Book II - Chapter XIX. An Opinion

by Charles Dickens

　　Worn out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry fell asleep at his post. Onthe tenth morning of his suspense, he was startled by the shining ofthe sun into the room where a heavy slumber had overtaken him when itwas dark night.

　　He rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when he haddone so, whether he was not still asleep. For, going to the door ofthe Doctor's room and looking in, he perceived that the shoemaker'sbench and tools were put aside again, and that the Doctor himself satreading at the window. He was in his usual morning dress, and his face(which Mr. Lorry could distinctly see), though still very pale, wascalmly studious and attentive.

　　Even when he had satisfied himself that he was awake, Mr. Lorry feltgiddily uncertain for some few moments whether the late shoemakingmight not be a disturbed dream of his own; for, did not his eyes showhim his friend before him in his accustomed clothing and aspect, andemployed as usual; and was there any sign within their range, that thechange of which he had so strong an impression had actually happened?

　　It was but the inquiry of his first confusion and astonishment, theanswer being obvious. If the impression were not produced by a realcorresponding and sufficient cause, how came he, Jarvis Lorry, there?How came he to have fallen asleep, in his clothes, on the sofa inDoctor Manette's consulting-room, and to be debating these pointsoutside the Doctor's bedroom door in the early morning?

　　Within a few minutes, Miss Pross stood whispering at his side. If hehad had any particle of doubt left, her talk would of necessity haveresolved it; but he was by that time clear-headed, and had none. Headvised that they should let the time go by until the regularbreakfast-hour, and should then meet the Doctor as if nothing unusualhad occurred. If he appeared to be in his customary state of mind,Mr. Lorry would then cautiously proceed to seek direction and guidancefrom the opinion he had been, in his anxiety, so anxious to obtain.

　　Miss Pross, submitting herself to his judgment, the scheme was workedout with care. Having abundance of time for his usual methodicaltoilette, Mr. Lorry presented himself at the breakfast-hour in hisusual white linen, and with his usual neat leg. The Doctor wassummoned in the usual way, and came to breakfast.

　　So far as it was possible to comprehend him without oversteppingthose delicate and gradual approaches which Mr. Lorry felt to be theonly safe advance, he at first supposed that his daughter's marriagehad taken place yesterday. An incidental allusion, purposely thrownout, to the day of the week, and the day of the month, set him thinkingand counting, and evidently made him uneasy. In all other respects,however, he was so composedly himself, that Mr. Lorry determined tohave the aid he sought. And that aid was his own.

　　Therefore, when the breakfast was done and cleared away, and he andthe 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 better information it maybe less so."

　　Glancing at his hands, which were discoloured by his late work, theDoctor looked troubled, and listened attentively. He had alreadyglanced at his hands more than once.

　　"Doctor Manette," said Mr. Lorry, touching him affectionately on thearm, "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--andabove all, for his daughter's--his daughter's, my dear Manette."

　　"If I understand," said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, "some mentalshock--?"

　　"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 a prolonged shock, ofgreat acuteness and severity to the affections, the feelings,the--the--as you express it--the mind. The mind. It is the case ofa shock under which the sufferer was borne down, one cannot say forhow long, because I believe he cannot calculate the time himself, andthere are no other means of getting at it. It is the case of a shockfrom which the sufferer recovered, by a process that he cannot tracehimself--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 tohis 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?"

　　"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 andcollectedly, though in the same low voice, "engaged in thatpursuit originally?"

　　"Once."

　　"And when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respects--or inall 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 fromher. 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 mostconsiderate and most affectionate way, "I am a mere man of business,and unfit to cope with such intricate and difficult matters. I donot possess the kind of information necessary; I do not possess thekind of intelligence; I want guiding. There is no man in this worldon whom I could so rely for right guidance, as on you. Tell me, howdoes this relapse come about? Is there danger of another? Could arepetition of it be prevented? How should a repetition of it betreated? How does it come about at all? 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 beable 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 aneffort, "that the relapse you have described, my dear friend, wasnot 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'smind, and how difficult--how almost impossible--it is, for him to forcehimself to utter a word upon the topic that oppresses him."

　　"Would he," asked Mr. Lorry, "be sensibly relieved if he couldprevail upon himself to impart that secret brooding to any one,when it is on him?"

　　"I think so. But it is, as I have 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 armagain, after a short silence on both sides, "to what would you referthis attack? "

　　"I believe," returned Doctor Manette, "that there had been a strongand extraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance thatwas the first cause of the malady. Some intense associations of amost distressing nature were vividly recalled, I think. It is probablethat there had long been a dread lurking in his mind, that thoseassociations would be recalled--say, under certain circumstances--say,on a particular occasion. He tried to prepare himself in vain; perhapsthe 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, andanswered, 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 shouldhave great hope. As it pleased Heaven in its mercy to restore him sosoon, I should have great hope. He, yielding under the pressure of acomplicated something, long dreaded and long vaguely foreseen andcontended against, and recovering after the cloud had burst and passed,I should hope that 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 anxiousto be instructed. I may go on?"

　　"You cannot do your friend a better service." The Doctor gave himhis hand.

　　"To the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusuallyenergetic; he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisitionof professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, tomany things. Now, does he do too much?"

　　"I think not. It may be the character of his mind, to be always insingular need of occupation. That may be, in part, natural to it; inpart, the result of affliction. The less it was occupied with healthythings, the more it would be in danger of turning in the unhealthydirection. 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 aviolent 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 thefirmness of self-conviction, "that anything but the one train ofassociation would renew it. I think that, henceforth, nothing butsome extraordinary jarring of that chord could renew it. After whathas happened, and after his recovery, I find it difficult to imagineany such violent sounding of that string again. I trust, and I almostbelieve, that the circumstances likely to renew it are exhausted."

　　He spoke with the diffidence of a man who knew how slight a thingwould overset the delicate organisation of the mind, and yet with theconfidence of a man who had slowly won his assurance out of personalendurance and distress. It was not for his friend to abate thatconfidence. He professed himself more relieved and encouraged than hereally was, and approached his second and last point. He felt it tobe the most difficult of all; but, remembering his old Sunday morningconversation with Miss Pross, and remembering what he had seen in thelast nine days, he knew that he must face it.

　　"The occupation resumed under the influence of this passing afflictionso happily recovered from," said Mr. Lorry, clearing his throat, "we willcall--Blacksmith's work, Blacksmith's work. We will say, to put a caseand 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 foundat 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 nervouslyon the ground.

　　"He has always kept it by him," said Mr. Lorry, with an anxious lookat his friend. "Now, would it not be better that he should let it go?"

　　Still, the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beat his foot nervously onthe ground.

　　"You do not find it easy to advise me?" said Mr. Lorry. "I quiteunderstand it to be a nice question. And yet I think--" And there heshook 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 ofthis poor man's mind. He once yearned so frightfully for thatoccupation, and it was so welcome when it came; no doubt it relievedhis pain so much, by substituting the perplexity of the fingers forthe perplexity of the brain, and by substituting, as he became morepractised, the ingenuity of the hands, for the ingenuity of themental torture; that he has never been able to bear the thought ofputting it quite out of his reach. Even now, when I believe he ismore hopeful of himself than he has ever been, and even speaks ofhimself with a kind of confidence, the idea that he might need thatold employment, and not find it, gives him a sudden sense of terror,like that which one may fancy strikes to the heart of a lost child."

　　He looked like his illustration, as he raised his eyes toMr. Lorry's face.

　　"But may not--mind! I ask for information, as a plodding man ofbusiness who only deals with such material objects as guineas,shillings, and bank-notes--may not the retention of the thing involvethe retention of the idea? If the thing were gone, my dear Manette,might not the fear go with it? In short, is it not a concession tothe misgiving, to keep the forge?"

　　There was another silence.

　　"You see, too," said the Doctor, tremulously, "it is such anold companion."

　　"I would not keep it," said Mr. Lorry, shaking his head; for he gainedin firmness as he saw the Doctor disquieted. "I would recommend himto sacrifice it. I only want your authority. I am sure it does nogood. Come! Give me your authority, like a dear good man. For hisdaughter's sake, my dear Manette!"

　　Very strange to see what a struggle there was within him!

　　"In her name, then, let it be done; I sanction it. But, I would nottake it away while he was present. Let it be removed when he is notthere; let him miss his old companion after an absence."

　　Mr. Lorry readily engaged for that, and the conference was ended.They passed the day in the country, and the Doctor was quite restored.On the three following days he remained perfectly well, and on thefourteenth day he went away to join Lucie and her husband. Theprecaution that had been taken to account for his silence, Mr. Lorryhad previously explained to him, and he had written to Lucie inaccordance with it, and she had no suspicions.

　　On the night of the day on which he left the house, Mr. Lorry wentinto his room with a chopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended byMiss Pross carrying a light. There, with closed doors, and in amysterious and guilty manner, Mr. Lorry hacked the shoemaker's benchto pieces, while Miss Pross held the candle as if she were assistingat a murder--for which, indeed, in her grimness, she was no unsuitablefigure. The burning of the body (previously reduced to piecesconvenient for the purpose) was commenced without delay in the kitchenfire; and the tools, shoes, and leather, were buried in the garden.So wicked do destruction and secrecy appear to honest minds, thatMr. Lorry and Miss Pross, while engaged in the commission of theirdeed and in the removal of its traces, almost felt, and almost looked,like accomplices in a horrible crime.