¡¡¡¡THE TRAVELLER fared slowly on his way, who fared towards Paris
from England in the autumn of the year one thousand seven hundred
and ninety-two. More than enough of bad roads, bad equipages, and
bad horses, he would have encountered to delay him, though the
fallen and unfortunate King of France had been upon his throne in
all his glory; but, the changed times were fraught with other
obstacles than these. Every town-gate and village taxing-house had its
band of citizen-patriots, with their national muskets in a most
explosive state of readiness, who stopped all comers and goers,
cross-questioned them, inspected their papers, looked for their
names in lists of their own, turned them back, or sent them on, or
stopped them and laid them in hold, as their capricious judgment or
fancy deemed best for the dawning Republic One and Indivisible, of
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death.
¡¡¡¡A very few French leagues of his journey were accomplished, when
Charles Darnay began to perceive that for him along these country
roads there was no hope of return until he should have been declared a
good citizen at Paris. Whatever might befall now, he must on to his
journey's end. Not a mean village closed upon him, not a common
barrier dropped across the road behind him, but he knew it to be
another iron door in the series that was barred between him and
England. The universal watchfulness so encompassed him, that if he had
been taken in a net, or were being forwarded to his destination in a
cage, he could not have felt his freedom more completely gone.
¡¡¡¡This universal watchfulness not only stopped him on the highway
twenty times in a stage, but retarded his progress twenty times in a
day, by riding after him and taking him back, riding before him and
stopping him by anticipation, riding with him and keeping him in
charge. He had been days upon his journey in France alone, when he
went to bed tired out, in a little town on the high road, still a long
way from Paris.
¡¡¡¡Nothing but the production of the afflicted Gabelle's letter from
his prison of the Abbaye would have got him on so far. His
difficulty at the guard-house in this small place had been such,
that he felt his journey to have come to a crisis. And he was,
therefore, as little surprised as a man could be, to find himself
awakened at the small inn to which he had been remitted until morning,
in the middle of the night.
¡¡¡¡Awakened by a timid local functionary and three armed patriots in
rough red caps and with pipes in their mouths, who sat down on the
bed.
¡¡¡¡"Emigrant," said the functionary, "I am going to send you on to
Paris, under an escort."
¡¡¡¡"Citizen, I desire nothing more than to get to Paris, though I could
dispense with the escort."
¡¡¡¡"Silence!" growled a red-cap, striking at the coverlet with the
butt-end of his musket. "Peace, aristocrat!"
¡¡¡¡"It is as the good patriot says," observed the timid functionary.
"You are an aristocrat, and must have an escort- and must pay for it."
¡¡¡¡"I have no choice," said Charles Darnay.
¡¡¡¡"Choice! Listen to him!" cried the same scowling red-cap. "As if
it was not a favour to be protected from the lamp-iron!"
¡¡¡¡"It is always as the good patriot says," observed the functionary.
"Rise and dress yourself, emigrant."
¡¡¡¡Darnay complied, and was taken back to the guard-house, where
other patriots in rough red caps were smoking, drinking, and sleeping,
by a watch-fire. Here he paid a heavy price for his escort, and
hence he started with it on the wet, wet roads at three o'clock in the
morning.
¡¡¡¡The escort were two mounted patriots in red caps and tri-coloured
cockades, armed with national muskets and sabres, who rode one on
either side of him.
¡¡¡¡The escorted governed his own horse, but a loose line was attached
to his bridle, the end of which one of the patriots kept girded
round his wrist. In this state they set forth with the sharp rain
driving in their faces: clattering at a heavy dragoon trot over the
uneven town pavement, and out upon the mire-deep roads. In this
state they traversed without change, except of horses and pace, all
the mire-deep leagues that lay between them and the capital.
¡¡¡¡They travelled in the night, halting an hour or two after
daybreak, and lying by until the twilight fell. The escort were so
wretchedly clothed, that they twisted straw round their bare legs, and
thatched their ragged shoulders to keep the wet off. Apart from the
personal discomfort of being so attended, and apart from such
considerations of present danger as arose from one of the patriots
being chronically drunk, and carrying his musket very recklessly,
Charles Darnay did not allow the restraint that was laid upon him to
awaken any serious fears in his breast; for, be reasoned with
himself that it could have no reference to the merits of an individual
case that was not yet stated, and of representations, confirmable by
the prisoner in the Abbaye, that were not yet made.
¡¡¡¡But when they came to the town of Beauvais- which they did at
eventide, when the streets were filled with people- he could not
conceal from himself that the aspect of affairs was very alarming.
An ominous crowd gathered to see him dismount of the posting-yard, and
many voices called out loudly, "Down with the emigrant!"
¡¡¡¡He stopped in the act of swinging himself out of his saddle, and,
resuming it as his safest place, said:
¡¡¡¡"Emigrant, my friends! Do you not see me here, in France, of my
own will?"
¡¡¡¡"You are a cursed emigrant," cried a farrier, making at him in a
furious manner through the press, hammer in hand; "and you are a
cursed aristocrat!"
¡¡¡¡The postmaster interposed himself between this man and the rider's
bridle (at which he was evidently making), and soothingly said, "Let
him be; let him be! He will be judged at Paris."
¡¡¡¡"Judged!" repeated the farrier, swinging his hammer. "Ay! and
condemned as a traitor." At this the crowd roared approval.
¡¡¡¡Checking the postmaster, who was for turning his horse's head to the
yard (the drunken patriot sat composedly in his saddle looking on,
with the line round his wrist), Darnay said, as soon as he could
make his voice heard:
¡¡¡¡"Friends, you deceive yourselves, or you are deceived. I am not a
traitor."
¡¡¡¡"He lies!" cried the smith. "He is a traitor since the decree. His
life is forfeit to the people. His cursed life is not his own!"
¡¡¡¡At the instant when Darnay saw a rush in the eyes of the crowd,
which another instant would have brought upon him, the postmaster
turned his horse into the yard, the escort rode in close upon his
horse's flanks, and the postmaster shut and barred the crazy double
gates. The farrier struck a blow upon them with his hammer, and the
crowd groaned; but, no more was done.
¡¡¡¡"What is this decree that the smith spoke of?" Darnay asked the
postmaster, when he had thanked him, and stood beside him in the yard.
"Truly, a decree for selling the property of emigrants."
¡¡¡¡"When passed?"
¡¡¡¡"On the fourteenth."
¡¡¡¡"The day I left England!"
¡¡¡¡"Everybody says it is but one of several, and that there will be
others- if there are not already- banishing all emigrants, and
condemning all to death who return. That is what he meant when he said
your life was not your own."
¡¡¡¡"But there are no such decrees yet?"
¡¡¡¡"What do I know!" said the postmaster, shrugging his shoulders;
"there may be, or there will be. It is all the same. What would you
have?"
¡¡¡¡They rested on some straw in a loft until the middle of the night,
and then rode forward again when all the town was asleep. Among the
many wild changes observable on familiar things which made this wild
ride unreal, not the least was the seeming rarity of sleep. After long
and lonely spurring over dreary roads, they would come to a cluster of
poor cottages, not steeped in darkness, but all glittering with
lights, and would find the people, in a ghostly manner in the dead
of the night, circling hand in hand round a shrivelled tree of
Liberty, or all drawn up together singing a Liberty song. Happily,
however, there was sleep in Beauvais that night to help them out of it
and they passed on once more into solitude and loneliness: jingling
through the untimely cold and wet, among impoverished fields that
had yielded no fruits of the earth that year, diversified by the
blackened remains of burnt houses, and by the sudden emergence from
ambuscade, and sharp reining up across their way, of patriot patrols
on the watch on all the roads.
¡¡¡¡Daylight at last found them before the wall of Paris. The barrier
was closed and strongly guarded when they rode up to it.
¡¡¡¡"Where are the papers of this prisoner?" demanded a resolute-looking
man in authority, who was summoned out by the guard.
¡¡¡¡Naturally struck by the disagreeable word, Charles Darnay
requested the speaker to take notice that he was a free traveller
and French citizen, in charge of an escort which the disturbed state
of the country had imposed upon him, and which he had paid for.
¡¡¡¡"Where," repeated the same personage, without taking any heed of him
whatever, "are the papers of this prisoner?"
¡¡¡¡The drunken patriot had them in his cap, and produced them.
Casting his eyes over Gabelle's letter, the same personage in
authority showed some disorder and surprise, and looked at Darnay with
a close attention.
¡¡¡¡He left escort and escorted without saying a word, however, and went
into the guard-room; meanwhile, they sat upon their horses outside the
gate. Looking about him while in this state of suspense, Charles
Darnay observed that the gate was held by a mixed guard of soldiers
and patriots, the latter far outnumbering the former; and that while
ingress into the city for peasants' carts bringing in supplies, and
for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy enough, egress, even for
the homeliest people, was very difficult. A numerous medley of men and
women, not to mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was
waiting to issue forth; but, the previous identification was so
strict, that they filtered through the barrier very slowly. Some of
these people knew their turn for examination to be so far off, that
they lay down on the ground to sleep or smoke, while others talked
together, or loitered about. The red cap and tricolour cockade were
universal, both among men and women.
¡¡¡¡When he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking note of these
things, Darnay found himself confronted by the same man in
authority, who directed the guard to open the barrier. Then he
delivered to the escort, drunk and sober, a receipt for the
escorted, and requested him to dismount. He did so, and the two
patriots, leading his tired horse, turned and rode away without
entering the city.
¡¡¡¡He accompanied his conductor into a guard-room, smelling of common
wine and tobacco, where certain soldiers and patriots, asleep and
awake, drunk and sober, and in various neutral states between sleeping
and waking, drunkenness and sobriety, were standing and lying about.
The light in the guard-house, half derived from the waning oil-lamps
of the night, and half from the overcast day, was in a correspondingly
uncertain condition. Some registers were lying open on a desk, and
an officer of a coarse, dark aspect, presided over these.
¡¡¡¡"Citizen Defarge," said he to Darnay's conductor, as he took a
slip of paper to write on. "Is this the emigrant Evremonde?"
¡¡¡¡"This is the man."
¡¡¡¡"Your age, Evremonde?"
¡¡¡¡"Thirty-seven."
¡¡¡¡"Married, Evremonde?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes."
¡¡¡¡"Where married?"
¡¡¡¡"In England."
¡¡¡¡"Without doubt. Where is your wife, Evremonde?"
¡¡¡¡"In England."
¡¡¡¡"Without doubt. Your are consigned, Evremonde, to the prison of La
Force."
¡¡¡¡"Just Heaven!" exclaimed Darnay. "Under what law, and for what
offence?"
¡¡¡¡The officer looked up from his slip of paper for a moment.
¡¡¡¡"We have new laws, Evremonde, and new offences, since you were
here." He said it with a hard smile, and went on writing.
¡¡¡¡"I entreat you to observe that I have come here voluntarily, in
response to that written appeal of a fellow-countryman which lies
before you. I demand no more than the opportunity to do so without
delay. Is not that my right?"
¡¡¡¡"Emigrants have no rights, Evremonde," was the stolid reply. The
officer wrote until he had finished, read over to himself what he
had written, sanded it, and handed it to Defarge, with the words "In
secret."
¡¡¡¡Defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he must
accompany him. The prisoner obeyed, and a guard of two armed
patriots attended them.
¡¡¡¡"Is it you," said Defarge, in a low voice, as they went down the
guardhouse steps and turned into Paris, "who married the daughter of
Doctor Manette, once a prisoner in the Bastille that is no more?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes," replied Darnay, looking at him with surprise.
¡¡¡¡"My name is Defarge, and I keep a wine-shop in the Quarter Saint
Antoine. Possibly you have heard of me."
¡¡¡¡"My wife came to your house to reclaim her father? Yes!"
¡¡¡¡The word "wife" seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder to Defarge,
to say with sudden impatience, "In the name of that sharp female
newlyborn, and called La Guillotine, why did you come to France?"
¡¡¡¡"You heard me say why, a minute ago. Do you not believe it is the
truth?"
¡¡¡¡"A bad truth for you," said Defarge, speaking with knitted brows,
and looking straight before him.
¡¡¡¡"Indeed I am lost here. All here is so unprecedented, so changed, so
sudden and unfair, that I am absolutely lost. Will you render me a
little help?"
¡¡¡¡"None." Defarge spoke, always looking straight before him.
¡¡¡¡"Will you answer me a single question?"
¡¡¡¡"Perhaps. According to its nature. You can say what it is."
"In this prison that I am going to so unjustly, shall I have some
free communication with the world outside?"
¡¡¡¡"You will see."
¡¡¡¡"I am not to be buried there, prejudged, and without any means of
presenting my case?"
¡¡¡¡"You will see. But, what then? Other people have been similarly
buried in worse prisons, before now."
¡¡¡¡"But never by me, Citizen Defarge."
¡¡¡¡Defarge glanced darkly at him for answer, and walked on in a
steady and set silence. The deeper he sank into this silence, the
fainter hope there was- or so Darnay thought- of his softening in
any slight degree. He, therefore, made haste to say:
¡¡¡¡"It is of the utmost importance to me (you know, Citizen, even
better than I, of how much importance), that I should be able to
communicate to Mr. Lorry of Tellson's Bank, an English gentleman who
is now in Paris, the simple fact, without comment, that I have been
thrown into the prison of La Force. Will you cause that to be done for
me?"
¡¡¡¡"I will do," Defarge doggedly rejoined, "nothing for you. My duty is
to my country and the People. I am the sworn servant of both,
against you. I will do nothing for you."
¡¡¡¡Charles Darnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, and his
pride was touched besides. As they walked on in silnce, he could not
but see how used the people were to the spectacle of prisoners passing
along the streets. The very children scarcely noticed him. A few
passers turned their heads, and a few shook their fingers at him as an
aristocrat; otherwise, that a man in good clothes should be going to
prison, was no more remarkable than that a labourer in working clothes
should be going to work. In one narrow, dark, and dirty street through
which they passed, an excited orator, mounted on a stool, was
addressing an excited audience on the crimes against the people, of
the king and the royal family. The few words that he caught from
this man's lips, first made it known to Charles Darnay that the king
was in prison, and that the foreign ambassadors had one and all left
Paris. On the road (except at Beauvais) he had heard absolutely
nothing. The escort and the universal watchfulness had completely
isolated him.
¡¡¡¡That he had fallen among far greater dangers than those which had
developed themselves when he left England, he of course knew now. That
perils had thickened about him fast, and might thicken faster and
faster yet, he of course knew now. He could not but admit to himself
that he might not have made this journey, if he could have foreseen
the events of a few days. And yet his misgivings were not so dark
as, imagined by the light of this later time, they would appear.
Troubled as the future was, it was the unknown future, and in its
obscurity there was ignorant hope. The horrible massacre, days and
nights long, which, within a few rounds of the clock, was to set a
great mark of blood upon the blessed garnering time of harvest, was as
far out of his knowledge as if it had been a hundred thousand years
away. The "sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine," was
hardly known to him, or to the generality of people, by name. The
frightful deeds that were to be soon done, were probably unimagined at
that time in the brains of the doers. How could they have a place in
the shadowy conceptions of a gentle mind?
¡¡¡¡Of unjust treatment in detention and hardship, and in cruel
separation from his wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or
the certainty; but, beyond this, he dreaded nothing distinctly. With
this on his mind, which was enough to carry into a dreary prison
courtyard, he arrived at the prison of La Force.
¡¡¡¡A man with a bloated face opened the strong wicket, to whom
Defarge presented "The Emigrant Evremonde."
¡¡¡¡"What the Devil! How many more of them!" exclaimed the man with
the bloated face.
¡¡¡¡Defarge took his receipt without noticing the exclamation, and
withdrew, with his two fellow-patriots.
¡¡¡¡"What the Devil, I say again!" exclaimed the gaoler, left with his
wife. "How many more!"
¡¡¡¡The gaoler's wife, being provided with no answer to the question,
merely replied, "One must have patience, my dear!" Three turnkeys
who entered responsive to a bell she rang, echoed the sentiment, and
one added, "For the love of Liberty;" which sounded in that place like
an inappropriate conclusion.
¡¡¡¡The prison of La Force was a gloomy prison, dark and filthy, and
with a horrible smell of foul sleep in it. Extraordinary how soon
the noisome flavour of imprisoned sleep, becomes manifest in all
such places that are ill cared for!
¡¡¡¡"In secret, too," grumbled the gaoler, looking at the written paper.
"As if I was not already full to bursting!"
¡¡¡¡He stuck the paper on a file, in an ill-humour, and Charles Darnay
awaited his further pleasure for half an hour: sometimes, pacing to
and fro in the strong arched room: sometimes, resting on a stone seat:
in either case detained to be imprinted on the memory of the chief and
his subordinates.
¡¡¡¡"Come!" said the chief, at length taking up his keys, "come with me,
emigrant."
¡¡¡¡Through the dismal prison twilight, his new charge accompanied him
by corridor and staircase, many doors clanging and locking behind
them, until they came into a large, low, vaulted chamber, crowded with
prisoners of both sexes. The women were seated at a long table,
reading and writing, knitting, sewing, and embroidering; the men
were for the most part standing behind their chairs, or lingering up
and down the room.
¡¡¡¡In the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime
and disgrace, the new-comer recoiled from this company. But the
crowning unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once
rising to receive him, with every refinement of manner known to the
time, and with all the engaging graces and courtesies of life.
¡¡¡¡So strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners
and gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor
and misery through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to
stand in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of beauty, the
ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the ghost of pride, the
ghost of frivolity, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of
age, all waiting their dismissal from the desolate shore, all
turning on him eyes that were changed by the death they had died in
coming there.
¡¡¡¡It struck him motionless. The gaoler standing at his side, and the
other gaolers moving about, who would have been well enough as to
appearance in the ordinary exercise of their functions, looked so
extravagantly coarse contrasted with sorrowing mothers and blooming
daughters who were there- with the apparitions of the coquette, the
young beauty, and the mature woman delicately bred- that the inversion
of all experience and likelihood which the scene of shadows presented,
was heightened to its utmost. Surely, ghosts all. Surely, the long
unreal ride some progress of disease that had brought him to these
gloomy shades!
¡¡¡¡"In the name of the assembled companions in misfortune," said a
gentleman of courtly appearance and address, coming forward, "I have
the honour of giving you welcome to La Force, and of condoling with
you on the calamity that has brought you among us. May it soon
terminate happily! It would be an impertinence elsewhere, but it is
not so here, to ask your name and condition?"
¡¡¡¡Charles Darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, in
words as suitable as he could find.
¡¡¡¡"But I hope," said the gentleman, following the chief gaoler with
his eyes, who moved across the room, "that you are not in secret?"
¡¡¡¡"I do not understand the meaning of the term, but I have heard
them say so."
¡¡¡¡"Ah, what a pity! We so much regret it! But take courage; several
members of our society have been in secret, at first, and it has
lasted but a short time." Then he added, raising his voice, "I
grieve to inform the society- in secret."
¡¡¡¡There was a murmur of commiseration as Charles Darnay crossed the
room to a grated door where the gaoler awaited him, and many voices-
among which, the soft and compassionate voices of women were
conspicuous- gave him good wishes and encouragement. He turned at
the grated door, to render the thanks of his heart; it closed under
the gaoler's hand; and the apparitions vanished from his sight for
ever.
¡¡¡¡The wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. When they
had ascended forty steps (the prisoner of half an hour already counted
them), the gaoler opened a low black door, and they passed into a
solitary cell. It struck cold and damp, but was not dark.
¡¡¡¡"Yours," said the gaoler.
¡¡¡¡"Why am I confined alone?"
¡¡¡¡"How do I know!"
¡¡¡¡"I can buy pen, ink, and paper?"
¡¡¡¡"Such are not my orders. You will be visited, and can ask then. At
present, you may buy your food, and nothing more."
¡¡¡¡There were in the cell, a chair, a table, and a straw mattress. As
the gaoler made a general inspection of these objects, and of the four
walls, before going out, a wandering fancy wandered through the mind
of the prisoner leaning against the wall opposite to him, that this
gaoler was so unwholesomely bloated, both in face and person, as to
look like a man who had been drowned and filled with water. When the
gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, "Now am I left,
as if I were dead." Stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he
turned from it with a sick feeling, and thought, "And here in these
crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death."
"Five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half, five
paces by four and a half." The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell,
counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like
muffled drums with a wild swell of voices added to them. "He made
shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes." The prisoner counted the
measurement again, and paced faster, to draw his mind with him from
that latter repetition. "The ghosts that vanished when the wicket
closed. There was one among them, the appearance of a lady dressed
in black, who was leaning in the embrasure of a window, and she had
a light shining upon her golden hair, and she looked like * * * *
Let us ride on again, for God's sake, through the illuminated villages
with the people all awake! * * * * He made shoes, he made shoes, he
made shoes. * * * * Five paces by four and a half." With such scraps
tossing and rolling upward from the depths of his mind, the prisoner
walked faster and faster, obstinately counting and counting; and the
roar of the city changed to this extent- that it still rolled in
like muffled drums, but with the wall of voices that he knew, in the
swell that rose above them.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡II THE GRINDSTONE
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡TELLSON'S BANK, established in the Saint Germain Quarter of Paris,
was in a wing of a large house, approached by a courtyard and shut off
from the street by a high wall and a strong gate. The house belonged
to a great nobleman who had lived in it until he made a flight from
the troubles, in his own cook's dress, and got across the borders. A
mere beast of the chase flying from hunters, he was still in his
metempsychosis no other than the same Monseigneur, the preparation
of whose chocolate for whose lips had once occupied three strong men
besides the cook in question.
¡¡¡¡Monseigneur gone, and the three strong men absolving themselves from
the sin of having drawn his high wages, by being more than ready and
willing to cut his throat on the altar of the dawning Republic one and
indivisible of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death,
Monseigneur's house had been first sequestrated, and then confiscated.
For, all things moved so fast, and decree followed decree with that
fierce precipitation, that now upon the third night of the autumn
month of September, patriot emissaries of the law were in possession
of Monseigneur's house, and had marked it with the tricolour, and were
drinking brandy in its state apartments.
¡¡¡¡A place of business in London like Tellson's place of business in
Paris, would soon have driven the House out of its mind and into the
Gazette. For, what would staid British responsibility and
respectability have said to orange-trees in boxes in a Bank courtyard,
and even to a Cupid over the counter? Yet such things were.
Tellson's had whitewashed the Cupid, but he was still to be seen on
the ceiling, in the coolest linen, aiming (as he very often does) at
money from morning to night. Bankruptcy must inevitably have come of
this young Pagan, in Lombard-street, London, and also of a curtained
alcove in the rear of the immortal boy, and also of a looking-glass
let into the wall, and also of clerks not at all old, who danced in
public on the slightest provocation. Yet, a French Tellson's could get
on with these things exceedingly well, and, as long as the times
held together, no man had taken fright at them, and drawn out his
money.
¡¡¡¡What money would be drawn out of Tellson's henceforth, and what
would lie there, lost and forgotten; what plate and jewels would
tarnish in Tellson's hiding-places, while the depositors rusted in
prisons, and when they should have violently perished; how many
accounts with Tellson's never to be balanced in this world, must be
carried over into the next; no man could have said, that night, any
more than Mr. Jarvis Lorry could, though he thought heavily of these
questions. He sat by a newly-lighted wood fire (the blighted and
unfruitful year was prematurely cold), and on his honest and
courageous face there was a deeper shade than the pendent lamp could
throw, or any object in the room distortedly reflect- a shade of
horror.
¡¡¡¡He occupied rooms in the Bank, in his fidelity to the House of which
he had grown to be a part, like strong root-ivy. It chanced that
they derived a kind of security from the patriotic occupation of the
main building, but the true-hearted old gentleman never calculated
about that. All such circumstances were indifferent to him, so that he
did his duty. On the opposite side of the courtyard, under a
colonnade, was extensive standing for carriages- where, indeed, some
carriages of Monseigneur yet stood. Against two of the pillars were
fastened two great flaring flambeaux, and in the light of these,
standing out in the open air, was a large grindstone: a roughly
mounted thing which appeared to have hurriedly been brought there from
some neighbouring smithy, or other workshop. Rising and looking out of
window at these harmless objects, Mr. Lorry shivered, and retired to
his seat by the fire. He had opened, not only the glass window, but
the lattice blind outside it, and he had closed both again, and he
shivered through his frame.
¡¡¡¡From the streets beyond the high wall and the strong gate, there
came the usual night hum of the city, with now and then an
indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some unwonted
sounds of a terrible nature were going up to Heaven.
¡¡¡¡"Thank God said Mr. Lorry, clasping his hands, "that no one near and
dear to me is in this dreadful town to-night. May He have mercy on all
who are in danger!"
¡¡¡¡Soon afterwards, the bell at the great gate sounded, and he thought,
"They have come back!" and sat listening. But, there was no loud
irruption into the courtyard, as he had expected, and he heard the
gate clash again, and all was quiet.
¡¡¡¡The nervousness and dread that were upon him inspired that vague
uneasiness respecting the Bank, which a great change would naturally
awaken, with such feelings roused. It was well guarded, and he got
up to go among the trusty people who were watching it, when his door
suddenly opened, and two figures rushed in, at sight of which he
fell back in amazement.
¡¡¡¡Lucie and her father! Lucie with her arms stretched out to him,
and with that old look of earnestness so concentrated and intensified,
that it seemed as though it had been stamped upon her face expressly
to give force and power to it in this one passage of her life.
¡¡¡¡"What is this?" cried Mr. Lorry, breathless and confused. "What is
the matter? Lucie! Manette! What has happened? What has brought you
here? What is it?"
¡¡¡¡With the look fixed upon him, in her paleness and wildness, she
panted out in his arms, imploringly, "O my dear friend! My husband!"
¡¡¡¡"Your husband, Lucie?"
¡¡¡¡"Charles."
¡¡¡¡"What of Charles?"
¡¡¡¡"Here."
¡¡¡¡"Here, in Paris?"
¡¡¡¡"Has been here some days- three or four- I don't know how many- I
can't collect my thoughts. An errand of generosity brought him here
unknown to us; he was stopped at the barrier, and sent to prison."
¡¡¡¡The old man uttered an irrepressible cry. Almost at the same moment,
the bell of the great gate rang again, and a loud noise of feet and
voices came pouring into the courtyard.
¡¡¡¡"What is that noise?" said the Doctor, turning towards the window.
¡¡¡¡"Don't look!" cried Mr. Lorry. "Don't look out! Manette, for your
life, don't touch the blind!"
¡¡¡¡The Doctor turned, with his hand upon the fastening of the window,
and said, with a cool, bold smile: "My dear friend, I have a charmed
life in this city. I have been a Bastille prisoner. There is no
patriot in Paris- in Paris? In France- who, knowing me to have been
a prisoner in the Bastille, would touch me, except to overwhelm me
with embraces, or carry me in triumph. My old pain has given me a
power that has brought us through the barrier, and gained us news of
Charles there, and brought us here. I knew it would be so; I knew I
could help Charles out of all danger; I told Lucie so.- What is that
noise?" His hand was again upon the window.
¡¡¡¡"Don't look!" cried Mr. Lorry, absolutely desperate. "No, Lucie,
my dear, nor you!" He got his arm round her, and held her. "Don't be
so terrified, my love. I solemnly swear to you that I know of no
harm having happened to Charles; that I had no suspicion even of his
being in this fatal place. What prison is he in?"
¡¡¡¡"La Force!"
¡¡¡¡"La Force! Lucie, my child, if ever you were brave and serviceable
in your life- and you were always both- you will compose yourself now,
to do exactly as I bid you; for more depends upon it than you can
think, or I can say. There is no help for you in any action on your
part to-night; you cannot possibly stir out. I say this, because
what I must bid you to do for Charles's sake, is the hardest thing
to do of all. You must instantly be obedient, still, and quiet. You
must let me put you in a room at the back here. You must leave your
father and me alone for two minutes, and as there are Life and Death
in the world you must not delay."
¡¡¡¡"I will be submissive to you. I see in your face that you know I can
do nothing else than this. I know you are true."
¡¡¡¡The old man kissed her, and hurried her into his room, and turned
the key; then, came hurrying back to the Doctor, and opened the window
and partly opened the window and partly opened the blind, and put
his hand upon the Doctor's arm, and looked out with him into the
courtyard.
¡¡¡¡Looked out upon a throng of men and women: not enough in number,
or near enough, to fill the courtyard: not more than forty or fifty in
all. The people in possession of the house had let them in at the
gate, and they had rushed in to work at the grindstone; it had
evidently been set up there for their purpose, as in a convenient
and retired spot.
¡¡¡¡But, such awful workers, and such awful work!
¡¡¡¡The grindstone had a double handle, and, turning at it madly were
two men, whose faces, as their long hair flapped back when the
whirlings of the grindstone brought their faces up, were more horrible
and cruel than the visages of the wildest savages in their most
barbarous disguise. False eyebrows and false moustaches were stuck
upon them, and their hideous countenances were all bloody and
sweaty, and all awry with bowling, and all staring and glaring with
beastly excitement and want of sleep. As these ruffians turned and
turned, their matted locks now flung forward over their eyes, now
flung backward over their necks, some women held wine to their
mouths that they might drink; and what with dropping blood, and what
with dropping wine, and what with the stream of sparks struck out of
the stone, all their wicked atmosphere seemed gore and fire. The eye
could not detect one creature in the group free from the smear of
blood. Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone,
were men stripped to the waist, with the stain all over their limbs
and bodies; men in all sorts of rags, with the stain upon those
rags; men devilishly set off with spoils of women's lace and silk
and ribbon, with the stain dyeing those trifles through and through.
Hatchets, knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be sharpened,
were all red with it. Some of the hacked swords were tied to the
wrists of those who carried them, with strips of linen and fragments
of dress: ligatures various in kind, but all deep of the one colour.
And as the frantic wielders of these weapons snatched them from the
stream of sparks and tore away into the streets, the same red hue
was red in their frenzied eyes;- eyes which any unbrutalised
beholder would have given twenty years of life, to petrify with a
well-directed gun.
¡¡¡¡All this was seen in a moment, as the vision of a drowning man, or
of any human creature at any very great pass, could see a world if
it were there. They drew back from the window, and the Doctor looked
for explanation in his friend's ashy face.
¡¡¡¡"They are," Mr. Lorry whispered the words, glancing fearfully
round at the locked room, "murdering the prisoners. If you are sure of
what you say; if you really have the power you think you have- as I
believe you have- make yourself known to these devils, and get taken
to La Force. It may be too late, I don't know, but let it not be a
minute later!"
¡¡¡¡Doctor Manette pressed his hand, hastened bareheaded out of the
room, and was in the courtyard when Mr. Lorry regained the blind.
¡¡¡¡His streaming white hair, his remarkable face, and the impetuous
confidence of his manner, as he put the weapons aside like water,
carried him in an instant to the heart of the concourse at the
stone. For a few moments there was a pause, and a hurry, and a murmur,
and the unintelligible sound of his voice; and then Mr. Lorry saw him,
surrounded by all, and in the midst of a line of twenty men long,
all linked shoulder to shoulder, and hand to shoulder, hurried out
with cries of- "Live the Bastille prisoner! Help for the Bastille
prisoner's kindred in La Force! Room for the Bastille prisoner in
front there! Save the prisoner Evremonde at La Force!" and a
thousand answering shouts.
¡¡¡¡He closed the lattice again with a fluttering heart, closed the
window and the curtain, hastened to Lucie, and told her that her
father was assisted by the people, and gone in search of her
husband. He found her child and Miss Pross with her; but, it never
occurred to him to be surprised by their appearance until a long
time afterwards, when he sat watching them in such quiet as the
night knew.
¡¡¡¡Lucie had, by that time, fallen into a stupor on the floor at his
feet, clinging to his hand. Miss Pross had laid the child down on
his own bed, and her head had gradually fallen on the pillow beside
her pretty charge. O the long, long night, with the moans of the
poor wife! And O the long, long night, with no return of her father
and no tidings!
¡¡¡¡Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded, and
the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled and spluttered.
"What is it?" cried Lucie, affrighted. "Hush! The soldiers' swords are
sharpened there," said Mr. Lorry. "The place is national property now,
and used as a kind of armoury, my love."
¡¡¡¡Twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and
fitful. Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly
detached himself from the clasping hand, and cautiously looked out
again. A man, so besmeared that he might have been a sorely wounded
soldier creeping back to consciousness on a field of slain, was rising
from the pavement by the side of the grindstone, and looking about him
with a vacant air. Shortly, this worn-out murderer descried in the
imperfect light one of the carriages of Monseigneur, and, staggering
to that gorgeous vehicle, climbed in at the door, and shut himself
up to take his rest on its dainty cushions.
¡¡¡¡The great grindstone, Earth, had turned when Mr. Lorry looked out
again, and the sun was red on the courtyard. But, the lesser
grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red
upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡III THE SHADOW
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡ONE Of the first considerations which arose in the business mind
of Mr. Lorry when business hours came round, was this:- that he had no
right to imperil Tellson's by sheltering the wife of an emigrant
prisoner under the Bank roof. His own possessions, safety, life, he
would have hazarded for Lucie and her child, without a moment's demur;
but the great trust he held was not his own, and as to that business
charge he was a strict man of business.
¡¡¡¡At first, his mind reverted to Defarge, and he thought of finding
out the wine-shop again and taking counsel with its master in
reference to the safest dwelling-place in the distracted state of
the city. But, the same consideration that suggested him, repudiated
him; he lived in the most violent Quarter, and doubtless was
influential there, and deep in its dangerous workings.
¡¡¡¡Noon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every minute's
delay tending to compromise Tellson's, Mr. Lorry advised with Lucie.
She said that her father had spoken of hiring a lodging for a short
term, in that Quarter, near the Banking-house. As there was no
business objection to this, and as he foresaw that even if it were all
well with Charles, and he were to be released, he could not hope to
leave the city, Mr. Lorry went out in quest of such a lodging, and
found a suitable one, high up in a removed by-street where the
closed blinds in all the other windows of a high melancholy square
of buildings marked deserted homes.
¡¡¡¡To this lodging he at once removed Lucie and her child, and Miss
Pross: giving them what comfort he could, and much more than he had
himself. He left Jerry with them, as a figure to fill a doorway that
would bear considerable knocking on the head, and returned to his
own occupations. A disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear
upon them, and slowly and heavily the day lagged on with him.
¡¡¡¡It wore itself out, and wore him out with it, until the Bank closed.
He was again alone in his room of the previous night, considering what
to do next, when be heard a foot upon the stair. In a few moments, a
man stood in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him,
addressed him by his name.
¡¡¡¡"Your servant," said Mr. Lorry. "Do you know me?"
¡¡¡¡He was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from forty-five
to fifty years of age. For answer he repeated, without any change of
emphasis, the words:
¡¡¡¡"Do you know me?"
¡¡¡¡"I have seen you somewhere."
¡¡¡¡"Perhaps at my wine-shop?"
¡¡¡¡Much interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: "You come from
Doctor Manette?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes. I come from Doctor Manette."
¡¡¡¡"And what says he? What does he send me?"
¡¡¡¡Defarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It
bore the words in the Doctor's writing:
¡¡¡¡"Charles is safe, but I cannot safely leave this place yet. I have
obtained the favour that the bearer has a short note from Charles to
his wife. Let the bearer see his wife."
¡¡¡¡It was dated from La Force, within an hour.
¡¡¡¡"Will you accompany me," said Mr. Lorry, joyfully relieved after
reading this note aloud, "to where his wife resides?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes," returned Defarge.
¡¡¡¡Scarcely noticing as yet, in what a curiously reserved and
mechanical way Defarge spoke, Mr. Lorry put on his hat and they went
down into the courtyard. There, they found two women; one, knitting.
¡¡¡¡"Madame Defarge, surely!" said Mr. Lorry, who had left her in
exactly the same attitude some seventeen years ago.
¡¡¡¡"It is she," observed her husband.
¡¡¡¡"Does Madame go with us?" inquired Mr. Lorry, seeing that she
moved as they moved.
¡¡¡¡"Yes. That she may be able to recognise the faces and know the
persons. It is for their safety."
¡¡¡¡Beginning to be strack by Defarge's manner, Mr. Lorry looked
dubiously at him, and led the way. Both the women followed; the second
woman being The Vengeance.
¡¡¡¡They passed through the intervening streets as quickly as they
might, ascended the staircase of the new domicile, were admitted by
Jerry, and found Lucie weeping, alone. She was thrown into a transport
by the tidings Mr. Lorry gave her of her husband, and clasped the hand
that delivered his note- little thinking what it had been doing near
him in the night, and might, but for a chance, have done to him.
¡¡¡¡"DEAREST,- Take courage. I am well, and your father has influence
around me. You cannot answer this. Kiss our child for me."
¡¡¡¡That was all the writing. It was so much, however, to her who
received it, that she turned from Defarge to his wife, and kissed
one of the hands that knitted. It was a passionate, loving,
thankful, womanly action, but the hand made no response- dropped
cold and heavy, and took to its knitting again.
¡¡¡¡There was something in its touch that gave Lucie a check. She
stopped in the act of putting the note in her bosom, and, with her
hands yet at her neck, looked terrified at Madame Defarge. Madame
Defarge met the lifted eyebrows and forehead with a cold, impassive
stare.
¡¡¡¡"My dear," said Mr. Lorry, striking in to explain; "there are
frequent risings in the streets; and, although it is not likely they
will ever trouble you, Madame Defarge wishes to see those whom she has
the power to protect at such times, to the end that she may know them-
that she may identify them. I believe," said Mr. Lorry, rather halting
in his reassuring words, as the stony manner of an the three impressed
itself upon him more and more, "I state the case, Citizen Defarge?"
¡¡¡¡Defarge looked gloomily at his wife, and gave no other answer than a
gruff sound of acquiescence.
¡¡¡¡"You had better, Lucie," said Mr. Lorry, doing all he could to
propitiate, by tone and manner, "have the dear child here, and our
good Pross. Our good Pross, Defarge, is an English lady, and knows
no French."
¡¡¡¡The lady in question, whose rooted conviction that she was more than
a match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and
danger, appeared with folded arms, and observed in English to The
Vengeance, whom her eyes first encountered, "Well, I am sure,
Boldface! I hope you are pretty well!" She also bestowed a British
cough on Madame Defarge; but, neither of the two took much heed of
her.
¡¡¡¡"Is that his child?" said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for
the fust time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as
if it were the finger of Fate.
¡¡¡¡"Yes, madame," answered Mr. Lorry; "this is our poor prisoner's
darling daughter, and only child."
¡¡¡¡The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed to
fall so threatening and dark on the child, that her mother
instinctively kneeled on the ground beside her, and held her to her
breast. The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed
then to fall, threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child.
¡¡¡¡"It is enough, my husband," said Madame Defarge. "I have seen
them. We may go."
¡¡¡¡But, the suppressed manner had enough of menace in it- not visible
and presented, but indistinct and withheld- to alarm Lucie into
saying, as she laid her appealing hand on Madame Defarge's dress:
¡¡¡¡"You will be good to my poor husband. You will do him no harm. You
will help me to see him if you can?"
¡¡¡¡"Your husband is not my business here," returned Madame Defarge,
looking down at her with perfect composure. "It is the daughter of
your father who is my business here."
¡¡¡¡"For my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For my child's
sake! She will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful.
We are more afraid of you than of these others."
¡¡¡¡Madame Defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her
husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and
looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression.
¡¡¡¡"What is it that your husband says in that little letter?" asked
Madame Defarge, with a lowering smile. "Influence; he says something
touching influence?"
¡¡¡¡"That my father," said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her
breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it,
"has much influence around him."
¡¡¡¡"Surely it will release him!" said Madame Defarge. "Let it do so."
¡¡¡¡"As a wife and mother," cried Lucie, most earnestly, "I implore
you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess,
against my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. O
sister-woman, think of me. As a wife and mother!"
¡¡¡¡Madame Defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said,
turning to her friend The Vengeance:
¡¡¡¡"The wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as
little as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered?
We have known their husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept
from them, often enough? All our lives, we have seen our
sister-women suffer, in themselves and in their children, poverty,
nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of
all kinds?"
¡¡¡¡"We have seen nothing else," returned The Vengeance.
¡¡¡¡"We have borne this a long time," said Madame Defarge, turning her
eyes again upon Lucie. "Judge you! Is it likely that the trouble of
one wife and mother would be much to us now?"
¡¡¡¡She resumed her knitting and went out. The Vengeance followed.
Defarge went last, and closed the door.
¡¡¡¡"Courage, my dear Lucie," said Mr. Lorry, as he raised her.
"Courage, courage! So far all goes well with us- much, much better
than it has of late gone with many poor souls. Cheer up, and have a
thankful heart."
¡¡¡¡"I am not thankless, I hope, but that dreadful woman seems to
throw a shadow on me and on all my hopes."
¡¡¡¡"Tut, tut!" said Mr. Lorry; "what is this despondency in the brave
little breast? A shadow indeed! No substance in it, Lucie."
¡¡¡¡But the shadow of the manner of these Defarges was dark upon
himself, for an that, and in his secret mind it troubled him greatly.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡IV CALM IN STORM
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡DOCTOR MANETTE did not return until the morning of the fourth day of
his absence. So much of what had happened in that dreadful time as
could be kept from the knowledge of Lucie was so well concealed from
her, that not until long afterwards, when France and she were far
apart, did she know that eleven hundred defenceless prisoners of
both sexes and all ages had been killed by the populace; that four
days and nights had been darkened by this deed of horror; and that the
air around her had been tainted by the slain. She only knew that there
had been an attack upon the prisons, that all political prisoners
had been in danger, and that some had been dragged out by the crowd
and murdered.
¡¡¡¡To Mr. Lorry, the Doctor communicated under an injunction of secrecy
on which he had no need to dwell, that the crowd had taken him through
a scene of carnage to the prison of La Force. That, in the prison he
had found a self-appointed Tribunal sitting, before which the
prisoners were brought singly, and by which they were rapidly
ordered to be put forth to be massacred, or to be released, or (in a
few cases) to be sent back to their cells. That, presented by his
conductors to this Tribunal, he had announced himself by name and
profession as having been for eighteen years a secret and unaccused
prisoner in the Bastille; that, one of the body so sitting in judgment
had risen and identified him, and that this man was Defarge.
¡¡¡¡That, hereupon he had ascertained, through the registers on the
table, that his son-in-law was among the living prisoners, and had
pleaded hard to the Tribunal- of whom some members were asleep and
some awake, some dirty with murder and some clean, some sober and some
not- for his life and liberty. That, in the first frantic greetings
lavished on himself as a notable sufferer under the overthrown system,
it had been accorded to him to have Charles Darnay brought before
the lawless Court, and examined. That, he seemed on the point of being
at once released, when the tide in his favour met with some
unexplained check (not intelligible to the Doctor), which led to a few
words of secret conference. That, the man sitting as President had
then informed Doctor Manette that the prisoner must remain in custody,
but should, for his sake, be held inviolate in safe custody. That,
immediately, on a signal, the prisoner was removed to the interior
of the prison again; but, that he, the Doctor, had then so strongly
pleaded for permission to remain and assure himself that his
son-in-law was, through no malice or mischance, delivered to the
concourse whose murderous yells outside the gate had often drowned the
proceedings, that he had obtained the permission, and had remained
in that Hall of Blood until the danger was over.
¡¡¡¡The sights he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and
sleep by intervals, shall remain untold. The mad joy over the
prisoners who were saved, had astounded him scarcely less than the mad
ferocity against those who were cut to pieces. One prisoner there was,
he said, who had been discharged into the street free, but at whom a
mistaken savage had thrust a pike as he passed out. Being besought
to go to him and dress the wound, the Doctor had passed out at the
same gate, and had found him in the arms of a company of Samaritans,
who were seated on the bodies of their victims. With an
inconsistency as monstrous as anything in this awful nightmare, they
had helped the healer, and tended the wounded man with the gentlest
solicitude- had made a litter for him and escorted him carefully
from the spot- had then caught up their weapons and plunged anew
into a butchery so dreadful, that the Doctor had covered his eyes with
his hands, and swooned away in the midst of it.
¡¡¡¡As Mr. Lorry received these confidences, and as he watched the
face of his friend now sixty-two years of age, a misgiving arose
within him that such dread experiences would revive the old danger.
But, he had never seen his friend in his present aspect: he had
never at all known him in his present character. For the first time
the Doctor felt, now, that his suffering was strength and power. For
the first time he felt that in that sharp fire, he had slowly forged
the iron which could break the prison door of his daughter's
husband, and deliver him. "It all tended to a good end, my friend;
it was not mere waste and ruin. As my beloved child was helpful in
restoring me to myself, I will be helpful now in restoring the dearest
part of herself to her; by the aid of Heaven I will do it!" Thus,
Doctor Manette. And when Jarvis Lorry saw the kindled eyes, the
resolute face, the calm strong look and bearing of the man whose
life always seemed to him to have been stopped, like a clock, for so
many years, and then set going again with an energy which had lain
dormant during the cessation of its usefulness, he believed.
¡¡¡¡Greater things than the Doctor had at that time to contend with,
would have yielded before his persevering purpose. While he kept
himself in his place, as a physician, whose business was with all
degrees of mankind, bond and free, rich and poor, bad and good, he
used his personal influence so wisely, that he was soon the inspecting
physician of three prisons, and among them of La Force. He could now
assure Lucie that her husband was no longer confined alone, but was
mixed with the general body of prisoners; he saw her husband weekly,
and brought sweet messages to her, straight from his lips; sometimes
her husband himself sent a letter to her (though never by the Doctor's
hand), but she was not permitted to write to him: for, among the
many wild suspicions of plots in the prisons, the wildest of all
pointed at emigrants who were known to have made friends or
permanent connections abroad.
¡¡¡¡This new life of the Doctor's was an anxious life, no doubt;
still, the sagacious Mr. Lorry saw that there was a new sustaining
pride in it. Nothing unbecoming tinged the pride; it was a natural and
worthy one; but he observed it as a curiosity. The Doctor knew, that
up to that time, his imprisonment had been associated in the minds
of his daughter and his friend, with his personal affliction,
deprivation, and weakness. Now that this was changed, and he knew
himself to be invested through that old trial with forces to which
they both looked for Charles's ultimate safety and deliverance, he
became so far exalted by the change, that he took the lead and
direction, and required them as the weak, to trust to him as the
strong. The preceding relative positions of himself and Lucie were
reversed, yet only as the liveliest gratitude and affection could
reverse them, for he could have had no pride but in rendering some
service to her who had rendered so much to him. "All curious to
see," thought Mr. Lorry, in his amiably shrewd way, "but all natural
and right; so, take the lead, my dear friend, and keep it; it couldn't
be in better hands."
¡¡¡¡But, though the Doctor tried hard, and never ceased trying, to get
Charles Darnay set at liberty, or at least to get him brought to
trial, the public current of the time set too strong and fast for him.
The new era began; the king was tried, doomed, and beheaded; the
Republic of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, declared for
victory or death against the world in arms; the black flag waved night
and day from the great towers of Notre Dame; three hundred thousand
men, summoned to rise against the tyrants of the earth, rose from
all the varying soils of France, as if the dragon's teeth had been
sown broadcast, and had yielded fruit equally on hill and plain, on
rock, in gravel, and alluvial mud, under the bright sky of the South
and under the clouds of the North, in fell and forest, in the
vineyards and the olive-grounds and among the cropped grass and the
stubble of the corn, along the fruitful banks of the broad rivers, and
in the sand of the sea-shore. What private solicitude could rear
itself against the deluge of the Year One of Liberty- the deluge
rising from below, not falling from above, and with the windows of
Heaven shut, not opened!
¡¡¡¡There was no pause, no pity, no peace, no interval of relenting
rest, no measurement of time. Though days and nights circled as
regularly as when time was young, and the evening and morning were the
first day, other count of time there was none. Hold of it was lost
in the raging fever of a nation, as it is in the fever of one patient.
Now, breaking the unnatural silence of a whole city, the executioner
showed the people the head of the king- and now, it seemed almost in
the same breath, the bead of his fair wife which had had eight weary
months of imprisoned widowhood and misery, to turn it grey.
¡¡¡¡And yet, observing the strange law of contradiction which obtains in
all such cases, the time was long, while it flamed by so fast. A
revolutionary tribunal in the capital, and forty or fifty thousand
revolutionary committees all over the land; a law of the Suspected,
which struck away all security for liberty or life, and delivered over
any good and innocent person to any bad and guilty one; prisons gorged
with people who had committed no offence, and could obtain no bearing;
these things became the established order and nature of appointed
things, and seemed to be ancient usage before they were many weeks
old. Above all, one hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had
been before the general gaze from the foundations of the world- the
figure of the sharp female called La Guillotine.
¡¡¡¡It was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for
headache, it ifallibly prevented the hair from turning grey, it
imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion, it was the National
Razor which shaved close: who kissed La Guillotine, looked through the
little window and sneezed into the sack. It was the sign of the
regeneration of the human race. It superseded the Cross. Models of
it were worn on breasts from which the Cross was discarded, and it was
bowed down to and believed in where the Cross was denied.
¡¡¡¡It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most
polluted, were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a toy-puzzle
for a young Devil, and was put together again when the occasion wanted
it. It hushed the eloquent, struck down the powerful, abolished the
beautiful and good. Twenty-two friends of high public mark, twenty-one
living and one dead, it had lopped the heads off, in one morning, in
as many minutes. The name of the strong man of Old Scripture had
descended to the chief functionary who worked it; but, so armed, he
was stronger than his namesake, and blinder, and tore away the gates
of God's own Temple every day.
¡¡¡¡Among these terrors, and the brood belonging to them, the Doctor
walked with a steady head: confident in his power, cautiously
persistent in his end, never doubting that he would save Lucie's
husband at last. Yet the current of the time swept by, so strong and
deep, and carried the time away so fiercely, that Charles had lain
in prison one year and three months when the Doctor was thus steady
and confident. So much more wicked and distracted had the Revolution
grown in that December month, that the rivers of the South were
encumbered with the bodies of the violently drowned by night, and
prisoners were shot in lines and squares under the southern wintry
sun. Still, the Doctor walked among the terrors with a steady head. No
man better known than he, in Paris at that day; no man in a stranger
situation. Silent, humane, indispensable in hospital and prison, using
his art equally among assassins and victims, he was a man apart. In
the exercise of his skill, the appearance and the story of the
Bastille Captive removed him from all other men. He was not
suspected or brought in question, any more than if he had indeed
been recalled to life some eighteen years before, or were a Spirit
moving among mortals.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡V THE WOOD-SAWYER
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡ONE YEAR and three months. During all that time Lucie was never
sure, from hour to hour, but that the Guillotine would strike off
her husband's head next day. Every day, through the stony streets, the
tumbrils now jolted heavily, filled with Condemned. Lovely girls;
bright women, brown-haired, black-haired, and grey; youths; stalwart
men and old; gentle born and peasant born; all red wine for La
Guillotine, all daily brought into light from the dark cellars of
the loathsome prisons, and carried to her through the streets to slake
her devouring thirst. Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death;- the
last, much the easiest to bestow, O Guillotine!
¡¡¡¡If the suddenness of her calamity, and the whirling wheels of the
time, had stunned the Doctor's daughter into awaiting the result in
idle despair, it would but have been with her as it was with many.
But, from the hour when she had taken the white head to her fresh
young bosom in the garret of Saint Antoine, she had been true to her
duties. She was truest to them in the season of trial, as all the
quietly loyal and good will always be.
¡¡¡¡As soon as they were established in their new residence, and her
father had entered on the routine of his avocations, she arranged
the little household as exactly as if her husband had been there.
Everything had its appointed place and its appointed time. Little
Lucie she taught, as regularly, as if they had all been united in
their English home. The slight devices with which she cheated
herself into the show of a belief that they would soon be reunited-
the little preparations for his speedy return, the setting aside of
his chair and his books- these, and the solemn prayer at night for one
dear prisoner especially, among the many unhappy souls in prison and
the shadow of death- were almost the only outspoken reliefs of her
heavy mind.
¡¡¡¡She did not greatly alter in appearance. The plain dark dresses,
akin to mourning dresses, which she and her child wore, were as neat
and as well attended to as the brighter clothes of happy days. She
lost her colour, and the old and intent expression was a constant, not
an occasional, thing; otherwise, she remained very pretty and
comely. Sometimes, at night on kissing her father, she would burst
into the grief she had repressed all day, and would say that her
sole reliance, under Heaven, was on him. He always resolutely
answered: "Nothing can happen to him without my knowledge, and I
know that I can save him, Lucie."
¡¡¡¡They had not made the round of their changed life many weeks, when
her father said to her, on coming home one evening:
¡¡¡¡"My dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to which Charles
can sometimes gain access at three in the afternoon. When he can get
to it- which depends on many uncertainties and incidents- he might see
you in the street, he thinks, if you stood in a certain place that I
can show you. But you will not be able to see him, my poor child,
and even if you could, it would be unsafe for you to make a sign of
recognition."
¡¡¡¡"O show me the place, my father, and I will go there every day."
¡¡¡¡From that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. As
the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned resignedly
away. When it was not too wet or inclement for her child to be with
her, they went together; at other times she was alone; but, she
never missed a single day.
¡¡¡¡It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. The
hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only house
at that end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being there,
he noticed her.
¡¡¡¡"Good day, citizeness."
¡¡¡¡"Good day, citizen."
¡¡¡¡This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been
established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough
patriots; but, was now law for everybody.
¡¡¡¡"Walking here again, citizeness?"
¡¡¡¡"You see me, citizen!"
¡¡¡¡The wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of gesture
(he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the prison,
pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers before his face
to represent bars, peeped through them jocosely.
¡¡¡¡"But it's not my business," said he. And went on sawing his wood.
¡¡¡¡Next day he was looking out for her, and accosted her the moment she
appeared.
¡¡¡¡"What? Walking here again, citizeness?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes, citizen."
¡¡¡¡"Ah! A child too! Your mother, is it not, my little citizeness?"
¡¡¡¡"Do I say yes, mamma?" whispered little Lucie, drawing close to her.
¡¡¡¡"Yes, dearest."
¡¡¡¡"Yes, citizen."
¡¡¡¡"Ah! But it's not my business. My work is my business. See my saw! I
call it my Little Guillotine. La, la, la; La, la, la! And off his head
comes!" The billet fell as he spoke, and he threw it into a basket.
¡¡¡¡"I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See here
again! Loo, loo, loo; Loo, loo, loo! And off her head comes! Now, a
child. Tickle, tickle; Pickle, pickle! And off its head comes. All the
family!"
¡¡¡¡Lucie shuddered as he threw two more billets into his basket, but it
was impossible to be there while the wood-sawyer was at work, and
not be in his sight. Thenceforth, to secure his good will, she
always spoke to him first, and often gave him drink-money, which he
readily received.
¡¡¡¡He was an inquisitive fellow, and sometimes when she had quite
forgotten him in gazing at the prison roof and grates, and in
lifting her heart up to her husband, she would come to herself to find
him looking at her, with his knee on his bench and his saw stopped
in its work. "But it's not my business!" he would generally say at
those times, and would briskly fall to his sawing again.
¡¡¡¡In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter
winds of spring, in the bot sunshine of summer, in the rains of
autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed two
hours of every day at this place; and every day on leaving it, she
kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she learned from her
father) it might be once in five or six times: it might be twice or
thrice running: it might be, not for a week or a fortnight together.
It was enough that he could and did see her when the chances served,
and on that possibility she would have waited out the day, seven
days a week.
¡¡¡¡These occupations brought her round to the December month, wherein
her father walked among the terrors with a steady head. On a
lightly-snowing afternoon she arrived at the usual corner. It was a
day of some wild rejoicing, and a festival. She had seen the houses,
as she came along, decorated with little pikes, and with little red
caps stuck upon them; also, with tricoloured ribbons; also, with the
standard inscription (tricoloured letters were the favourite),
Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!
¡¡¡¡The miserable shop of the wood-sawyer was so small, that its whole
surface furnished very indifferent space for this legend. He had got
somebody to scrawl it up for him, however, who had squeezed Death in
with most inappropriate difficulty. On his house-top, he displayed
pike and cap, as a good citizen must, and in a window he had stationed
his saw inscribed as his "Little Sainte Guillotine"- for the great
sharp female was by that time popularly canonised. His shop was shut
and he was not there, which was a relief to Lucie, and left her
quite alone.
¡¡¡¡But, he was not far off, for presently she heard a troubled movement
and a shouting coming along, which filled her with fear. A moment
afterwards, and a throng of people came pouring round the corner by
the prison wall, in the midst of whom was the wood-sawyer hand in hand
with The Vengeance. There could not be fewer than five hundred people,
and they were dancing like five thousand demons. There was no other
music than their own singing. They danced to the popular Revolution
song, keeping a ferocious time that was like a gnashing of teeth in
unison. Men and women danced together, women danced together, men
danced together, as hazard had brought them together. At first, they
were a mere storm of coarse red caps and coarse woollen rags; but,
as they filled the place, and stopped to dance about Lucie, some
ghastly apparition of a dance-figure gone raving mad arose among them.
They advanced, retreated, struck at one another's hands, clutched at
one another's heads, spun round alone, caught one another and spun
round in pairs, until many of them dropped. While those were down, the
rest linked hand in hand, and all spun round together: then the ring
broke, and in separate rings of two and four they turned and turned
until they all stopped at once, began again, struck, clutched, and
tore, and then reversed the spin, and all spun round another way.
Suddenly they stopped again, paused, struck out the time afresh,
formed into lines the width of the public way, and, with their heads
low down and their hands high up, swooped screaming off. No fight
could have been half so terrible as this dance. It was so emphatically
a fallen sport- a something, once innocent, delivered over to all
devilry- a healthy pastime changed into a means of angering the blood,
bewildering the senses, and steeling the heart. Such grace as was
visible in it, made it the uglier, showing how warped and perverted
all things good by nature were become. The maidenly bosom bared to
this, the pretty almost-child's head thus distracted, the delicate
foot mincing in this slough of blood and dirt, were types of the
disjointed time.
¡¡¡¡This was the Carmagnole. As it passed, leaving Lucie frightened
and bewildered in the doorway of the wood-sawyer's house, the feathery
snow fell as quietly and lay as white and soft, as if it had never
been.
¡¡¡¡"O my father!" for he stood before her when she lifted up the eyes
she had momentarily darkened with her hand; "such a cruel, bad sight."
¡¡¡¡"I know, my dear, I know. I have seen it many times. Don't be
frightened! Not one of them would harm you."
¡¡¡¡"I am not frightened for myself, my father. But when I think of my
husband, and the mercies of these people--"
¡¡¡¡"We will set him above their mercies very soon. I left him
climbing to the window, and I came to tell you. There is no one here
to see. You may kiss your hand towards that highest shelving roof."
¡¡¡¡"I do so, father, and I send him my Soul with it!"
¡¡¡¡"You cannot see him, my poor dear?"
¡¡¡¡"No, father," said Lucie, yearning and weeping as she kissed her
hand, "no."
¡¡¡¡A footstep in the snow. Madame Defarge. "I salute you,
citizeness," from the Doctor. "I salute you, citizen." This in
passing. Nothing more. Madame Defarge gone, like a shadow over the
white road.
¡¡¡¡"Give me your arm, my love. Pass from here with an air of
cheerfulness and courage, for his sake. That was well done;" they
had left the spot; "it shall not be in vain. Charles is summoned for
to-morrow."
¡¡¡¡"For to-morrow!"
¡¡¡¡"There is no time to lose. I am well prepared, but there are
precautions to be taken, that could not be taken until he was actually
summoned before the Tribunal. He has not received the notice yet,
but I know that he will presently be summoned for to-morrow, and
removed to the Conciergerie; I have timely information. You are not
afraid?"
¡¡¡¡She could scarcely answer, "I trust in you."
¡¡¡¡"Do so, implicitly. Your suspense is nearly ended, my darling; he
shall be restored to you within a few hours; I have encompassed him
with every protection. I must see Lorry."
¡¡¡¡He stopped. There was a heavy lumbering of wheels within hearing.
They both knew too well what it meant. One. Two. Three. Three tumbrils
faring away with their dread loads over the hushing snow.
¡¡¡¡"I must see Lorry," the Doctor repeated, turning her another way.
¡¡¡¡The staunch old gentleman was still in his trust; had never left it.
He and his books were in frequent requisition as to property
confiscated and made national. What he could save for the owners, he
saved. No better man living to hold fast by what Tellson's had in
keeping, and to hold his peace.
¡¡¡¡A murky red and yellow sky, and a rising mist from the Seine,
denoted the approach of darkness. It was almost dark when they arrived
at the Bank. The stately residence of Monseigneur was altogether
blighted and deserted. Above a heap of dust and ashes in the court,
ran the letters: National Property. Republic One and Indivisible.
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!
¡¡¡¡Who could that be with Mr. Lorry- the owner of the riding-coat
upon the chair- who must not be seen? From whom newly arrived, did
he come out, agitated and surprised, to take his favourite in his
arms? To whom did he appear to repeat her faltering words, when,
raising his voice and turning his head towards the door of the room
from which he had issued, he said: "Removed to the Conciergerie, and
summoned for to-morrow?"
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡VI TRIUMPH
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡THE DREAD TRIBUNAL of five Judges, Public Prosecutor, and determined
Jury, sat every day. Their lists went forth every evening, and were
read out by the gaolers of the various prisons to their prisoners. The
standard gaoler-joke was, "Come out and listen to the Evening Paper,
you inside there!"
¡¡¡¡"Charles Evremonde, called Darnay!"
¡¡¡¡So at last began the Evening Paper at La Force.
¡¡¡¡When a name was called, its owner stepped apart into a spot reserved
for those who were announced as being thus fatally recorded. Charles
Evremonde, called Darnay, had reason to know the usage; he had seen
hundreds pass away so.
¡¡¡¡His bloated gaoler, who wore spectacles to read with, glanced over
them to assure himself that he had taken his place, and went through
the list, making a similar short pause at each name. There were
twenty-three names, but only twenty were responded to; for one of
the prisoners so summoned had died in gaol and been forgotten, and two
had already been guillotined and forgotten. The list was read, in
the vaulted chamber where Darnay had seen the associated prisoners
on the night of his arrival. Every one of those had perished in the
massacre; every human creature he had since cared for and parted with,
had died on the scaffold.
¡¡¡¡There were hurried words of farewell and kindness, but the parting
was soon over. It was the incident of every day, and the society of La
Force were engaged in the preparation of some games of forfeits and
a little concert, for that evening. They crowded to the grates and
shed tears there; but, twenty places in the projected entertainments
had to be refilled, and the time was, at best, short to the lock-up
hour, when the common rooms and corridors would be delivered over to
the great dogs who kept watch there through the night. The prisoners
were far from insensible or unfeeling; their ways arose out of the
condition of the time. Similarly, though with a subtle difference, a
species of fervour or intoxication, known, without doubt, to have
led some persons to brave the guillotine unnecessarily, and to die
by it, was not mere boastfulness, but a wild infection of the wildly
shaken public mind. In seasons of pestilence, some of us will have a
secret attraction to the disease-a terrible passing inclination to die
of it. And all of us have like wonders hidden in our breasts, only
needing circumstances to evoke them.
¡¡¡¡The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark; the night in its
vermin-haunted cells was long and cold. Next day, fifteen prisoners
were put to the bar before Charles Darnay's name was called. All the
fifteen were condemned, and the trials of the whole occupied an hour
and a half.
¡¡¡¡"Charles Evremonde, called Darnay," was at length arraigned.
¡¡¡¡His judges sat upon the Bench in feathered hats; but the rough red
cap and tricoloured cockade was the head-dress otherwise prevailing.
Looking at the Jury and the turbulent audience, he might have
thought that the usual order of things was reversed, and that the
felons were trying the honest men. The lowest, cruelest, and worst
populace of a city, never without its quantity of low, cruel, and bad,
were the directing spirits of the scene: noisily commenting,
applauding, disapproving, anticipating, and precipitating the
result, without a check. Of the men, the greater part were armed in
various ways; of the women, some wore knives, some daggers, some ate
and drank as they looked on, many knitted. Among these last, was
one, with a spare piece of knitting under her arm as she worked. She
was in a front row, by the side of a man whom he had never seen
since his arrival at the Barrier, but whom he directly remembered as
Defarge. He noticed that she once or twice whispered in his ear, and
that she seemed to be his wife; but, what he most noticed in the two
figures was, that although they were posted as close to himself as
they could be, they never looked towards him. They seemed to be
waiting for something with a dogged determination, and they looked
at the Jury, but at nothing else. Under the President sat Doctor
Manette, in his usual quiet dress. As well as the prisoner could
see, he and Mr. Lorry were the only men there, unconnected with the
Tribunal, who wore their usual clothes, and had not assumed the coarse
garb of the Carmagnole.
¡¡¡¡Charles Evremonde, called Darnay, was accused by the public
prosecutor as an emigrant, whose life was forfeit to the Republic,
under the decree which banished all emigrants on pain of Death. It was
nothing that the decree bore date since his return to France. There he
was, and there was the decree; he had been taken in France, and his
head was demanded.
¡¡¡¡"Take off his head!" cried the audience. "An enemy to the Republic!"
¡¡¡¡The President rang his bell to silence those cries, and asked the
prisoner whether it was not true that he had lived many years in
England?
¡¡¡¡Undoubtedly it was.
¡¡¡¡Was he not an emigrant then? What did he call himself?
¡¡¡¡Not an emigrant, he hoped, within the sense and spirit of the law.
¡¡¡¡Why not? the President desired to know.
¡¡¡¡Because he had voluntarily relinquished a title that was distasteful
to him, and a station that was distasteful to him, and had left his
country- he submitted before the word emigrant in the present
acceptation by the Tribunal was in use- to live by his own industry in
England, rather than on the industry of the overladen people of
France.
¡¡¡¡What proof had he of this?
¡¡¡¡He handed in the names of two witnesses; Theophile Gabelle, and
Alexandre Manette.
¡¡¡¡But he had married in England? the President reminded him.
¡¡¡¡True, but not an English woman.
¡¡¡¡A citizeness of France?
¡¡¡¡Yes. By birth.
¡¡¡¡Her name and family", "Lucie Manette, only daughter of Doctor
Manette, the good physician who sits there."
¡¡¡¡This answer had a happy effect upon the audience. Cries in
exaltation of the well-known good physician rent the hall. So
capriciously were the people moved, that tears immediately rolled down
several ferocious countenances which had been glaring at the
prisoner a moment before, as if with impatience to pluck him out
into the streets and kill him.
¡¡¡¡On these few steps of his dangerous way, Charles Darnay had set
his foot according to Doctor Manette's reiterated instructions. The
same cautious counsel directed every step that lay before him, and had
prepared every inch of his road.
¡¡¡¡The President asked, why had he returned to France when he did,
and not sooner?
¡¡¡¡He had not returned sooner, he replied, simply because he had no
means of living in France, save those he had resigned; whereas, in
England, he lived by giving instruction in the French language and
literature. He had returned when he did, on the pressing and written
entreaty of a French citizen, who represented that his life was
endangered by his absence. He had come back, to save a citizen's life,
and to bear his testimony, at whatever personal hazard, to the
truth. Was that criminal in the eyes of the Republic?
¡¡¡¡The populace cried enthusiastically, "No!" and the President rang
his bell to quiet them. Which it did not, for they continued to cry
"No!" untill they left off, of their own will.
¡¡¡¡The President required the name of that citizen. The accused
explained that the citizen was his first witness. He also referred
with confidence to the citizen's letter, which had been taken from him
at the Barrier, but which he did not doubt would be found among the
papers then before the President.
¡¡¡¡The Doctor had taken care that it should be there- had assured him
that it would be there- and at this stage of the proceedings it was
produced and read. Citizen Gabelle was called to confirm it, and did
so. Citizen Gabelle hinted, with infinite delicacy and politeness,
that in the pressure of business imposed on the Tribunal by the
multitude of enemies of the Republic with which it had to deal, he had
been slightly overlooked in his prison of the Abbaye- in fact, had
rather passed out of the Tribunal's patriotic remembrance- until three
days ago; when he had been summoned before it, and had been set at
liberty on the Jury's declaring themselves satisfied that the
accusation against him was answered, as to himself, by the surrender
of the citizen Evremonde, called Darnay.
¡¡¡¡Doctor Manette was next questioned. His high personal popularity,
and the cleanness of his answers, made a great impression; but, as
he proceeded, as he showed that the Accused was his first friend on
his release from his long imprisonment; that, the accused had remained
in England, always faithful and devoted to his daughter and himself in
their exile; that, so far from being in favour with the Aristocrat
government there, he had actually been tried for his life by it, as
the foe of England and friend of the United States- as he brought
these circumstances into view, with the greatest discretion and with
the straightforward force of truth and earnestness, the Jury and the
populace became one. At last, when he appealed by name to Monsieur
Lorry, an English gentleman then and there present, who, like himself,
had been a witness on that English trial and could corroborate his
account of it, the Jury declared that they had heard enough, and
that they were ready with their votes if the President were content to
receive them.
¡¡¡¡At every vote (the Jurymen voted aloud and individually), the
populace set up a shout of applause. All the voices were in the
prisoner's favour, and the President declared him free.
¡¡¡¡Then, began one of those extraordinary scenes with which the
populace sometimes gratified their fickleness, or their better
impulses towards generosity and mercy, or which they regarded as
some set-off against their swollen account of cruel rage. No man can
decide now to which of these motives such extraordinary scenes were
referable; it is probable, to a blending of all the three, with the
second predominating. No sooner was the acquittal pronounced, than
tears were shed as freely as blood at another time, and such fraternal
embraces were bestowed upon the prisoner by as many of both sexes as
could rush at him, that after his long and unwholesome confinement
he was in danger of fainting from exhaustion; none the less because he
knew very well, that the very same people, carried by another current,
would have rushed at him with the very same intensity, to rend him
to pieces and strew him over the streets.
¡¡¡¡His removal, to make way for other accused persons who were to be
tried, rescued him from these caresses for the moment. Five were to be
tried together, next, as enemies of the Republic, forasmuch as they
had not assisted it by word or deed. So quick was the Tribunal to
compensate itself and the nation for a chance lost, that these five
came down to him before he left the place, condemned to die within
twenty-four hours. The first of them told him so, with the customary
prison sign of Death- a raised finger- and they all added in words,
"Long live the Republic!"
¡¡¡¡The five had had, it is true, no audience to lengthen their
proceedings, for when he and Doctor Manette emerged from the gate,
there was a great crowd about it, in which there seemed to be every
face he had seen in Court- except two, for which he looked in vain. On
his coming out, the concourse made at him anew, weeping, embracing,
and shouting, all by turns and all together, until the very tide of
the river on the bank of which the mad scene was acted, seemed to
run mad, like the people on the shore.
¡¡¡¡They put him into a great chair they had among them, and which
they had taken either out of the Court itself, or one of its rooms
or passages. Over the chair they had thrown a red flag, and to the
back of it they had bound a pike with a red cap on its top. In this
car of triumph, not even the Doctor's entreaties could prevent his
being carried to his home on men's shoulders, with a confused sea of
red caps heaving about him, and casting up to sight from the stormy
deep such wrecks of faces, that he more than once misdoubted his
mind being in confusion, and that he was in the tumbril on his way
to the Guillotine
¡¡¡¡In wild dreamlike procession, embracing whom they met and pointing
him out, they carried him on. Reddening the snowy streets with the
prevailing Republican colour, in winding and tramping through them, as
they had reddened them below the snow with a deeper dye, they
carried him thus into the courtyard of the building where he lived.
Her father had gone on before, to prepare her, and when her husband
stood upon his feet, she dropped insensible in his arms.
¡¡¡¡As he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head between
his face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lips
might come together unseen, a few of the people fell to dancing.
Instantly, all the rest fell to dancing, and the courtyard
overflowed with the Carmagnole. Then, they elevated into the vacant
chair a young woman from the crowd to be carried as the Goddess of
Liberty, and then swelling and overflowing out into the adjacent
streets, and along the river's bank, and over the bridge, the
Carmagnole absorbed them every one and whirled them away.
¡¡¡¡After grasping the Doctor's hand, as he stood victorious and proud
before him; after grasping the hand of Mr. Lorry, who came panting
in breathless from his struggle against the waterspout of the
Carmagnole; after kissing little Lucie, who was lifted up to clasp her
arms round his neck; and after embracing the ever zealous and faithful
Pross who lifted her; he took his wife in his arms, and carried her up
to their rooms.
¡¡¡¡"Lucie! My own! I am safe."
¡¡¡¡"O dearest Charles, let me thank God for this on my knees as I
have prayed to Him."
¡¡¡¡They all reverently bowed their heads and hearts. When she was again
in his arms, he said to her:
¡¡¡¡"And now speak to your father, dearest. No other man in all this
France could have done what he has done for me."
¡¡¡¡She laid her head upon her father's breast, as she had laid his poor
head on her own breast, long, long ago. He was happy in the return
he had made her, he was recompensed for his suffering, he was proud of
his strength. "You must not be weak, my darling," he remonstrated;
"don't tremble so. I have saved him."
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡VII A KNOCK AT THE DOOR
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡"I HAVE SAVED HIM." It was not another of the dreams in which he had
often come back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and
a vague but heavy fear was upon her.
¡¡¡¡All the air round was so thick and dark, the people were so
passionately revengeful and fitful, the innocent were so constantly
put to death on vague suspicion and black malice, it was so impossible
to forget that many as blameless as her husband and as dear to
others as he was to her, every day shared the fate from which he had
been clutched, that her heart could not be as lightened of its load as
she felt it ought to be. The shadows of the wintry afternoon were
beginning to fall, and even now the dreadful carts were rolling
through the streets. Her mind pursued them, looking for him among
the Condemned; and then she clung closer to his real presence and
trembled more.
¡¡¡¡Her father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superiority to this
woman's weakness, which was wonderful to see. No garret, no
shoemaking, no One Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had
accomplished the task he had set himself, his promise was redeemed, he
had saved Charles. Let them all lean upon him.
¡¡¡¡Their housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only because
that was the safest way of life, involving the least offence to the
people, but because they were not rich, and Charles, throughout his
imprisonment, had had to pay heavily for his bad food, and for his
guard, and towards the living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on
this account, and partly to avoid a domestic spy, they kept no
servant; the citizen and citizeness who acted as porters at the
courtyard gate, rendered them occasional service; and Jerry (almost
wholly transferred to them by Mr. Lorry) had become their daily
retainer, and had his bed there every night.
¡¡¡¡It was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible of
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, that on the door or
doorpost of every house, the name of every inmate must be legibly
inscribed in letters of a certain size, at a certain convenient height
from the ground. Mr. Jerry Cruncher's name, therefore, duly
embellished the doorpost down below; and, as the afternoon shadows
deepened, the owner of that name himself appeared, from overlooking
a painter whom Doctor Manette had employed to add to the list the name
of Charles Evremonde, called Darnay.
¡¡¡¡In the universal fear and distrust that darkened the time, all the
usual harmless ways of life were changed. In the Doctor's little
household, as in very many others, the articles of daily consumption
that were wanted were purchased every evening, in small quantities and
at various small shops. To avoid attracting notice, and to give as
little occasion as possible for talk and envy, was the general desire.
¡¡¡¡For some months past, Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher had discharged the
office of purveyors; the former carrying the money; the latter, the
basket. Every afternoon at about the time when the public lamps were
lighted, they fared forth on this duty, and made and brought home such
purchases as were needful. Although Miss Pross, through her long
association with a French family, might have known as much of their
language as of her own, if she had had a mind, she had no mind in that
direction; consequently she knew no more of that "nonsense" (as she
was pleased to call it) than Mr. Cruncher did. So her manner of
marketing was to plump a noun-substantive at the head of a
shopkeeper without any introduction in the nature of an article,
and, if it happened not to be the name of the thing she wanted, to
look round for that thing, lay hold of it, and hold on by it until the
bargain was concluded. She always made a bargain for it, by holding
up, as a statement of its just price, one finger less than the
merchant beld up, whatever his number might be.
¡¡¡¡"Now, Mr. Cruncher," said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red with
felicity; "if you are ready, I am."
¡¡¡¡Jerry hoarsely professed himself at Miss Pross's service. He had
worn all his rust off long ago, but nothing would file his spiky
head down.
¡¡¡¡"There's all manner of things wanted," said Miss Pross, "and we
shall have a precious time of it. We want wine, among the rest. Nice
toasts these Redheads will be drinking, wherever we buy it."
¡¡¡¡"It will be much the same to your knowledge, miss, I should
think," retorted Jerry, "whether they drink your health or the Old
Un's."
¡¡¡¡"Who's he?" said Miss Pross.
¡¡¡¡Mr. Cruncher, with some diffidence, explained himself as meaning
"Old Nick's."
¡¡¡¡"Ha!" said Miss Pross, "it doesn't need an interpreter to explain
the meaning of these creatures. They have but one, and it's Midnight
Murder, and Mischief."
¡¡¡¡"Hush, dear! Pray, pray, be cautious!" cried Lucie.
¡¡¡¡"Yes, yes, yes, I'll be cautious," said Miss Pross; "but I may say
among ourselves, that I do hope there will be no oniony and
tobaccoey smotherings in the form of embracings all round, going on in
the streets. Now, Ladybird, never you stir from that fire till I
come back! Take care of the dear husband you have recovered, and don't
move your pretty head from his shoulder as you have it now, till you
see me again! May I ask a question, Doctor Manette, before I go?"
¡¡¡¡"I think you may take that liberty," the Doctor answered, smiling.
¡¡¡¡"For gracious sake, don't talk about Liberty; we have quite enough
of that," said Miss Pross.
¡¡¡¡"Hush, dear! Again?" Lucie remonstrated.
¡¡¡¡"Well, my sweet," said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically,
"the short and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most
Gracious Majesty King George the Third;" Miss Pross curtseyed at the
name; and as such, my maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate
their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!"
¡¡¡¡Mr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly repeated the words
after Miss Pross, like somebody at church.
¡¡¡¡"I am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I
wish you had never taken that cold in your voice," said Miss Pross,
approvingly. "But the question, Doctor Manette. Is there"- it was
the good creature's way to affect to make light of anything that was a
great anxiety with them all, and to come at it in this chance
manner- "is there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this place?"
¡¡¡¡"I fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet."
¡¡¡¡"Heigh-ho-hum!" said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as she
glanced at her darling's golden hair in the light of the fire, "then
we must have patience and wait: that's all. We must hold up our
heads and fight low, as my brother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr.
Cruncher!-Don't you move, Ladybird!"
¡¡¡¡They went out, leaving Lucie, and her husband, her father, and the
child, by a bright fire. Mr. Lorry was expected back presently from
the Banking House. Miss Pross had lighted the lamp, but had put it
aside in a corner, that they might enjoy the fire-light undisturbed.
Little Lucie sat by her grandfather with her hands clasped through his
arm: and he, in a tone not rising much above a whisper, began to
tell her a story of a great and powerful Fairy who had opened a
prison-wall and let out a captive who had once done the Fairy a
service. All was subdued and quiet, and Lucie was more at ease than
she had been.
¡¡¡¡"What is that?" she cried, all at once.
¡¡¡¡"My dear!" said her father, stopping in his story, and laying his
hand on hers, "command yourself. What a disordered state you are in!
The least thing- nothing- startles you! You, your father's daughter!"
¡¡¡¡"I thought, my father," said Lucie, excusing herself, with a pale
face and in a faltering voice, "that I heard strange feet upon the
stairs."
¡¡¡¡"My love, the staircase is as still as Death."
¡¡¡¡As he said the word, a blow was struck upon the door.
¡¡¡¡"Oh father, father. What can this be! Hide Charles. Save him!"
¡¡¡¡"My child," said the Doctor, rising, and laying his hand upon her
shoulder, "I have saved him. What weakness is this, my dear! Let me go
to the door."
¡¡¡¡He took the lamp in his hand, crossed the two intervening outer
rooms, and opened it. A rude clattering of feet over the floor, and
four rough men in red caps, armed with sabres and pistols, entered the
room.
¡¡¡¡"The Citizen Evremonde, called Darnay," said the first.
¡¡¡¡"Who seeks him?" answered Darnay.
¡¡¡¡"I seek him. We seek him. I know you, Evremonde; I saw you before
the Tribunal to-day. You are again the prisoner of the Republic."
¡¡¡¡The four surrounded him, where he stood with his wife and child
clinging to him.
¡¡¡¡"Tell me how and why am I again a prisoner?"
¡¡¡¡"It is enough that you return straight to the Conciergerie, and will
know to-morrow. You are summoned for to-morrow."
¡¡¡¡Doctor Manette, whom this visitation had so turned into stone,
that he stood with the lamp in his hand, as if he were a statue made
to bold it. moved after these words were spoken, put the lamp down,
and confronting the speaker, and taking him, not ungently, by the
loose front of his red woollen shirt, said:
¡¡¡¡"You know him, you have said. Do you know me?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes, I know you, Citizen Doctor."
¡¡¡¡"We all know you, Citizen Doctor," said the other three.
¡¡¡¡He looked abstractedly from one to another, and said, in a lower
voice, after a pause:
¡¡¡¡"Will you answer his question to me then? How does this happen?"
¡¡¡¡"Citizen Doctor," said the first, reluctantly, "he has been
denounced to the Section of Saint Antoine. This citizen," pointing out
the second who had entered, 'is from Saint Antoine."
¡¡¡¡The citizen here indicated nodded his head, and added:
¡¡¡¡"He is accused by Saint Antoine."
¡¡¡¡"Of what?" asked the Doctor.
¡¡¡¡"Citizen Doctor," said the first, with his former reluctance, "ask
no more. If the Republic demands sacrifices from you, without doubt
you as a good patriot will be happy to make them. The Republic goes
before all. The People is supreme. Evremonde, we are pressed."
¡¡¡¡"One word," the Doctor entreated. "Will you tell me who denounced
him?"
¡¡¡¡"It is against rule," answered the first; "but you can ask Him of
Saint Antoine here."
¡¡¡¡The Doctor turned his eyes upon that man. Who moved uneasily on
his feet, rubbed his beard a little, and at length said:
¡¡¡¡"Well! Truly it is against rule. But he is denounced- and gravely-
by the Citizen and Citizeness Defarge. And by one other."
¡¡¡¡"What other?"
¡¡¡¡"Do you ask, Citizen Doctor?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes."
¡¡¡¡"Then," said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, "you will
be answered to-morrow. Now, I am dumb!"
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡VIII A HAND AT CARDS
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡HAPPILY UNCONSCIOUS of the new calamity at home, Miss Pross threaded
her way along the narrow streets and crossed the river by the bridge
of the Pont-Neuf, reckoning in her mind the number of indispensable
purchases she had to make. Mr. Cruncher, with the basket, walked at
her side. They both looked to the right and to the left into most of
the shops they passed, had a wary eye for an gregarious assemblages of
people, and turned out of their road to avoid any very excited group
of talkers. It was a raw evening, and the misty river, blurred to
the eye with blazing lights and to the ear with harsh noises, showed
where the barges were stationed in which the smiths worked, making
guns for the Army of the Republic. Woe to the man who played tricks
with that Army, or got undeserved promotion in it! Better for him that
his beard had never grown, for the National Razor shaved him close.
¡¡¡¡Having purchased a few small articles of grocery, and a measure of
oil for the lamp, Miss Pross bethought herself of the wine they
wanted. After peeping into several wine-shops, she stopped at the sign
of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, not far from the
National Palace, once (and twice) the Tuileries, where the aspect of
things rather took her fancy. It had a quieter look than any other
place of the same description they had passed, and, though red with
patriotic caps, was not so red as the rest. Sounding Mr. Cruncher, and
finding him of her opinion, Miss Pross resorted to the Good Republican
Brutus of Antiquity, attended by her cavalier.
¡¡¡¡Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in
mouth, playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one
bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal
aloud, and of the others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or
laid aside to be resumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward
asleep, who in the popular high-shouldered shaggy black spencer
looked, in that attitude, like slumbering bears or dogs; the two
outlandish customers approached the counter, and showed what they
wanted.
¡¡¡¡As their wine was measuring out, a man parted from another man in
a corner, and rose to depart. In going, he had to face Miss Pross.
No sooner did he face her, than Miss Pross uttered a scream, and
clapped her hands.
¡¡¡¡In a moment, the whole company were on their feet. That somebody was
assassinated by somebody vindicating a difference of opinion was the
likeliest occurrence. Everybody looked to see somebody fall, but
only saw a man and a woman standing staring at each other; the man
with all the outward aspect of a Frenchman and a thorough
Republican; the woman, evidently English.
¡¡¡¡What was said in this disappointing anti-climax, by the disciples of
the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was
something very voluble and loud, would have been as so much Hebrew
or Chaldean to Miss Pross and her protector, though they had been
all ears. But, they had no ears for anything in their surprise. For,
it must be recorded, that not only was Miss Pross lost in amazement
and agitation, but, Mr. Cruncher- though it seemed on his own separate
and individual account- was in a state of the greatest wonder.
¡¡¡¡"What is the matter?" said the man who had caused Miss Pross to
scream; speaking in a vexed, abrupt voice (though in a low tone),
and in English.
¡¡¡¡"Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!" cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands
again. "After not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so
long a time, do I find you here!"
¡¡¡¡"Don't call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death of me?" asked
the man, in a furtive, frightened way.
¡¡¡¡"Brother, brother!" cried Miss Pross, bursting into tears. "Have I
ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruel question?"
¡¡¡¡"Then hold your meddlesome tongue," said Solomon, "and come out,
if you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine, and come out. Who's
this man?"
¡¡¡¡Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her by no
means affectionate brother, said through her tears, "Mr. Cruncher."
¡¡¡¡"Let him come out too," said Solomon. "Does he think me a ghost?"
¡¡¡¡Apparently, Mr. Cruncher did, to judge from his looks. He said not a
word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the depths of her reticule
through her tears with great difficulty paid for her wine. As she
did so, Solomon turned to the followers of the Good Republican
Brutus of Antiquity, and offered a few words of explanation in the
French language, which caused them all to relapse into their former
places and pursuits.
¡¡¡¡"Now," said Solomon, stopping at the dark street coriner, "what do
you want?"
¡¡¡¡"How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned my
love away from!" cried Miss Pross, "to give me such a greeting, and
show me no affection."
¡¡¡¡"There. Con-found it! There," said Solomon, making a dab at Miss
Pross's lips with his own. "Now are you content?"
¡¡¡¡Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.
¡¡¡¡"If you expect me to be surprised," said her brother Solomon, "I
am not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most people who
are here. If you really don't want to endanger my existence- which I
half believe you do- go your ways as soon as possible, and let me go
mine. I am busy. I am an official."
¡¡¡¡"My English brother Solomon," mourned Miss Pross, casting up her
tear-fraught eyes, "that had the makings in him of one of the best and
greatest of men in his native country, an official among foreigners,
and such foreigners! I would almost sooner have seen the dear boy
lying in his--"
¡¡¡¡"I said so!" cried her brother, interrupting. "I knew it. You want
to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own
sister. Just as I am getting on!"
¡¡¡¡"The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!" cried Miss Pross. "Far
rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever
loved you truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionate word to
me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estranged between us, and
I will detain you no longer."
¡¡¡¡Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them had come of any
culpability of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had not known it for a fact,
years ago, in the quiet corner in Soho, that this precious brother had
spent her money and left her!
¡¡¡¡He was saying the affectionate word, however, with a far more
grudging condescension and patronage than he could have shown if their
relative merits and positions had been reversed (which is invariably
the case, all the world over), when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on
the shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedly interposed with the
following singular question:
¡¡¡¡"I say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is John
Solomon, or Solomon John?"
¡¡¡¡The official turned towards him with sudden distrust. He had not
previously uttered a word.
¡¡¡¡"Come!" said Mr. Cruncher. "Speak out, you know." (Which, by the
way, was more than he could do himself.) "John Solomon, or Solomon
John? She calls you Solomon, and she must know, being your sister. And
I know you're John, you know. Which of the two goes first? And
regarding that name of Pross, likewise. That warn't your name over the
water."
¡¡¡¡"What do you mean?"
¡¡¡¡"Well, I don't know all I mean, for I can't call to mind what your
name was, over the water."
¡¡¡¡"No?"
¡¡¡¡"No. But I'll swear it was a name of two syllables."
¡¡¡¡"Indeed?"
¡¡¡¡"Yes. T'other one's was one syllable. I know you. You was a
spy-witness at the Bailey. What, in the name of the Father of Lies,
own father to yourself, was you called at that time?"
¡¡¡¡"Barsad," said another voice, striking in.
¡¡¡¡"That's the name for a thousand pound!" cried Jerry.
¡¡¡¡The speaker who struck in, was Sydney Carton. He had his hands
behind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and he stood at Mr.
Cruncher's elbow as negligently as he might have stood at the Old
Bailey itself.
¡¡¡¡"Don't be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross. I arrived at Mr. Lorry's,
to his surprise, yesterday evening; we agreed that I would not present
myself elsewhere until all was well, or unless I could be useful; I
present myself here, to beg a little talk with your brother. I wish
you had a better employed brother than Mr. Barsad. I wish for your
sake Mr. Barsad was not a Sheep of the Prisons."
¡¡¡¡Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers.
The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how he dared--
¡¡¡¡"I'll tell you," said Sydney. "I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad,
coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was contemplating
the walls, an hour or more ago. You have a face to be remembered,
and I remember faces well. Made curious by seeing you in that
connection, and having a reason, to which you are no stranger, for
associating you with the misfortunes of a friend now very unfortunate,
I walked in your direction. I walked into the wine-shop here, close
after you, and sat near you. I had no difficulty in deducing from your
unreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among
your admirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, what I had
done at random, seemed to shape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad."
¡¡¡¡"What purpose?" the spy asked.
¡¡¡¡"It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in
the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some minutes of
your company- at the office of Tellson's Bank, for instance?"
¡¡¡¡"Under a threat?"
¡¡¡¡"Oh! Did I say that?"
¡¡¡¡"Then, why should I go there?"
¡¡¡¡"Really, Mr. Barsad, I can't say, if you can't."
¡¡¡¡"Do you mean that you won't say, sir?" the spy irresolutely asked.
¡¡¡¡"You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won't."
¡¡¡¡Carton's negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully in aid
of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had in his secret
mind, and with such a man as he had to do with. His practised eye
saw it, and made the most of it.
¡¡¡¡"Now, I told you so," said the spy, casting a reproachful look at
his sister; "if any trouble comes of this, it's your doing."
¡¡¡¡"Come, come, Mr. Barsad!" exclaimed Sydney. "Don't be ungrateful.
But for my great respect for your sister, I might not have led up so
pleasantly to a little proposal that I wish to make for our mutual
satisfaction. Do you go with me to the Bank?"
¡¡¡¡"I'll hear what you have got to say. Yes, I'll go with you."
¡¡¡¡"I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the corner of
her own street. Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not a good
city, at this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and as your
escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. Lorry's with us. Are
we ready? Come then!"
¡¡¡¡Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life
remembered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney's arm and looked
up in his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a
braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes, which
not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and raised the
man. She was too much occupied then with fears for the brother who
so little deserved her affection, and with Sydney's friendly
reassurances, adequately to heed what she observed.
¡¡¡¡They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to
Mr. Lorry's, which was within a few minutes' walk. John Barsad, or
Solomon Pross, walked at his side.
¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before a
cheery little log or two of fire- perhaps looking into their blaze for
the picture of that younger elderly gentleman from Tellson's, who
had looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now a good
many years ago. He turned his head as they entered, and showed the
surprise with which he saw a stranger.
¡¡¡¡"Miss Pross's brother, sir," said Sydney. "Mr. Barsad."
¡¡¡¡"Barsad?" repeated the old gentleman, "Barsad? I have an association
with the name- and with the face."
¡¡¡¡"I told you you a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad," observed Carton,
coolly. "Pray sit down."
¡¡¡¡As he took a chair himself, he supplied the link that Mr. Lorry
wanted, by saying to him with a frown, "Witness at that trial." Mr.
Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his new visitor with an
undisguised look of abhorrence.
¡¡¡¡"Mr. Barsad has been recognised by Miss Pross as the affectionate
brother you have heard of," said Sydney, "and has acknowledged the
relationship. I pass to worse news. Darnay has been arrested again."
¡¡¡¡Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed, "What do you
tell me! I left him safe and free within these two hours, and am about
to return to him!"
¡¡¡¡"Arrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad?"
¡¡¡¡"Just now, if at all."
¡¡¡¡"Mr. Barsad is the best authority possible, sir," said Sydney,
"and I have it from Mr. Barsad's communication to a friend and brother
Sheep over a bottle of wine, that the arrest has taken place. He
left the messengers at the gate, and saw them admitted by the
porter. There is no earthly doubt that he is retaken."
¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry's business eye read in the speaker's face that it was loss
of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, but sensible that something
might depend on his presence of mind, he commanded himself, and was
silently attentive.
¡¡¡¡"Now, I trust," said Sydney to him, "that the name and influence
of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good stead to-morrow-you said he
would be before the Tribunal again to-morrow, Mr. Barsad?--"
¡¡¡¡ "Yes; I believe so."
¡¡¡¡"-In as good stead to-morrow as to-day. But it may not be so. I
own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor Manette's not having had
the power to prevent this arrest."
¡¡¡¡"He may not have known of it beforehand," said Mr. Lorry.
¡¡¡¡"But that very circumstance would be alarming, when we remember
how identified he is with his son-in-law."
¡¡¡¡"That's true," Mr. Lorry acknowledged, with his troubled hand at his
chin, and his troubled eyes on Carton.
¡¡¡¡"In short," said Sydney, "this is a desperate time, when desperate
games are played for desperate stakes. Let the Doctor play the winning
game; I will play the losing one. No man's life here is worth
purchase. Any one carried home by the people to-day, may be
condemned tomorrow. Now, the stake I have resolved to play for, in
case of the worst, is a friend in the Conciergerie. And the friend I
purpose to myself to win, is Mr. Barsad."
¡¡¡¡"You need have good cards, sir," said the spy.
¡¡¡¡"I'll ran them over. I'll see what I hold,- Mr. Lorry, you know what
a brute I am; I wish you'd give me a little brandy."
¡¡¡¡It was put before him, and he drank off a glassful-drank off another
glassful- pushed the bottle thoughtfully away.
¡¡¡¡"Mr. Barsad," he went on, in the tone of one who really was
looking over a hand at cards: "Sheep of the prisons, emissary of
Republican committees, now turnkey, now prisoner, always spy and
secret informer, so much the more valuable here for being English that
an Englishman is less open to suspicion of subornation in those
characters than a Frenchman, represents himself to his employers under
a false name. That's a very good card. Mr. Barsad, now in the employ
of the republican French government, was formerly in the employ of the
aristocratic English government, the enemy of France and freedom.
That's an excellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of
suspicion, that Mr. Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocratic
English government, is the spy of Pitt, the treacherous foe of the
Republic crouching in its bosom, the English traitor and agent of
all mischief so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That's a card
not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?"
¡¡¡¡"Not to understand your play," returned the spy, somewhat uneasily.
¡¡¡¡"I play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest Section
Committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and see what you have.
Don't hurry."
¡¡¡¡He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of brandy,
and drank it off. He saw that the spy was fearful of his drinking
himself into a fit state for the immediate denunciation of him. Seeing
it, he poured out and drank another glassful.
¡¡¡¡"Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time."
¡¡¡¡It was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losing
cards in it that Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of his
honourable employment in England, through too much unsuccessful hard
swearing there- not because he was not wanted there; our English
reasons for vaunting our superiority to secrecy and spies are of
very modern date- he knew that he had crossed the Channel, and
accepted service in France: first, as a tempter and an eavesdropper
among his own countrymen there: gradually, as a tempter and an
eavesdropper among the natives. He knew that under the overthrown
government he had been a spy upon Saint Antoine and Defarge's
wine-shop; had received from the watchful police such heads of
information concerning Doctor Manette's imprisonment, release, and
history, as should serve him for an introduction to familiar
conversation with the Defarges; and tried them on Madame Defarge,
and had broken down with them signally. He always remembered with fear
and trembling, that that terrible woman had knitted when he talked
with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingers moved. He had
since seen her, in the Section of Saint Antoine, over and over again
produce her knitted registers, and denounce people whose lives the
guillotine then surely swallowed up. He knew, as every one employed as
he was did, that he was never safe; that flight was impossible; that
he was tied fast under the shadow of the axe; and that in spite of his
utmost tergiversation and treachery in furtherance of the reigning
terror, a word might bring it down upon him. Once denounced, and on
such grave grounds as had just now been suggested to his mind, he
foresaw that the dreadful woman of whose unrelenting character he
had seen many proofs, would produce against him that fatal register,
and would quash his last chance of life. Besides that all secret men
are men soon terrified, here were surely cards enough of one black
suit, to justify the holder in growing rather livid as he turned
them over.
¡¡¡¡"You scarcely seem to like your hand," said Sydney, with the
greatest composure. "Do you play?"
¡¡¡¡"I think, sir," said the spy, in the meanest manner, as he turned to
Mr. Lorry, "I may appeal to a gentleman of your years and benevolence,
to put it to this other gentleman, so much your junior, whether he can
under any circumstances reconcile it to his station to play that Ace
of which he has spoken. I admit that I am a spy, and that it is
considered a discreditable station- though it must be filled by
somebody; but this gentleman is no spy, and why should he so demean
himself as to make himself one?"
¡¡¡¡"I play my Ace, Mr. Barsad," said Carton, taking the answer on
himself, and looking at his watch, "without any scruple, in a very few
minutes."
¡¡¡¡"I should have hoped, gentlemen both," said the spy, always striving
to hook Mr. Lorry into the discussion, "that your respect for my
sister--"
¡¡¡¡"I could not better testify my respect for your sister than by
finally relieving her of her brother," said Sydney Carton.
¡¡¡¡"You think not, sir?"
¡¡¡¡"I have thoroughly made up my mind about it."
¡¡¡¡The smooth manner of the spy, curiously in dissonance with his
ostentatiously rough dress, and probably with his usual demeanour,
received such a check from the inscrutability of Carton,- who was a
mystery to wiser and honester men than he,- that it faltered here
and failed him. While he was at a loss, Carton said, resuming his
former air of contemplating cards:
¡¡¡¡"And indeed, now I think again, I have a strong impression that I
have another good card here, not yet enumerated. That friend and
fellow-Sheep, who spoke of himself as pasturing in the country
prisons; who was he?"
¡¡¡¡"French. You don't know him," said the spy, quickly.
¡¡¡¡"French, eh?" repeated Carton, musing, and not appearing to notice
him at all, though he echoed his word. "Well; he may be."
¡¡¡¡"Is, I assure you," said the spy; "though it's not important."
¡¡¡¡"Though it's not important," repeated Carton, in the same mechanical
way- "though it's not important- No, it's not important. No. Yet I
know the face."
¡¡¡¡"I think not. I am sure not. It can't be," said the spy.
¡¡¡¡"It- can't- be," muttered Sydney Carton, retrospectively, and
filling his glass (which fortunately was a small one) again. "Can't-
be. Spoke good French. Yet like a foreigner, I thought?"
¡¡¡¡"Provincial," said the spy.
¡¡¡¡"No. Foreign!" cried Carton, striking his open hand on the table, as
a light broke clearly on his mind. "Cly! Disguised, but the same
man. We had that man before us at the Old Bailey."
¡¡¡¡"Now, there you are hasty, sir," said Barsad, with a smile that gave
his aquiline nose an extra inclination to one side; "there you
really give me an advantage over you. Cly (who I will unreservedly
admit, at this distance of time, was a partner of mine) has been
dead several years. I attended him in his last illness. He was
buried in London, at the church of Saint Pancras-in-the-Fields. His
unpopularity with the blackguard multitude at the moment prevented
my following his remains, but I helped to lay him in his coffin."
¡¡¡¡Here, Mr. Lorry became aware, from where he sat, of a most
remarkable goblin shadow on the wall. Tracing it to its source, he
discovered it to be caused by a sudden extraordinary rising and
stiffening of all the risen and stiff hair on Mr. Cruncher's head.
¡¡¡¡"Let us be reasonable," said the spy, "and let us be fair. To show
you how mistaken you are, and what an unfounded assumption yours is, I
will lay before you a certificate of Cly's burial, which I happened to
have carried in my pocket-book," with a hurried hand he produced and
opened it, "ever since. There it is. Oh, look at it, look at it! You
may take it in your hand; it's no forgery."
¡¡¡¡Here, Mr. Lorry perceived the reflection on the wall to elongate,
and Mr. Cruncher rose and stepped forward. His hair could not have
been more violently on end, if it had been that moment dressed by
the Cow with the crumpled horn in the house that Jack built.
¡¡¡¡Unseen by the spy, Mr. Cruncher stood at his side, and touched him
on the shoulder like a ghostly bailiff.
¡¡¡¡"That there Roger Cly, master," said Mr. Cruncher, with a taciturn
and iron-bound visage. "So you put him in his coffin?"
¡¡¡¡"I did."
¡¡¡¡"Who took him out of it?"
¡¡¡¡Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, "What do you mean?"
¡¡¡¡"I mean," said Mr. Cruncher, "that he warn't never in it. No! Not
he! I'll have my head took off, if he was ever in it."
¡¡¡¡The spy looked round at the two gentlemen; they both looked in
unspeakable astonishment at Jerry.
¡¡¡¡"I tell you," said Jerry, "that you buried paving-stones and earth
in that there coffin. Don't go and tell me that you buried Cly. It was
a take in. Me and two more knows it."
¡¡¡¡"How do you know it?"
¡¡¡¡"What's that to you? Ecod!" growled Mr. Cruncher, "it's you I have
got a old grudge again, is it, with your shameful impositions upon
tradesmen! I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a
guinea."
¡¡¡¡Sydney Carton, who, with Mr. Lorry, had been lost in amazement at
this turn of the business, here requested Mr. Cruncher to moderate and
explain himself.
¡¡¡¡"At another time, sir," he returned, evasively, "the present time is
illconwenient for explainin'. What I stand to, is, that he knows
well wot that there Cly was never in that there coffin. Let him say he
was, in so much as a word of one syllable, and I'll either catch
hold of his throat and choke him for half a guinea;" Mr. Cruncher
dwelt upon this as quite a liberal offer; "or I'll out and announce
him."
¡¡¡¡"Humph! I see one thing," said Carton. "I hold another card, Mr.
Barsad. Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling the
air, for you to outlive denunciation, when you are in communication
with another aristocratic spy of the same antecedents as yourself,
who, moreover, has the mystery about him of having feigned death and
come to life again! A plot in the prisons, of the foreigner against
the Republic. A strong card- a certain Guillotine card! Do you play?"
¡¡¡¡"No!" returned the spy. "I throw up. I confess that we were so
unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from England
at the risk of being ducked to death, and that Cly was so ferreted
up and down, that he never would have got away at all but for that
sham. Though how this man knows it was a sham, is a wonder of
wonders to me."
¡¡¡¡"Never you trouble your head about this man," retorted the
contentious Mr. Cruncher; "you'll have trouble enough with giving your
attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!"- Mr.
Cruncher could not be restrained from making rather an ostentatious
parade of his liberality- "I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you
for half a guinea."
¡¡¡¡The Sheep of the prisons turned from him to Sydney Carton, and said,
with more decision, "It has come to a point. I go on duty soon, and
can't overstay my time. You told me you had a proposal; what is it?
Now, it is of no use asking too much of me. Ask me to do anything in
my office, putting my head in great extra danger, and I had better
trust my life to the chances of a refusal than the chances of consent.
In short, I should make that choice. You talk of desperation. We are
all desperate here. Remember! I may denounce you if I think proper,
and I can swear my way through stone walls, and so can others. Now,
what do you want with me?"
¡¡¡¡"Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?"
¡¡¡¡"I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape
possible," said the spy, firmly.
¡¡¡¡"Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at
the Conciergerie?"
¡¡¡¡"I am sometimes."
¡¡¡¡"You can be when you choose?"
¡¡¡¡"I can pass in and out when I choose."
¡¡¡¡Sydney Carton filled another glass with brandy, poured it slowly out
upon the hearth, and watched it as it dropped. It being all spent,
he said, rising:
¡¡¡¡"So far, we have spoken before these two, because it was as well
that the merits of the cards should not rest solely between you and
me. Come into the dark room here, and let us have one final word
alone."
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡IX THE GAME MADE
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡WHILE SYDNEY CARTON and the Sheep of the prisons were in the
adjoining dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was he