lorry on the arm.

　　"How is the young lady?"

　　"She is greatly distressed; but her father is comforting her, and shefeels the better for being out of court."

　　"I'll tell the prisoner so. It won't do for a respectable bankgentleman like you, to be seen speaking to him publicly, you know."

　　Mr. Lorry reddened as if he were conscious of having debated the pointin his mind, and Mr. Carton made his way to the outside of the bar.The way out of court lay in that direction, and Jerry followed him,all eyes, ears, and spikes.

　　"Mr. Darnay!"

　　The prisoner came forward directly.

　　"You will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, Miss Manette.She will do very well. You have seen the worst of her agitation."

　　"I am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. Could you tell herso for me, with my fervent acknowledgments?"

　　"Yes, I could. I will, if you ask it."

　　Mr. Carton's manner was so careless as to be almost insolent. He stood,half turned from the prisoner, lounging with his elbow against the bar.

　　"I do ask it. Accept my cordial thanks."

　　"What," said Carton, still only half turned towards him, "do youexpect, Mr. Darnay?"

　　"The worst."

　　"It's the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I thinktheir withdrawing is in your favour."

　　Loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, Jerry heard nomore: but left them--so like each other in feature, so unlike eachother in manner--standing side by side, both reflected in the glassabove them.

　　An hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal crowdedpassages below, even though assisted off with mutton pies and ale.The hoarse messenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking thatrefection, had dropped into a doze, when a loud murmur and a rapidtide of people setting up the stairs that led to the court, carriedhim along with them.

　　"Jerry! Jerry!" Mr. Lorry was already calling at the door whenhe got there.

　　"Here, sir! It's a fight to get back again. Here I am, sir!"

　　Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through the throng."Quick! Have you got it?"

　　"Yes, sir."

　　Hastily written on the paper was the word "aquitted."

　　"If you had sent the message, `Recalled to Life,' again," mutteredJerry, as he turned, "I should have known what you meant, this time."

　　He had no opportunity of saying, or so much as thinking, anythingelse, until he was clear of the Old Bailey; for, the crowd camepouring out with a vehemence that nearly took him off his legs, and aloud buzz swept into the street as if the baffled blue-flies weredispersing in search of other carrion.