Chapter 13 Chapter 5 Jackals

It was the age of binge drinking.Most people drink heavily.But time has greatly improved the climate.It would be regarded at present as a ludicrous exaggeration to state simply the amount of wine and mixes which a man could drink in an evening at that time, and say that it did not in the least hinder his reputation as a gentleman. of.The learned profession of law is certainly not inferior to other learned professions in the Dionysian propensity.Mr. Stryver, who was on a rampage and rapidly creating a larger and more lucrative business world, was in this, as in other respects, not inferior to his colleagues in the legal profession.

Mr. Stryver was a favorite both at the Old Baylor and at the court.At this point he has begun to step cautiously but also stridingly into the lower step of the ladder he has climbed.Now the Court and Baylor Sr. must especially open their eager arms and call upon their favorites.Every day one could see Mr. Stryver's flushed face rushing out of a garden of wigs like a giant sunflower rushing to crowd out the garden full of bright red companions towards the sun and towards the big court of the royal court. The judge flung himself in the face. It was once observed by the Court that Mr. Stryver, for all his eloquence, unscrupulousness, and impulsiveness, lacked the ability to grasp the point from a mass of statements, which is the most striking talent absolutely indispensable to the practice of law.However, he has made amazing progress in this area.The more business he got, the better his ability to grasp the essence seemed to be.No matter how late his nights were with Sidney Carton and his boozy drunkenness, in the morning he could always get to the point and explain clearly.

Sidney Carton, the laziest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver's best ally.The wine they drank together from Hillary Day to Michaelmas would float a luxury ship.Wherever Stryver went to court, Carlton was there with his hands in his pockets and his eyes staring at the ceiling.Drinking late into the night as usual even when they were on the circuit together.There were also rumors that Carlton had been seen slumping back to his apartment in broad daylight drunk like a wild cat.Finally, those who were interested in the matter heard that, although Sidney Carton would never be a lion, he was a marvelously useful jackal, and he did cases and jobs for Stryver, playing the part of the humble character.

"It's ten o'clock, sir," said the man at the hotel, at which time Carlton had asked him to wake him--"It's ten o'clock, sir." "What's up?" "Ten o'clock, sir." "What do you mean, ten o'clock in the evening?" "Yes, sir. Sir ordered me to wake you." "Ah, I remembered, very good, very good." He was drowsy, and wanted to fall asleep a few times, but the people in the hotel countered him very cleverly - they kept poking the fire for five minutes.Carlton stood up, flicked his hat on, and went out.He turned into the Law Society building, turned twice on the road between the High Court sidewalk and the newspaper building, cleared himself up, and turned into Stryver's room.

Stryver's clerk, who never served at such meetings, had gone home, and it was Stryver himself who opened the door.He wore slippers and loose pajamas, with his chest open for comfort, and his eyes showed all the rather indulgent, tired, haggard signs that are observed in every licentious person of his class.It is found in the portraits of men from Jeffreys down, and can be observed through all the artistic disguises in the portraits of every drunken age. "You're a little late," said Stryver. "Just about the same as usual; perhaps about half an hour late." They entered a shabby little room, with rows of books and papers piled here and there, a fire burning brightly in the fireplace, and a kettle steaming on the mantelpiece.Among the old papers was a table laden with wine, brandy, liqueur, sugar, and lemons.

"I see you've had it, Sidney." "Two bottles tonight, I think. I dined with, or watched him dine with, the man of the day--anyway it's the same thing!" "By yourself, Sidney, that's a rare move. How did you come up with the idea? Where did it come from?" "I thought he was quite beautiful, and thought, if I'm lucky, I can be like him." Mr. Stryver laughed so hard that his premature pot belly shook. "You and your luck, Sidney! Work, work." The jackal loosened his clothes sullenly, and went into the next room, bringing in a large pitcher of cold water, a basin, and a towel or two.He soaked the towel in water, wrung it half dry, wrapped it around his head in a scary way, sat down at the table, and said, "Okay, I'm ready!"

"Not much refining to do this evening, Database," said Mr. Stryver cheerfully, looking over his papers. "how many?" "Only two copies." "Give me the hardest first." "Here, Sidney. Do it!" So the Lion sat down contemplatively on one side of the wine table with his back to the sofa, and the Jackal sat down on the other side of the wine table at his own table full of papers, with the bottle and glass at hand.Both of them kept extending their hands to the wine table without any hesitation, but their methods were different.Lions usually put their hands in their belts, lie on the sofa, look at the fire, or occasionally flip through documents that don’t have much weight; jackals, on the other hand, frown, concentrate on their work, and reach for a cup. So he didn't even look at it -- he often had to wander around for a minute before he touched the wine glass and brought it to his lips.Two or three times the work was so difficult that the jackal had no choice but to stand up and re-dip the towel.He came back from his pilgrimage to the jug and washbasin, with that damp towel wrapped around his head, so grotesque as to be impossible to describe;

Finally, the jackal finally prepared a solid snack for the lion.The lion took it carefully, picked and picked from it, and made his opinion, and then the jackal came to help.When the refreshment was well digested, the Lion tucked his hands into his girdle again, and lay down, lost in thought.So the jackal drank another big glass of wine, refreshed himself, moistened his throat, put a cold compress on his head, and began to prepare the second dessert.In the same way, this dessert was presented to the Lion, and it was not digested until the clock struck three o'clock in the morning. "It's over, Sidney, and a big Five Flavors," said Mr. Stryver.

The jackal took the towel off his head, which was steaming again), shook his head, yawned, shivered again, and poured the wine again. "From all the circumstances you appear to have been quite capable of your wits before those hired witnesses, Sidney." "My brain always works, doesn't it?" "I have no objection to that. But what annoyed you? Pour some five-flavored wine and put out the fire." The jackal grunted apologetically, and complied. "You're the same Sidney Carton at Shrewsbury again," Stryver nodded at him, commenting on his present and past, "and the same Sidney on the seesaw. Go up, go down for a while; be elated for a while, and downcast for a while!"

"Ah," replied the other, with a sigh, "yes! It's the same Sidney, and the same fate. I did my homework for other students at that time, and I seldom did my own homework." "Why not?" "God knows. Maybe I'm that, I suppose." With his hands in his pockets and his feet stretched out in front of him, he sat looking at the fire. "Carleton," said his friend, thrusting his chest out and adopting a menacing attitude, as if the fireplace were a crucible for forging strong and tenacious characters, which could be used for old Sidney at old Shrewsbury School. The only good way Carlton can serve is to push him into the furnace. "You can't bear your temper now, and you have always been unable to bear it before. You just can't get motivated and have no goals. Look at me."

"Ah, how boring!" Sidney smiled more calmly and kindly than before. "Stop pretending to be serious!" "How did I do what I've done?" said Stryver, "how did I do it?" "I see, partly by paying me for a favor. But you ain't gotta point that at me, or yell into the air. You can do what you want. You're always up front." The platoon, I’m always in the back.” "I had to be in the front row; I wasn't born in the front row, was I?" "I don't have the chance to attend your birth ceremony, but I think you are born to sit in the front row." Carlton laughed when he said.Both of them laughed. "Before Shrewsbury, after Shrewsbury, from Shrewsbury to now," Carlton went on, "you've been in your row, and I've been in my row. This row. Even in the student district of Paris, when classmates chat a few words of French together, learn some French law, and pick up some not-so-affordable French rags, you always show yourself, and I always hide my name.” "Then who is to blame?" "I swear on my soul, I can't say with certainty that you're not to blame. You're always shoving and yelling and shoving and jostling, never stopping, what chance do I have in this life but rusty idleness? Still, Talking about your past in the early hours of the day is a disappointment. If you have anything else to say, or I'm leaving." "Then join me in a toast to the handsome witness," said Stryver, raising his glass. "Are you feeling better now?" Evidently not, for he darkened again. "Beautiful witness," he murmured, looking down at his glass. "I've seen enough witnesses today and tonight. Who's the pretty witness you speak of?" "The beautiful doctor's daughter, Miss Manette." "Is she pretty?" "Isn't it pretty?" "No." "My God, the whole court adores her!" "To hell with the adoration of the courtroom! Who turned Old Baylor into a beauty judge? She's a blond-haired rag doll!" "You know, Sidney," said Stryver, looking at him blazingly, slowly brushing his hand across his flushed face. "You know? I thought you were sympathetic to that blond doll at the time! When there's something wrong with that blond doll, you notice it right away." "Immediately noticed something was wrong! Doll or not, a girl passed out a yard or two in front of a man's nose, and he didn't need binoculars to see it. I could drink to you, but no Admit what is beautiful and what is not. Now I don't want to drink any more, I'm going to bed." When his master sent him to the steps with a candle, and followed him down, the daylight was already looking coldly in through the dirty window.Carlton came outside the house, the air outside was cold and desolate, the sky was cloudy, the river was dark and blurred, and the whole scene was like a lifeless desert.The morning wind blows circles of dust and rolls, as if the yellow sand of the desert has risen into the sky in the distance, and its precursors have begun to attack the city to bury it. There are all kinds of abandoned forces in his heart, surrounded by a desert, this person steps up the next silent step, but stands still.For an instant he saw in the wilderness before him a mirage of glorious ambition, self-denial, and fortitude.In that fair city of phantoms, there were halls of unreality, where the gods of love and beauty looked at him; there were gardens full of hanging ripe fruits of life; lake.But all of this disappeared in an instant.He climbed to a high room on the top of the stacked buildings, and threw himself on an unmade bed without taking off his clothes. The tears streaming down the pillow were speckled and still damp. The sun rose sadly and mournfully, and fell on a most miserable man.It was a man of great talent and deep feeling, but he was unable to use his talent and use that talent and emotion to obtain happiness for himself.He knew it was harmful, but he let it go, letting himself wear away.