# HG changeset patch # User Eris Caffee # Date 1439918542 18000 # Node ID b8cfd6af18b3de60e762b0c8e71072f969afe47b # Parent a4b0df8286672fc9649aae334b345d8ae6c0c3e3 Added Knuth-MOrris-Pratt string search and sample text file for testing. diff -r a4b0df828667 -r b8cfd6af18b3 string_search/kmp.c --- /dev/null Thu Jan 01 00:00:00 1970 +0000 +++ b/string_search/kmp.c Tue Aug 18 12:22:22 2015 -0500 @@ -0,0 +1,189 @@ +/* Demo client to compare brute force search against Knuth-Morris-Pratt string search. + * + * gcc --std=c99 kmp.c + * + * a.out "string to find" file_to_search + * + */ + +#define _GNU_SOURCE 1 +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include + +/******************************************************************************/ +/* Knuth-Morris-Pratt algorithm + * + * As described on Wikipedia + * https://duckduckgo.com/l/?kh=-1&uddg=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FKnuth-Morris-Pratt_algorithm + */ + +size_t kmp_search( char *haystack, char *needle ) { + + size_t haystack_length = strlen(haystack); + size_t needle_length = strlen(needle); + + /* Build the backup table */ + + int pos = 2; + int cnd = 0; + + needle_length = strlen( needle ); + + int *table = malloc( needle_length * sizeof(int) ); + table[0] = -1; + table[1] = 0; + + while ( pos < needle_length ) { + if ( needle[pos-1] == needle[cnd] ) { + cnd++; + table[pos] = cnd; + pos++; + } + else if ( cnd > 0 ) { + cnd = table[cnd]; + } + else { + table[pos] = 0; + pos++; + } + } + + /* Do the actual search */ + + size_t m = 0; + size_t i = 0; + + while ( m + i < haystack_length ) { + if ( needle[i] == haystack[m+i] ) { + if ( i == needle_length - 1 ) { + return m; + } + i++; + } + else { + if ( table[i] > -1 ) { + m = m + i - table[i]; + i = table[i]; + } else { + i = 0; + m++; + } + } + } + + return -1; +} + +/******************************************************************************/ +/* brute force search + */ + +size_t find_string ( char *haystack, char * needle ) { + + int needle_length = strlen( needle ); + int haystack_length = strlen( haystack ); + for ( size_t i = 0; i < haystack_length - needle_length; i++) { + if ( strncmp( needle, &haystack[i], needle_length ) == 0 ) { + return i; + } + } + return -1; +} + +/******************************************************************************/ + +void timevaldiff( struct timeval *elapsed, struct timeval *start, struct timeval *end ) { + time_t sec; + suseconds_t usec; + + sec = end->tv_sec - start->tv_sec; + usec = end->tv_usec - start->tv_usec; + + while ( usec > 1000000 ) { + sec += 1; + usec -= 1000000; + } + + elapsed->tv_sec = sec; + elapsed->tv_usec = usec; + } + +/******************************************************************************/ + +int main( int argc, char **argv ) { + char *def_needle = "ABCDABD"; + char *def_haystack = "ABC ABCDAB ABCDABCDABDE"; + + char * needle; + char * haystack; + size_t haystack_max; + size_t haystack_top = 0; + haystack = malloc( sizeof( char ) ); + haystack_max = 1; + + if ( argc >= 2 ) { + needle = argv[1]; + } + else { + needle = def_needle; + } + + if ( argc >= 3 ) { + FILE * file; + char buffer[65536]; + size_t bytes_read; + + file = fopen( argv[2], "r" ); + while ( bytes_read = fread( buffer, sizeof( char ), sizeof( buffer ), file ) ) { + while ( haystack_max - haystack_top < bytes_read ) { + size_t new_haystack_max = 2 * haystack_max; + char * new_haystack = malloc( new_haystack_max ); + for ( size_t i = 0; i < haystack_max; i++ ) { + new_haystack[i] = haystack[i]; + } + free( haystack ); + haystack = new_haystack; + haystack_max = new_haystack_max; + } + memcpy( &haystack[ haystack_top ], buffer, bytes_read ); + } + + fclose( file ); + } + else { + haystack = def_haystack; + } + + + struct timeval start; + struct timeval end; + struct timeval elapsed; + size_t pos; + char * found; + + gettimeofday( &start, NULL ); + pos = kmp_search( haystack, needle ); + gettimeofday( &end, NULL ); + timevaldiff( &elapsed, &start, &end ); + + printf( "pos %d\n", pos ); + found = strndup( &haystack[pos], strlen(needle)+80 ); + printf( "found >%s<\n", found ); + printf( "kmp found in %d.%06d seconds\n", elapsed.tv_sec, elapsed.tv_usec ); + + + gettimeofday( &start, NULL ); + pos = find_string( haystack, needle ); + gettimeofday( &end, NULL ); + timevaldiff( &elapsed, &start, &end ); + + printf( "pos %d\n", pos ); + found = strndup( &haystack[pos], strlen(needle)+80 ); + printf( "found >%s<\n", found ); + printf( "brute force found in %d.%06d seconds\n", elapsed.tv_sec, elapsed.tv_usec ); + + exit( EXIT_SUCCESS ); + } diff -r a4b0df828667 -r b8cfd6af18b3 string_search/tale.txt --- /dev/null Thu Jan 01 00:00:00 1970 +0000 +++ b/string_search/tale.txt Tue Aug 18 12:22:22 2015 -0500 @@ -0,0 +1,18940 @@ +A Tale of Two Cities + +Dickens, Charles + + + +Published: 1859 +Type(s): Novels, History +Source: Wikisource + + + +About Dickens: + +Charles John Huffam Dickens pen-name "Boz", was the foremost Eng- +lish novelist of the Victorian era, as well as a vigorous social campaigner. +Considered one of the English language's greatest writers, he was ac- +claimed for his rich storytelling and memorable characters, and achieved +massive worldwide popularity in his lifetime. + +Later critics, beginning with George Gissing and G. K. Chesterton, +championed his mastery of prose, his endless invention of memorable +characters and his powerful social sensibilities. Yet he has also received +criticism from writers such as George Henry Lewes, Henry James, and +Virginia Woolf, who list sentimentality, implausible occurrence and grot- +esque characters as faults in his oeuvre. + +The popularity of Dickens' novels and short stories has meant that +none have ever gone out of print. Dickens wrote serialised novels, which +was the usual format for fiction at the time, and each new part of his +stories would be eagerly anticipated by the reading public. + +Source: Wikipedia + +Also available on Feedbooks for Dickens: + +* A Christmas Carol (1843) + +* Great Expectations (1861) + +* Oliver Twist (1867) + +* David Copperfield (1850) + +* Bleak House (1853) + +* The Haunted House (1859) + +* The Pickwick Papers (1832) + +* A Christmas Tree (1850) + +* Little Dorrit (1857) + +* Hard Times (1850) + +Note: This book is brought to you by Feedbooks. + +http://www.feedbooks.com + +Strictly for personal use, do not use this file for commercial purposes. + + + +Part i +Recalled to Life + + + +Chapter + + + +1 + + + +The Period + +It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wis- +dom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the +epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of +Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had +everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct +to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period +was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities in- +sisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree +of comparison only. + +There was a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the +throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a +fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than +crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things +in general were settled for ever. + +It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy- +five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured +period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and- +twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life +Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that ar- +rangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westmin- +ster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of +years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last +past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere +messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English +Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: +which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race +than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the +Cock-lane brood. France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spir- +itual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding +smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the + + + +guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with +such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut +off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because +he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession +of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or +sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and +Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, +already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into +boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in +it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of +some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered +from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, +snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, +Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that +Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work si- +lently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: +the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, +was to be atheistical and traitorous. + +In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to +justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and +highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families +were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their +furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman in +the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and +challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of +"the Captain," gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the +mall was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and +then got shot dead himself by the other four, "in consequence of the fail- +ure of his ammunition" after which the mall was robbed in peace; that +magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand +and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the +illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols +fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blun- +derbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves +snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court +drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search for contra- +band goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers +fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much +out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy +and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing + + + +up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker +on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in +the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the +door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murder- +er, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy +of sixpence. + +All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close +upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. +Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked un- +heeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and +the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a +high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy- +five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures - the +creatures of this chronicle among the rest - along the roads that lay be- +fore them. + + + +Chapter + + + +2 + + + +The Mail + +It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, be- +fore the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The +Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up +Shooter's Hill. He walked up hill in the mire by the side of the mail, as +the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for +walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the +harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses +had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach +across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. +Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had +read that article of war which forbade a purpose otherwise strongly in +favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with +Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty. + +With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way +through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if +they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver res- +ted them and brought them to a stand, with a wary "Wo-ho! so-ho- +then!" the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon +it - like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be +got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger star- +ted, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind. + +There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its +forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. +A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the air +in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the +waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out +everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings, +and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed in- +to it, as if they had made it all. + + + +Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by +the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over +the ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from +anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was +hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as +from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travel- +lers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on +the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, +when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in +"the Captain's" pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable non- +descript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the +Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thou- +sand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he +stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and +keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded +blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited +on a substratum of cutlass. + +The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspec- +ted the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, +they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing +but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have +taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the +journey. + +"Wo-ho!" said the coachman. "So, then! One more pull and you're at +the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you +to it!- Joe!" + +"Halloa!" the guard replied. + +"What o'clock do you make it, Joe?" + +"Ten minutes, good, past eleven." + +"My blood!" ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shoot- +er's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!" + +The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, +made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. +Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its pas- +sengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach +stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had +had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into +the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting +shot instantly as a highwayman. + + + +8 + + + +The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses +stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for +the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in. + +"Tst! Joe!" cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from +his box. + +"What do you say, Tom?" + +They both listened. + +"I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe." + +"I say a horse at a gallop, Tom," returned the guard, leaving his hold +of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. "Gentlemen! In the kings +name, all of you!" + +With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on +the offensive. + +The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting +in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. +He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they re- +mained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the +guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman +looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader +pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting. + +The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labour- +ing of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet in- +deed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to +the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers +beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause +was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, +and having the pulses quickened by expectation. + +The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill. + +"So-ho!" the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. "Yo there! +Stand! I shall fire!" + +The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and +floundering, a man's voice called from the mist, "Is that the Dover mail?" + +"Never you mind what it is!" the guard retorted. "What are you?" + +"Is that the Dover mail?" + +"Why do you want to know?" + +"I want a passenger, if it is." + + + +9 + + + +"What passenger?" + +"Mr. Jarvis Lorry." + +Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The +guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him +distrustfully. + +"Keep where you are," the guard called to the voice in the mist, +"because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your +lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight." + +"What is the matter?" asked the passenger, then, with mildly quaver- +ing speech. "Who wants me? Is it Jerry?" + +("I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry," growled the guard to himself. +"He's hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.") + +"Yes, Mr. Lorry." + +"What is the matter?" + +"A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co." + +"I know this messenger, guard," said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the +road - assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two +passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, +and pulled up the window. "He may come close; there's nothing +wrong." + +"I hope there ain't, but I can't make so 'Nation sure of that," said the +guard, in gruff soliloquy. "Hallo you!" + +"Well! And hallo you!" said Jerry, more hoarsely than before. + +"Come on at a footpace! d'ye mind me? And if you've got holsters to +that saddle o' yourn, don't let me see your hand go nigh 'em. For I'm a +devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. +So now let's look at you." + +The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying +mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The +rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passen- +ger a small folded paper. The rider's horse was blown, and both horse +and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat +of the man. + +"Guard!" said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence. + +The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blun- +derbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answered +curtly, "Sir." + + + +10 + + + +"There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank. You must +know Tellson's Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A +crown to drink. I may read this?" + +"If so be as you're quick, sir." + +He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and +read - first to himself and then aloud: "'Wait at Dover for Mam'selle.' It's +not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, RECALLED TO +LIFE." + +Jerry started in his saddle. "That's a Blazing strange answer, too," said +he, at his hoarsest. + +"Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as +well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night." + +With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in; not +at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted +their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general +pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape +the hazard of originating any other kind of action. + +The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing +round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunder- +buss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and +having looked to the supplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, +looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few +smith's tools, a couple of torches, and a tinder-box. For he was furnished +with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and +stormed out, which did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself +up inside, keep the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a +light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes. + +"Tom!" softly over the coach roof. + +"Hallo, Joe." + +"Did you hear the message?" + +"I did, Joe." + +"What did you make of it, Tom?" + +"Nothing at all, Joe." + +"That's a coincidence, too," the guard mused, "for I made the same of +it myself." + +Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not +only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and + + + +11 + + + +shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding +about half a gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily- +splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing +and the night was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill. + +"After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I won't trust your +fore-legs till I get you on the level," said this hoarse messenger, glancing +at his mare. "'Recalled to life.' That's a Blazing strange message. Much of +that wouldn't do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You'd be in a Blazing bad +way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry!" + + + +12 + + + +Chapter + + + +3 + + + +The Night Shadows + +A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is consti- +tuted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn +consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those +darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every +one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hun- +dreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret +to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is +referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I +loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the +depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights +glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other things +submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, +for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was appointed that +the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was play- +ing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is +dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it +is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was al- +ways in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's +end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there +a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their inner- +most personality, to me, or than I am to them? + +As to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance, the messen- +ger on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the first +Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the three +passengers shut up in the narrow compass of one lumbering old mail +coach; they were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each had +been in his own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the +breadth of a county between him and the next. + +The messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at ale- +houses by the way to drink, but evincing a tendency to keep his own + + + +13 + + + +counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over his eyes. He had eyes that assor- +ted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with no +depth in the colour or form, and much too near together - as if they were +afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too far apart. +They had a sinister expression, under an old cocked-hat like a three- +cornered spittoon, and over a great muffler for the chin and throat, +which descended nearly to the wearer's knees. When he stopped for +drink, he moved this muffler with his left hand, only while he poured his +liquor in with his right; as soon as that was done, he muffled again. + +"No, Jerry, no!" said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. +"It wouldn't do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it wouldn't +suit your line of business! Recalled - ! Bust me if I don't think he'd been a +drinking!" + +His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, sever- +al times, to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, +which was raggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all +over it, and growing down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so +like Smith's work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall +than a head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have de- +clined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over. + +While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the night +watchman in his box at the door of Tellson's Bank, by Temple Bar, who +was to deliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night +took such shapes to him as arose out of the message, and took such +shapes to the mare as arose out of her private topics of uneasiness. They +seemed to be numerous, for she shied at every shadow on the road. + +What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon +its tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To whom, like- +wise, the shadows of the night revealed themselves, in the forms their +dozing eyes and wandering thoughts suggested. + +Tellson's Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank passen- +ger - with an arm drawn through the leathern strap, which did what lay +in it to keep him from pounding against the next passenger, and driving +him into his corner, whenever the coach got a special jolt - nodded in his +place, with half-shut eyes, the little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp +dimly gleaming through them, and the bulky bundle of opposite passen- +ger, became the bank, and did a great stroke of business. The rattle of the +harness was the chink of money, and more drafts were honoured in five +minutes than even Tellson's, with all its foreign and home connexion, + + + +14 + + + +ever paid in thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms underground, at Tell- +son's, with such of their valuable stores and secrets as were known to the +passenger (and it was not a little that he knew about them), opened be- +fore him, and he went in among them with the great keys and the feebly- +burning candle, and found them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, +just as he had last seen them. + +But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though the +coach (in a confused way, like the presence of pain under an opiate) was +always with him, there was another current of impression that never +ceased to run, all through the night. He was on his way to dig some one +out of a grave. + +Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves before +him was the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did +not indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of five-and-forty by +years, and they differed principally in the passions they expressed, and +in the ghastliness of their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt, defi- +ance, stubbornness, submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so +did varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and +figures. But the face was in the main one face, and every head was pre- +maturely white. A hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this +spectre: + +"Buried how long?" + +The answer was always the same: "Almost eighteen years." + +"You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?" + +"Long ago." + +"You know that you are recalled to life?" + +"They tell me so." + +"I hope you care to live?" + +"I can't say." + +"Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see her?" + +The answers to this question were various and contradictory. Some- +times the broken reply was, "Wait! It would kill me if I saw her too +soon." Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was, +"Take me to her." Sometimes it was staring and bewildered, and then it +was, "I don't know her. I don't understand." + +After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, +and dig, dig - now with a spade, now with a great key, now with his + + + +15 + + + +hands - to dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth +hanging about his face and hair, he would suddenly fan away to dust. +The passenger would then start to himself, and lower the window, to get +the reality of mist and rain on his cheek. + +Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the mov- +ing patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreat- +ing by jerks, the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the +train of the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple +Bar, the real business of the past day, the real strong rooms, the real ex- +press sent after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. +Out of the midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would ac- +cost it again. + +"Buried how long?" + +"Almost eighteen years." + +"I hope you care to live?" + +"I can't say." + +Dig - dig - dig - until an impatient movement from one of the two +passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm +securely through the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slum- +bering forms, until his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid +away into the bank and the grave. + +"Buried how long?" + +"Almost eighteen years." + +"You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?" + +"Long ago." + +The words were still in his hearing as just spoken - distinctly in his +hearing as ever spoken words had been in his life - when the weary pas- +senger started to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the shad- +ows of the night were gone. + +He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was a +ridge of ploughed land, with a plough upon it where it had been left last +night when the horses were unyoked; beyond, a quiet coppice-wood, in +which many leaves of burning red and golden yellow still remained +upon the trees. Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, +and the sun rose bright, placid, and beautiful. + +"Eighteen years!" said the passenger, looking at the sun. "Gracious +Creator of day! To be buried alive for eighteen years!" + + + +16 + + + +Chapter + + + +4 + + + +The Preparation + +When the mail got successfully to Dover, in the course of the forenoon, +the head drawer at the Royal George Hotel opened the coach-door as his +custom was. He did it with some flourish of ceremony, for a mail journey +from London in winter was an achievement to congratulate an adventur- +ous traveller upon. + +By that time, there was only one adventurous traveller left be congrat- +ulated: for the two others had been set down at their respective roadside +destinations. The mildewy inside of the coach, with its damp and dirty +straw, its disageeable smell, and its obscurity, was rather like a larger +dog-kennel. Mr. Lorry, the passenger, shaking himself out of it in chains +of straw, a tangle of shaggy wrapper, flapping hat, and muddy legs, was +rather like a larger sort of dog. + +'There will be a packet to Calais, tomorrow, drawer?" + +"Yes, sir, if the weather holds and the wind sets tolerable fair. The tide +will serve pretty nicely at about two in the afternoon, sir. Bed, sir?" + +"I shall not go to bed till night; but I want a bedroom, and a barber." + +"And then breakfast, sir? Yes, sir. That way, sir, if you please. Show +Concord! Gentleman's valise and hot water to Concord. Pull off gentle- +man's boots in Concord. (You will find a fine sea-coal fire, sir.) Fetch +barber to Concord. Stir about there, now, for Concord!" + +The Concord bed-chamber being always assigned to a passenger by +the mail, and passengers by the mail being always heavily wrapped up +from head to foot, the room had the odd interest for the establishment of +the Royal George, that although but one kind of man was seen to go into +it, all kinds and varieties of men came out of it. Consequently, another +drawer, and two porters, and several maids and the landlady, were all +loitering by accident at various points of the road between the Concord +and the coffee-room, when a gentleman of sixty, formally dressed in a +brown suit of clothes, pretty well worn, but very well kept, with large + + + +17 + + + +square cuffs and large flaps to the pockets, passed along on his way to +his breakfast. + +The coffee-room had no other occupant, that forenoon, than the gentle- +man in brown. His breakfast-table was drawn before the fire, and as he +sat, with its light shining on him, waiting for the meal, he sat so still, that +he might have been sitting for his portrait. + +Very orderly and methodical he looked, with a hand on each knee, and +a loud watch ticking a sonorous sermon under his flapped waist-coat, as +though it pitted its gravity and longevity against the levity and evanes- +cence of the brisk fire. He had a good leg, and was a little vain of it, for +his brown stockings fitted sleek and close, and were of a fine texture; his +shoes and buckles, too, though plain, were trim. He wore an odd little +sleek crisp flaxen wig, setting very close to his head: which wig, it is to +be presumed, was made of hair, but which looked far more as though it +were spun from filaments of silk or glass. His linen, though not of a fine- +ness in accordance with his stockings, was as white as the tops of the +waves that broke upon the neighbouring beach, or the specks of sail that +glinted in the sunlight far at sea. A face habitually suppressed and +quieted, was still lighted up under the quaint wig by a pair of moist +bright eyes that it must have cost their owner, in years gone by, some +pains to drill to the composed and reserved expression of Tellson's Bank. +He had a healthy colour in his cheeks, and his face, though lined, bore +few traces of anxiety. But, perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in +Tellson's Bank were principally occupied with the cares of other people; +and perhaps second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, come easily +off and on. + +Completing his resemblance to a man who was sitting for his portrait, +Mr. Lorry dropped off to sleep. The arrival of his breakfast roused him, +and he said to the drawer, as he moved his chair to it: + +"I wish accommodation prepared for a young lady who may come +here at any time to-day. She may ask for Mr. Jarvis Lorry, or she may +only ask for a gentleman from Tellson's Bank. Please to let me know." + +"Yes, sir. Tellson's Bank in London, sir?" + +"Yes." + +"Yes, sir. We have oftentimes the honour to entertain your gentlemen +in their travelling backwards and forwards betwixt London and Paris, +sir. A vast deal of travelling, sir, in Tellson and Company's House." + +"Yes. We are quite a French House, as well as an English one." + + + +18 + + + +"Yes, sir. Not much in the habit of such travelling yourself, I think, +sir?" + +"Not of late years. It is fifteen years since we - since I - came last from +France." + +"Indeed, sir? That was before my time here, sir. Before our people's +time here, sir. The George was in other hands at that time, sir." + +"I believe so." + +"But I would hold a pretty wager, sir, that a House like Tellson and +Company was flourishing, a matter of fifty, not to speak of fifteen years +ago?" + +"You might treble that, and say a hundred and fifty, yet not be far +from the truth." + +"Indeed, sir!" + +Rounding his mouth and both his eyes, as he stepped backward from +the table, the waiter shifted his napkin from his right arm to his left, +dropped into a comfortable attitude, and stood surveying the guest +while he ate and drank, as from an observatory or watchtower. Accord- +ing to the immemorial usage of waiters in all ages. + +When Mr. Lorry had finished his breakfast, he went out for a stroll on +the beach. The little narrow, crooked town of Dover hid itself away from +the beach, and ran its head into the chalk cliffs, like a marine ostrich. The +beach was a desert of heaps of sea and stones tumbling wildly about, +and the sea did what it liked, and what it liked was destruction. It +thundered at the town, and thundered at the cliffs, and brought the coast +down, madly. The air among the houses was of so strong a piscatory fla- +vour that one might have supposed sick fish went up to be dipped in it, +as sick people went down to be dipped in the sea. A little fishing was +done in the port, and a quantity of strolling about by night, and looking +seaward: particularly at those times when the tide made, and was near +flood. Small tradesmen, who did no business whatever, sometimes unac- +countably realised large fortunes, and it was remarkable that nobody in +the neighbourhood could endure a lamplighter. + +As the day declined into the afternoon, and the air, which had been at +intervals clear enough to allow the French coast to be seen, became again +charged with mist and vapour, Mr. Lorry's thoughts seemed to cloud +too. When it was dark, and he sat before the coffee-room fire, awaiting +his dinner as he had awaited his breakfast, his mind was busily digging, +digging, digging, in the live red coals. + + + +19 + + + +A bottle of good claret after dinner does a digger in the red coals no +harm, otherwise than as it has a tendency to throw him out of work. Mr. +Lorry had been idle a long time, and had just poured out his last glassful +of wine with as complete an appearance of satisfaction as is ever to be +found in an elderly gentleman of a fresh complexion who has got to the +end of a bottle, when a rattling of wheels came up the narrow street, and +rumbled into the inn-yard. + +He set down his glass untouched. "This is Mam'selle!" said he. + +In a very few minutes the waiter came in to announce that Miss +Manette had arrived from London, and would be happy to see the gen- +tleman from Tellson's. + +"So soon?" + +Miss Manette had taken some refreshment on the road, and required +none then, and was extremely anxious to see the gentleman from Tell- +son's immediately, if it suited his pleasure and convenience. + +The gentleman from Tellson's had nothing left for it but to empty his +glass with an air of stolid desperation, settle his odd little flaxen wig at +the ears, and follow the waiter to Miss Manette's apartment. It was a +large, dark room, furnished in a funereal manner with black horsehair, +and loaded with heavy dark tables. These had been oiled and oiled, until +the two tall candles on the table in the middle of the room were gloomily +reflected on every leaf; as if they were buried, in deep graves of black +mahogany, and no light to speak of could be expected from them until +they were dug out. + +The obscurity was so difficult to penetrate that Mr. Lorry, picking his +way over the well-worn Turkey carpet, supposed Miss Manette to be, for +the moment, in some adjacent room, until, having got past the two tall +candles, he saw standing to receive him by the table between them and +the fire, a young lady of not more than seventeen, in a riding-cloak, and +still holding her straw travelling-hat by its ribbon in her hand. As his +eyes rested on a short, slight, pretty figure, a quantity of golden hair, a +pair of blue eyes that met his own with an inquiring look, and a forehead +with a singular capacity (remembering how young and smooth it was), +of rifting and knitting itself into an expression that was not quite one of +perplexity, or wonder, or alarm, or merely of a bright fixed attention, +though it included all the four expressions - as his eyes rested on these +things, a sudden vivid likeness passed before him, of a child whom he +had held in his arms on the passage across that very Channel, one cold +time, when the hail drifted heavily and the sea ran high. The likeness + + + +20 + + + +passed away, like a breath along the surface of the gaunt pier-glass be- +hind her, on the frame of which, a hospital procession of negro cupids, +several headless and all cripples, were offering black baskets of Dead Sea +fruit to black divinities of the feminine gender - and he made his formal +bow to Miss Manette. + +"Pray take a seat, sir." In a very clear and pleasant young voice; a little +foreign in its accent, but a very little indeed. + +"I kiss your hand, miss," said Mr. Lorry, with the manners of an earli- +er date, as he made his formal bow again, and took his seat. + +"I received a letter from the Bank, sir, yesterday, informing me that +some intelligence - or discovery - " + +"The word is not material, miss; either word will do." + +" - respecting the small property of my poor father, whom I never +saw - so long dead - " + +Mr. Lorry moved in his chair, and cast a troubled look towards the +hospital procession of negro cupids. As if they had any help for anybody +in their absurd baskets! + +" - rendered it necessary that I should go to Paris, there to communic- +ate with a gentleman of the Bank, so good as to be despatched to Paris +for the purpose." + +"Myself." + +"As I was prepared to hear, sir." + +She curtseyed to him (young ladies made curtseys in those days), with +a pretty desire to convey to him that she felt how much older and wiser +he was than she. He made her another bow. + +"I replied to the Bank, sir, that as it was considered necessary, by those +who know, and who are so kind as to advise me, that I should go to +France, and that as I am an orphan and have no friend who could go +with me, I should esteem it highly if I might be permitted to place my- +self, during the journey, under that worthy gentleman's protection. The +gentleman had left London, but I think a messenger was sent after him to +beg the favour of his waiting for me here." + +"I was happy," said Mr. Lorry, "to be entrusted with the charge. I shall +be more happy to execute it." + +"Sir, I thank you indeed. I thank you very gratefully. It was told me by +the Bank that the gentleman would explain to me the details of the busi- +ness, and that I must prepare myself to find them of a surprising nature. + + + +21 + + + +I have done my best to prepare myself, and I naturally have a strong and +eager interest to know what they are." + +"Naturally," said Mr. Lorry. "Yes- I-" + +After a pause, he added, again settling the crisp flaxen wig at the ears, +"It is very difficult to begin." + +He did not begin, but, in his indecision, met her glance. The young +forehead lifted itself into that singular expression - but it was pretty and +characteristic, besides being singular - and she raised her hand, as if with +an involuntary action she caught at, or stayed some passing shadow. + +"Are you quite a stranger to me, sir?" + +"Am I not?" Mr. Lorry opened his hands, and extended them out- +wards with an argumentative smile. + +Between the eyebrows and just over the little feminine nose, the line of +which was as delicate and fine as it was possible to be, the expression +deepened itself as she took her seat thoughtfully in the chair by which +she had hitherto remained standing. He watched her as she mused, and +the moment she raised her eyes again, went on: + +"In your adopted country, I presume, I cannot do better than address +you as a young English lady, Miss Manette?" + +"If you please, sir." + +"Miss Manette, I am a man of business. I have a business charge to ac- +quit myself of. In your reception of it, don't heed me any more than if I +was a speaking machine-truly, I am not much else. I will, with your +leave, relate to you, miss, the story of one of our customers." + +"Story!" + +He seemed wilfully to mistake the word she had repeated, when he +added, in a hurry, "Yes, customers; in the banking business we usually +call our connexion our customers. He was a French gentleman; a scientif- +ic gentleman; a man of great acquirements - a Doctor." + +"Not of Beauvais?" + +"Why, yes, of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gen- +tleman was of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentle- +man was of repute in Paris. I had the honour of knowing him there. Our +relations were business relations, but confidential. I was at that time in +our French House, and had been - oh! twenty years." + +"At that time - I may ask, at what time, sir?" + + + +22 + + + +"I speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He married - an English +lady - and I was one of the trustees. His affairs, like the affairs of many +other French gentlemen and French families, were entirely in Tellson's +hands. In a similar way I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or other +for scores of our customers. These are mere business relations, miss; +there is no friendship in them, no particular interest, nothing like senti- +ment. I have passed from one to another, in the course of my business +life, just as I pass from one of our customers to another in the course of +my business day; in short, I have no feelings; I am a mere machine. To go +on-" + +"But this is my father's story, sir; and I begin to think" - the curiously +roughened forehead was very intent upon him - "that when I was left an +orphan through my mother's surviving my father only two years, it was +you who brought me to England. I am almost sure it was you." + +Mr. Lorry took the hesitating little hand that confidingly advanced to +take his, and he put it with some ceremony to his lips. He then conduc- +ted the young lady straightway to her chair again, and, holding the +chair-back with his left hand, and using his right by turns to rub his chin, +pull his wig at the ears, or point what he said, stood looking down into +her face while she sat looking up into his. + +"Miss Manette, it WAS I. And you will see how truly I spoke of myself +just now, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold with +my fellow-creatures are mere business relations, when you reflect that I +have never seen you since. No; you have been the ward of Tellson's +House since, and I have been busy with the other business of Tellson's +House since. Feelings! I have no time for them, no chance of them. I pass +my whole life, miss, in turning an immense pecuniary Mangle." + +After this odd description of his daily routine of employment, Mr. +Lorry flattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which +was most unnecessary, for nothing could be flatter than its shining sur- +face was before), and resumed his former attitude. + +"So far, miss (as you have remarked), this is the story of your regretted +father. Now comes the difference. If your father had not died when he +did - Don't be frightened! How you start!" + +She did, indeed, start. And she caught his wrist with both her hands. + +"Pray," said Mr. Lorry, in a soothing tone, bringing his left hand from +the back of the chair to lay it on the supplicatory fingers that clasped him +in so violent a tremble: "pray control your agitation - a matter of busi- +ness. As I was saying - " + + + +23 + + + +Her look so discomposed him that he stopped, wandered, and began +anew: + +"As I was saying; if Monsieur Manette had not died; if he had sud- +denly and silently disappeared; if he had been spirited away; if it had not +been difficult to guess to what dreadful place, though no art could trace +him; if he had an enemy in some compatriot who could exercise a priv- +ilege that I in my own time have known the boldest people afraid to +speak of in a whisper, across the water there; for instance, the privilege +of filling up blank forms for the consignment of any one to the oblivion +of a prison for any length of time; if his wife had implored the king, the +queen, the court, the clergy, for any tidings of him, and all quite in +vain; - then the history of your father would have been the history of this +unfortunate gentleman, the Doctor of Beauvais." + +"I entreat you to tell me more, sir." + +"I will. I am going to. You can bear it?" + +"I can bear anything but the uncertainty you leave me in at this +moment." + +"You speak collectedly, and you - are collected. That's good!" (Though +his manner was less satisfied than his words.) "A matter of business. +Regard it as a matter of business-business that must be done. Now if this +doctor's wife, though a lady of great courage and spirit, had suffered so +intensely from this cause before her little child was born - " + +"The little child was a daughter, sir." + +"A daughter. A-a-matter of business - don't be distressed. Miss, if the +poor lady had suffered so intensely before her little child was born, that +she came to the determination of sparing the poor child the inheritance +of any part of the agony she had known the pains of, by rearing her in +the belief that her father was dead - No, don't kneel! In Heaven's name +why should you kneel to me!" + +"For the truth. O dear, good, compassionate sir, for the truth!" + +"A-a matter of business. You confuse me, and how can I transact busi- +ness if I am confused? Let us be clear-headed. If you could kindly men- +tion now, for instance, what nine times ninepence are, or how many shil- +lings in twenty guineas, it would be so encouraging. I should be so much +more at my ease about your state of mind." + +Without directly answering to this appeal, she sat so still when he had +very gently raised her, and the hands that had not ceased to clasp his + + + +24: + + + +wrists were so much more steady than they had been, that she commu- +nicated some reassurance to Mr. Jarvis Lorry. + +"That's right, that's right. Courage! Business! You have business be- +fore you; useful business. Miss Manette, your mother took this course +with you. And when she died - I believe broken-hearted - having never +slackened her unavailing search for your father, she left you, at two +years old, to grow to be blooming, beautiful, and happy, without the +dark cloud upon you of living in uncertainty whether your father soon +wore his heart out in prison, or wasted there through many lingering +years." + +As he said the words he looked down, with an admiring pity, on the +flowing golden hair; as if he pictured to himself that it might have been +already tinged with grey. + +"You know that your parents had no great possession, and that what +they had was secured to your mother and to you. There has been no new +discovery, of money, or of any other property; but - " + +He felt his wrist held closer, and he stopped. The expression in the +forehead, which had so particularly attracted his notice, and which was +now immovable, had deepened into one of pain and horror. + +"But he has been - been found. He is alive. Greatly changed, it is too +probable; almost a wreck, it is possible; though we will hope the best. +Still, alive. Your father has been taken to the house of an old servant in +Paris, and we are going there: I, to identify him if I can: you, to restore +him to life, love, duty, rest, comfort." + +A shiver ran through her frame, and from it through his. She said, in a +low, distinct, awe-stricken voice, as if she were saying it in a dream, + +"I am going to see his Ghost! It will be his Ghost - not him!" + +Mr. Lorry quietly chafed the hands that held his arm. "There, there, +there! See now, see now! The best and the worst are known to you, now. +You are well on your way to the poor wronged gentleman, and, with a +fair sea voyage, and a fair land journey, you will be soon at his dear +side." + +She repeated in the same tone, sunk to a whisper, "I have been free, I +have been happy, yet his Ghost has never haunted me!" + +"Only one thing more," said Mr. Lorry, laying stress upon it as a +wholesome means of enforcing her attention: "he has been found under +another name; his own, long forgotten or long concealed. It would be +worse than useless now to inquire which; worse than useless to seek to + + + +25 + + + +know whether he has been for years overlooked, or always designedly +held prisoner. It would be worse than useless now to make any inquiries, +because it would be dangerous. Better not to mention the subject, any- +where or in any way, and to remove him - for a while at all events - out +of France. Even I, safe as an Englishman, and even Tellson's, important +as they are to French credit, avoid all naming of the matter. I carry about +me, not a scrap of writing openly referring to it. This is a secret service +altogether. My credentials, entries, and memoranda, are all comprehen- +ded in the one line, 'Recalled to Life;' which may mean anything. But +what is the matter! She doesn't notice a word! Miss Manette!" + +Perfectly still and silent, and not even fallen back in her chair, she sat +under his hand, utterly insensible; with her eyes open and fixed upon +him, and with that last expression looking as if it were carved or branded +into her forehead. So close was her hold upon his arm, that he feared to +detach himself lest he should hurt her; therefore he called out loudly for +assistance without moving. + +A wild-looking woman, whom even in his agitation, Mr. Lorry ob- +served to be all of a red colour, and to have red hair, and to be dressed in +some extraordinary tight-fitting fashion, and to have on her head a most +wonderful bonnet like a Grenadier wooden measure, and good measure +too, or a great Stilton cheese, came running into the room in advance of +the inn servants, and soon settled the question of his detachment from +the poor young lady, by laying a brawny hand upon his chest, and send- +ing him flying back against the nearest wall. + +("I really think this must be a man!" was Mr. Lorry's breathless reflex- +ion, simultaneously with his coming against the wall.) + +"Why, look at you all!" bawled this figure, addressing the inn ser- +vants. "Why don't you go and fetch things, instead of standing there +staring at me? I am not so much to look at, am I? Why don't you go and +fetch things? I'll let you know, if you don't bring smelling-salts, cold wa- +ter, and vinegar, quick, I will." + +There was an immediate dispersal for these restoratives, and she softly +laid the patient on a sofa, and tended her with great skill and gentleness: +calling her "my precious!" and "my bird!" and spreading her golden hair +aside over her shoulders with great pride and care. + +"And you in brown!" she said, indignantly turning to Mr. Lorry; +"couldn't you tell her what you had to tell her, without frightening her to +death? Look at her, with her pretty pale face and her cold hands. Do you +call that being a Banker?" + + + +26 + + + +Mr. Lorry was so exceedingly disconcerted by a question so hard to +answer, that he could only look on, at a distance, with much feebler sym- +pathy and humility, while the strong woman, having banished the inn +servants under the mysterious penalty of "letting them know" +something not mentioned if they stayed there, staring, recovered her +charge by a regular series of gradations, and coaxed her to lay her droop- +ing head upon her shoulder. + +"I hope she will do well now," said Mr. Lorry. + +"No thanks to you in brown, if she does. My darling pretty!" + +"I hope," said Mr. Lorry, after another pause of feeble sympathy and +humility, "that you accompany Miss Manette to France?" + +"A likely thing, too!" replied the strong woman. "If it was ever inten- +ded that I should go across salt water, do you suppose Providence +would have cast my lot in an island?" + +This being another question hard to answer, Mr. Jarvis Lorry with- +drew to consider it. + + + +27 + + + +Chapter + + + +5 + + + +The Wine-shop + +A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken, in the street. The +accident had happened in getting it out of a cart; the cask had tumbled +out with a run, the hoops had burst, and it lay on the stones just outside +the door of the wine-shop, shattered like a walnut-shell. + +All the people within reach had suspended their business, or their +idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough, irregular +stones of the street, pointing every way, and designed, one might have +thought, expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them, had +dammed it into little pools; these were surrounded, each by its own jost- +ling group or crowd, according to its size. Some men kneeled down, +made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, or tried to help wo- +men, who bent over their shoulders, to sip, before the wine had all run +out between their fingers. Others, men and women, dipped in the +puddles with little mugs of mutilated earthenware, or even with +handkerchiefs from women's heads, which were squeezed dry into in- +fants' mouths; others made small mud-embankments, to stem the wine +as it ran; others, directed by lookers-on up at high windows, darted here +and there, to cut off little streams of wine that started away in new direc- +tions; others devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed pieces of +the cask, licking, and even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments +with eager relish. There was no drainage to carry off the wine, and not +only did it all get taken up, but so much mud got taken up along with it, +that there might have been a scavenger in the street, if anybody acquain- +ted with it could have believed in such a miraculous presence. + +A shrill sound of laughter and of amused voices - voices of men, wo- +men, and children - resounded in the street while this wine game lasted. +There was little roughness in the sport, and much playfulness. There was +a special companionship in it, an observable inclination on the part of +every one to join some other one, which led, especially among the luckier +or lighter-hearted, to frolicsome embraces, drinking of healths, shaking + + + +28 + + + +of hands, and even joining of hands and dancing, a dozen together. +When the wine was gone, and the places where it had been most abund- +ant were raked into a gridiron-pattern by fingers, these demonstrations +ceased, as suddenly as they had broken out. The man who had left his +saw sticking in the firewood he was cutting, set it in motion again; the +women who had left on a door-step the little pot of hot ashes, at which +she had been trying to soften the pain in her own starved fingers and +toes, or in those of her child, returned to it; men with bare arms, matted +locks, and cadaverous faces, who had emerged into the winter light from +cellars, moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on the +scene that appeared more natural to it than sunshine. + +The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow +street in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had +stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and +many wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left +red marks on the billets; and the forehead of the woman who nursed her +baby, was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her +head again. Those who had been greedy with the staves of the cask, had +acquired a tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so be- +smirched, his head more out of a long squalid bag of a nightcap than in +it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy wine- +lees- BLOOD. + +The time was to come, when that wine too would be spilled on the +street-stones, and when the stain of it would be red upon many there. + +And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary +gleam had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was +heavy-cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want, were the lords in waiting +on the saintly presence-nobles of great power all of them; but, most espe- +cially the last. Samples of a people that had undergone a terrible grind- +ing and regrinding in the mill, and certainly not in the fabulous mill +which ground old people young, shivered at every corner, passed in and +out at every doorway, looked from every window, fluttered in every +vestige of a garment that the wind shook. The mill which had worked +them down, was the mill that grinds young people old; the children had +ancient faces and grave voices; and upon them, and upon the grown +faces, and ploughed into every furrow of age and coming up afresh, was +the sigh, Hunger. It was prevalent everywhere. Hunger was pushed out +of the tall houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and +lines; Hunger was patched into them with straw and rag and wood and +paper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum of + + + +29 + + + +firewood that the man sawed off; Hunger stared down from the smoke- +less chimneys, and started up from the filthy street that had no offal, +among its refuse, of anything to eat. Hunger was the inscription on the +baker's shelves, written in every small loaf of his scanty stock of bad +bread; at the sausage-shop, in every dead-dog preparation that was +offered for sale. Hunger rattled its dry bones among the roasting chest- +nuts in the turned cylinder; Hunger was shred into atomics in every +farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant +drops of oil. + +Its abiding place was in all things fitted to it. A narrow winding street, +full of offence and stench, with other narrow winding streets diverging, +all peopled by rags and nightcaps, and all smelling of rags and night- +caps, and all visible things with a brooding look upon them that looked +ill. In the hunted air of the people there was yet some wild-beast thought +of the possibility of turning at bay. Depressed and slinking though they +were, eyes of fire were not wanting among them; nor compressed lips, +white with what they suppressed; nor foreheads knitted into the likeness +of the gallows-rope they mused about enduring, or inflicting. The trade +signs (and they were almost as many as the shops) were, all, grim illus- +trations of Want. The butcher and the porkman painted up, only the +leanest scrags of meat; the baker, the coarsest of meagre loaves. The +people rudely pictured as drinking in the wine-shops, croaked over their +scanty measures of thin wine and beer, and were gloweringly confiden- +tial together. Nothing was represented in a flourishing condition, save +tools and weapons; but, the cutler's knives and axes were sharp and +bright, the smith's hammers were heavy, and the gunmaker's stock was +murderous. The crippling stones of the pavement, with their many little +reservoirs of mud and water, had no footways, but broke off abruptly at +the doors. The kennel, to make amends, ran down the middle of the +street - when it ran at all: which was only after heavy rains, and then it +ran, by many eccentric fits, into the houses. Across the streets, at wide in- +tervals, one clumsy lamp was slung by a rope and pulley; at night, when +the lamplighter had let these down, and lighted, and hoisted them again, +a feeble grove of dim wicks swung in a sickly manner overhead, as if +they were at sea. Indeed they were at sea, and the ship and crew were in +peril of tempest. + +For, the time was to come, when the gaunt scarecrows of that region +should have watched the lamplighter, in their idleness and hunger, so +long, as to conceive the idea of improving on his method, and hauling up +men by those ropes and pulleys, to flare upon the darkness of their + + + +30 + + + +condition. But, the time was not come yet; and every wind that blew +over France shook the rags of the scarecrows in vain, for the birds, fine of +song and feather, took no warning. + +The wine-shop was a corner shop, better than most others in its ap- +pearance and degree, and the master of the wine-shop had stood outside +it, in a yellow waistcoat and green breeches, looking on at the struggle +for the lost wine. "It's not my affair," said he, with a final shrug of the +shoulders. "The people from the market did it. Let them bring another." + +There, his eyes happening to catch the tall joker writing up his joke, he +called to him across the way: + +"Say, then, my Gaspard, what do you do there?" + +The fellow pointed to his joke with immense significance, as is often +the way with his tribe. It missed its mark, and completely failed, as is of- +ten the way with his tribe too. + +"What now? Are you a subject for the mad hospital?" said the wine- +shop keeper, crossing the road, and obliterating the jest with a handful of +mud, picked up for the purpose, and smeared over it. "Why do you +write in the public streets? Is there - tell me thou - is there no other place +to write such words in?" + +In his expostulation he dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accident- +ally, perhaps not) upon the joker's heart. The joker rapped it with his +own, took a nimble spring upward, and came down in a fantastic dan- +cing attitude, with one of his stained shoes jerked off his foot into his +hand, and held out. A joker of an extremely, not to say wolfishly practic- +al character, he looked, under those circumstances. + +"Put it on, put it on," said the other. "Call wine, wine; and finish +there." With that advice, he wiped his soiled hand upon the joker's dress, +such as it was - quite deliberately, as having dirtied the hand on his ac- +count; and then recrossed the road and entered the wine-shop. + +This wine-shop keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man of +thirty, and he should have been of a hot temperament, for, although it +was a bitter day, he wore no coat, but carried one slung over his +shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, too, and his brown arms were +bare to the elbows. Neither did he wear anything more on his head than +his own crisply-curling short dark hair. He was a dark man altogether, +with good eyes and a good bold breadth between them. Good-humoured +looking on the whole, but implacable-looking, too; evidently a man of a +strong resolution and a set purpose; a man not desirable to be met, + + + +31 + + + +rushing down a narrow pass with a gulf on either side, for nothing +would turn the man. + +Madame Defarge, his wife, sat in the shop behind the counter as he +came in. Madame Defarge was a stout woman of about his own age, +with a watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything, a large hand +heavily ringed, a steady face, strong features, and great composure of +manner. There was a character about Madame Defarge, from which one +might have predicated that she did not often make mistakes against her- +self in any of the reckonings over which she presided. Madame Defarge +being sensitive to cold, was wrapped in fur, and had a quantity of bright +shawl twined about her head, though not to the concealment of her large +earrings. Her knitting was before her, but she had laid it down to pick +her teeth with a toothpick. Thus engaged, with her right elbow suppor- +ted by her left hand, Madame Defarge said nothing when her lord came +in, but coughed just one grain of cough. This, in combination with the +lifting of her darkly defined eyebrows over her toothpick by the breadth +of a line, suggested to her husband that he would do well to look round +the shop among the customers, for any new customer who had dropped +in while he stepped over the way. + +The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until they res- +ted upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who were seated in a +corner. Other company were there: two playing cards, two playing dom- +inoes, three standing by the counter lengthening out a short supply of +wine. As he passed behind the counter, he took notice that the elderly +gentleman said in a look to the young lady, "This is our man." + +"What the devil do YOU do in that galley there?" said Monsieur De- +farge to himself; "I don't know you." + +But, he feigned not to notice the two strangers, and fell into discourse +with the triumvirate of customers who were drinking at the counter. + +"How goes it, Jacques?" said one of these three to Monsieur Defarge. +"Is all the spilt wine swallowed?" + +"Every drop, Jacques," answered Monsieur Defarge. + +When this interchange of Christian name was effected, Madame De- +farge, picking her teeth with her toothpick, coughed another grain of +cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line. + +"It is not often," said the second of the three, addressing Monsieur De- +farge, "that many of these miserable beasts know the taste of wine, or of +anything but black bread and death. Is it not so, Jacques?" + + + +32 + + + +"It is so, Jacques/' Monsieur Defarge returned. + +At this second interchange of the Christian name, Madame Defarge, +still using her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another +grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line. + +The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his empty drink- +ing vessel and smacked his lips. + +"Ah! So much the worse! A bitter taste it is that such poor cattle al- +ways have in their mouths, and hard lives they live, Jacques. Am I right, +Jacques?" + +"You are right, Jacques," was the response of Monsieur Defarge. + +This third interchange of the Christian name was completed at the mo- +ment when Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows +up, and slightly rustled in her seat. + +"Hold then! True!" muttered her husband. "Gentlemen - my wife!" + +The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with +three flourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, +and giving them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner +round the wine-shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness +and repose of spirit, and became absorbed in it. + +"Gentlemen," said her husband, who had kept his bright eye observ- +antly upon her, "good day. The chamber, furnished bachelor-fashion, +that you wished to see, and were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on +the fifth floor. The doorway of the staircase gives on the little courtyard +close to the left here," pointing with his hand, "near to the window of +my establishment. But, now that I remember, one of you has already +been there, and can show the way. Gentlemen, adieu!" + +They paid for their wine, and left the place. The eyes of Monsieur De- +farge were studying his wife at her knitting when the elderly gentleman +advanced from his corner, and begged the favour of a word. + +"Willingly, sir," said Monsieur Defarge, and quietly stepped with him +to the door. + +Their conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the first +word, Monsieur Defarge started and became deeply attentive. It had not +lasted a minute, when he nodded and went out. The gentleman then +beckoned to the young lady, and they, too, went out. Madame Defarge +knitted with nimble fingers and steady eyebrows, and saw nothing. + + + +33 + + + +Mr. Jarvis Lorry and Miss Manette, emerging from the wine-shop thus, +joined Monsieur Defarge in the doorway to which he had directed his +own company just before. It opened from a stinking little black court- +yard, and was the general public entrance to a great pile of houses, in- +habited by a great number of people. In the gloomy tile-paved entry to +the gloomy tile-paved staircase, Monsieur Defarge bent down on one +knee to the child of his old master, and put her hand to his lips. It was a +gentle action, but not at all gently done; a very remarkable transforma- +tion had come over him in a few seconds. He had no good-humour in his +face, nor any openness of aspect left, but had become a secret, angry, +dangerous man. + +"It is very high; it is a little difficult. Better to begin slowly." Thus, +Monsieur Defarge, in a stern voice, to Mr. Lorry, as they began ascend- +ing the stairs. + +"Is he alone?" the latter whispered. + +"Alone! God help him, who should be with him!" said the other, in the +same low voice. + +"Is he always alone, then?" + +"Yes." + +"Of his own desire?" + +"Of his own necessity. As he was, when I first saw him after they +found me and demanded to know if I would take him, and, at my peril +be discreet - as he was then, so he is now." + +"He is greatly changed?" + +"Changed!" + +The keeper of the wine-shop stopped to strike the wall with his hand, +and mutter a tremendous curse. No direct answer could have been half +so forcible. Mr. Lorry's spirits grew heavier and heavier, as he and his +two companions ascended higher and higher. + +Such a staircase, with its accessories, in the older and more crowded +parts of Paris, would be bad enough now; but, at that time, it was vile in- +deed to unaccustomed and unhardened senses. Every little habitation +within the great foul nest of one high building - that is to say, the room +or rooms within every door that opened on the general staircase - left its +own heap of refuse on its own landing, besides flinging other refuse +from its own windows. The uncontrollable and hopeless mass of decom- +position so engendered, would have polluted the air, even if poverty and +deprivation had not loaded it with their intangible impurities; the two + + + +34 + + + +bad sources combined made it almost insupportable. Through such an +atmosphere, by a steep dark shaft of dirt and poison, the way lay. Yield- +ing to his own disturbance of mind, and to his young companion's agita- +tion, which became greater every instant, Mr. Jarvis Lorry twice stopped +to rest. Each of these stoppages was made at a doleful grating, by which +any languishing good airs that were left uncorrupted, seemed to escape, +and all spoilt and sickly vapours seemed to crawl in. Through the rusted +bars, tastes, rather than glimpses, were caught of the jumbled neighbour- +hood; and nothing within range, nearer or lower than the summits of the +two great towers of Notre-Dame, had any promise on it of healthy life or +wholesome aspirations. + +At last, the top of the staircase was gained, and they stopped for the +third time. There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination and +of contracted dimensions, to be ascended, before the garret story was +reached. The keeper of the wine-shop, always going a little in advance, +and always going on the side which Mr. Lorry took, as though he +dreaded to be asked any question by the young lady, turned himself +about here, and, carefully feeling in the pockets of the coat he carried +over his shoulder, took out a key. + +"The door is locked then, my friend?" said Mr. Lorry, surprised. + +"Ay. Yes," was the grim reply of Monsieur Defarge. + +"You think it necessary to keep the unfortunate gentleman so retired?" + +"I think it necessary to turn the key." Monsieur Defarge whispered it +closer in his ear, and frowned heavily. + +"Why?" + +"Why! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he would be +frightened - rave - tear himself to pieces - d-ie-come to I know not what +harm - if his door was left open." + +"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Lorry. + +"Is it possible!" repeated Defarge, bitterly. "Yes. And a beautiful world +we live in, when it IS possible, and when many other such things are +possible, and not only possible, but done - done, see you! - under that +sky there, every day. Long live the Devil. Let us go on." + +This dialogue had been held in so very low a whisper, that not a word +of it had reached the young lady's ears. But, by this time she trembled +under such strong emotion, and her face expressed such deep anxiety, +and, above all, such dread and terror, that Mr. Lorry felt it incumbent on +him to speak a word or two of reassurance. + + + +35 + + + +"Courage, dear miss! Courage! Business! The worst will be over in a +moment; it is but passing the room-door, and the worst is over. Then, all +the good you bring to him, all the relief, all the happiness you bring to +him, begin. Let our good friend here, assist you on that side. That's well, +friend Defarge. Come, now. Business, business!" + +They went up slowly and softly. The staircase was short, and they +were soon at the top. There, as it had an abrupt turn in it, they came all at +once in sight of three men, whose heads were bent down close together +at the side of a door, and who were intently looking into the room to +which the door belonged, through some chinks or holes in the wall. On +hearing footsteps close at hand, these three turned, and rose, and +showed themselves to be the three of one name who had been drinking +in the wine-shop. + +"I forgot them in the surprise of your visit," explained Monsieur De- +farge. "Leave us, good boys; we have business here." + +The three glided by, and went silently down. + +There appearing to be no other door on that floor, and the keeper of +the wine-shop going straight to this one when they were left alone, Mr. +Lorry asked him in a whisper, with a little anger: + +"Do you make a show of Monsieur Manette?" + +"I show him, in the way you have seen, to a chosen few." + +"Is that well?" + +"I think it is well." + +"Who are the few? How do you choose them?" + +"I choose them as real men, of my name - Jacques is my name - to +whom the sight is likely to do good. Enough; you are English; that is an- +other thing. Stay there, if you please, a little moment." + +With an admonitory gesture to keep them back, he stooped, and +looked in through the crevice in the wall. Soon raising his head again, he +struck twice or thrice upon the door - evidently with no other object than +to make a noise there. With the same intention, he drew the key across it, +three or four times, before he put it clumsily into the lock, and turned it +as heavily as he could. + +The door slowly opened inward under his hand, and he looked into +the room and said something. A faint voice answered something. Little +more than a single syllable could have been spoken on either side. + + + +36 + + + +He looked back over his shoulder, and beckoned them to enter. Mr. +Lorry got his arm securely round the daughter's waist, and held her; for +he felt that she was sinking. + +"A - a - a - business, business!" he urged, with a moisture that was +not of business shining on his cheek. "Come in, come in!" + +"I am afraid of it," she answered, shuddering. + +"Of it? What?" + +"I mean of him. Of my father." + +Rendered in a manner desperate, by her state and by the beckoning of +their conductor, he drew over his neck the arm that shook upon his +shoulder, lifted her a little, and hurried her into the room. He sat her +down just within the door, and held her, clinging to him. + +Defarge drew out the key, closed the door, locked it on the inside, took +out the key again, and held it in his hand. All this he did, methodically, +and with as loud and harsh an accompaniment of noise as he could +make. Finally, he walked across the room with a measured tread to +where the window was. He stopped there, and faced round. + +The garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like, was dim +and dark: for, the window of dormer shape, was in truth a door in the +roof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of stores from the +street: unglazed, and closing up the middle in two pieces, like any other +door of French construction. To exclude the cold, one half of this door +was fast closed, and the other was opened but a very little way. Such a +scanty portion of light was admitted through these means, that it was +difficult, on first coming in, to see anything; and long habit alone could +have slowly formed in any one, the ability to do any work requiring +nicety in such obscurity. Yet, work of that kind was being done in the +garret; for, with his back towards the door, and his face towards the win- +dow where the keeper of the wine-shop stood looking at him, a white- +haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making +shoes. + + + +37 + + + +Chapter + + + +6 + + + +The Shoemaker + +"Good day!" said Monsieur Defarge, looking down at the white head +that bent low over the shoemaking. + +It was raised for a moment, and a very faint voice responded to the sa- +lutation, as if it were at a distance: + +"Good day!" + +"You are still hard at work, I see?" + +After a long silence, the head was lifted for another moment, and the +voice replied, "Yes - I am working." This time, a pair of haggard eyes +had looked at the questioner, before the face had dropped again. + +The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not the +faintness of physical weakness, though confinement and hard fare no +doubt had their part in it. Its deplorable peculiarity was, that it was the +faintness of solitude and disuse. It was like the last feeble echo of a +sound made long and long ago. So entirely had it lost the life and reson- +ance of the human voice, that it affected the senses like a once beautiful +colour faded away into a poor weak stain. So sunken and suppressed it +was, that it was like a voice underground. So expressive it was, of a +hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller, wearied out by +lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have remembered home and +friends in such a tone before lying down to die. + +Some minutes of silent work had passed: and the haggard eyes had +looked up again: not with any interest or curiosity, but with a dull mech- +anical perception, beforehand, that the spot where the only visitor they +were aware of had stood, was not yet empty. + +"I want," said Defarge, who had not removed his gaze from the shoe- +maker, "to let in a little more light here. You can bear a little more?" + + + +38 + + + +The shoemaker stopped his work; looked with a vacant air of listening, +at the floor on one side of him; then similarly, at the floor on the other +side of him; then, upward at the speaker. + +"What did you say?" + +"You can bear a little more light?" + +"I must bear it, if you let it in." (Laying the palest shadow of a stress +upon the second word.) + +The opened half-door was opened a little further, and secured at that +angle for the time. A broad ray of light fell into the garret, and showed +the workman with an unfinished shoe upon his lap, pausing in his la- +bour. His few common tools and various scraps of leather were at his +feet and on his bench. He had a white beard, raggedly cut, but not very +long, a hollow face, and exceedingly bright eyes. The hollo wness and +thinness of his face would have caused them to look large, under his yet +dark eyebrows and his confused white hair, though they had been really +otherwise; but, they were naturally large, and looked unnaturally so. His +yellow rags of shirt lay open at the throat, and showed his body to be +withered and worn. He, and his old canvas frock, and his loose stock- +ings, and all his poor tatters of clothes, had, in a long seclusion from dir- +ect light and air, faded down to such a dull uniformity of parchment-yel- +low, that it would have been hard to say which was which. + +He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and the very +bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat, with a steadfastly vacant gaze, +pausing in his work. He never looked at the figure before him, without +first looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he had lost +the habit of associating place with sound; he never spoke, without first +wandering in this manner, and forgetting to speak. + +"Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?" asked Defarge, +motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward. + +"What did you say?" + +"Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?" + +"I can't say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don't know." + +But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it again. + +Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the door. +When he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoe- +maker looked up. He showed no surprise at seeing another figure, but +the unsteady fingers of one of his hands strayed to his lips as he looked +at it (his lips and his nails were of the same pale lead- colour), and then + + + +39 + + + +the hand dropped to his work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The +look and the action had occupied but an instant. + +"You have a visitor, you see," said Monsieur Defarge. + +"What did you say?" + +"Here is a visitor." + +The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a hand +from his work. + +"Come!" said Defarge. "Here is monsieur, who knows a well-made +shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working at. Take it, +monsieur." + +Mr. Lorry took it in his hand. + +"Tell monsieur what kind of shoe it is, and the maker's name." + +There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoemaker replied: + +"I forget what it was you asked me. What did you say?" + +"I said, couldn't you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieur's +information?" + +"It is a lady's shoe. It is a young lady's walking-shoe. It is in the +present mode. I never saw the mode. I have had a pattern in my hand." +He glanced at the shoe with some little passing touch of pride. + +"And the maker's name?" said Defarge. + +Now that he had no work to hold, he laid the knuckles of the right +hand in the hollow of the left, and then the knuckles of the left hand in +the hollow of the right, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, +and so on in regular changes, without a moment's intermission. The task +of recalling him from the vagrancy into which he always sank when he +had spoken, was like recalling some very weak person from a swoon, or +endeavouring, in the hope of some disclosure, to stay the spirit of a fast- +dying man. + +"Did you ask me for my name?" + +"Assuredly I did." + +"One Hundred and Five, North Tower." + +"Is that all?" + +"One Hundred and Five, North Tower." + +With a weary sound that was not a sigh, nor a groan, he bent to work +again, until the silence was again broken. + + + +40 + + + +"You are not a shoemaker by trade?" said Mr. Lorry, looking stead- +fastly at him. + +His haggard eyes turned to Defarge as if he would have transferred +the question to him: but as no help came from that quarter, they turned +back on the questioner when they had sought the ground. + +"I am not a shoemaker by trade? No, I was not a shoemaker by trade. +I-I learnt it here. I taught myself. I asked leave to - " + +He lapsed away, even for minutes, ringing those measured changes on +his hands the whole time. His eyes came slowly back, at last, to the face +from which they had wandered; when they rested on it, he started, and +resumed, in the manner of a sleeper that moment awake, reverting to a +subject of last night. + +"I asked leave to teach myself, and I got it with much difficulty after a +long while, and I have made shoes ever since." + +As he held out his hand for the shoe that had been taken from him, +Mr. Lorry said, still looking steadfastly in his face: + +"Monsieur Manette, do you remember nothing of me?" + +The shoe dropped to the ground, and he sat looking fixedly at the +questioner. + +"Monsieur Manette"; Mr. Lorry laid his hand upon Defarge's arm; "do +you remember nothing of this man? Look at him. Look at me. Is there no +old banker, no old business, no old servant, no old time, rising in your +mind, Monsieur Manette?" + +As the captive of many years sat looking fixedly, by turns, at Mr. Lorry +and at Defarge, some long obliterated marks of an actively intent intelli- +gence in the middle of the forehead, gradually forced themselves +through the black mist that had fallen on him. They were overclouded +again, they were fainter, they were gone; but they had been there. And +so exactly was the expression repeated on the fair young face of her who +had crept along the wall to a point where she could see him, and where +she now stood looking at him, with hands which at first had been only +raised in frightened compassion, if not even to keep him off and shut out +the sight of him, but which were now extending towards him, trembling +with eagerness to lay the spectral face upon her warm young breast, and +love it back to life and hope - so exactly was the expression repeated +(though in stronger characters) on her fair young face, that it looked as +though it had passed like a moving light, from him to her. + + + +41 + + + +Darkness had fallen on him in its place. He looked at the two, less and +less attentively, and his eyes in gloomy abstraction sought the ground +and looked about him in the old way. Finally, with a deep long sigh, he +took the shoe up, and resumed his work. + +"Have you recognised him, monsieur?" asked Defarge in a whisper. + +"Yes; for a moment. At first I thought it quite hopeless, but I have un- +questionably seen, for a single moment, the face that I once knew so well. +Hush! Let us draw further back. Hush!" + +She had moved from the wall of the garret, very near to the bench on +which he sat. There was something awful in his unconsciousness of the +figure that could have put out its hand and touched him as he stooped +over his labour. + +Not a word was spoken, not a sound was made. She stood, like a spir- +it, beside him, and he bent over his work. + +It happened, at length, that he had occasion to change the instrument +in his hand, for his shoemaker's knife. It lay on that side of him which +was not the side on which she stood. He had taken it up, and was stoop- +ing to work again, when his eyes caught the skirt of her dress. He raised +them, and saw her face. The two spectators started forward, but she +stayed them with a motion of her hand. She had no fear of his striking at +her with the knife, though they had. + +He stared at her with a fearful look, and after a while his lips began to +form some words, though no sound proceeded from them. By degrees, +in the pauses of his quick and laboured breathing, he was heard to say: + +"What is this?" + +With the tears streaming down her face, she put her two hands to her +lips, and kissed them to him; then clasped them on her breast, as if she +laid his ruined head there. + +"You are not the gaoler's daughter?" + +She sighed "No." + +"Who are you?" + +Not yet trusting the tones of her voice, she sat down on the bench be- +side him. He recoiled, but she laid her hand upon his arm. A strange +thrill struck him when she did so, and visibly passed over his frame; he +laid the knife down' softly, as he sat staring at her. + +Her golden hair, which she wore in long curls, had been hurriedly +pushed aside, and fell down over her neck. Advancing his hand by little + + + +42 + + + +and little, he took it up and looked at it. In the midst of the action he +went astray, and, with another deep sigh, fell to work at his shoemaking. + +But not for long. Releasing his arm, she laid her hand upon his +shoulder. After looking doubtfully at it, two or three times, as if to be +sure that it was really there, he laid down his work, put his hand to his +neck, and took off a blackened string with a scrap of folded rag attached +to it. He opened this, carefully, on his knee, and it contained a very little +quantity of hair: not more than one or two long golden hairs, which he +had, in some old day, wound off upon his finger. + +He took her hair into his hand again, and looked closely at it. "It is the +same. How can it be! When was it! How was it!" + +As the concentrated expression returned to his forehead, he seemed to +become conscious that it was in hers too. He turned her full to the light, +and looked at her. + +"She had laid her head upon my shoulder, that night when I was +summoned out - she had a fear of my going, though I had none - and +when I was brought to the North Tower they found these upon my +sleeve. 'You will leave me them? They can never help me to escape in the +body, though they may in the spirit.' Those were the words I said. I re- +member them very well." + +He formed this speech with his lips many times before he could utter +it. But when he did find spoken words for it, they came to him coher- +ently, though slowly. + +"How was this? - Was it you?" + +Once more, the two spectators started, as he turned upon her with a +frightful suddenness. But she sat perfectly still in his grasp, and only +said, in a low voice, "I entreat you, good gentlemen, do not come near +us, do not speak, do not move!" + +"Hark!" he exclaimed. "Whose voice was that?" + +His hands released her as he uttered this cry, and went up to his white +hair, which they tore in a frenzy. It died out, as everything but his shoe- +making did die out of him, and he refolded his little packet and tried to +secure it in his breast; but he still looked at her, and gloomily shook his +head. + +"No, no, no; you are too young, too blooming. It can't be. See what the +prisoner is. These are not the hands she knew, this is not the face she +knew, this is not a voice she ever heard. No, no. She was - and He + + + +43 + + + +was - before the slow years of the North Tower - ages ago. What is your +name, my gentle angel?" + +Hailing his softened tone and manner, his daughter fell upon her +knees before him, with her appealing hands upon his breast. + +"O, sir, at another time you shall know my name, and who my mother +was, and who my father, and how I never knew their hard, hard history. +But I cannot tell you at this time, and I cannot tell you here. All that I +may tell you, here and now, is, that I pray to you to touch me and to +bless me. Kiss me, kiss me! O my dear, my dear!" + +His cold white head mingled with her radiant hair, which warmed +and lighted it as though it were the light of Freedom shining on him. + +"If you hear in my voice - I don't know that it is so, but I hope it is - if +you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that once was sweet +music in your ears, weep for it, weep for it! If you touch, in touching my +hair, anything that recalls a beloved head that lay on your breast when +you were young and free, weep for it, weep for it! If, when I hint to you +of a Home that is before us, where I will be true to you with all my duty +and with all my faithful service, I bring back the remembrance of a +Home long desolate, while your poor heart pined away, weep for it, +weep for it!" + +She held him closer round the neck, and rocked him on her breast like +a child. + +"If, when I tell you, dearest dear, that your agony is over, and that I +have come here to take you from it, and that we go to England to be at +peace and at rest, I cause you to think of your useful life laid waste, and +of our native France so wicked to you, weep for it, weep for it! And if, +when I shall tell you of my name, and of my father who is living, and of +my mother who is dead, you learn that I have to kneel to my honoured +father, and implore his pardon for having never for his sake striven all +day and lain awake and wept all night, because the love of my poor +mother hid his torture from me, weep for it, weep for it! Weep for her, +then, and for me! Good gentlemen, thank God! I feel his sacred tears +upon my face, and his sobs strike against my heart. O, see! Thank God +for us, thank God!" + +He had sunk in her arms, and his face dropped on her breast: a sight +so touching, yet so terrible in the tremendous wrong and suffering which +had gone before it, that the two beholders covered their faces. + + + +44 + + + +When the quiet of the garret had been long undisturbed, and his heav- +ing breast and shaken form had long yielded to the calm that must fol- +low all storms - emblem to humanity, of the rest and silence into which +the storm called Life must hush at last - they came forward to raise the +father and daughter from the ground. He had gradually dropped to the +floor, and lay there in a lethargy, worn out. She had nestled down with +him, that his head might lie upon her arm; and her hair drooping over +him curtained him from the light. + +"If, without disturbing him," she said, raising her hand to Mr. Lorry as +he stooped over them, after repeated blowings of his nose, "all could be +arranged for our leaving Paris at once, so that, from the, very door, he +could be taken away - " + +"But, consider. Is he fit for the journey?" asked Mr. Lorry. + +"More fit for that, I think, than to remain in this city, so dreadful to +him." + +"It is true," said Defarge, who was kneeling to look on and hear. +"More than that; Monsieur Manette is, for all reasons, best out of France. +Say, shall I hire a carriage and post-horses?" + +"That's business," said Mr. Lorry, resuming on the shortest notice his +methodical manners; "and if business is to be done, I had better do it." + +"Then be so kind," urged Miss Manette, "as to leave us here. You see +how composed he has become, and you cannot be afraid to leave him +with me now. Why should you be? If you will lock the door to secure us +from interruption, I do not doubt that you will find him, when you come +back, as quiet as you leave him. In any case, I will take care of him until +you return, and then we will remove him straight." + +Both Mr. Lorry and Defarge were rather disinclined to this course, and +in favour of one of them remaining. But, as there were not only carriage +and horses to be seen to, but travelling papers; and as time pressed, for +the day was drawing to an end, it came at last to their hastily dividing +the business that was necessary to be done, and hurrying away to do it. + +Then, as the darkness closed in, the daughter laid her head down on +the hard ground close at the father's side, and watched him. The dark- +ness deepened and deepened, and they both lay quiet, until a light +gleamed through the chinks in the wall. + +Mr. Lorry and Monsieur Defarge had made all ready for the journey, +and had brought with them, besides travelling cloaks and wrappers, +bread and meat, wine, and hot coffee. Monsieur Defarge put this + + + +45 + + + +provender, and the lamp he carried, on the shoemaker's bench (there +was nothing else in the garret but a pallet bed), and he and Mr. Lorry +roused the captive, and assisted him to his feet. + +No human intelligence could have read the mysteries of his mind, in +the scared blank wonder of his face. Whether he knew what had +happened, whether he recollected what they had said to him, whether he +knew that he was free, were questions which no sagacity could have +solved. They tried speaking to him; but, he was so confused, and so very +slow to answer, that they took fright at his bewilderment, and agreed for +the time to tamper with him no more. He had a wild, lost manner of oc- +casionally clasping his head in his hands, that had not been seen in him +before; yet, he had some pleasure in the mere sound of his daughter's +voice, and invariably turned to it when she spoke. + +In the submissive way of one long accustomed to obey under coercion, +he ate and drank what they gave him to eat and drink, and put on the +cloak and other wrappings, that they gave him to wear. He readily re- +sponded to his daughter's drawing her arm through his, and took - and +kept - her hand in both his own. + +They began to descend; Monsieur Defarge going first with the lamp, +Mr. Lorry closing the little procession. They had not traversed many +steps of the long main staircase when he stopped, and stared at the roof +and round at the wails. + +"You remember the place, my father? You remember coming up +here?" + +"What did you say?" + +But, before she could repeat the question, he murmured an answer as +if she had repeated it. + +"Remember? No, I don't remember. It was so very long ago." + +That he had no recollection whatever of his having been brought from +his prison to that house, was apparent to them. They heard him mutter, +"One Hundred and Five, North Tower;" and when he looked about him, +it evidently was for the strong fortress-walls which had long encom- +passed him. On their reaching the courtyard he instinctively altered his +tread, as being in expectation of a drawbridge; and when there was no +drawbridge, and he saw the carriage waiting in the open street, he +dropped his daughter's hand and clasped his head again. + +No crowd was about the door; no people were discernible at any of the +many windows; not even a chance passerby was in the street. An + + + +46 + + + +unnatural silence and desertion reigned there. Only one soul was to be +seen, and that was Madame Defarge - who leaned against the door-post, +knitting, and saw nothing. + +The prisoner had got into a coach, and his daughter had followed him, +when Mr. Lorry's feet were arrested on the step by his asking, miserably, +for his shoemaking tools and the unfinished shoes. Madame Defarge im- +mediately called to her husband that she would get them, and went, +knitting, out of the lamplight, through the courtyard. She quickly +brought them down and handed them in; - and immediately afterwards +leaned against the door-post, knitting, and saw nothing. + +Defarge got upon the box, and gave the word "To the Barrier!" The +postilion cracked his whip, and they clattered away under the feeble +over-swinging lamps. + +Under the over-swinging lamps - swinging ever brighter in the better +streets, and ever dimmer in the worse - and by lighted shops, gay +crowds, illuminated coffee-houses, and theatre-doors, to one of the city +gates. Soldiers with lanterns, at the guard-house there. "Your papers, +travellers!" "See here then, Monsieur the Officer," said Defarge, getting +down, and taking him gravely apart, "these are the papers of monsieur +inside, with the white head. They were consigned to me, with him, at +the - " He dropped his voice, there was a flutter among the military lan- +terns, and one of them being handed into the coach by an arm in uni- +form, the eyes connected with the arm looked, not an every day or an +every night look, at monsieur with the white head. "It is well. Forward!" +from the uniform. "Adieu!" from Defarge. And so, under a short grove +of feebler and feebler over-swinging lamps, out under the great grove of +stars. + +Beneath that arch of unmoved and eternal lights; some, so remote from +this little earth that the learned tell us it is doubtful whether their rays +have even yet discovered it, as a point in space where anything is +suffered or done: the shadows of the night were broad and black. All +through the cold and restless interval, until dawn, they once more +whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis Lorry - sitting opposite the buried +man who had been dug out, and wondering what subtle powers were +for ever lost to him, and what were capable of restoration - the old +inquiry: + +"I hope you care to be recalled to life?" + +And the old answer: + +"I can't say." + + + +47 + + + +Part 2 +The Golden Thread + + + +48 + + + +Chapter + + + +1 + + + +Five Years Later + +Tellson's Bank by Temple Bar was an old-fashioned place, even in the +year one thousand seven hundred and eighty. It was very small, very +dark, very ugly, very incommodious. It was an old-fashioned place, +moreover, in the moral attribute that the partners in the House were +proud of its smallness, proud of its darkness, proud of its ugliness, +proud of its incommodiousness. They were even boastful of its eminence +in those particulars, and were fired by an express conviction that, if it +were less objectionable, it would be less respectable. This was no passive +belief, but an active weapon which they flashed at more convenient +places of business. Tellson's (they said) wanted no elbow-room, Tellson's +wanted no light, Tellson's wanted no embellishment. Noakes and Co.'s +might, or Snooks Brothers' might; but Tellson's, thank Heaven! - + +Any one of these partners would have disinherited his son on the +question of rebuilding Tellson's. In this respect the House was much on a +par with the Country; which did very often disinherit its sons for sug- +gesting improvements in laws and customs that had long been highly +objectionable, but were only the more respectable. + +Thus it had come to pass, that Tellson's was the triumphant perfection +of inconvenience. After bursting open a door of idiotic obstinacy with a +weak rattle in its throat, you fell into Tellson's down two steps, and came +to your senses in a miserable little shop, with two little counters, where +the oldest of men made your cheque shake as if the wind rustled it, while +they examined the signature by the dingiest of windows, which were al- +ways under a shower-bath of mud from Fleet-street, and which were +made the dingier by their own iron bars proper, and the heavy shadow +of Temple Bar. If your business necessitated your seeing "the House," +you were put into a species of Condemned Hold at the back, where you +meditated on a misspent life, until the House came with its hands in its +pockets, and you could hardly blink at it in the dismal twilight. Your +money came out of, or went into, wormy old wooden drawers, particles + + + +49 + + + +of which flew up your nose and down your throat when they were +opened and shut. Your bank-notes had a musty odour, as if they were +fast decomposing into rags again. Your plate was stowed away among +the neighbouring cesspools, and evil communications corrupted its good +polish in a day or two. Your deeds got into extemporised strong-rooms +made of kitchens and sculleries, and fretted all the fat out of their parch- +ments into the banking-house air. Your lighter boxes of family papers +went up-stairs into a Barmecide room, that always had a great dining- +table in it and never had a dinner, and where, even in the year one thou- +sand seven hundred and eighty, the first letters written to you by your +old love, or by your little children, were but newly released from the hor- +ror of being ogled through the windows, by the heads exposed on +Temple Bar with an insensate brutality and ferocity worthy of Abyssinia +or Ashantee. + +But indeed, at that time, putting to death was a recipe much in vogue +with all trades and professions, and not least of all with Tellson's. Death +is Nature's remedy for all things, and why not Legislation's? Accord- +ingly, the forger was put to Death; the utterer of a bad note was put to +Death; the unlawful opener of a letter was put to Death; the purloiner of +forty shillings and sixpence was put to Death; the holder of a horse at +Tellson's door, who made off with it, was put to Death; the coiner of a +bad shilling was put to Death; the sounders of three-fourths of the notes +in the whole gamut of Crime, were put to Death. Not that it did the least +good in the way of prevention - it might almost have been worth re- +marking that the fact was exactly the reverse - but, it cleared off (as to +this world) the trouble of each particular case, and left nothing else con- +nected with it to be looked after. Thus, Tellson's, in its day, like greater +places of business, its contemporaries, had taken so many lives, that, if +the heads laid low before it had been ranged on Temple Bar instead of +being privately disposed of, they would probably have excluded what +little light the ground floor had, in a rather significant manner. + +Cramped in all kinds of dun cupboards and hutches at Tellson's, the +oldest of men carried on the business gravely. When they took a young +man into Tellson's London house, they hid him somewhere till he was +old. They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full +Tellson flavour and blue-mould upon him. Then only was he permitted +to be seen, spectacularly poring over large books, and casting his +breeches and gaiters into the general weight of the establishment. + +Outside Tellson's - never by any means in it, unless called in - was an +odd-job-man, an occasional porter and messenger, who served as the live + + + +50 + + + +sign of the house. He was never absent during business hours, unless +upon an errand, and then he was represented by his son: a grisly urchin +of twelve, who was his express image. People understood that Tellson's, +in a stately way, tolerated the odd-job-man. The house had always toler- +ated some person in that capacity, and time and tide had drifted this per- +son to the post. His surname was Cruncher, and on the youthful occasion +of his renouncing by proxy the works of darkness, in the easterly parish +church of Hounsditch, he had received the added appellation of Jerry. + +The scene was Mr. Cruncher's private lodging in Hanging-sword-al- +ley, Whitefriars: the time, half-past seven of the clock on a windy March +morning, Anno Domini seventeen hundred and eighty. (Mr. Cruncher +himself always spoke of the year of our Lord as Anna Dominoes: appar- +ently under the impression that the Christian era dated from the inven- +tion of a popular game, by a lady who had bestowed her name upon it.) + +Mr. Cruncher's apartments were not in a savoury neighbourhood, and +were but two in number, even if a closet with a single pane of glass in it +might be counted as one. But they were very decently kept. Early as it +was, on the windy March morning, the room in which he lay abed was +already scrubbed throughout; and between the cups and saucers ar- +ranged for breakfast, and the lumbering deal table, a very clean white +cloth was spread. + +Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchwork counterpane, like a Harle- +quin at home. At fast, he slept heavily, but, by degrees, began to roll and +surge in bed, until he rose above the surface, with his spiky hair looking +as if it must tear the sheets to ribbons. At which juncture, he exclaimed, +in a voice of dire exasperation: + +"Bust me, if she ain't at it agin!" + +A woman of orderly and industrious appearance rose from her knees +in a corner, with sufficient haste and trepidation to show that she was +the person referred to. + +"What!" said Mr. Cruncher, looking out of bed for a boot. "You're at it +agin, are you?" + +After hailing the mom with this second salutation, he threw a boot at +the woman as a third. It was a very muddy boot, and may introduce the +odd circumstance connected with Mr. Cruncher's domestic economy, +that, whereas he often came home after banking hours with clean boots, +he often got up next morning to find the same boots covered with clay. + + + +51 + + + +"What," said Mr. Cruncher, varying his apostrophe after missing his +mark - "what are you up to, Aggerawayter?" + +"I was only saying my prayers." + +"Saying your prayers! You're a nice woman! What do you mean by +flopping yourself down and praying agin me?" + +"I was not praying against you; I was praying for you." + +"You weren't. And if you were, I won't be took the liberty with. Here! +your mother's a nice woman, young Jerry, going a praying agin your +father's prosperity. You've got a dutiful mother, you have, my son. +You've got a religious mother, you have, my boy: going and flopping +herself down, and praying that the bread-and-butter may be snatched +out of the mouth of her only child." + +Master Cruncher (who was in his shirt) took this very ill, and, turning +to his mother, strongly deprecated any praying away of his personal +board. + +"And what do you suppose, you conceited female," said Mr. Crunch- +er, with unconscious inconsistency, "that the worth of your prayers may +be? Name the price that you put your prayers at!" + +"They only come from the heart, Jerry. They are worth no more than +that." + +"Worth no more than that," repeated Mr. Cruncher. "They ain't worth +much, then. Whether or no, I won't be prayed agin, I tell you. I can't af- +ford it. I'm not a going to be made unlucky by your sneaking. If you +must go flopping yourself down, flop in favour of your husband and +child, and not in opposition to 'em. If I had had any but a unnat'ral wife, +and this poor boy had had any but a unnat'ral mother, I might have +made some money last week instead of being counter-prayed and coun- +termined and religiously circumwented into the worst of luck. B-u-u-ust +me!" said Mr. Cruncher, who all this time had been putting on his +clothes, "if I ain't, what with piety and one blowed thing and another, +been choused this last week into as bad luck as ever a poor devil of a +honest tradesman met with! Young Jerry, dress yourself, my boy, and +while I clean my boots keep a eye upon your mother now and then, and +if you see any signs of more flopping, give me a call. For, I tell you," here +he addressed his wife once more, "I won't be gone agin, in this manner. I +am as rickety as a hackney-coach, I'm as sleepy as laudanum, my lines is +strained to that degree that I shouldn't know, if it wasn't for the pain in +'em, which was me and which somebody else, yet I'm none the better for + + + +52 + + + +it in pocket; and it's my suspicion that you've been at it from morning to +night to prevent me from being the better for it in pocket, and I won't +put up with it, Aggerawayter, and what do you say now!" + +Growling, in addition, such phrases as "Ah! yes! You're religious, too. +You wouldn't put yourself in opposition to the interests of your husband +and child, would you? Not you!" and throwing off other sarcastic sparks +from the whirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Cruncher betook +himself to his boot-cleaning and his general preparation for business. In +the meantime, his son, whose head was garnished with tenderer spikes, +and whose young eyes stood close by one another, as his father's did, +kept the required watch upon his mother. He greatly disturbed that poor +woman at intervals, by darting out of his sleeping closet, where he made +his toilet, with a suppressed cry of "You are going to flop, moth- +er. - Halloa, father!" and, after raising this fictitious alarm, darting in +again with an undutiful grin. + +Mr. Cruncher's temper was not at all improved when he came to his +breakfast. He resented Mrs. Cruncher's saying grace with particular +animosity. + +"Now, Aggerawayter! What are you up to? At it again?" + +His wife explained that she had merely "asked a blessing." + +"Don't do it!" said Mr. Crunches looking about, as if he rather expec- +ted to see the loaf disappear under the efficacy of his wife's petitions. "I +ain't a going to be blest out of house and home. I won't have my wittles +blest off my table. Keep still!" + +Exceedingly red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at a +party which had taken anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncher +worried his breakfast rather than ate it, growling over it like any four- +footed inmate of a menagerie. Towards nine o'clock he smoothed his +ruffled aspect, and, presenting as respectable and business-like an exteri- +or as he could overlay his natural self with, issued forth to the occupa- +tion of the day. + +It could scarcely be called a trade, in spite of his favourite description +of himself as "a honest tradesman." His stock consisted of a wooden +stool, made out of a broken-backed chair cut down, which stool, young +Jerry, walking at his father's side, carried every morning to beneath the +banking-house window that was nearest Temple Bar: where, with the +addition of the first handful of straw that could be gleaned from any +passing vehicle to keep the cold and wet from the odd-job-man's feet, it +formed the encampment for the day. On this post of his, Mr. Cruncher + + + +53 + + + +was as well known to Fleet-street and the Temple, as the Bar itself, - and +was almost as in-looking. + +Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to touch his three- +cornered hat to the oldest of men as they passed in to Tellson's, Jerry +took up his station on this windy March morning, with young Jerry +standing by him, when not engaged in making forays through the Bar, to +inflict bodily and mental injuries of an acute description on passing boys +who were small enough for his amiable purpose. Father and son, ex- +tremely like each other, looking silently on at the morning traffic in Fleet- +street, with their two heads as near to one another as the two eyes of +each were, bore a considerable resemblance to a pair of monkeys. The re- +semblance was not lessened by the accidental circumstance, that the ma- +ture Jerry bit and spat out straw, while the twinkling eyes of the youthful +Jerry were as restlessly watchful of him as of everything else in Fleet- +street. + +The head of one of the regular indoor messengers attached to Tellson's +establishment was put through the door, and the word was given: + +"Porter wanted!" + +"Hooray, father! Here's an early job to begin with!" + +Having thus given his parent God speed, young Jerry seated himself +on the stool, entered on his reversionary interest in the straw his father +had been chewing, and cogitated. + +"Al-ways rusty! His fingers is al-ways rusty!" muttered young Jerry. +"Where does my father get all that iron rust from? He don't get no iron +rust here!" + + + +54 + + + +Chapter + + + +2 + + + +A Sight + +"You know the Old Bailey, well, no doubt?" said one of the oldest of +clerks to Jerry the messenger. + +"Ye-es, sir," returned Jerry, in something of a dogged manner. "I do +know the Bailey." + +"Just so. And you know Mr. Lorry." + +"I know Mr. Lorry, sir, much better than I know the Bailey. Much bet- +ter," said Jerry, not unlike a reluctant witness at the establishment in +question, "than I, as a honest tradesman, wish to know the Bailey." + +"Very well. Find the door where the witnesses go in, and show the +door-keeper this note for Mr. Lorry. He will then let you in." + +"Into the court, sir?" + +"Into the court." + +Mr. Cruncher's eyes seemed to get a little closer to one another, and to +interchange the inquiry, "What do you think of this?" + +"Am I to wait in the court, sir?" he asked, as the result of that +conference. + +"I am going to tell you. The door-keeper will pass the note to Mr. +Lorry, and do you make any gesture that will attract Mr. Lorry's atten- +tion, and show him where you stand. Then what you have to do, is, to +remain there until he wants you." + +"Is that all, sir?" + +"That's all. He wishes to have a messenger at hand. This is to tell him +you are there." + +As the ancient clerk deliberately folded and superscribed the note, Mr. +Cruncher, after surveying him in silence until he came to the blotting-pa- +per stage, remarked: + +"I suppose they'll be trying Forgeries this morning?" + + + +55 + + + +"Treason!" + +"That's quartering," said Jerry. "Barbarous!" + +"It is the law," remarked the ancient clerk, turning his surprised spec- +tacles upon him. "It is the law." + +"It's hard in the law to spile a man, I think. Ifs hard enough to kill him, +but it's wery hard to spile him, sir." + +"Not at all," retained the ancient clerk. "Speak well of the law. Take +care of your chest and voice, my good friend, and leave the law to take +care of itself. I give you that advice." + +"It's the damp, sir, what settles on my chest and voice," said Jerry. "I +leave you to judge what a damp way of earning a living mine is." + +"Well, well," said the old clerk; "we all have our various ways of gain- +ing a livelihood. Some of us have damp ways, and some of us have dry +ways. Here is the letter. Go along." + +Jerry took the letter, and, remarking to himself with less internal defer- +ence than he made an outward show of, "You are a lean old one, too," +made his bow, informed his son, in passing, of his destination, and went +his way. + +They hanged at Tyburn, in those days, so the street outside Newgate +had not obtained one infamous notoriety that has since attached to it. +But, the gaol was a vile place, in which most kinds of debauchery and +villainy were practised, and where dire diseases were bred, that came in- +to court with the prisoners, and sometimes rushed straight from the dock +at my Lord Chief Justice himself, and pulled him off the bench. It had +more than once happened, that the Judge in the black cap pronounced +his own doom as certainly as the prisoner's, and even died before him. +For the rest, the Old Bailey was famous as a kind of deadly inn-yard, +from which pale travellers set out continually, in carts and coaches, on a +violent passage into the other world: traversing some two miles and a +half of public street and road, and shaming few good citizens, if any. So +powerful is use, and so desirable to be good use in the beginning. It was +famous, too, for the pillory, a wise old institution, that inflicted a punish- +ment of which no one could foresee the extent; also, for the whipping- +post, another dear old institution, very humanising and softening to be- +hold in action; also, for extensive transactions in blood-money, another +fragment of ancestral wisdom, systematically leading to the most fright- +ful mercenary crimes that could be committed under Heaven. Altogeth- +er, the Old Bailey, at that date, was a choice illustration of the precept, + + + +56 + + + +that "Whatever is is right;" an aphorism that would be as final as it is +lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence, that nothing that +ever was, was wrong. + +Making his way through the tainted crowd, dispersed up and down +this hideous scene of action, with the skill of a man accustomed to make +his way quietly, the messenger found out the door he sought, and +handed in his letter through a trap in it. For, people then paid to see the +play at the Old Bailey, just as they paid to see the play in Bedlam - only +the former entertainment was much the dearer. Therefore, all the Old +Bailey doors were well guarded - except, indeed, the social doors by +which the criminals got there, and those were always left wide open. + +After some delay and demur, the door grudgingly turned on its hinges +a very little way, and allowed Mr. Jerry Cruncher to squeeze himself into +court. + +"What's on?" he asked, in a whisper, of the man he found himself next +to. + +"Nothing yet." + +"What's coming on?" + +"The Treason case." + +"The quartering one, eh?" + +"Ah!" returned the man, with a relish; "he'll be drawn on a hurdle to +be half hanged, and then he'll be taken down and sliced before his own +face, and then his inside will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, +and then his head will be chopped off, and he'll be cut into quarters. +That's the sentence." + +"If he's found Guilty, you mean to say?" Jerry added, by way of +proviso. + +"Oh! they'll find him guilty," said the other. "Don't you be afraid of +that." + +Mr. Cruncher's attention was here diverted to the door-keeper, whom +he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry, with the note in his hand. Mr. +Lorry sat at a table, among the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged +gentleman, the prisoner's counsel, who had a great bundle of papers be- +fore him: and nearly opposite another wigged gentleman with his hands +in his pockets, whose whole attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him +then or afterwards, seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of the court. +After some gruff coughing and rubbing of his chin and signing with his + + + +57 + + + +hand, Jerry attracted the notice of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look +for him, and who quietly nodded and sat down again. + +"What's he got to do with the case?" asked the man he had spoken +with. + +"Blest if I know," said Jerry. + +"What have you got to do with it, then, if a person may inquire?" + +"Blest if I know that either," said Jerry. + +The entrance of the Judge, and a consequent great stir and settling +down in the court, stopped the dialogue. Presently, the dock became the +central point of interest. Two gaolers, who had been standing there, +wont out, and the prisoner was brought in, and put to the bar. + +Everybody present, except the one wigged gentleman who looked at +the ceiling, stared at him. All the human breath in the place, rolled at +him, like a sea, or a wind, or a fire. Eager faces strained round pillars and +corners, to get a sight of him; spectators in back rows stood up, not to +miss a hair of him; people on the floor of the court, laid their hands on +the shoulders of the people before them, to help themselves, at any- +body's cost, to a view of him - stood a-tiptoe, got upon ledges, stood +upon next to nothing, to see every inch of him. Conspicuous among +these latter, like an animated bit of the spiked wall of Newgate, Jerry +stood: aiming at the prisoner the beery breath of a whet he had taken as +he came along, and discharging it to mingle with the waves of other +beer, and gin, and tea, and coffee, and what not, that flowed at him, and +already broke upon the great windows behind him in an impure mist +and rain. + +The object of all this staring and blaring, was a young man of about +five-and-twenty, well-grown and well-looking, with a sunburnt cheek +and a dark eye. His condition was that of a young gentleman. He was +plainly dressed in black, or very dark grey, and his hair, which was long +and dark, was gathered in a ribbon at the back of his neck; more to be +out of his way than for ornament. As an emotion of the mind will ex- +press itself through any covering of the body, so the paleness which his +situation engendered came through the brown upon his cheek, showing +the soul to be stronger than the sun. He was otherwise quite self-pos- +sessed, bowed to the Judge, and stood quiet. + +The sort of interest with which this man was stared and breathed at, +was not a sort that elevated humanity. Had he stood in peril of a less +horrible sentence - had there been a chance of any one of its savage + + + +58 + + + +details being spared - by just so much would he have lost in his fascina- +tion. The form that was to be doomed to be so shamefully mangled, was +the sight; the immortal creature that was to be so butchered and torn +asunder, yielded the sensation. Whatever gloss the various spectators +put upon the interest, according to their several arts and powers of self- +deceit, the interest was, at the root of it, Ogreish. + +Silence in the court! Charles Darnay had yesterday pleaded Not Guilty +to an indictment denouncing him (with infinite jingle and jangle) for that +he was a false traitor to our serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, +prince, our Lord the King, by reason of his having, on divers occasions, +and by divers means and ways, assisted Lewis, the French King, in his +wars against our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth; that was +to say, by coming and going, between the dominions of our said serene, +illustrious, excellent, and so forth, and those of the said French Lewis, +and wickedly, falsely, traitorously, and otherwise evil-adverbiously, re- +vealing to the said French Lewis what forces our said serene, illustrious, +excellent, and so forth, had in preparation to send to Canada and North +America. This much, Jerry, with his head becoming more and more +spiky as the law terms bristled it, made out with huge satisfaction, and +so arrived circuitously at the understanding that the aforesaid, and over +and over again aforesaid, Charles Darnay, stood there before him upon +his trial; that the jury were swearing in; and that Mr. Attorney-General +was making ready to speak. + +The accused, who was (and who knew he was) being mentally +hanged, beheaded, and quartered, by everybody there, neither flinched +from the situation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it. He was quiet and +attentive; watched the opening proceedings with a grave interest; and +stood with his hands resting on the slab of wood before him, so com- +posedly, that they had not displaced a leaf of the herbs with which it was +strewn. The court was all bestrewn with herbs and sprinkled with vineg- +ar, as a precaution against gaol air and gaol fever. + +Over the prisoner's head there was a mirror, to throw the light down +upon him. Crowds of the wicked and the wretched had been reflected in +it, and had passed from its surface and this earth's together. Haunted in +a most ghastly manner that abominable place would have been, if the +glass could ever have rendered back its reflexions, as the ocean is one +day to give up its dead. Some passing thought of the infamy and dis- +grace for which it had been reserved, may have struck the prisoner's +mind. Be that as it may, a change in his position making him conscious + + + +59 + + + +of a bar of light across his face, he looked up; and when he saw the glass +his face flushed, and his right hand pushed the herbs away. + +It happened, that the action turned his face to that side of the court +which was on his left. About on a level with his eyes, there sat, in that +corner of the Judge's bench, two persons upon whom his look immedi- +ately rested; so immediately, and so much to the changing of his aspect, +that all the eyes that were tamed upon him, turned to them. + +The spectators saw in the two figures, a young lady of little more than +twenty, and a gentleman who was evidently her father; a man of a very +remarkable appearance in respect of the absolute whiteness of his hair, +and a certain indescribable intensity of face: not of an active kind, but +pondering and self-communing. When this expression was upon him, he +looked as if he were old; but when it was stirred and broken up - as it +was now, in a moment, on his speaking to his daughter - he became a +handsome man, not past the prime of life. + +His daughter had one of her hands drawn through his arm, as she sat +by him, and the other pressed upon it. She had drawn close to him, in +her dread of the scene, and in her pity for the prisoner. Her forehead had +been strikingly expressive of an engrossing terror and compassion that +saw nothing but the peril of the accused. This had been so very notice- +able, so very powerfully and naturally shown, that starers who had had +no pity for him were touched by her; and the whisper went about, "Who +are they?" + +Jerry, the messenger, who had made his own observations, in his own +manner, and who had been sucking the rust off his fingers in his absorp- +tion, stretched his neck to hear who they were. The crowd about him had +pressed and passed the inquiry on to the nearest attendant, and from +him it had been more slowly pressed and passed back; at last it got to +Jerry: + +"Witnesses." + +"For which side?" + +"Against." + +"Against what side?" + +"The prisoner's." + +The Judge, whose eyes had gone in the general direction, recalled +them, leaned back in his seat, and looked steadily at the man whose life +was in his hand, as Mr. Attorney-General rose to spin the rope, grind the +axe, and hammer the nails into the scaffold. + + + +60 + + + +Chapter + + + +3 + + + +A Disappointment + +Mr. Attorney-General had to inform the jury, that the prisoner before +them, though young in years, was old in the treasonable practices which +claimed the forfeit of his life. That this correspondence with the public +enemy was not a correspondence of to-day, or of yesterday, or even of +last year, or of the year before. That, it was certain the prisoner had, for +longer than that, been in the habit of passing and repassing between +France and England, on secret business of which he could give no honest +account. That, if it were in the nature of traitorous ways to thrive (which +happily it never was), the real wickedness and guilt of his business +might have remained undiscovered. That Providence, however, had put +it into the heart of a person who was beyond fear and beyond reproach, +to ferret out the nature of the prisoner's schemes, and, struck with hor- +ror, to disclose them to his Majesty's Chief Secretary of State and most +honourable Privy Council. That, this patriot would be produced before +them. That, his position and attitude were, on the whole, sublime. That, +he had been the prisoner's friend, but, at once in an auspicious and an +evil hour detecting his infamy, had resolved to immolate the traitor he +could no longer cherish in his bosom, on the sacred altar of his country. +That, if statues were decreed in Britain, as in ancient Greece and Rome, +to public benefactors, this shining citizen would assuredly have had one. +That, as they were not so decreed, he probably would not have one. That, +Virtue, as had been observed by the poets (in many passages which he +well knew the jury would have, word for word, at the tips of their +tongues; whereat the jury's countenances displayed a guilty conscious- +ness that they knew nothing about the passages), was in a manner conta- +gious; more especially the bright virtue known as patriotism, or love of +country. That, the lofty example of this immaculate and unimpeachable +witness for the Crown, to refer to whom however unworthily was an +honour, had communicated itself to the prisoner's servant, and had en- +gendered in him a holy determination to examine his master's table- + + + +Si + + + +drawers and pockets, and secrete his papers. That, he (Mr. Attorney- +General) was prepared to hear some disparagement attempted of this +admirable servant; but that, in a general way, he preferred him to his +(Mr. Attorney-General's) brothers and sisters, and honoured him more +than his (Mr. Attorney-General's) father and mother. That, he called with +confidence on the jury to come and do likewise. That, the evidence of +these two witnesses, coupled with the documents of their discovering +that would be produced, would show the prisoner to have been fur- +nished with lists of his Majesty's forces, and of their disposition and pre- +paration, both by sea and land, and would leave no doubt that he had +habitually conveyed such information to a hostile power. That, these lists +could not be proved to be in the prisoner's handwriting; but that it was +all the same; that, indeed, it was rather the better for the prosecution, as +showing the prisoner to be artful in his precautions. That, the proof +would go back five years, and would show the prisoner already engaged +in these pernicious missions, within a few weeks before the date of the +very first action fought between the British troops and the Americans. +That, for these reasons, the jury, being a loyal jury (as he knew they +were), and being a responsible jury (as they knew they were), must pos- +itively find the prisoner Guilty, and make an end of him, whether they +liked it or not. That, they never could lay their heads upon their pillows; +that, they never could tolerate the idea of their wives laying their heads +upon their pillows; that, they never could endure the notion of their chil- +dren laying their heads upon their pillows; in short, that there never +more could be, for them or theirs, any laying of heads upon pillows at +all, unless the prisoner's head was taken off. That head Mr. Attorney- +General concluded by demanding of them, in the name of everything he +could think of with a round turn in it, and on the faith of his solemn as- +severation that he already considered the prisoner as good as dead and +gone. + +When the Attorney-General ceased, a buzz arose in the court as if a +cloud of great blue-flies were swarming about the prisoner, in anticipa- +tion of what he was soon to become. When toned down again, the unim- +peachable patriot appeared in the witness-box. + +Mr. Solicitor-General then, following his leader's lead, examined the +patriot: John Barsad, gentleman, by name. The story of his pure soul was +exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had described it to be - perhaps, if it +had a fault, a little too exactly. Having released his noble bosom of its +burden, he would have modestly withdrawn himself, but that the +wigged gentleman with the papers before him, sitting not far from Mr. + + + +62 + + + +Lorry, begged to ask him a few questions. The wigged gentleman sitting +opposite, still looking at the ceiling of the court. + +Had he ever been a spy himself? No, he scorned the base insinuation. +What did he live upon? His property. Where was his property? He +didn't precisely remember where it was. What was it? No business of +anybody's. Had he inherited it? Yes, he had. From whom? Distant rela- +tion. Very distant? Rather. Ever been in prison? Certainly not. Never in a +debtors' prison? Didn't see what that had to do with it. Never in a debt- +ors' prison? - Come, once again. Never? Yes. How many times? Two or +three times. Not five or six? Perhaps. Of what profession? Gentleman. +Ever been kicked? Might have been. Frequently? No. Ever kicked down- +stairs? Decidedly not; once received a kick on the top of a staircase, and +fell downstairs of his own accord. Kicked on that occasion for cheating at +dice? Something to that effect was said by the intoxicated liar who com- +mitted the assault, but it was not true. Swear it was not true? Positively. +Ever live by cheating at play? Never. Ever live by play? Not more than +other gentlemen do. Ever borrow money of the prisoner? Yes. Ever pay +him? No. Was not this intimacy with the prisoner, in reality a very slight +one, forced upon the prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets? No. Sure he +saw the prisoner with these lists? Certain. Knew no more about the lists? +No. Had not procured them himself, for instance? No. Expect to get any- +thing by this evidence? No. Not in regular government pay and employ- +ment, to lay traps? Oh dear no. Or to do anything? Oh dear no. Swear +that? Over and over again. No motives but motives of sheer patriotism? +None whatever. + +The virtuous servant, Roger Cly, swore his way through the case at a +great rate. He had taken service with the prisoner, in good faith and sim- +plicity, four years ago. He had asked the prisoner, aboard the Calais +packet, if he wanted a handy fellow, and the prisoner had engaged him. +He had not asked the prisoner to take the handy fellow as an act of char- +ity - never thought of such a thing. He began to have suspicions of the +prisoner, and to keep an eye upon him, soon afterwards. In arranging his +clothes, while travelling, he had seen similar lists to these in the prison- +er's pockets, over and over again. He had taken these lists from the +drawer of the prisoner's desk. He had not put them there first. He had +seen the prisoner show these identical lists to French gentlemen at Cal- +ais, and similar lists to French gentlemen, both at Calais and Boulogne. +He loved his country, and couldn't bear it, and had given information. +He had never been suspected of stealing a silver tea-pot; he had been +maligned respecting a mustard-pot, but it turned out to be only a plated + + + +63 + + + +one. He had known the last witness seven or eight years; that was merely +a coincidence. He didn't call it a particularly curious coincidence; most +coincidences were curious. Neither did he call it a curious coincidence +that true patriotism was HIS only motive too. He was a true Briton, and +hoped there were many like him. + +The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr. Jar- +vis Lorry. + +"Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson's bank?" + +"I am." + +"On a certain Friday night in November one thousand seven hundred +and seventy-five, did business occasion you to travel between London +and Dover by the mail?" + +"It did." + +"Were there any other passengers in the mail?" + +"Two." + +"Did they alight on the road in the course of the night?" + +"They did." + +"Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one of those two +passengers?" + +"I cannot undertake to say that he was." + +"Does he resemble either of these two passengers?" + +"Both were so wrapped up, and the night was so dark, and we were +all so reserved, that I cannot undertake to say even that." + +"Mr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner. Supposing him wrapped up +as those two passengers were, is there anything in his bulk and stature to +render it unlikely that he was one of them?" + +"No." + +"You will not swear, Mr. Lorry, that he was not one of them?" + +"No." + +"So at least you say he may have been one of them?" + +"Yes. Except that I remember them both to have been - like myself - +timorous of highwaymen, and the prisoner has not a timorous air." + +"Did you ever see a counterfeit of timidity, Mr. Lorry?" + +"I certainly have seen that." + + + +64 + + + +"Mr. Lorry, look once more upon the prisoner. Have you seen him, to +your certain knowledge, before?" + +"I have." + +"When?" + +"I was returning from France a few days afterwards, and, at Calais, the +prisoner came on board the packet-ship in which I returned, and made +the voyage with me." + +"At what hour did he come on board?" + +"At a little after midnight." + +"In the dead of the night. Was he the only passenger who came on +board at that untimely hour?" + +"He happened to be the only one." + +"Never mind about 'happening/ Mr. Lorry. He was the only passen- +ger who came on board in the dead of the night?" + +"He was." + +"Were you travelling alone, Mr. Lorry, or with any companion?" + +"With two companions. A gentleman and lady. They are here." + +"They are here. Had you any conversation with the prisoner?" + +"Hardly any. The weather was stormy, and the passage long and +rough, and I lay on a sofa, almost from shore to shore." + +"Miss Manette!" + +The young lady, to whom all eyes had been turned before, and were +now turned again, stood up where she had sat. Her father rose with her, +and kept her hand drawn through his arm. + +"Miss Manette, look upon the prisoner." + +To be confronted with such pity, and such earnest youth and beauty, +was far more trying to the accused than to be confronted with all the +crowd. Standing, as it were, apart with her on the edge of his grave, not +all the staring curiosity that looked on, could, for the moment, nerve him +to remain quite still. His hurried right hand parcelled out the herbs be- +fore him into imaginary beds of flowers in a garden; and his efforts to +control and steady his breathing shook the lips from which the colour +rushed to his heart. The buzz of the great flies was loud again. + +"Miss Manette, have you seen the prisoner before?" + +"Yes, sir." + + + +65 + + + +'Where?" + +'On board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on the same + + + +occasion." + + + +"You are the young lady just now referred to?" + +"O! most unhappily, I am!" + +The plaintive tone of her compassion merged into the less musical +voice of the Judge, as he said something fiercely: "Answer the questions +put to you, and make no remark upon them." + +"Miss Manette, had you any conversation with the prisoner on that +passage across the Channel?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Recall it." + +In the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: "When the gen- +tleman came on board - " + +"Do you mean the prisoner?" inquired the Judge, knitting his brows. + +"Yes, my Lord." + +"Then say the prisoner." + +"When the prisoner came on board, he noticed that my father," turn- +ing her eyes lovingly to him as he stood beside her, "was much fatigued +and in a very weak state of health. My father was so reduced that I was +afraid to take him out of the air, and I had made a bed for him on the +deck near the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at his side to take care of +him. There were no other passengers that night, but we four. The prison- +er was so good as to beg permission to advise me how I could shelter my +father from the wind and weather, better than I had done. I had not +known how to do it well, not understanding how the wind would set +when we were out of the harbour. He did it for me. He expressed great +gentleness and kindness for my father's state, and I am sure he felt it. +That was the manner of our beginning to speak together." + +"Let me interrupt you for a moment. Had he come on board alone?" + +"No." + +"How many were with him?" + +"Two French gentlemen." + +"Had they conferred together?" + +"They had conferred together until the last moment, when it was ne- +cessary for the French gentlemen to be landed in their boat." + + + +66 + + + +"Had any papers been handed about among them, similar to these +lists?" + +"Some papers had been handed about among them, but I don't know +what papers." + +"Like these in shape and size?" + +"Possibly, but indeed I don't know, although they stood whispering +very near to me: because they stood at the top of the cabin steps to have +the light of the lamp that was hanging there; it was a dull lamp, and they +spoke very low, and I did not hear what they said, and saw only that +they looked at papers." + +"Now, to the prisoner's conversation, Miss Manette." + +"The prisoner was as open in his confidence with me - which arose +out of my helpless situation - as he was kind, and good, and useful to +my father. I hope," bursting into tears, "I may not repay him by doing +him harm to-day." + +Buzzing from the blue-flies. + +"Miss Manette, if the prisoner does not perfectly understand that you +give the evidence which it is your duty to give - which you must give - +and which you cannot escape from giving - with great unwillingness, he +is the only person present in that condition. Please to go on." + +"He told me that he was travelling on business of a delicate and diffi- +cult nature, which might get people into trouble, and that he was there- +fore travelling under an assumed name. He said that this business had, +within a few days, taken him to France, and might, at intervals, take him +backwards and forwards between France and England for a long time to +come." + +"Did he say anything about America, Miss Manette? Be particular." + +"He tried to explain to me how that quarrel had arisen, and he said +that, so far as he could judge, it was a wrong and foolish one on Eng- +land's part. He added, in a jesting way, that perhaps George Washington +might gain almost as great a name in history as George the Third. But +there was no harm in his way of saying this: it was said laughingly, and +to beguile the time." + +Any strongly marked expression of face on the part of a chief actor in a +scene of great interest to whom many eyes are directed, will be uncon- +sciously imitated by the spectators. Her forehead was painfully anxious +and intent as she gave this evidence, and, in the pauses when she +stopped for the Judge to write it down, watched its effect upon the + + + +67 + + + +counsel for and against. Among the lookers-on there was the same ex- +pression in all quarters of the court; insomuch, that a great majority of +the foreheads there, might have been mirrors reflecting the witness, +when the Judge looked up from his notes to glare at that tremendous +heresy about George Washington. + +Mr. Attorney-General now signified to my Lord, that he deemed it ne- +cessary, as a matter of precaution and form, to call the young lady's fath- +er, Doctor Manette. Who was called accordingly. + +"Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner. Have you ever seen him +before?" + +"Once. When he caged at my lodgings in London. Some three years, or +three years and a half ago." + +"Can you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet, +or speak to his conversation with your daughter?" + +"Sir, I can do neither." + +"Is there any particular and special reason for your being unable to do +either?" + +He answered, in a low voice, "There is." + +"Has it been your misfortune to undergo a long imprisonment, +without trial, or even accusation, in your native country, Doctor +Manette?" + +He answered, in a tone that went to every heart, "A long +imprisonment." + +"Were you newly released on the occasion in question?" + +"They tell me so." + +"Have you no remembrance of the occasion?" + +"None. My mind is a blank, from some time - I cannot even say what +time - when I employed myself, in my captivity, in making shoes, to the +time when I found myself living in London with my dear daughter here. +She had become familiar to me, when a gracious God restored my fac- +ulties; but, I am quite unable even to say how she had become familiar. I +have no remembrance of the process." + +Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the father and daughter sat down +together. + +A singular circumstance then arose in the case. The object in hand be- +ing to show that the prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotter un- +tracked, in the Dover mail on that Friday night in November five years + + + +68 + + + +ago, and got out of the mail in the night, as a blind, at a place where he +did not remain, but from which he travelled back some dozen miles or +more, to a garrison and dockyard, and there collected information; a wit- +ness was called to identify him as having been at the precise time re- +quired, in the coffee-room of an hotel in that garrison-and-dockyard +town, waiting for another person. The prisoner's counsel was cross-ex- +amining this witness with no result, except that he had never seen the +prisoner on any other occasion, when the wigged gentleman who had all +this time been looking at the ceiling of the court, wrote a word or two on +a little piece of paper, screwed it up, and tossed it to him. Opening this +piece of paper in the next pause, the counsel looked with great attention +and curiosity at the prisoner. + +"You say again you are quite sure that it was the prisoner?" + +The witness was quite sure. + +"Did you ever see anybody very like the prisoner?" + +Not so like (the witness said) as that he could be mistaken. + +"Look well upon that gentleman, my learned friend there," pointing to +him who had tossed the paper over, "and then look well upon the pris- +oner. How say you? Are they very like each other?" + +Allowing for my learned friend's appearance being careless and slov- +enly if not debauched, they were sufficiently like each other to surprise, +not only the witness, but everybody present, when they were thus +brought into comparison. My Lord being prayed to bid my learned +friend lay aside his wig, and giving no very gracious consent, the like- +ness became much more remarkable. My Lord inquired of Mr. Stryver +(the prisoner's counsel), whether they were next to try Mr. Carton (name +of my learned friend) for treason? But, Mr. Stryver replied to my Lord, +no; but he would ask the witness to tell him whether what happened +once, might happen twice; whether he would have been so confident if +he had seen this illustration of his rashness sooner, whether he would be +so confident, having seen it; and more. The upshot of which, was, to +smash this witness like a crockery vessel, and shiver his part of the case +to useless lumber. + +Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust off his fin- +gers in his following of the evidence. He had now to attend while Mr. +Stryver fitted the prisoner's case on the jury, like a compact suit of +clothes; showing them how the patriot, Barsad, was a hired spy and trait- +or, an unblushing trafficker in blood, and one of the greatest scoundrels +upon earth since accursed Judas - which he certainly did look rather like. + + + +69 + + + +How the virtuous servant, Cly, was his friend and partner, and was +worthy to be; how the watchful eyes of those forgers and false swearers +had rested on the prisoner as a victim, because some family affairs in +France, he being of French extraction, did require his making those pas- +sages across the Channel - though what those affairs were, a considera- +tion for others who were near and dear to him, forbade him, even for his +life, to disclose. How the evidence that had been warped and wrested +from the young lady, whose anguish in giving it they had witnessed, +came to nothing, involving the mere little innocent gallantries and polite- +nesses likely to pass between any young gentleman and young lady so +thrown together; - with the exception of that reference to George Wash- +ington, which was altogether too extravagant and impossible to be re- +garded in any other light than as a monstrous joke. How it would be a +weakness in the government to break down in this attempt to practise +for popularity on the lowest national antipathies and fears, and therefore +Mr. Attorney-General had made the most of it; how, nevertheless, it res- +ted upon nothing, save that vile and infamous character of evidence too +often disfiguring such cases, and of which the State Trials of this country +were full. But, there my Lord interposed (with as grave a face as if it had +not been true), saying that he could not sit upon that Bench and suffer +those allusions. + +Mr. Stryver then called his few witnesses, and Mr. Cruncher had next +to attend while Mr. Attorney-General turned the whole suit of clothes +Mr. Stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out; showing how Barsad and +Cly were even a hundred times better than he had thought them, and the +prisoner a hundred times worse. Lastly, came my Lord himself, turning +the suit of clothes, now inside out, now outside in, but on the whole de- +cidedly trimming and shaping them into grave-clothes for the prisoner. + +And now, the jury turned to consider, and the great flies swarmed +again. + +Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the court, +changed neither his place nor his attitude, even in this excitement. While +his teamed friend, Mr. Stryver, massing his papers before him, +whispered with those who sat near, and from time to time glanced +anxiously at the jury; while all the spectators moved more or less, and +grouped themselves anew; while even my Lord himself arose from his +seat, and slowly paced up and down his platform, not unattended by a +suspicion in the minds of the audience that his state was feverish; this +one man sat leaning back, with his torn gown half off him, his untidy +wig put on just as it had happened to fight on his head after its removal, + + + +70 + + + +his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ceiling as they had been all +day. Something especially reckless in his demeanour, not only gave him +a disreputable look, but so diminished the strong resemblance he un- +doubtedly bore to the prisoner (which his momentary earnestness, when +they were compared together, had strengthened), that many of the +lookers-on, taking note of him now, said to one another they would +hardly have thought the two were so alike. Mr. Cruncher made the ob- +servation to his next neighbour, and added, "I'd hold half a guinea that +he don't get no law-work to do. Don't look like the sort of one to get any, +do he?" + +Yet, this Mr. Carton took in more of the details of the scene than he ap- +peared to take in; for now, when Miss Manette's head dropped upon her +father's breast, he was the first to see it, and to say audibly: "Officer! look +to that young lady. Help the gentleman to take her out. Don't you see +she will fall!" + +There was much commiseration for her as she was removed, and +much sympathy with her father. It had evidently been a great distress to +him, to have the days of his imprisonment recalled. He had shown +strong internal agitation when he was questioned, and that pondering or +brooding look which made him old, had been upon him, like a heavy +cloud, ever since. As he passed out, the jury, who had turned back and +paused a moment, spoke, through their foreman. + +They were not agreed, and wished to retire. My Lord (perhaps with +George Washington on his mind) showed some surprise that they were +not agreed, but signified his pleasure that they should retire under watch +and ward, and retired himself. The trial had lasted all day, and the lamps +in the court were now being lighted. It began to be rumoured that the +jury would be out a long while. The spectators dropped off to get re- +freshment, and the prisoner withdrew to the back of the dock, and sat +down. + +Mr. Lorry, who had gone out when the young lady and her father +went out, now reappeared, and beckoned to Jerry: who, in the slackened +interest, could easily get near him. + +"Jerry, if you wish to take something to eat, you can. But, keep in the +way. You will be sure to hear when the jury come in. Don't be a moment +behind them, for I want you to take the verdict back to the bank. You are +the quickest messenger I know, and will get to Temple Bar long before I +can." + + + +71 + + + +Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and he knuckled it in ac- +knowedgment of this communication and a shilling. Mr. Carton came up +at the moment, and touched Mr. Lorry on the arm. + +"How is the young lady?" + +"She is greatly distressed; but her father is comforting her, and she +feels the better for being out of court." + +"I'll tell the prisoner so. It won't do for a respectable bank gentleman +like you, to be seen speaking to him publicly, you know." + +Mr. Lorry reddened as if he were conscious of having debated the +point in his mind, and Mr. Carton made his way to the outside of the bar. +The way out of court lay in that direction, and Jerry followed him, all +eyes, ears, and spikes. + +"Mr. Darnay!" + +The prisoner came forward directly. + +"You will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, Miss Manette. +She will do very well. You have seen the worst of her agitation." + +"I am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. Could you tell her so +for me, with my fervent acknowledgments?" + +"Yes, I could. I will, if you ask it." + +Mr. Carton's manner was so careless as to be almost insolent. He +stood, half turned from the prisoner, lounging with his elbow against the +bar. + +"I do ask it. Accept my cordial thanks." + +"What," said Carton, still only half turned towards him, "do you ex- +pect, Mr. Darnay?" + +"The worst." + +"It's the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think their with- +drawing is in your favour." + +Loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, Jerry heard no +more: but left them - so like each other in feature, so unlike each other in +manner - standing side by side, both reflected in the glass above them. + +An hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal +crowded passages below, even though assisted off with mutton pies and +ale. The hoarse messenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking +that refection, had dropped into a doze, when a loud murmur and a + + + +72 + + + +rapid tide of people setting up the stairs that led to the court, carried him +along with them. + +"Jerry! Jerry!" Mr. Lorry was already calling at the door when he got +there. + +"Here, sir! It's a fight to get back again. Here I am, sir!" + +Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through the throng. "Quick! Have you +got it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Hastily written on the paper was the word "AQUITTED." + +"If you had sent the message, 'Recalled to Life,' again," muttered Jerry, +as he turned, "I should have known what you meant, this time." + +He had no opportunity of saying, or so much as thinking, anything +else, until he was clear of the Old Bailey; for, the crowd came pouring +out with a vehemence that nearly took him off his legs, and a loud buzz +swept into the street as if the baffled blue-flies were dispersing in search +of other carrion.Mr. Attorney-General had to inform the jury, that the +prisoner before them, though young in years, was old in the treasonable +practices which claimed the forfeit of his life. That this correspondence +with the public enemy was not a correspondence of to-day, or of yester- +day, or even of last year, or of the year before. That, it was certain the +prisoner had, for longer than that, been in the habit of passing and re- +passing between France and England, on secret business of which he +could give no honest account. That, if it were in the nature of traitorous +ways to thrive (which happily it never was), the real wickedness and +guilt of his business might have remained undiscovered. That Provid- +ence, however, had put it into the heart of a person who was beyond fear +and beyond reproach, to ferret out the nature of the prisoner's schemes, +and, struck with horror, to disclose them to his Majesty's Chief Secretary +of State and most honourable Privy Council. That, this patriot would be +produced before them. That, his position and attitude were, on the +whole, sublime. That, he had been the prisoner's friend, but, at once in +an auspicious and an evil hour detecting his infamy, had resolved to im- +molate the traitor he could no longer cherish in his bosom, on the sacred +altar of his country. That, if statues were decreed in Britain, as in ancient +Greece and Rome, to public benefactors, this shining citizen would as- +suredly have had one. That, as they were not so decreed, he probably +would not have one. That, Virtue, as had been observed by the poets (in +many passages which he well knew the jury would have, word for word, +at the tips of their tongues; whereat the jury's countenances displayed a + + + +73 + + + +guilty consciousness that they knew nothing about the passages), was in +a manner contagious; more especially the bright virtue known as patriot- +ism, or love of country. That, the lofty example of this immaculate and +unimpeachable witness for the Crown, to refer to whom however un- +worthily was an honour, had communicated itself to the prisoner's ser- +vant, and had engendered in him a holy determination to examine his +master's table-drawers and pockets, and secrete his papers. That, he (Mr. +Attorney-General) was prepared to hear some disparagement attempted +of this admirable servant; but that, in a general way, he preferred him to +his (Mr. Attorney-General's) brothers and sisters, and honoured him +more than his (Mr. Attorney-General's) father and mother. That, he +called with confidence on the jury to come and do likewise. That, the +evidence of these two witnesses, coupled with the documents of their +discovering that would be produced, would show the prisoner to have +been furnished with lists of his Majesty's forces, and of their disposition +and preparation, both by sea and land, and would leave no doubt that he +had habitually conveyed such information to a hostile power. That, these +lists could not be proved to be in the prisoner's handwriting; but that it +was all the same; that, indeed, it was rather the better for the prosecu- +tion, as showing the prisoner to be artful in his precautions. That, the +proof would go back five years, and would show the prisoner already +engaged in these pernicious missions, within a few weeks before the date +of the very first action fought between the British troops and the Americ- +ans. That, for these reasons, the jury, being a loyal jury (as he knew they +were), and being a responsible jury (as they knew they were), must pos- +itively find the prisoner Guilty, and make an end of him, whether they +liked it or not. That, they never could lay their heads upon their pillows; +that, they never could tolerate the idea of their wives laying their heads +upon their pillows; that, they never could endure the notion of their chil- +dren laying their heads upon their pillows; in short, that there never +more could be, for them or theirs, any laying of heads upon pillows at +all, unless the prisoner's head was taken off. That head Mr. Attorney- +General concluded by demanding of them, in the name of everything he +could think of with a round turn in it, and on the faith of his solemn as- +severation that he already considered the prisoner as good as dead and +gone. + +When the Attorney-General ceased, a buzz arose in the court as if a +cloud of great blue-flies were swarming about the prisoner, in anticipa- +tion of what he was soon to become. When toned down again, the unim- +peachable patriot appeared in the witness-box. + + + +74: + + + +Mr. Solicitor-General then, following his leader's lead, examined the +patriot: John Barsad, gentleman, by name. The story of his pure soul was +exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had described it to be - perhaps, if it +had a fault, a little too exactly. Having released his noble bosom of its +burden, he would have modestly withdrawn himself, but that the +wigged gentleman with the papers before him, sitting not far from Mr. +Lorry, begged to ask him a few questions. The wigged gentleman sitting +opposite, still looking at the ceiling of the court. + +Had he ever been a spy himself? No, he scorned the base insinuation. +What did he live upon? His property. Where was his property? He +didn't precisely remember where it was. What was it? No business of +anybody's. Had he inherited it? Yes, he had. From whom? Distant rela- +tion. Very distant? Rather. Ever been in prison? Certainly not. Never in a +debtors' prison? Didn't see what that had to do with it. Never in a debt- +ors' prison? - Come, once again. Never? Yes. How many times? Two or +three times. Not five or six? Perhaps. Of what profession? Gentleman. +Ever been kicked? Might have been. Frequently? No. Ever kicked down- +stairs? Decidedly not; once received a kick on the top of a staircase, and +fell downstairs of his own accord. Kicked on that occasion for cheating at +dice? Something to that effect was said by the intoxicated liar who com- +mitted the assault, but it was not true. Swear it was not true? Positively. +Ever live by cheating at play? Never. Ever live by play? Not more than +other gentlemen do. Ever borrow money of the prisoner? Yes. Ever pay +him? No. Was not this intimacy with the prisoner, in reality a very slight +one, forced upon the prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets? No. Sure he +saw the prisoner with these lists? Certain. Knew no more about the lists? +No. Had not procured them himself, for instance? No. Expect to get any- +thing by this evidence? No. Not in regular government pay and employ- +ment, to lay traps? Oh dear no. Or to do anything? Oh dear no. Swear +that? Over and over again. No motives but motives of sheer patriotism? +None whatever. + +The virtuous servant, Roger Cly, swore his way through the case at a +great rate. He had taken service with the prisoner, in good faith and sim- +plicity, four years ago. He had asked the prisoner, aboard the Calais +packet, if he wanted a handy fellow, and the prisoner had engaged him. +He had not asked the prisoner to take the handy fellow as an act of char- +ity - never thought of such a thing. He began to have suspicions of the +prisoner, and to keep an eye upon him, soon afterwards. In arranging his +clothes, while travelling, he had seen similar lists to these in the prison- +er's pockets, over and over again. He had taken these lists from the + + + +75 + + + +drawer of the prisoner's desk. He had not put them there first. He had +seen the prisoner show these identical lists to French gentlemen at Cal- +ais, and similar lists to French gentlemen, both at Calais and Boulogne. +He loved his country, and couldn't bear it, and had given information. +He had never been suspected of stealing a silver tea-pot; he had been +maligned respecting a mustard-pot, but it turned out to be only a plated +one. He had known the last witness seven or eight years; that was merely +a coincidence. He didn't call it a particularly curious coincidence; most +coincidences were curious. Neither did he call it a curious coincidence +that true patriotism was HIS only motive too. He was a true Briton, and +hoped there were many like him. + +The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr. Jar- +vis Lorry. + +"Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson's bank?" + +"I am." + +"On a certain Friday night in November one thousand seven hundred +and seventy-five, did business occasion you to travel between London +and Dover by the mail?" + +"It did." + +"Were there any other passengers in the mail?" + +"Two." + +"Did they alight on the road in the course of the night?" + +"They did." + +"Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one of those two +passengers?" + +"I cannot undertake to say that he was." + +"Does he resemble either of these two passengers?" + +"Both were so wrapped up, and the night was so dark, and we were +all so reserved, that I cannot undertake to say even that." + +"Mr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner. Supposing him wrapped up +as those two passengers were, is there anything in his bulk and stature to +render it unlikely that he was one of them?" + +"No." + +"You will not swear, Mr. Lorry, that he was not one of them?" + +"No." + +"So at least you say he may have been one of them?" + + + +76 + + + +"Yes. Except that I remember them both to have been - like myself - +timorous of highwaymen, and the prisoner has not a timorous air." + +"Did you ever see a counterfeit of timidity, Mr. Lorry?" + +"I certainly have seen that." + +"Mr. Lorry, look once more upon the prisoner. Have you seen him, to +your certain knowledge, before?" + +"I have." + +"When?" + +"I was returning from France a few days afterwards, and, at Calais, the +prisoner came on board the packet-ship in which I returned, and made +the voyage with me." + +"At what hour did he come on board?" + +"At a little after midnight." + +"In the dead of the night. Was he the only passenger who came on +board at that untimely hour?" + +"He happened to be the only one." + +"Never mind about 'happening/ Mr. Lorry. He was the only passen- +ger who came on board in the dead of the night?" + +"He was." + +"Were you travelling alone, Mr. Lorry, or with any companion?" + +"With two companions. A gentleman and lady. They are here." + +"They are here. Had you any conversation with the prisoner?" + +"Hardly any. The weather was stormy, and the passage long and +rough, and I lay on a sofa, almost from shore to shore." + +"Miss Manette!" + +The young lady, to whom all eyes had been turned before, and were +now turned again, stood up where she had sat. Her father rose with her, +and kept her hand drawn through his arm. + +"Miss Manette, look upon the prisoner." + +To be confronted with such pity, and such earnest youth and beauty, +was far more trying to the accused than to be confronted with all the +crowd. Standing, as it were, apart with her on the edge of his grave, not +all the staring curiosity that looked on, could, for the moment, nerve him +to remain quite still. His hurried right hand parcelled out the herbs be- +fore him into imaginary beds of flowers in a garden; and his efforts to + + + +77 + + + +control and steady his breathing shook the lips from which the colour +rushed to his heart. The buzz of the great flies was loud again. + +"Miss Manette, have you seen the prisoner before?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Where?" + +"On board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on the same +occasion." + +"You are the young lady just now referred to?" + +"O! most unhappily, I am!" + +The plaintive tone of her compassion merged into the less musical +voice of the Judge, as he said something fiercely: "Answer the questions +put to you, and make no remark upon them." + +"Miss Manette, had you any conversation with the prisoner on that +passage across the Channel?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Recall it." + +In the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: "When the gen- +tleman came on board - " + +"Do you mean the prisoner?" inquired the Judge, knitting his brows. + +"Yes, my Lord." + +"Then say the prisoner." + +"When the prisoner came on board, he noticed that my father," turn- +ing her eyes lovingly to him as he stood beside her, "was much fatigued +and in a very weak state of health. My father was so reduced that I was +afraid to take him out of the air, and I had made a bed for him on the +deck near the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at his side to take care of +him. There were no other passengers that night, but we four. The prison- +er was so good as to beg permission to advise me how I could shelter my +father from the wind and weather, better than I had done. I had not +known how to do it well, not understanding how the wind would set +when we were out of the harbour. He did it for me. He expressed great +gentleness and kindness for my father's state, and I am sure he felt it. +That was the manner of our beginning to speak together." + +"Let me interrupt you for a moment. Had he come on board alone?" + +"No." + +"How many were with him?" + + + +78 + + + +"Two French gentlemen." + +"Had they conferred together?" + +"They had conferred together until the last moment, when it was ne- +cessary for the French gentlemen to be landed in their boat." + +"Had any papers been handed about among them, similar to these +lists?" + +"Some papers had been handed about among them, but I don't know +what papers." + +"Like these in shape and size?" + +"Possibly, but indeed I don't know, although they stood whispering +very near to me: because they stood at the top of the cabin steps to have +the light of the lamp that was hanging there; it was a dull lamp, and they +spoke very low, and I did not hear what they said, and saw only that +they looked at papers." + +"Now, to the prisoner's conversation, Miss Manette." + +"The prisoner was as open in his confidence with me - which arose +out of my helpless situation - as he was kind, and good, and useful to +my father. I hope," bursting into tears, "I may not repay him by doing +him harm to-day." + +Buzzing from the blue-flies. + +"Miss Manette, if the prisoner does not perfectly understand that you +give the evidence which it is your duty to give - which you must give - +and which you cannot escape from giving - with great unwillingness, he +is the only person present in that condition. Please to go on." + +"He told me that he was travelling on business of a delicate and diffi- +cult nature, which might get people into trouble, and that he was there- +fore travelling under an assumed name. He said that this business had, +within a few days, taken him to France, and might, at intervals, take him +backwards and forwards between France and England for a long time to +come." + +"Did he say anything about America, Miss Manette? Be particular." + +"He tried to explain to me how that quarrel had arisen, and he said +that, so far as he could judge, it was a wrong and foolish one on Eng- +land's part. He added, in a jesting way, that perhaps George Washington +might gain almost as great a name in history as George the Third. But +there was no harm in his way of saying this: it was said laughingly, and +to beguile the time." + + + +79 + + + +Any strongly marked expression of face on the part of a chief actor in a +scene of great interest to whom many eyes are directed, will be uncon- +sciously imitated by the spectators. Her forehead was painfully anxious +and intent as she gave this evidence, and, in the pauses when she +stopped for the Judge to write it down, watched its effect upon the coun- +sel for and against. Among the lookers-on there was the same expression +in all quarters of the court; insomuch, that a great majority of the fore- +heads there, might have been mirrors reflecting the witness, when the +Judge looked up from his notes to glare at that tremendous heresy about +George Washington. + +Mr. Attorney-General now signified to my Lord, that he deemed it ne- +cessary, as a matter of precaution and form, to call the young lady's fath- +er, Doctor Manette. Who was called accordingly. + +"Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner. Have you ever seen him +before?" + +"Once. When he caged at my lodgings in London. Some three years, or +three years and a half ago." + +"Can you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet, +or speak to his conversation with your daughter?" + +"Sir, I can do neither." + +"Is there any particular and special reason for your being unable to do +either?" + +He answered, in a low voice, "There is." + +"Has it been your misfortune to undergo a long imprisonment, +without trial, or even accusation, in your native country, Doctor +Manette?" + +He answered, in a tone that went to every heart, "A long +imprisonment. " + +"Were you newly released on the occasion in question?" + +"They tell me so." + +"Have you no remembrance of the occasion?" + +"None. My mind is a blank, from some time - I cannot even say what +time - when I employed myself, in my captivity, in making shoes, to the +time when I found myself living in London with my dear daughter here. +She had become familiar to me, when a gracious God restored my fac- +ulties; but, I am quite unable even to say how she had become familiar. I +have no remembrance of the process." + + + +80 + + + +Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the father and daughter sat down +together. + +A singular circumstance then arose in the case. The object in hand be- +ing to show that the prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotter un- +tracked, in the Dover mail on that Friday night in November five years +ago, and got out of the mail in the night, as a blind, at a place where he +did not remain, but from which he travelled back some dozen miles or +more, to a garrison and dockyard, and there collected information; a wit- +ness was called to identify him as having been at the precise time re- +quired, in the coffee-room of an hotel in that garrison-and-dockyard +town, waiting for another person. The prisoner's counsel was cross-ex- +amining this witness with no result, except that he had never seen the +prisoner on any other occasion, when the wigged gentleman who had all +this time been looking at the ceiling of the court, wrote a word or two on +a little piece of paper, screwed it up, and tossed it to him. Opening this +piece of paper in the next pause, the counsel looked with great attention +and curiosity at the prisoner. + +"You say again you are quite sure that it was the prisoner?" + +The witness was quite sure. + +"Did you ever see anybody very like the prisoner?" + +Not so like (the witness said) as that he could be mistaken. + +"Look well upon that gentleman, my learned friend there," pointing to +him who had tossed the paper over, "and then look well upon the pris- +oner. How say you? Are they very like each other?" + +Allowing for my learned friend's appearance being careless and slov- +enly if not debauched, they were sufficiently like each other to surprise, +not only the witness, but everybody present, when they were thus +brought into comparison. My Lord being prayed to bid my learned +friend lay aside his wig, and giving no very gracious consent, the like- +ness became much more remarkable. My Lord inquired of Mr. Stryver +(the prisoner's counsel), whether they were next to try Mr. Carton (name +of my learned friend) for treason? But, Mr. Stryver replied to my Lord, +no; but he would ask the witness to tell him whether what happened +once, might happen twice; whether he would have been so confident if +he had seen this illustration of his rashness sooner, whether he would be +so confident, having seen it; and more. The upshot of which, was, to +smash this witness like a crockery vessel, and shiver his part of the case +to useless lumber. + + + +81 + + + +Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust off his fin- +gers in his following of the evidence. He had now to attend while Mr. +Stryver fitted the prisoner's case on the jury, like a compact suit of +clothes; showing them how the patriot, Barsad, was a hired spy and trait- +or, an unblushing trafficker in blood, and one of the greatest scoundrels +upon earth since accursed Judas - which he certainly did look rather like. +How the virtuous servant, Cly, was his friend and partner, and was +worthy to be; how the watchful eyes of those forgers and false swearers +had rested on the prisoner as a victim, because some family affairs in +France, he being of French extraction, did require his making those pas- +sages across the Channel - though what those affairs were, a considera- +tion for others who were near and dear to him, forbade him, even for his +life, to disclose. How the evidence that had been warped and wrested +from the young lady, whose anguish in giving it they had witnessed, +came to nothing, involving the mere little innocent gallantries and polite- +nesses likely to pass between any young gentleman and young lady so +thrown together; - with the exception of that reference to George Wash- +ington, which was altogether too extravagant and impossible to be re- +garded in any other light than as a monstrous joke. How it would be a +weakness in the government to break down in this attempt to practise +for popularity on the lowest national antipathies and fears, and therefore +Mr. Attorney-General had made the most of it; how, nevertheless, it res- +ted upon nothing, save that vile and infamous character of evidence too +often disfiguring such cases, and of which the State Trials of this country +were full. But, there my Lord interposed (with as grave a face as if it had +not been true), saying that he could not sit upon that Bench and suffer +those allusions. + +Mr. Stryver then called his few witnesses, and Mr. Cruncher had next +to attend while Mr. Attorney-General turned the whole suit of clothes +Mr. Stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out; showing how Barsad and +Cly were even a hundred times better than he had thought them, and the +prisoner a hundred times worse. Lastly, came my Lord himself, turning +the suit of clothes, now inside out, now outside in, but on the whole de- +cidedly trimming and shaping them into grave-clothes for the prisoner. + +And now, the jury turned to consider, and the great flies swarmed +again. + +Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the court, +changed neither his place nor his attitude, even in this excitement. While +his teamed friend, Mr. Stryver, massing his papers before him, +whispered with those who sat near, and from time to time glanced + + + +82 + + + +anxiously at the jury; while all the spectators moved more or less, and +grouped themselves anew; while even my Lord himself arose from his +seat, and slowly paced up and down his platform, not unattended by a +suspicion in the minds of the audience that his state was feverish; this +one man sat leaning back, with his torn gown half off him, his untidy +wig put on just as it had happened to fight on his head after its removal, +his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ceiling as they had been all +day. Something especially reckless in his demeanour, not only gave him +a disreputable look, but so diminished the strong resemblance he un- +doubtedly bore to the prisoner (which his momentary earnestness, when +they were compared together, had strengthened), that many of the +lookers-on, taking note of him now, said to one another they would +hardly have thought the two were so alike. Mr. Cruncher made the ob- +servation to his next neighbour, and added, "I'd hold half a guinea that +he don't get no law-work to do. Don't look like the sort of one to get any, +do he?" " + +Yet, this Mr. Carton took in more of the details of the scene than he ap- +peared to take in; for now, when Miss Manette's head dropped upon her +father's breast, he was the first to see it, and to say audibly: "Officer! look +to that young lady. Help the gentleman to take her out. Don't you see +she will fall!" + +There was much commiseration for her as she was removed, and +much sympathy with her father. It had evidently been a great distress to +him, to have the days of his imprisonment recalled. He had shown +strong internal agitation when he was questioned, and that pondering or +brooding look which made him old, had been upon him, like a heavy +cloud, ever since. As he passed out, the jury, who had turned back and +paused a moment, spoke, through their foreman. + +They were not agreed, and wished to retire. My Lord (perhaps with +George Washington on his mind) showed some surprise that they were +not agreed, but signified his pleasure that they should retire under watch +and ward, and retired himself. The trial had lasted all day, and the lamps +in the court were now being lighted. It began to be rumoured that the +jury would be out a long while. The spectators dropped off to get re- +freshment, and the prisoner withdrew to the back of the dock, and sat +down. + +Mr. Lorry, who had gone out when the young lady and her father +went out, now reappeared, and beckoned to Jerry: who, in the slackened +interest, could easily get near him. + + + +83 + + + +"Jerry, if you wish to take something to eat, you can. But, keep in the +way. You will be sure to hear when the jury come in. Don't be a moment +behind them, for I want you to take the verdict back to the bank. You are +the quickest messenger I know, and will get to Temple Bar long before I +can." + +Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and he knuckled it in ac- +knowedgment of this communication and a shilling. Mr. Carton came up +at the moment, and touched Mr. Lorry on the arm. + +"How is the young lady?" + +"She is greatly distressed; but her father is comforting her, and she +feels the better for being out of court." + +"I'll tell the prisoner so. It won't do for a respectable bank gentleman +like you, to be seen speaking to him publicly, you know." + +Mr. Lorry reddened as if he were conscious of having debated the +point in his mind, and Mr. Carton made his way to the outside of the bar. +The way out of court lay in that direction, and Jerry followed him, all +eyes, ears, and spikes. + +"Mr. Darnay!" + +The prisoner came forward directly. + +"You will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, Miss Manette. +She will do very well. You have seen the worst of her agitation." + +"I am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. Could you tell her so +for me, with my fervent acknowledgments?" + +"Yes, I could. I will, if you ask it." + +Mr. Carton's manner was so careless as to be almost insolent. He +stood, half turned from the prisoner, lounging with his elbow against the +bar. + +"I do ask it. Accept my cordial thanks." + +"What," said Carton, still only half turned towards him, "do you ex- +pect, Mr. Darnay?" + +"The worst." + +"It's the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think their with- +drawing is in your favour." + +Loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, Jerry heard no +more: but left them - so like each other in feature, so unlike each other in +manner - standing side by side, both reflected in the glass above them. + + + +84 + + + +An hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal +crowded passages below, even though assisted off with mutton pies and +ale. The hoarse messenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking +that refection, had dropped into a doze, when a loud murmur and a rap- +id tide of people setting up the stairs that led to the court, carried him +along with them. + +"Jerry! Jerry!" Mr. Lorry was already calling at the door when he got +there. + +"Here, sir! It's a fight to get back again. Here I am, sir!" + +Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through the throng. "Quick! Have you +got it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Hastily written on the paper was the word "AQUITTED." + +"If you had sent the message, 'Recalled to Life,' again," muttered Jerry, +as he turned, "I should have known what you meant, this time." + +He had no opportunity of saying, or so much as thinking, anything +else, until he was clear of the Old Bailey; for, the crowd came pouring +out with a vehemence that nearly took him off his legs, and a loud buzz +swept into the street as if the baffled blue-flies were dispersing in search +of other carrion. + + + +85 + + + +Chapter + + + +4 + + + +Congratulatory + +From the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of the +human stew that had been boiling there all day, was straining off, when +Doctor Manette, Lucie Manette, his daughter, Mr. Lorry, the solicitor for +the defence, and its counsel, Mr. Stryver, stood gathered round Mr. +Charles Darnay - just released - congratulating him on his escape from +death. + +It would have been difficult by a far brighter light, to recognise in Doc- +tor Manette, intellectual of face and upright of bearing, the shoemaker of +the garret in Paris. Yet, no one could have looked at him twice, without +looking again: even though the opportunity of observation had not ex- +tended to the mournful cadence of his low grave voice, and to the ab- +straction that overclouded him fitfully, without any apparent reason. +While one external cause, and that a reference to his long lingering +agony, would always - as on the trial - evoke this condition from the +depths of his soul, it was also in its nature to arise of itself, and to draw a +gloom over him, as incomprehensible to those unacquainted with his +story as if they had seen the shadow of the actual Bastille thrown upon +him by a summer sun, when the substance was three hundred miles +away. + +Only his daughter had the power of charming this black brooding +from his mind. She was the golden thread that united him to a Past bey- +ond his misery, and to a Present beyond his misery: and the sound of her +voice, the light of her face, the touch of her hand, had a strong beneficial +influence with him almost always. Not absolutely always, for she could +recall some occasions on which her power had failed; but they were few +and slight, and she believed them over. + +Mr. Darnay had kissed her hand fervently and gratefully, and had +turned to Mr. Stryver, whom he warmly thanked. Mr. Stryver, a man of +little more than thirty, but looking twenty years older than he was, stout, +loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of delicacy, had a pushing + + + +86 + + + +way of shouldering himself (morally and physically) into companies and +conversations, that argued well for his shouldering his way up in life. + +He still had his wig and gown on, and he said, squaring himself at his +late client to that degree that he squeezed the innocent Mr. Lorry clean +out of the group: "I am glad to have brought you off with honour, Mr. +Darnay. It was an infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the +less likely to succeed on that account." + +"You have laid me under an obligation to you for life - in two senses," +said his late client, taking his hand. + +"I have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay; and my best is as good as +another man's, I believe." + +It clearly being incumbent on some one to say, "Much better," Mr. +Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but with the interested +object of squeezing himself back again. + +"You think so?" said Mr. Stryver. "Well! you have been present all +day, and you ought to know. You are a man of business, too." + +"And as such," quoth Mr. Lorry, whom the counsel learned in the law +had now shouldered back into the group, just as he had previously +shouldered him out of it - "as such I will appeal to Doctor Manette, to +break up this conference and order us all to our homes. Miss Lucie looks +ill, Mr. Darnay has had a terrible day, we are worn out." + +"Speak for yourself, Mr. Lorry," said Stryver; "I have a night's work to +do yet. Speak for yourself." + +"I speak for myself," answered Mr. Lorry, "and for Mr. Darnay, and +for Miss Lucie, and - Miss Lucie, do you not think I may speak for us +all?" He asked her the question pointedly, and with a glance at her +father. + +His face had become frozen, as it were, in a very curious look at +Darnay: an intent look, deepening into a frown of dislike and distrust, +not even unmixed with fear. With this strange expression on him his +thoughts had wandered away. + +"My father," said Lucie, softly laying her hand on his. + +He slowly shook the shadow off, and turned to her. + +"Shall we go home, my father?" + +With a long breath, he answered "Yes." + +The friends of the acquitted prisoner had dispersed, under the impres- +sion - which he himself had originated - that he would not be released + + + +87 + + + +that night. The lights were nearly all extinguished in the passages, the +iron gates were being closed with a jar and a rattle, and the dismal place +was deserted until to-morrow morning's interest of gallows, pillory, +whipping-post, and branding-iron, should repeople it. Walking between +her father and Mr. Darnay, Lucie Manette passed into the open air. A +hackney-coach was called, and the father and daughter departed in it. + +Mr. Stryver had left them in the passages, to shoulder his way back to +the robing-room. Another person, who had not joined the group, or in- +terchanged a word with any one of them, but who had been leaning +against the wall where its shadow was darkest, had silently strolled out +after the rest, and had looked on until the coach drove away. He now +stepped up to where Mr. Lorry and Mr. Darnay stood upon the +pavement. + +"So, Mr. Lorry! Men of business may speak to Mr. Darnay now?" + +Nobody had made any acknowledgment of Mr. Carton's part in the +day's proceedings; nobody had known of it. He was unrobed, and was +none the better for it in appearance. + +"If you knew what a conflict goes on in the business mind, when the +business mind is divided between good-natured impulse and business +appearances, you would be amused, Mr. Darnay." + +Mr. Lorry reddened, and said, warmly, "You have mentioned that be- +fore, sir. We men of business, who serve a House, are not our own mas- +ters. We have to think of the House more than ourselves." + +"I know, I know," rejoined Mr. Carton, carelessly. "Don't be nettled, +Mr. Lorry. You are as good as another, I have no doubt: better, I dare +say." + +"And indeed, sir," pursued Mr. Lorry, not minding him, "I really don't +know what you have to do with the matter. If you'll excuse me, as very +much your elder, for saying so, I really don't know that it is your +business." + +"Business! Bless you, I have no business," said Mr. Carton. + +"It is a pity you have not, sir." + +"I think so, too." + +"If you had," pursued Mr. Lorry, "perhaps you would attend to it." + +"Lord love you, no! - I shouldn't," said Mr. Carton. + +"Well, sir!" cried Mr. Lorry, thoroughly heated by his indifference, +"business is a very good thing, and a very respectable thing. And, sir, if + + + +88 + + + +business imposes its restraints and its silences and impediments, Mr. +Darnay as a young gentleman of generosity knows how to make allow- +ance for that circumstance. Mr. Darnay, good night, God bless you, sir! I +hope you have been this day preserved for a prosperous and happy +life. - Chair there!" + +Perhaps a little angry with himself, as well as with the barrister, Mr. +Lorry bustled into the chair, and was carried off to Tellson's. Carton, +who smelt of port wine, and did not appear to be quite sober, laughed +then, and turned to Darnay: + +"This is a strange chance that throws you and me together. This must +be a strange night to you, standing alone here with your counterpart on +these street stones?" + +"I hardly seem yet," returned Charles Darnay, "to belong to this world +again." + +"I don't wonder at it; it's not so long since you were pretty far ad- +vanced on your way to another. You speak faintly." + +"I begin to think I am faint." + +"Then why the devil don't you dine? I dined, myself, while those +numskulls were deliberating which world you should belong to - this, or +some other. Let me show you the nearest tavern to dine well at." + +Drawing his arm through his own, he took him down Ludgate-hill to +Fleet-street, and so, up a covered way, into a tavern. Here, they were +shown into a little room, where Charles Darnay was soon recruiting his +strength with a good plain dinner and good wine: while Carton sat op- +posite to him at the same table, with his separate bottle of port before +him, and his fully half-insolent manner upon him. + +"Do you feel, yet, that you belong to this terrestrial scheme again, Mr. +Darnay?" + +"I am frightfully confused regarding time and place; but I am so far +mended as to feel that." + +"It must be an immense satisfaction!" + +He said it bitterly, and filled up his glass again: which was a large one. + +"As to me, the greatest desire I have, is to forget that I belong to it. It +has no good in it for me - except wine like this - nor I for it. So we are +not much alike in that particular. Indeed, I begin to think we are not +much alike in any particular, you and I." + + + +89 + + + +Confused by the emotion of the day, and feeling his being there with +this Double of coarse deportment, to be like a dream, Charles Darnay +was at a loss how to answer; finally, answered not at all. + +"Now your dinner is done," Carton presently said, "why don't you +call a health, Mr. Darnay; why don't you give your toast?" + +"What health? What toast?" + +"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue. It ought to be, it must be, I'll +swear it's there." + +"Miss Manette, then!" + +"Miss Manette, then!" + +Looking his companion full in the face while he drank the toast, Car- +ton flung his glass over his shoulder against the wall, where it shivered +to pieces; then, rang the bell, and ordered in another. + +"That's a fair young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, Mr. Darnay!" +he said, ruing his new goblet. + +A slight frown and a laconic "Yes," were the answer. + +"That's a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for by! How does it +feel? Is it worth being tried for one's life, to be the object of such sym- +pathy and compassion, Mr. Darnay?" + +Again Darnay answered not a word. + +"She was mightily pleased to have your message, when I gave it her. +Not that she showed she was pleased, but I suppose she was." + +The allusion served as a timely reminder to Darnay that this disagree- +able companion had, of his own free will, assisted him in the strait of the +day. He turned the dialogue to that point, and thanked him for it. + +"I neither want any thanks, nor merit any," was the careless rejoinder. +"It was nothing to do, in the first place; and I don't know why I did it, in +the second. Mr. Darnay, let me ask you a question." + +"Willingly, and a small return for your good offices." + +"Do you think I particularly like you?" + +"Really, Mr. Carton," returned the other, oddly disconcerted, "I have +not asked myself the question." + +"But ask yourself the question now." + +"You have acted as if you do; but I don't think you do." + +"I don't think I do," said Carton. "I begin to have a very good opinion +of your understanding." + + + +90 + + + +"Nevertheless," pursued Darnay, rising to ring the bell, "there is noth- +ing in that, I hope, to prevent my calling the reckoning, and our parting +without ill-blood on either side." + +Carton rejoining, "Nothing in life!" Darnay rang. "Do you call the +whole reckoning?" said Carton. On his answering in the affirmative, +"Then bring me another pint of this same wine, drawer, and come and +wake me at ten." + +The bill being paid, Charles Darnay rose and wished him good night. +Without returning the wish, Carton rose too, with something of a threat +of defiance in his manner, and said, "A last word, Mr. Darnay: you think +I am drunk?" + +"I think you have been drinking, Mr. Carton." + +"Think? You know I have been drinking." + +"Since I must say so, I know it." + +"Then you shall likewise know why. I am a disappointed drudge, sir. I +care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me." + +"Much to be regretted. You might have used your talents better." + +"May be so, Mr. Darnay; may be not. Don't let your sober face elate +you, however; you don't know what it may come to. Good night!" + +When he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a +glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it. + +"Do you particularly like the man?" he muttered, at his own image; +"why should you particularly like a man who resembles you? There is +nothing in you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you! What a change +you have made in yourself! A good reason for taking to a man, that he +shows you what you have fallen away from, and what you might have +been! Change places with him, and would you have been looked at by +those blue eyes as he was, and commiserated by that agitated face as he +was? Come on, and have it out in plain words! You hate the fellow." + +He resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it all in a few +minutes, and fell asleep on his arms, with his hair straggling over the +table, and a long winding-sheet in the candle dripping down upon him. + + + +91 + + + +Chapter + + + +5 + + + +The Jackal + +Those were drinking days, and most men drank hard. So very great is +the improvement Time has brought about in such habits, that a moderate +statement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would +swallow in the course of a night, without any detriment to his reputation +as a perfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, a ridiculous exaggera- +tion. The learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any oth- +er learned profession in its Bacchanalian propensities; neither was Mr. +Stryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative prac- +tice, behind his compeers in this particular, any more than in the drier +parts of the legal race. + +A favourite at the Old Bailey, and eke at the Sessions, Mr. Stryver had +begun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which +he mounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favour- +ite, specially, to their longing arms; and shouldering itself towards the +visage of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of King's Bench, the florid +countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed +of wigs, like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from among a +rank garden-full of flaring companions. + +It had once been noted at the Bar, that while Mr. Stryver was a glib +man, and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that fac- +ulty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is among +the most striking and necessary of the advocate's accomplishments. But, +a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The more business +he got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting at its pith and +marrow; and however late at night he sat carousing with Sydney Carton, +he always had his points at his fingers' ends in the morning. + +Sydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver's +great ally. What the two drank together, between Hilary Term and Mi- +chaelmas, might have floated a king's ship. Stryver never had a case in +hand, anywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, + + + +92 + + + +staring at the ceiling of the court; they went the same Circuit, and even +there they prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and Carton +was rumoured to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily and un- +steadily to his lodgings, like a dissipated cat. At last, it began to get +about, among such as were interested in the matter, that although +Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, +and that he rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity. + +"Ten o'clock, sir," said the man at the tavern, whom he had charged to +wake him - "ten o'clock, sir." + +"What's the matter?" + +"Ten o'clock, sir." + +"What do you mean? Ten o'clock at night?" + +"Yes, sir. Your honour told me to call you." + +"Oh! I remember. Very well, very well." + +After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man dexter- +ously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five minutes, he got +up, tossed his hat on, and walked out. He turned into the Temple, and, +having revived himself by twice pacing the pavements of King's Bench- +walk and Paper-buildings, turned into the Stryver chambers. + +The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had gone +home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his slippers on, +and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his greater ease. He +had that rather wild, strained, seared marking about the eyes, which +may be observed in all free livers of his class, from the portrait of Jeffries +downward, and which can be traced, under various disguises of Art, +through the portraits of every Drinking Age. + +"You are a little late, Memory," said Stryver. + +"About the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later." + +They went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with pa- +pers, where there was a blazing fire. A kettle steamed upon the hob, and +in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone, with plenty of wine +upon it, and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and lemons. + +"You have had your bottle, I perceive, Sydney." + +"Two to-night, I think. I have been dining with the day's client; or see- +ing him dine - it's all one!" + +"That was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to bear upon the +identification. How did you come by it? When did it strike you?" + + + +93 + + + +"I thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and I thought I should +have been much the same sort of fellow, if I had had any luck." + +Mr. Stryver laughed till he shook his precocious paunch. + +"You and your luck, Sydney! Get to work, get to work." + +Sullenly enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an adjoining +room, and came back with a large jug of cold water, a basin, and a towel +or two. Steeping the towels in the water, and partially wringing them +out, he folded them on his head in a manner hideous to behold, sat down +at the table, and said, "Now I am ready!" + +"Not much boiling down to be done to-night, Memory," said Mr. +Stryver, gaily, as he looked among his papers. + +"How much?" + +"Only two sets of them." + +"Give me the worst first." + +"There they are, Sydney. Fire away!" + +The lion then composed himself on his back on a sofa on one side of +the drinking-table, while the jackal sat at his own paper-bestrewn table +proper, on the other side of it, with the bottles and glasses ready to his +hand. Both resorted to the drinking-table without stint, but each in a dif- +ferent way; the lion for the most part reclining with his hands in his +waistband, looking at the fire, or occasionally flirting with some lighter +document; the jackal, with knitted brows and intent face, so deep in his +task, that his eyes did not even follow the hand he stretched out for his +glass - which often groped about, for a minute or more, before it found +the glass for his lips. Two or three times, the matter in hand became so +knotty, that the jackal found it imperative on him to get up, and steep his +towels anew. From these pilgrimages to the jug and basin, he returned +with such eccentricities of damp headgear as no words can describe; +which were made the more ludicrous by his anxious gravity. + +At length the jackal had got together a compact repast for the lion, and +proceeded to offer it to him. The lion took it with care and caution, made +his selections from it, and his remarks upon it, and the jackal assisted +both. When the repast was fully discussed, the lion put his hands in his +waistband again, and lay down to mediate. The jackal then invigorated +himself with a bum for his throttle, and a fresh application to his head, +and applied himself to the collection of a second meal; this was admin- +istered to the lion in the same manner, and was not disposed of until the +clocks struck three in the morning. + + + +94 + + + +"And now we have done, Sydney, fill a bumper of punch," said Mr. +Stryver. + +The jackal removed the towels from his head, which had been steam- +ing again, shook himself, yawned, shivered, and complied. + +"You were very sound, Sydney, in the matter of those crown witnesses +to-day. Every question told." + +"I always am sound; am I not?" + +"I don't gainsay it. What has roughened your temper? Put some punch +to it and smooth it again." + +With a deprecatory grunt, the jackal again complied. + +"The old Sydney Carton of old Shrewsbury School," said Stryver, nod- +ding his head over him as he reviewed him in the present and the past, +"the old seesaw Sydney. Up one minute and down the next; now in spir- +its and now in despondency!" + +"Ah!" returned the other, sighing: "yes! The same Sydney, with the +same luck. Even then, I did exercises for other boys, and seldom did my +own. + +"And why not?" + +"God knows. It was my way, I suppose." + +He sat, with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out before +him, looking at the fire. + +"Carton," said his friend, squaring himself at him with a bullying air, +as if the fire-grate had been the furnace in which sustained endeavour +was forged, and the one delicate thing to be done for the old Sydney Car- +ton of old Shrewsbury School was to shoulder him into it, "your way is, +and always was, a lame way. You summon no energy and purpose. Look +at me." + +"Oh, botheration!" returned Sydney, with a lighter and more good- +humoured laugh, "don't you be moral!" + +"How have I done what I have done?" said Stryver; "how do I do +what I do?" + +"Partly through paying me to help you, I suppose. But it's not worth +your while to apostrophise me, or the air, about it; what you want to do, +you do. You were always in the front rank, and I was always behind." + +"I had to get into the front rank; I was not born there, was I?" + + + +95 + + + +"I was not present at the ceremony; but my opinion is you were," said +Carton. At this, he laughed again, and they both laughed. + +"Before Shrewsbury, and at Shrewsbury, and ever since Shrewsbury," +pursued Carton, "you have fallen into your rank, and I have fallen into +mine. Even when we were fellow-students in the Student-Quarter of Par- +is, picking up French, and French law, and other French crumbs that we +didn't get much good of, you were always somewhere, and I was always +nowhere." + +"And whose fault was that?" + +"Upon my soul, I am not sure that it was not yours. You were always +driving and riving and shouldering and passing, to that restless degree +that I had no chance for my life but in rust and repose. It's a gloomy +thing, however, to talk about one's own past, with the day breaking. +Turn me in some other direction before I go." + +"Well then! Pledge me to the pretty witness," said Stryver, holding up +his glass. "Are you turned in a pleasant direction?" + +Apparently not, for he became gloomy again. + +"Pretty witness," he muttered, looking down into his glass. "I have +had enough of witnesses to-day and to-night; who's your pretty +witness?" + +"The picturesque doctor's daughter, Miss Manette." + +"She pretty?" + +"Is she not?" + +"No." + +"Why, man alive, she was the admiration of the whole Court!" + +"Rot the admiration of the whole Court! Who made the Old Bailey a +judge of beauty? She was a golden-haired doll!" + +"Do you know, Sydney," said Mr. Stryver, looking at him with sharp +eyes, and slowly drawing a hand across his florid face: "do you know, I +rather thought, at the time, that you sympathised with the golden-haired +doll, and were quick to see what happened to the golden-haired doll?" + +"Quick to see what happened! If a girl, doll or no doll, swoons within +a yard or two of a man's nose, he can see it without a perspective-glass. I +pledge you, but I deny the beauty. And now I'll have no more drink; I'll +get to bed." + +When his host followed him out on the staircase with a candle, to light +him down the stairs, the day was coldly looking in through its grimy + + + +96 + + + +windows. When he got out of the house, the air was cold and sad, the +dull sky overcast, the river dark and dim, the whole scene like a lifeless +desert. And wreaths of dust were spinning round and round before the +morning blast, as if the desert-sand had risen far away, and the first +spray of it in its advance had begun to overwhelm the city. + +Waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this man stood still +on his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the +wilderness before him, a mirage of honourable ambition, self-denial, and +perseverance. In the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries from +which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits +of life hung ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight. A mo- +ment, and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, +he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow +was wet with wasted tears. + +Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of +good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, in- +capable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on +him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away. + + + +97 + + + +Chapter + + + +6 + + + +Hundreds of People + +The quiet lodgings of Doctor Manette were in a quiet street-corner not +far from Soho-square. On the afternoon of a certain fine Sunday when +the waves of four months had roiled over the trial for treason, and car- +ried it, as to the public interest and memory, far out to sea, Mr. Jarvis +Lorry walked along the sunny streets from Clerkenwell where he lived, +on his way to dine with the Doctor. After several relapses into business- +absorption, Mr. Lorry had become the Doctor's friend, and the quiet +street-corner was the sunny part of his life. + +On this certain fine Sunday, Mr. Lorry walked towards Soho, early in +the afternoon, for three reasons of habit. Firstly, because, on fine +Sundays, he often walked out, before dinner, with the Doctor and Lucie; +secondly, because, on unfavourable Sundays, he was accustomed to be +with them as the family friend, talking, reading, looking out of window, +and generally getting through the day; thirdly, because he happened to +have his own little shrewd doubts to solve, and knew how the ways of +the Doctor's household pointed to that time as a likely time for solving +them. + +A quainter corner than the corner where the Doctor lived, was not to +be found in London. There was no way through it, and the front win- +dows of the Doctor's lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of street +that had a congenial air of retirement on it. There were few buildings +then, north of the Oxford-road, and forest-trees flourished, and wild +flowers grew, and the hawthorn blossomed, in the now vanished fields. +As a consequence, country airs circulated in Soho with vigorous free- +dom, instead of languishing into the parish like stray paupers without a +settlement; and there was many a good south wall, not far off, on which +the peaches ripened in their season. + +The summer light struck into the corner brilliantly in the earlier part of +the day; but, when the streets grew hot, the corner was in shadow, +though not in shadow so remote but that you could see beyond it into a + + + +98 + + + +glare of brightness. It was a cool spot, staid but cheerful, a wonderful +place for echoes, and a very harbour from the raging streets. + +There ought to have been a tranquil bark in such an anchorage, and +there was. The Doctor occupied two floors of a large stiff house, where +several callings purported to be pursued by day, but whereof little was +audible any day, and which was shunned by all of them at night. In a +building at the back, attainable by a courtyard where a plane-tree rustled +its green leaves, church-organs claimed to be made, and silver to be +chased, and likewise gold to be beaten by some mysterious giant who +had a golden arm starting out of the wall of the front hall - as if he had +beaten himself precious, and menaced a similar conversion of all visitors. +Very little of these trades, or of a lonely lodger rumoured to live up- +stairs, or of a dim coach-trimming maker asserted to have a counting- +house below, was ever heard or seen. Occasionally, a stray workman +putting his coat on, traversed the hall, or a stranger peered about there, +or a distant clink was heard across the courtyard, or a thump from the +golden giant. These, however, were only the exceptions required to +prove the rule that the sparrows in the plane-tree behind the house, and +the echoes in the corner before it, had their own way from Sunday morn- +ing unto Saturday night. + +Doctor Manette received such patients here as his old reputation, and +its revival in the floating whispers of his story, brought him. His scientif- +ic knowledge, and his vigilance and skill in conducting ingenious experi- +ments, brought him otherwise into moderate request, and he earned as +much as he wanted. + +These things were within Mr. Jarvis Lorry's knowledge, thoughts, and +notice, when he rang the door-bell of the tranquil house in the corner, on +the fine Sunday afternoon. + +"Doctor Manette at home?" + +Expected home. + +"Miss Lucie at home?" + +Expected home. + +"Miss Pross at home?" + +Possibly at home, but of a certainty impossible for handmaid to anti- +cipate intentions of Miss Pross, as to admission or denial of the fact. + +"As I am at home myself," said Mr. Lorry, "I'll go upstairs." + +Although the Doctor's daughter had known nothing of the country of +her birth, she appeared to have innately derived from it that ability to + + + +99 + + + +make much of little means, which is one of its most useful and most +agreeable characteristics. Simple as the furniture was, it was set off by so +many little adornments, of no value but for their taste and fancy, that its +effect was delightful. The disposition of everything in the rooms, from +the largest object to the least; the arrangement of colours, the elegant +variety and contrast obtained by thrift in trifles, by delicate hands, clear +eyes, and good sense; were at once so pleasant in themselves, and so ex- +pressive of their originator, that, as Mr. Lorry stood looking about him, +the very chairs and tables seemed to ask him, with something of that pe- +culiar expression which he knew so well by this time, whether he +approved? + +There were three rooms on a floor, and, the doors by which they com- +municated being put open that the air might pass freely through them +all, Mr. Lorry, smilingly observant of that fanciful resemblance which he +detected all around him, walked from one to another. The first was the +best room, and in it were Lucie's birds, and flowers, and books, and +desk, and work-table, and box of water-colours; the second was the Doc- +tor's consulting-room, used also as the dining-room; the third, chan- +gingly speckled by the rustle of the plane-tree in the yard, was the Doc- +tor's bedroom, and there, in a corner, stood the disused shoemaker's +bench and tray of tools, much as it had stood on the fifth floor of the dis- +mal house by the wine-shop, in the suburb of Saint Antoine in Paris. + +"I wonder," said Mr. Lorry, pausing in his looking about, "that he +keeps that reminder of his sufferings about him!" + +"And why wonder at that?" was the abrupt inquiry that made him +start. + +It proceeded from Miss Pross, the wild red woman, strong of hand, +whose acquaintance he had first made at the Royal George Hotel at +Dover, and had since improved. + +"I should have thought - " Mr. Lorry began. + +"Pooh! You'd have thought!" said Miss Pross; and Mr. Lorry left off. + +"How do you do?" inquired that lady then - sharply, and yet as if to +express that she bore him no malice. + +"I am pretty well, I thank you," answered Mr. Lorry, with meekness; +"how are you?" + +"Nothing to boast of," said Miss Pross. + +"Indeed?" + + + +100 + + + +"Ah! indeed!" said Miss Pross. "I am very much put out about my +Ladybird." + +"Indeed?" + +"For gracious sake say something else besides 'indeed/ or you'll fidget +me to death," said Miss Pross: whose character (dissociated from stature) +was shortness. + +"Really, then?" said Mr. Lorry, as an amendment. + +"Really, is bad enough," returned Miss Pross, "but better. Yes, I am +very much put out." + +"May I ask the cause?" + +"I don't want dozens of people who are not at all worthy of Ladybird, +to come here looking after her," said Miss Pross. + +"DO dozens come for that purpose?" + +"Hundreds," said Miss Pross. + +It was characteristic of this lady (as of some other people before her +time and since) that whenever her original proposition was questioned, +she exaggerated it. + +"Dear me!" said Mr. Lorry, as the safest remark he could think of. + +"I have lived with the darling - or the darling has lived with me, and +paid me for it; which she certainly should never have done, you may +take your affidavit, if I could have afforded to keep either myself or her +for nothing - since she was ten years old. And it's really very hard," said +Miss Pross. + +Not seeing with precision what was very hard, Mr. Lorry shook his +head; using that important part of himself as a sort of fairy cloak that +would fit anything. + +"All sorts of people who are not in the least degree worthy of the pet, +are always turning up," said Miss Pross. "When you began it - " + +"I began it, Miss Pross?" + +"Didn't you? Who brought her father to life?" + +"Oh! If that was beginning it - " said Mr. Lorry. + +"It wasn't ending it, I suppose? I say, when you began it, it was hard +enough; not that I have any fault to find with Doctor Manette, except +that he is not worthy of such a daughter, which is no imputation on him, +for it was not to be expected that anybody should be, under any circum- +stances. But it ready is doubly and trebly hard to have crowds and + + + +101 + + + +multitudes of people turning up after him (I could have forgiven him), to +take Ladybird's affections away from me." + +Mr. Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by +this time to be, beneath the service of her eccentricity, one of those un- +selfish creatures - found only among women - who will, for pure love +and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they +have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they +were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone +upon their own sombre lives. He knew enough of the world to know that +there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so +rendered and so free from any mercenary taint, he had such an exalted +respect for it, that in the retributive arrangements made by his own +mind - we all make such arrangements, more or less - he stationed Miss +Pross much nearer to the lower Angels than many ladies immeasurably +better got up both by Nature and Art, who had balances at Tellson's. + +"There never was, nor will be, but one man worthy of Ladybird," said +Miss Pross; "and that was my brother Solomon, if he hadn't made a mis- +take in life." + +Here again Mr. Lorry's inquiries into Miss Pross's personal history had +established the fact that her brother Solomon was a heartless scoundrel +who had stripped her of everything she possessed, as a stake to specu- +late with, and had abandoned her in her poverty for evermore, with no +touch of compunction. Miss Pross's fidelity of belief in Solomon +(deducting a mere trifle for this slight mistake) was quite a serious mat- +ter with Mr. Lorry, and had its weight in his good opinion of her. "As we +happen to be alone for the moment, and are both people of business," he +said, when they had got back to the drawing-room and had sat down +there in friendly relations, "let me ask you - does the Doctor, in talking +with Lucie, never refer to the shoemaking time, yet?" + +"Never." + +"And yet keeps that bench and those tools beside him?" + +"Ah!" returned Miss Pross, shaking her head. "But I don't say he don't +refer to it within himself." + +"Do you believe that he thinks of it much?" + +"I do," said Miss Pross. + +"Do you imagine - " Mr. Lorry had begun, when Miss Pross took him +up short with: + +"Never imagine anything. Have no imagination at all." + + + +102 + + + +"I stand corrected; do you suppose - you go so far as to suppose, +sometimes?" + +"Now and then," said Miss Pross. + +"Do you suppose," Mr. Lorry went on, with a laughing twinkle in his +bright eye, as it looked kindly at her, "that Doctor Manette has any the- +ory of his own, preserved through all those years, relative to the cause of +his being so oppressed; perhaps, even to the name of his oppressor?" + +"I don't suppose anything about it but what Ladybird tells me." + +"And that is-?" + +"That she thinks he has." + +"Now don't be angry at my asking all these questions; because I am a +mere dull man of business, and you are a woman of business." + +"Dull?" Miss Pross inquired, with placidity. + +Rather wishing his modest adjective away, Mr. Lorry replied, "No, no, +no. Surely not. To return to business: - Is it not remarkable that Doctor +Manette, unquestionably innocent of any crane as we are all well assured +he is, should never touch upon that question? I will not say with me, +though he had business relations with me many years ago, and we are +now intimate; I will say with the fair daughter to whom he is so de- +votedly attached, and who is so devotedly attached to him? Believe me, +Miss Pross, I don't approach the topic with you, out of curiosity, but out +of zealous interest." + +"Well! To the best of my understanding, and bad's the best, you'll tell +me," said Miss Pross, softened by the tone of the apology, "he is afraid of +the whole subject." + +"Afraid?" + +"It's plain enough, I should think, why he may be. It's a dreadful re- +membrance. Besides that, his loss of himself grew out of it. Not knowing +how he lost himself, or how he recovered himself, he may never feel cer- +tain of not losing himself again. That alone wouldn't make the subject +pleasant, I should think." + +It was a profounder remark than Mr. Lorry had looked for. "True," +said he, "and fearful to reflect upon. Yet, a doubt lurks in my mind, Miss +Pross, whether it is good for Doctor Manette to have that suppression al- +ways shut up within him. Indeed, it is this doubt and the uneasiness it +sometimes causes me that has led me to our present confidence." + + + +103 + + + +"Can't be helped," said Miss Pross, shaking her head. "Touch that +string, and he instantly changes for the worse. Better leave it alone. In +short, must leave it alone, like or no like. Sometimes, he gets up in the +dead of the night, and will be heard, by us overhead there, walking up +and down, walking up and down, in his room. Ladybird has learnt to +know then that his mind is walking up and down, walking up and +down, in his old prison. She hurries to him, and they go on together, +walking up and down, walking up and down, until he is composed. But +he never says a word of the true reason of his restlessness, to her, and +she finds it best not to hint at it to him. In silence they go walking up and +down together, walking up and down together, till her love and com- +pany have brought him to himself." + +Notwithstanding Miss Pross's denial of her own imagination, there +was a perception of the pain of being monotonously haunted by one sad +idea, in her repetition of the phrase, walking up and down, which testi- +fied to her possessing such a thing. + +The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner for echoes; it +had begun to echo so resoundingly to the tread of coming feet, that it +seemed as though the very mention of that weary pacing to and fro had +set it going. + +"Here they are!" said Miss Pross, rising to break up the conference; +"and now we shall have hundreds of people pretty soon!" + +It was such a curious corner in its acoustical properties, such a peculiar +Ear of a place, that as Mr. Lorry stood at the open window, looking for +the father and daughter whose steps he heard, he fancied they would +never approach. Not only would the echoes die away, as though the +steps had gone; but, echoes of other steps that never came would be +heard in their stead, and would die away for good when they seemed +close at hand. However, father and daughter did at last appear, and Miss +Pross was ready at the street door to receive them. + +Miss Pross was a pleasant sight, albeit wild, and red, and grim, taking +off her darling's bonnet when she came up-stairs, and touching it up +with the ends of her handkerchief, and blowing the dust off it, and fold- +ing her mantle ready for laying by, and smoothing her rich hair with as +much pride as she could possibly have taken in her own hair if she had +been the vainest and handsomest of women. Her darling was a pleasant +sight too, embracing her and thanking her, and protesting against her +taking so much trouble for her - which last she only dared to do play- +fully, or Miss Pross, sorely hurt, would have retired to her own chamber + + + +104 + + + +and cried. The Doctor was a pleasant sight too, looking on at them, and +telling Miss Pross how she spoilt Lucie, in accents and with eyes that had +as much spoiling in them as Miss Pross had, and would have had more if +it were possible. Mr. Lorry was a pleasant sight too, beaming at all this in +his little wig, and thanking his bachelor stars for having lighted him in +his declining years to a Home. But, no Hundreds of people came to see +the sights, and Mr. Lorry looked in vain for the fulfilment of Miss Pross's +prediction. + +Dinner-time, and still no Hundreds of people. In the arrangements of +the little household, Miss Pross took charge of the lower regions, and al- +ways acquitted herself marvellously. Her dinners, of a very modest qual- +ity, were so well cooked and so well served, and so neat in their contriv- +ances, half English and half French, that nothing could be better. Miss +Pross's friendship being of the thoroughly practical kind, she had rav- +aged Soho and the adjacent provinces, in search of impoverished French, +who, tempted by shillings and half- crowns, would impart culinary mys- +teries to her. From these decayed sons and daughters of Gaul, she had +acquired such wonderful arts, that the woman and girl who formed the +staff of domestics regarded her as quite a Sorceress, or Cinderella's God- +mother: who would send out for a fowl, a rabbit, a vegetable or two from +the garden, and change them into anything she pleased. + +On Sundays, Miss Pross dined at the Doctor's table, but on other days +persisted in taking her meals at unknown periods, either in the lower re- +gions, or in her own room on the second floor - a blue chamber, to which +no one but her Ladybird ever gained admittance. On this occasion, Miss +Pross, responding to Ladybird's pleasant face and pleasant efforts to +please her, unbent exceedingly; so the dinner was very pleasant, too. + +It was an oppressive day, and, after dinner, Lucie proposed that the +wine should be carried out under the plane-tree, and they should sit +there in the air. As everything turned upon her, and revolved about her, +they went out under the plane-tree, and she carried the wine down for +the special benefit of Mr. Lorry. She had installed herself, some time be- +fore, as Mr. Lorry's cup-bearer; and while they sat under the plane-tree, +talking, she kept his glass replenished. Mysterious backs and ends of +houses peeped at them as they talked, and the plane-tree whispered to +them in its own way above their heads. + +Still, the Hundreds of people did not present themselves. Mr. Darnay +presented himself while they were sitting under the plane-tree, but he +was only One. + + + +105 + + + +Doctor Manette received him kindly, and so did Lucie. But, Miss Pross +suddenly became afflicted with a twitching in the head and body, and +retired into the house. She was not unfrequently the victim of this dis- +order, and she called it, in familiar conversation, "a fit of the jerks." + +The Doctor was in his best condition, and looked specially young. The +resemblance between him and Lucie was very strong at such times, and +as they sat side by side, she leaning on his shoulder, and he resting his +arm on the back of her chair, it was very agreeable to trace the likeness. + +He had been talking all day, on many subjects, and with unusual viva- +city. "Pray, Doctor Manette," said Mr. Darnay, as they sat under the +plane-tree - and he said it in the natural pursuit of the topic in hand, +which happened to be the old buildings of London - "have you seen +much of the Tower?" + +"Lucie and I have been there; but only casually. We have seen enough +of it, to know that it teems with interest; little more." + +"I have been there, as you remember," said Darnay, with a smile, +though reddening a little angrily, "in another character, and not in a +character that gives facilities for seeing much of it. They told me a curi- +ous thing when I was there." + +"What was that?" Lucie asked. + +"In making some alterations, the workmen came upon an old dun- +geon, which had been, for many years, built up and forgotten. Every +stone of its inner wall was covered by inscriptions which had been +carved by prisoners - dates, names, complaints, and prayers. Upon a +corner stone in an angle of the wall, one prisoner, who seemed to have +gone to execution, had cut as his last work, three letters. They were done +with some very poor instrument, and hurriedly, with an unsteady hand. +At first, they were read as D. I. C; but, on being more carefully ex- +amined, the last letter was found to be G. There was no record or legend +of any prisoner with those initials, and many fruitless guesses were +made what the name could have been. At length, it was suggested that +the letters were not initials, but the complete word, DiG. The floor was +examined very carefully under the inscription, and, in the earth beneath +a stone, or tile, or some fragment of paving, were found the ashes of a +paper, mingled with the ashes of a small leathern case or bag. What the +unknown prisoner had written will never be read, but he had written +something, and hidden it away to keep it from the gaoler." + +"My father," exclaimed Lucie, "you are ill!" + + + +106 + + + +He had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. His manner +and his look quite terrified them all. + +"No, my dear, not ill. There are large drops of rain falling, and they +made me start. We had better go in." + +He recovered himself almost instantly. Rain was really falling in large +drops, and he showed the back of his hand with rain-drops on it. But, he +said not a single word in reference to the discovery that had been told of, +and, as they went into the house, the business eye of Mr. Lorry either de- +tected, or fancied it detected, on his face, as it turned towards Charles +Darnay, the same singular look that had been upon it when it turned to- +wards him in the passages of the Court House. + +He recovered himself so quickly, however, that Mr. Lorry had doubts +of his business eye. The arm of the golden giant in the hall was not more +steady than he was, when he stopped under it to remark to them that he +was not yet proof against slight surprises (if he ever would be), and that +the rain had startled him. + +Tea-time, and Miss Pross making tea, with another fit of the jerks upon +her, and yet no Hundreds of people. Mr. Carton had lounged in, but he +made only Two. + +The night was so very sultry, that although they sat with doors and +windows open, they were overpowered by heat. When the tea-table was +done with, they all moved to one of the windows, and looked out into +the heavy twilight. Lucie sat by her father; Darnay sat beside her; Carton +leaned against a window. The curtains were long and white, and some of +the thunder-gusts that whirled into the corner, caught them up to the +ceiling, and waved them like spectral wings. + +"The rain-drops are still falling, large, heavy, and few," said Doctor +Manette. "It comes slowly." + +"It comes surely," said Carton. + +They spoke low, as people watching and waiting mostly do; as people +in a dark room, watching and waiting for Lightning, always do. + +There was a great hurry in the streets of people speeding away to get +shelter before the storm broke; the wonderful corner for echoes resoun- +ded with the echoes of footsteps coming and going, yet not a footstep +was there. + +"A multitude of people, and yet a solitude!" said Darnay, when they +had listened for a while. + + + +107 + + + +"Is it not impressive, Mr. Darnay?" asked Lucie. "Sometimes, I have +sat here of an evening, until I have fancied - but even the shade of a fool- +ish fancy makes me shudder to-night, when all is so black and +solemn - " + +"Let us shudder too. We may know what it is." + +"It will seem nothing to you. Such whims are only impressive as we +originate them, I think; they are not to be communicated. I have some- +times sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the +echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by-and- +bye into our lives." + +"There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so," +Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way. + +The footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became more and +more rapid. The corner echoed and re-echoed with the tread of feet; +some, as it seemed, under the windows; some, as it seemed, in the room; +some coming, some going, some breaking off, some stopping altogether; +all in the distant streets, and not one within sight. + +"Are all these footsteps destined to come to all of us, Miss Manette, or +are we to divide them among us?" + +"I don't know, Mr. Darnay; I told you it was a foolish fancy, but you +asked for it. When I have yielded myself to it, I have been alone, and +then I have imagined them the footsteps of the people who are to come +into my life, and my father's." + +"I take them into mine!" said Carton. "I ask no questions and make no +stipulations. There is a great crowd bearing down upon us, Miss +Manette, and I see them - by the Lightning." He added the last words, +after there had been a vivid flash which had shown him lounging in the +window. + +"And I hear them!" he added again, after a peal of thunder. "Here they +come, fast, fierce, and furious!" + +It was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped him, +for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable storm of thunder and +lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there was not a moment's +interval in crash, and fire, and rain, until after the moon rose at +midnight. + +The great bell of Saint Paul's was striking one in the cleared air, when +Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted and bearing a lantern, set forth +on his return-passage to Clerkenwell. There were solitary patches of road + + + +108 + + + +on the way between Soho and Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful of +foot-pads, always retained Jerry for this service: though it was usually +performed a good two hours earlier. + +"What a night it has been! Almost a night, Jerry," said Mr. Lorry, "to +bring the dead out of their graves." + +"I never see the night myself, master - nor yet I don't expect to - what +would do that," answered Jerry. + +"Good night, Mr. Carton," said the man of business. "Good night, Mr. +Darnay. Shall we ever see such a night again, together!" + +Perhaps. Perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar, +bearing down upon them, too. + + + +109 + + + +Chapter + + + +7 + + + +Monseigneur in Town + +Monseigneur, one of the great lords in power at the Court, held his +fortnightly reception in his grand hotel in Paris. Monseigneur was in his +inner room, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest of Holiests to the +crowd of worshippers in the suite of rooms without. Monseigneur was +about to take his chocolate. Monseigneur could swallow a great many +things with ease, and was by some few sullen minds supposed to be +rather rapidly swallowing France; but, his morning's chocolate could not +so much as get into the throat of Monseigneur, without the aid of four +strong men besides the Cook. + +Yes. It took four men, all four ablaze with gorgeous decoration, and +the Chief of them unable to exist with fewer than two gold watches in his +pocket, emulative of the noble and chaste fashion set by Monseigneur, to +conduct the happy chocolate to Monseigneur's lips. One lacquey carried +the chocolate-pot into the sacred presence; a second, milled and frothed +the chocolate with the little instrument he bore for that function; a third, +presented the favoured napkin; a fourth (he of the two gold watches), +poured the chocolate out. It was impossible for Monseigneur to dispense +with one of these attendants on the chocolate and hold his high place un- +der the admiring Heavens. Deep would have been the blot upon his es- +cutcheon if his chocolate had been ignobly waited on by only three men; +he must have died of two. + +Monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, where the Com- +edy and the Grand Opera were charmingly represented. Monseigneur +was out at a little supper most nights, with fascinating company. So po- +lite and so impressible was Monseigneur, that the Comedy and the +Grand Opera had far more influence with him in the tiresome articles of +state affairs and state secrets, than the needs of all France. A happy cir- +cumstance for France, as the like always is for all countries similarly fa- +voured!- always was for England (by way of example), in the regretted +days of the merry Stuart who sold it. + + + +110 + + + +Monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general public business, +which was, to let everything go on in its own way; of particular public +business, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea that it must all go +his way- tend to his own power and pocket. Of his pleasures, general +and particular, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea, that the +world was made for them. The text of his order (altered from the original +by only a pronoun, which is not much) ran: "The earth and the fulness +thereof are mine, saith Monseigneur." + +Yet, Monseigneur had slowly found that vulgar embarrassments crept +into his affairs, both private and public; and he had, as to both classes of +affairs, allied himself perforce with a Farmer-General. As to finances +public, because Monseigneur could not make anything at all of them, +and must consequently let them out to somebody who could; as to fin- +ances private, because Farmer-Generals were rich, and Monseigneur, +after generations of great luxury and expense, was growing poor. Hence +Monseigneur had taken his sister from a convent, while there was yet +time to ward off the impending veil, the cheapest garment she could +wear, and had bestowed her as a prize upon a very rich Farmer-General, +poor in family. Which Farmer-General, carrying an appropriate cane +with a golden apple on the top of it, was now among the company in the +outer rooms, much prostrated before by mankind- always excepting su- +perior mankind of the blood of Monseigneur, who, his own wife in- +cluded, looked down upon him with the loftiest contempt. + +A sumptuous man was the Farmer-General. Thirty horses stood in his +stables, twenty-four male domestics sat in his halls, six body-women +waited on his wife. As one who pretended to do nothing but plunder +and forage where he could, the Farmer-General- howsoever his matrimo- +nial relations conduced to social morality- was at least the greatest reality +among the personages who attended at the hotel of Monseigneur that +day. + +For, the rooms, though a beautiful scene to look at, and adorned with +every device of decoration that the taste and skin of the time could +achieve, were, in truth, not a sound business; considered with any refer- +ence to the scarecrows in the rags and nightcaps elsewhere (and not so +far off, either, but that the watching towers of Notre Dame, almost +equidistant from the two extremes, could see them both), they would +have been an exceedingly uncomfortable business- if that could have +been anybody's business, at the house of Monseigneur. Military officers +destitute of military knowledge; naval officers with no idea of a ship; +civil officers without a notion of affairs; brazen ecclesiastics, of the worst + + + +111 + + + +world worldly, with sensual eyes, loose tongues, and looser lives; all +totally unfit for their several callings all lying horribly in pretending to +belong to them, but all nearly or remotely of the order of Monseigneur, +and therefore foisted on all public employments from which anything +was to be got; these were to be told off by the score and the score. People +not immediately connected with Monseigneur or the State, yet equally +unconnected with anything that was real, or with lives passed in travel- +ling by any straight road to any true earthly end, were no less abundant. +Doctors who made great fortunes out of dainty remedies for imaginary +disorders that never existed, smiled upon their courtly patients in the +ante-chambers of Monseigneur. Projectors who had discovered every +kind of remedy for the little evils with which the State was touched, ex- +cept the remedy of setting to work in earnest to root out a single sin, +poured their distracting babble into any ears they could lay hold of, at +the reception of Monseigneur. Unbelieving Philosophers who were re- +modelling the world with words, and making card-towers of Babel to +scale the skies with, talked with Unbelieving Chemists who had an eye +on the transmutation of metals, at this wonderful gathering accumulated +by Monseigneur. Exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding, which was +at that remarkable time- and has been since- to be known by its fruits of +indifference to every natural subject of human interest, were in the most +exemplary state of exhaustion, at the hotel of Monseigneur. Such homes +had these various notabilities left behind them in the fine world of Paris, +that the spies among the assembled devotees of Monseigneur- forming a +goodly half of the polite company- would have found it hard to discover +among the angels of that sphere one solitary wife, who, in her manners +and appearance, owned to being a Mother. Indeed, except for the mere +act of bringing a troublesome creature into this world- which does not go +far towards the realisation of the name of mother- there was no such +thing known to the fashion. Peasant women kept the unfashionable ba- +bies close, and brought them up, and charming grandmammas of sixty +dressed and supped as at twenty. + +The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attend- +ance upon Monseigneur. In the outermost room were half a dozen excep- +tional people who had had, for a few years, some vague misgiving in +them that things in general were going rather wrong. As a promising +way of setting them right, half of the half-dozen had become members of +a fantastic sect of Convulsionists, and were even then considering within +themselves whether they should foam, rage, roar, and turn cataleptic on +the spot- thereby setting up a highly intelligible finger-post to the Future, + + + +112 + + + +for Monseigneur's guidance. Besides these Dervishes, were other three +who had rushed into another sect, which mended matters with a jargon +about "the Centre of Truth:" holding that Man had got out of the Centre +of Truth- which did not need much demonstration- but had not got out +of the Circumference, and that he was to be kept from flying out of the +Circumference, and was even to be shoved back into the Centre, by fast- +ing and seeing of spirits. Among these, accordingly, much discoursing +with spirits went on- and it did a world of good which never became +manifest. + +But, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel of Mon- +seigneur were perfectly dressed. If the Day of Judgment had only been +ascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would have been etern- +ally correct. Such frizzling and powdering and sticking up of hair, such +delicate complexions artificially preserved and mended, such gallant +swords to look at, and such delicate honour to the sense of smell, would +surely keep anything going, for ever and ever. The exquisite gentlemen +of the finest breeding wore little pendent trinkets that chinked as they +languidly moved; these golden fetters rang like precious little bells; and +what with that ringing, and with the rustle of silk and brocade and fine +linen, there was a flutter in the air that fanned Saint Antoine and his de- +vouring hunger far away. + +Dress was the one unfailing talisman and charm used for keeping all +things in their places. Everybody was dressed for a Fancy Ball that was +never to leave off. From the Palace of the Tuileries, through Monseigneur +and the whole Court, through the Chambers, the Tribunals of Justice, +and all society (except the scarecrows), the Fancy Ball descended to the +Common Executioner: who, in pursuance of the charm, was required to +officiate "frizzled, powdered, in a gold-laced coat, pumps, and white silk +stockings." At the gallows and the wheel-the axe was a rarity- Monsieur +Paris, as it was the episcopal mode among his brother Professors of the +provinces, Monsieur Orleans, and the rest, to call him, presided in this +dainty dress. And who among the company at Monseigneur's reception +in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our Lord, could possibly +doubt, that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold- +laced, pumped, and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out! + +Monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken his +chocolate, caused the doors of the Holiest of Holiests to be thrown open, +and issued forth. Then, what submission, what cringing and fawning, +what servility, what abject humiliation! As to bowing down in body and +spirit, nothing in that way was left for Heaven- which may have been + + + +113 + + + +one among other reasons why the worshippers of Monseigneur never +troubled it. + +Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, a whisper on one +happy slave and a wave of the hand on another, Monseigneur affably +passed through his rooms to the remote region of the Circumference of +Truth. There, Monseigneur turned, and came back again, and so in due +course of time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate +sprites, and was seen no more. + +The show being over, the flutter in the air became quite a little storm, +and the precious little bells went ringing down-stairs. There was soon +but one person left of all the crowd, and he, with his hat under his arm +and his snuff-box in his hand, slowly passed among the mirrors on his +way out. + +"I devote you," said this person, stopping at the last door on his way, +and turning in the direction of the sanctuary, "to the Devil!" + +With that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had shaken the +dust from his feet, and quietly walked down-stairs. + +He was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in man- +ner, and with a face like a fine mask. A face of a transparent paleness; +every feature in it clearly defined; one set expression on it. The nose, +beautifully formed otherwise, was very slightly pinched at the top of +each nostril. In those two compressions, or dints, the only little change +that the face ever showed, resided. They persisted in changing colour +sometimes, and they would be occasionally dilated and contracted by +something like a faint pulsation; then, they gave a look of treachery, and +cruelty, to the whole countenance. Examined with attention, its capacity +of helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth, and the +lines of the orbits of the eyes, being much too horizontal and thin; still, in +the effect of the face made, it was a handsome face, and a remarkable +one. + +Its owner went down-stairs into the courtyard, got into his carriage, +and drove away. Not many people had talked with him at the reception; +he had stood in a little space apart, and Monseigneur might have been +warmer in his manner. It appeared, under the circumstances, rather +agreeable to him to see the common people dispersed before his horses, +and often barely escaping from being run down. His man drove as if he +were charging an enemy, and the furious recklessness of the man +brought no check into the face, or to the lips, of the master. The com- +plaint had sometimes made itself audible, even in that deaf city and + + + +114 + + + +dumb age, that, in the narrow streets without footways, the fierce patri- +cian custom of hard driving endangered and maimed the mere vulgar in +a barbarous manner. But, few cared enough for that to think of it a +second time, and, in this matter, as in all others, the common wretches +were left to get out of their difficulties as they could. + +With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of con- +sideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashed +through streets and swept round corners, with women screaming before +it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its way. At +last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of its wheels came to +a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices, +and the horses reared and plunged. + +But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have +stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their +wounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down +in a hurry, and there were twenty hands at the horses' bridles. + +"What has gone wrong?" said Monsieur, calmly looking out. + +A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet +of the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was +down in the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal. + +"Pardon, Monsieur the Marquis!" said a ragged and submissive man, +"it is a child." + +"Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?" + +"Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis- it is a pity- yes." + +The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was, +into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall man suddenly +got up from the ground, and came running at the carriage, Monsieur the +Marquis clapped his hand for an instant on his sword-hilt. + +"Killed!" shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending both arms +at their length above his head, and staring at him. "Dead!" + +The people closed round, and looked at Monsieur the Marquis. There +was nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at him but watchful- +ness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger. Neither did +the people say anything; after the first cry, they had been silent, and they +remained so. The voice of the submissive man who had spoken, was flat +and tame in its extreme submission. Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes +over them all, as if they had been mere rats come out of their holes. + +He took out his purse. + + + +115 + + + +"It is extraordinary to me/' said he, "that you people cannot take care +of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in the +way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses. See! Give +him that." + +He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads +craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell. The tall +man called out again with a most unearthly cry, "Dead!" + +He was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, for whom the +rest made way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon his +shoulder, sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain, where some +women were stooping over the motionless bundle, and moving gently +about it. They were as silent, however, as the men. + +"I know all, I know all," said the last comer. "Be a brave man, my Gas- +pard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so, than to live. It has +died in a moment without pain. Could it have lived an hour as happily?" + +"You are a philosopher, you there," said the Marquis, smiling. "How +do they call you?" + +"They call me Defarge." + +"Of what trade?" + +"Monsieur the Marquis, vendor of wine." + +"Pick up that, philosopher and vendor of wine," said the Marquis, +throwing him another gold coin, "and spend it as you will. The horses +there; are they right?" + +Without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time, Monsieur +the Marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just being driven away with +the air of a gentleman who had accidentally broke some common thing, +and had paid for it, and could afford to pay for it; when his ease was +suddenly disturbed by a coin flying into his carriage, and ringing on its +floor. + +"Hold!" said Monsieur the Marquis. "Hold the horses! Who threw +that?" + +He looked to the spot where Defarge the vendor of wine had stood, a +moment before; but the wretched father was grovelling on his face on the +pavement in that spot, and the figure that stood beside him was the fig- +ure of a dark stout woman, knitting. + +"You dogs!" said the Marquis, but smoothly, and with an unchanged +front, except as to the spots on his nose: "I would ride over any of you + + + +116 + + + +very willingly, and exterminate you from the earth. If I knew which ras- +cal threw at the carriage, and if that brigand were sufficiently near it, he +should be crushed under the wheels." + +So cowed was their condition, and so long and hard their experience +of what such a man could do to them, within the law and beyond it, that +not a voice, or a hand, or even an eye was raised. Among the men, not +one. But the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily, and looked +the Marquis in the face. It was not for his dignity to notice it; his con- +temptuous eyes passed over her, and over all the other rats; and he +leaned back in his seat again, and gave the word "Go on!" + +He was driven on, and other carriages came whirling by in quick suc- +cession; the Minister, the State-Projector, the Farmer-General, the Doctor, +the Lawyer, the Ecclesiastic, the Grand Opera, the Comedy, the whole +Fancy Ball in a bright continuous flow, came whirling by. The rats had +crept out of their holes to look on, and they remained looking on for +hours; soldiers and police often passing between them and the spectacle, +and making a barrier behind which they slunk, and through which they +peeped. The father had long ago taken up his bundle and hidden himself +away with it, when the women who had tended the bundle while it lay +on the base of the fountain, sat there watching the running of the water +and the rolling of the Fancy Ball- when the one woman who had stood +conspicuous, knitting, still knitted on with the steadfastness of Fate. The +water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran into evening, so +much life in the city ran into death according to rule, time and tide +waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together in their dark +holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran their +course. + + + +117 + + + +Chapter + + + +8 + + + +Monseigneur in the Country + +A beautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant. +Patches of poor rye where corn should have been, patches of poor peas +and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On in- +animate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent +tendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly- a dejected +disposition to give up, and wither away. + +Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have +been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged +up a steep hill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was +no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was oc- +casioned by an external circumstance beyond his control- the setting sun. + +The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it +gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. "It will die +out," said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing at his hands, "directly." + +In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When the +heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down +hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the red glow departed +quickly; the sun and the Marquis going down together, there was no +glow left when the drag was taken off. + +But, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at +the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a churchtower, a +windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a +prison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, the +Marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming near home. + +The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tan- +nery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays of post-horses, poor foun- +tain, all usual poor appointments. It had its poor people too. All poor a +its people were poor, and many of them were sitting at their doors, +shredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the + + + +118 + + + +fountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and any such small yieldings of +the earth that could be eaten. Expressive signs of what made them poor, +were not wanting; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax for +the lord, tax local and tax general, were to be paid here and to be paid +there, according to solemn inscription in the little village, until the won- +der was, that there was any village left uns wallowed. + +Few children were to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men and women, +their choice on earth was stated in the prospect- Life on the lowest terms +that could sustain it, down in the little village under the ill; or captivity +and Death in the dominant prison on the crag. + +Heralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of his pos- +tilions' whips, which twined snake-like about their heads in the evening +air, as if he came attended by the Furies, Monsieur the Marquis drew up +in his travelling carriage at the posting-house gate. It was hard by the +fountain, and the peasants suspended their operations to look at him. He +looked at them, and saw in them, without knowing it, the slow sure fil- +ing down of misery-worn face and figure, that was to make the meagre- +ness of Frenchmen an English superstition which should survive the +truth through the best part of a hundred years. + +Monsieur the Marquis cast his eyes over the submissive faces that +drooped before him, as the like of himself had drooped before Monsei- +gneur of the Court- only the difference was, that these faces drooped +merely to suffer and not to propitiate- when a grizzled mender of the +roads joined the group. + +"Bring me hither that fellow!" said the Marquis to the courier. + +The fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fellows closed +round to look and listen, in the manner of the people at the Paris +fountain. + +"I passed you on the road?" + +"Monseigneur, it is true. I had the honour of being passed on the +road." + +"Coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both? + +"Monseigneur, it is true." + +"What did you look at, so fixedly?" + +"Monseigneur, I looked at the man." + +He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed under the +carriage. All his fellows stooped to look under the carriage. + + + +119 + + + +"What man, pig? And why look there?" + +"Pardon, Monseigneur; he swung by the chain of the shoe- the drag." + +"Who?" demanded the traveller. + +"Monseigneur, the man." + +"May the Devil carry away these idiots! How do you call the man? +You know all the men of this part of the country. Who was he?" + +"Your clemency, Monseigneur! He was not of this part of the country. +Of all the days of my life, I never saw him." + +"Swinging by the chain? To be suffocated?" + +"With your gracious permission, that was the wonder of it, Monsei- +gneur. His head hanging over- like this!" + +He turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned back, with his +face thrown up to the sky, and his head hanging down; then recovered +himself, fumbled with his cap, and made a bow. + +"What was he like?" + +"Monseigneur, he was whiter than the miller. All covered with dust, +white as a spectre, tall as a spectre!" + +The picture produced an immense sensation in the little crowd; but all +eyes, without comparing notes with other eyes, looked at Monsieur the +Marquis. Perhaps, to observe whether he had any spectre on his +conscience. + +"Truly, you did well," said the Marquis, felicitously sensible that such +vermin were not to ruffle him, "to see a thief accompanying my carriage, +and not open that great mouth of yours. Bah! Put him aside, Monsieur +Gabelle!" + +Monsieur Gabelle was the Postmaster, and some other taxing function- +ary united; he had come out with great obsequiousness to assist at this +examination, and had held the examined by the drapery of his arm in an +official manner. + +"Bah! Go aside!" said Monsieur Gabelle. + +"Lay hands on this stranger if he seeks to lodge in your village to- +night, and be sure that his business is honest, Gabelle." + +"Monseigneur, I am flattered to devote myself to your orders." + +"Did he run away, fellow?- where is that Accursed?" + +The accursed was already under the carriage with some half-dozen +particular friends, pointing out the chain with his blue cap. Some half- + + + +120 + + + +dozen other particular friends promptly hauled him out, and presented +him breathless to Monsieur the Marquis. + +"Did the man run away, Dolt, when we stopped for the drag?" + +"Monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hill-side, head first, as +a person plunges into the river." + +"See to it, Gabelle. Go on!" + +The half-dozen who were peering at the chain were still among the +wheels, like sheep; the wheels turned so suddenly that they were lucky +to save their skins and bones; they had very little else to save, or they +might not have been so fortunate. + +The burst with which the carriage started out of the village and up the +rise beyond, was soon checked by the steepness of the hill. Gradually, it +subsided to a foot pace, swinging and lumbering upward among the +many sweet scents of a summer night. The postilions, with a thousand +gossamer gnats circling about them in lieu of the Furies, quietly mended +the points to the lashes of their whips; the valet walked by the horses; the +courier was audible, trotting on ahead into the dim distance. + +At the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial-ground, with a +Cross and a new large figure of Our Saviour on it; it was a poor figure in +wood, done by some inexperienced rustic carver, but he had studied the +figure from the life- his own life, maybe- for it was dreadfully spare and +thin. + +To this distressful emblem of a great distress that had long been grow- +ing worse, and was not at its worst, a woman was kneeling. She turned +her head as the carriage came up to her, rose quickly, and presented her- +self at the carriage-door. + +"It is you, Monseigneur! Monseigneur, a petition." + +With an exclamation of impatience, but with his unchangeable face, +Monseigneur looked out. + +"How, then! What is it? Always petitions!" + +"Monseigneur. For the love of the great God! My husband, the +forester." + +"What of your husband, the forester? Always the same with you +people. He cannot pay something?" + +"He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead." + +"Well! He is quiet. Can I restore him to you?" + + + +121 + + + +"Alas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a little heap of poor +grass." + +"Well?" + +"Monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor grass?" + +"Again, well?" + +She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner was one of +passionate grief; by turns she clasped her veinous and knotted hands to- +gether with wild energy, and laid one of them on the carriage-door- ten- +derly, caressingly, as if it had been a human breast, and could be expec- +ted to feel the appealing touch. + +"Monseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my petition! My husband +died of want; so many die of want; so many more will die of want." + +"Again, well? Can I feed them?" + +"Monseigneur, the good God knows; but I don't ask it. My petition is, +that a morsel of stone or wood, with my husband's name, may be placed +over him to show where he lies. Otherwise, the place will be quickly for- +gotten, it will never be found when I am dead of the same malady, I shall +be laid under some other heap of poor grass. Monseigneur, they are so +many, they increase so fast, there is so much want. Monseigneur! +Monseigneur!" + +The valet had put her away from the door, the carriage had broken in- +to a brisk trot, the postilions had quickened the pace, she was left far be- +hind, and Monseigneur, again escorted by the Furies, was rapidly dimin- +ishing the league or two of distance that remained between him and his +chateau. + +The sweet scents of the summer night rose all around him, and rose, as +the rain falls, impartially, on the dusty, ragged, and toil-worn group at +the fountain not far away; to whom the mender of roads, with the aid of +the blue cap without which he was nothing, still enlarged upon his man +like a spectre, as long as they could bear it. By degrees, as they could +bear no more, they dropped off one by one, and lights twinkled in little +casements; which lights, as the casements darkened, and more stars +came out, seemed to have shot up into the sky instead of having been +extinguished. + +The shadow of a large high-roofed house, and of many over-hanging +trees, was upon Monsieur the Marquis by that time; and the shadow was +exchanged for the light of a flambeau, as his carriage stopped, and the +great door of his chateau was opened to him. + + + +122 + + + +'Monsieur Charles, whom I expect; is he arrived from England?' +'Monseigneur, not yet." + + + +123 + + + +Chapter + + + +9 + + + +The Gorgon's Head + +It was a heavy mass of building, that chateau of Monsieur the Mar- +quis, with a large stone courtyard before it, and two stone sweeps of +staircase meeting in a stone terrace before the principal door. A stony +business altogether, with heavy stone balustrades, and stone urns, and +stone flowers, and stone faces of men, and stone heads of lions, in all dir- +ections. As if the Gorgon's head had surveyed it, when it was finished, +two centuries ago. + +Up the broad flight of shallow steps, Monsieur the Marquis, flambeau +preceded, went from his carriage, sufficiently disturbing the darkness to +elicit loud remonstrance from an owl in the roof of the great pile of stable +building away among the trees. All else was so quiet, that the flambeau +carried up the steps, and the other flambeau held at the great door, burnt +as if they were in a close room of state, instead of being in the open +night-air. Other sound than the owl's voice there was none, save the fall- +ing of a fountain into its stone basin; for, it was one of those dark nights +that hold their breath by the hour together, and then heave a long low +sigh, and hold their breath again. + +The great door clanged behind him, and Monsieur the Marquis +crossed a hall grim with certain old boar-spears, swords, and knives of +the chase; grimmer with certain heavy riding-rods and riding-whips, of +which many a peasant, gone to his benefactor Death, had felt the weight +when his lord was angry. + +Avoiding the larger rooms, which were dark and made fast for the +night, Monsieur the Marquis, with his flambeau-bearer going on before, +went up the staircase to a door in a corridor. This thrown open, admitted +him to his own private apartment of three rooms: his bed-chamber and +two others. High vaulted rooms with cool uncarpeted floors, great dogs +upon the hearths for the burning of wood in winter time, and all luxuries +befitting the state of a marquis in a luxurious age and country. The fash- +ion of the last Louis but one, of the line that was never to break- the + + + +124 + + + +fourteenth Louis- was conspicuous in their rich furniture; but, it was di- +versified by many objects that were illustrations of old pages in the his- +tory of France. + +A supper-table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; a round +room, in one of the chateau's four extinguisher- topped towers. A small +lofty room, with its window wide open, and the wooden jalousie-blinds +closed, so that the dark night only showed in slight horizontal lines of +black, alternating with their broad lines of stone colour. + +"My nephew," said the Marquis, glancing at the supper preparation; +"they said he was not arrived." + +Nor was he; but, he had been expected with Monseigneur. + +"Ah! It is not probable he will arrive to-night; nevertheless, leave the +table as it is. I shall be ready in a quarter of an hour." + +In a quarter of an hour Monseigneur was ready, and sat down alone to +his sumptuous and choice supper. His chair was opposite to the win- +dow, and he had taken his soup, and was raising his glass of Bordeaux to +his lips, when he put it down. + +"What is that?" he calmly asked, looking with attention at the hori- +zontal lines of black and stone colour. + +"Monseigneur? That?" + +"Outside the blinds. Open the blinds." + +It was done. + +"Well?" + +"Monseigneur, it is nothing. The trees and the night are all that are +here." + +The servant who spoke, had thrown the blinds wide, had looked out +into the vacant darkness, and stood with that blank behind him, looking +round for instructions. + +"Good," said the imperturbable master. "Close them again." + +That was done too, and the Marquis went on with his supper. He was +half way through it, when he again stopped with his glass in his hand, +hearing the sound of wheels. It came on briskly, and came up to the front +of the chateau. + +"Ask who is arrived." + +It was the nephew of Monseigneur. He had been some few leagues be- +hind Monseigneur, early in the afternoon. He had diminished the + + + +125 + + + +distance rapidly, but not so rapidly as to come up with Monseigneur on +the road. He had heard of Monseigneur, at the posting-houses, as being +before him. + +He was to be told (said Monseigneur) that supper awaited him then +and there, and that he was prayed to come to it. In a little while he came. +He had been known in England as Charles Darnay. + +Monseigneur received him in a courtly manner, but they did not shake +hands. + +"You left Paris yesterday, sir?" he said to Monseigneur, as he took his +seat at table. + +"Yesterday. And you?" + +"I come direct." + +"From London?" + +"Yes." + +"You have been a long time coming," said the Marquis, with a smile. + +"On the contrary; I come direct." + +"Pardon me! I mean, not a long time on the journey; a long time in- +tending the journey." + +"I have been detained by"- the nephew stopped a moment in his an- +swer- "various business." + +"Without doubt," said the polished uncle. + +So long as a servant was present, no other words passed between +them. When coffee had been served and they were alone together, the +nephew, looking at the uncle and meeting the eyes of the face that was +like a fine mask, opened a conversation. + +"I have come back, sir, as you anticipate, pursuing the object that took +me away. It carried me into great and unexpected peril; but it is a sacred +object, and if it had carried me to death I hope it would have sustained +me. + +"Not to death," said the uncle; "it is not necessary to say, to death." + +"I doubt, sir," returned the nephew, "whether, if it had carried me to +the utmost brink of death, you would have cared to stop me there." + +The deepened marks in the nose, and the lengthening of the fine +straight lines in the cruel face, looked ominous as to that; the uncle made +a graceful gesture of protest, which was so clearly a slight form of good +breeding that it was not reassuring. + + + +126 + + + +"Indeed, sir/' pursued the nephew, "for anything I know, you may +have expressly worked to give a more suspicious appearance to the sus- +picious circumstances that surrounded me." + +"No, no, no," said the uncle, pleasantly. + +"But, however that may be," resumed the nephew, glancing at him +with deep distrust, "I know that your diplomacy would stop me by any +means, and would know no scruple as to means." + +"My friend, I told you so," said the uncle, with a fine pulsation in the +two marks. "Do me the favour to recall that I told you so, long ago." + +"I recall it." + +"Thank you," said the Marquis- very sweetly indeed. + +His tone lingered in the air, almost like the tone of a musical +instrument. + +"In effect, sir," pursued the nephew, "I believe it to be at once your +bad fortune, and my good fortune, that has kept me out of a prison in +France here." + +"I do not quite understand," returned the uncle, sipping his coffee. +"Dare I ask you to explain?" + +"I believe that if you were not in disgrace with the Court, and had not +been overshadowed by that cloud for years past, a letter de cachet would +have sent me to some fortress indefinitely." + +"It is possible," said the uncle, with great calmness. "For the honour of +the family, I could even resolve to incommode you to that extent. Pray +excuse me!" + +"I perceive that, happily for me, the Reception of the day before yester- +day was, as usual, a cold one," observed the nephew. + +"I would not say happily, my friend," returned the uncle, with refined +politeness; "I would not be sure of that. A good opportunity for consid- +eration, surrounded by the advantages of solitude, might influence your +destiny to far greater advantage than you influence it for yourself. But it +is useless to discuss the question. I am, as you say, at a disadvantage. +These little instruments of correction, these gentle aids to the power and +honour of families, these slight favours that might so incommode you, +are only to be obtained now by interest and importunity. They are +sought by so many, and they are granted (comparatively) to so few! It +used not to be so, but France in all such things is changed for the worse. +Our not remote ancestors held the right of life and death over the + + + +127 + + + +surrounding vulgar. From this room, many such dogs have been taken +out to be hanged; in the next room (my bedroom), one fellow, to our +knowledge, was poniarded on the spot for professing some insolent del- +icacy respecting his daughter- his daughter? We have lost many priv- +ileges; a new philosophy has become the mode; and the assertion of our +station, in these days, might (I do not go so far as to say would, but +might) cause us real inconvenience. All very bad, very bad!" + +The Marquis took a gentle little pinch of snuff, and shook his head; as +elegantly despondent as he could becomingly be of a country still con- +taining himself, that great means of regeneration. + +"We have so asserted our station, both in the old time and in the mod- +ern time also," said the nephew, gloomily, "that I believe our name to be +more detested than any name in France." + +"Let us hope so," said the uncle. "Detestation of the high is the invol- +untary homage of the low." + +"There is not," pursued the nephew, in his former tone, "a face I can +look at, in all this country round about us, which looks at me with any +deference on it but the dark deference of fear and slavery." + +"A compliment," said the Marquis, "to the grandeur of the family, +merited by the manner in which the family has sustained its grandeur. +Hah!" And he took another gentle little pinch of snuff, and lightly +crossed his legs. + +But, when his nephew, leaning an elbow on the table, covered his eyes +thoughtfully and dejectedly with his hand, the fine mask looked at him +sideways with a stronger concentration of keenness, closeness, and dis- +like, than was comportable with its wearer's assumption of indifference. + +"Repression is the only lasting philosophy. The dark deference of fear +and slavery, my friend," observed the Marquis, "will keep the dogs +obedient to the whip, as long as this roof," looking up to it, "shuts out +the sky." + +That might not be so long as the Marquis supposed. If a picture of the +chateau as it was to be a very few years hence, and of fifty like it as they +too were to be a very few years hence, could have been shown to him +that night, he might have been at a loss to claim his own from the +ghastly, fire-charred, plunder-wrecked ruins. As for the roof he vaunted, +he might have found that shutting out the sky in a new way- to wit, for +ever, from the eyes of the bodies into which its lead was fired, out of the +barrels of a hundred thousand muskets. + + + +128 + + + +"Meanwhile," said the Marquis, "I will preserve the honour and re- +pose of the family, if you will not. But you must be fatigued. Shall we +terminate our conference for the night?" + +"A moment more." + +"An hour, if you please." + +"Sir," said the nephew, "we have done wrong, and are reaping the +fruits of wrong." + +"We have done wrong?" repeated the Marquis, with an inquiring +smile, and delicately pointing, first to his nephew, then to himself. + +"Our family; our honourable family, whose honour is of so much ac- +count to both of us, in such different ways. Even in my father's time, we +did a world of wrong, injuring every human creature who came between +us and our pleasure, whatever it was. Why need I speak of my father's +time, when it is equally yours? Can I separate my father's twin-brother, +joint inheritor, and next successor, from himself?" + +"Death has done that!" said the Marquis. + +"And has left me," answered the nephew, "bound to a system that is +frightful to me, responsible for it, but powerless in it; seeking to execute +the last request of my dear mother's lips, and obey the last look of my +dear mother's eyes, which implored me to have mercy and to redress; +and tortured by seeking assistance and power in vain." + +"Seeking them from me, my nephew," said the Marquis, touching him +on the breast with his forefinger- they were now standing by the hearth- +"you will for ever seek them in vain, be assured." + +Every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face, was cruelly, +craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood looking quietly at his +nephew, with his snuff-box in his hand. Once again he touched him on +the breast, as though his finger were the fine point of a small sword, with +which, in delicate finesse, he ran him through the body, and said, + +"My friend, I will die, perpetuating the system under which I have +lived." + +When he had said it, he took a culminating pinch of snuff, and put his +box in his pocket. + +"Better to be a rational creature," he added then, after ringing a small +bell on the table, "and accept your natural destiny. But you are lost, +Monsieur Charles, I see." + + + +129 + + + +"This property and France are lost to me," said the nephew, sadly; "I +renounce them." + +"Are they both yours to renounce? France may be, but is the property? +It is scarcely worth mentioning; but, is it yet?" + +"I had no intention, in the words I used, to claim it yet. If it passed to +me from you, to-morrow - " + +"Which I have the vanity to hope is not probable." + +"-or twenty years hence - " + +"You do me too much honour," said the Marquis; "still, I prefer that +supposition." + +"-I would abandon it, and live otherwise and elsewhere. It is little to +relinquish. What is it but a wilderness of misery and ruin!" + +"Hah!" said the Marquis, glancing round the luxurious room. + +"To the eye it is fair enough, here; but seen in its integrity, under the +sky, and by the daylight, it is a crumbling tower of waste, mismanage- +ment, extortion, debt, mortgage, oppression, hunger, nakedness, and +suffering." + +"Hah!" said the Marquis again, in a well-satisfied manner. + +"If it ever becomes mine, it shall be put into some hands better quali- +fied to free it slowly (if such a thing is possible) from the weight that +drags it down, so that the miserable people who cannot leave it and who +have been long wrung to the last point of endurance, may, in another +generation, suffer less; but it is not for me. There is a curse on it, and on +all this land." + +"And you?" said the uncle. "Forgive my curiosity; do you, under your +new philosophy, graciously intend to live?" + +"I must do, to live, what others of my countrymen, even with nobility +at their backs, may have to do some day- work." + +"In England, for example?" + +"Yes. The family honour, sir, is safe from me in this country. The fam- +ily name can suffer from me in no other, for I bear it in no other." + +The ringing of the bell had caused the adjoining bed-chamber to be +lighted. It now shone brightly, through the door of communication. The +Marquis looked that way, and listened for the retreating step of his valet. + + + +130 + + + +"England is very attractive to you, seeing how indifferently you have +prospered there," he observed then, turning his calm face to his nephew +with a smile. + +"I have already said, that for my prospering there, I am sensible I may +be indebted to you, sir. For the rest, it is my Refuge." + +"They say, those boastful English, that it is the Refuge of many. You +know a compatriot who has found a Refuge there? A Doctor?" + +"Yes." + +"With a daughter?" + +"Yes." + +"Yes," said the Marquis. "You are fatigued. Good night!" + +As he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was a secrecy in +his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery to those words, +which struck the eyes and ears of his nephew forcibly. At the same time, +the thin straight lines of the setting of the eyes, and the thin straight lips, +and the markings in the nose, curved with a sarcasm that looked hand- +somely diabolic. + +"Yes," repeated the Marquis. "A Doctor with a daughter. Yes. So com- +mences the new philosophy! You are fatigued. Good night!" + +It would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stone face out- +side the chateau as to interrogate that face of his. The nephew looked at +him, in vain, in passing on to the door. + +"Good night!" said the uncle. "I look to the pleasure of seeing you +again in the morning. Good repose! Light Monsieur my nephew to his +chamber there!- And burn Monsieur my nephew in his bed, if you will," +he added to himself, before he rang his little bell again, and summoned +his valet to his own bedroom. + +The valet come and gone, Monsieur the Marquis walked to and fro in +his loose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep, that hot still +night. Rustling about the room, his softly-slippered feet making no noise +on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger:- looked like some enchanted +marquis of the impenitently wicked sort, in story, whose periodical +change into tiger form was either just going off, or just coming on. + +He moved from end to end of his voluptuous bedroom, looking again +at the scraps of the day's journey that came unbidden into his mind; the +slow toil up the hill at sunset, the setting sun, the descent, the mill, the +prison on the crag, the little village in the hollow, the peasants at the + + + +131 + + + +fountain, and the mender of roads with his blue cap pointing out the +chain under the carriage. That fountain suggested the Paris fountain, the +little bundle lying on the step, the women bending over it, and the tall +man with his arms up, crying, "Dead!" + +"I am cool now," said Monsieur the Marquis, "and may go to bed." + +So, leaving only one light burning on the large hearth, he let his thin +gauze curtains fall around him, and heard the night break its silence with +a long sigh as he composed himself to sleep. + +The stone faces on the outer walls stared blindly at the black night for +three heavy hours; for three heavy hours, the horses in the stables rattled +at their racks, the dogs barked, and the owl made a noise with very little +resemblance in it to the noise conventionally assigned to the owl by men- +poets. But it is the obstinate custom of such creatures hardly ever to say +what is set down for them. + +For three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chateau, lion and human, +stared blindly at the night. Dead darkness lay on all the landscape, dead +darkness added its own hush to the hushing dust on all the roads. The +burial-place had got to the pass that its little heaps of poor grass were +undistinguishable from one another; the figure on the Cross might have +come down, for anything that could be seen of it. In the village, taxers +and taxed were fast asleep. Dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the +starved usually do, and of ease and rest, as the driven slave and the +yoked ox may, its lean inhabitants slept soundly, and were fed and freed. + +The fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the foun- +tain at the chateau dropped unseen and unheard- both melting away, +like the minutes that were falling from the spring of Time- through three +dark hours. Then, the grey water of both began to be ghostly in the light, +and the eyes of the stone faces of the chateau were opened. + +Lighter and lighter, until at last the sun touched the tops of the still +trees, and poured its radiance over the hill. In the glow, the water of the +chateau fountain seemed to turn to blood, and the stone faces crimsoned. +The carol of the birds was loud and high, and, on the weather-beaten sill +of the great window of the bed-chamber of Monsieur the Marquis, one +little bird sang its sweetest song with all its might. At this, the nearest +stone face seemed to stare amazed, and, with open mouth and dropped +under-jaw, looked awe-stricken. + +Now, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village. Case- +ment windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and people came +forth shivering- chilled, as yet, by the new sweet air. Then began the + + + +132 + + + +rarely lightened toil of the day among the village population. Some, to +the fountain; some, to the fields; men and women here, to dig and delve; +men and women there, to see to the poor live stock, and lead the bony +cows out, to such pasture as could be found by the roadside. In the +church and at the Cross, a kneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter +prayers, the led cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot. + +The chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke gradually +and surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives of the chase had been +reddened as of old; then, had gleamed trenchant in the morning sun- +shine; now, doors and windows were thrown open, horses in their +stables looked round over their shoulders at the light and freshness +pouring in at doorways, leaves sparkled and rustled at iron-grated win- +dows, dogs pulled hard at their chains, and reared impatient to be +loosed. + +All these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life, and the return +of morning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great bell of the chateau, nor +the running up and down the stairs; nor the hurried figures on the ter- +race; nor the booting and tramping here and there and everywhere, nor +the quick saddling of horses and riding away? + +What winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender of roads, +already at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with his day's dinner +(not much to carry) lying in a bundle that it was worth no crow's while +to peck at, on a heap of stones? Had the birds, carrying some grains of it +to a distance, dropped one over him as they sow chance seeds? Whether +or no, the mender of roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, +down the hill, knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the +fountain. + +All the people of the village were at the fountain, standing about in +their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing no other emo- +tions than grim curiosity and surprise. The led cows, hastily brought in +and tethered to anything that would hold them, were looking stupidly +on, or lying down chewing the cud of nothing particularly repaying their +trouble, which they had picked up in their interrupted saunter. Some of +the people of the chateau, and some of those of the posting-house, and +all the taxing authorities, were armed more or less, and were crowded on +the other side of the little street in a purposeless way, that was highly +fraught with nothing. Already, the mender of roads had penetrated into +the midst of a group of fifty particular friends, and was smiting himself +in the breast with his blue cap. What did all this portend, and what + + + +133 + + + +portended the swift hoisting-up of Monsieur Gabelle behind a servant on +horseback, and the conveying away of the said Gabelle (double-laden +though the horse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the German bal- +lad of Leonora? + +It portended that there was one stone face too many, up at the chateau. + +The Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, and had ad- +ded the one stone face wanting; the stone face for which it had waited +through about two hundred years. + +It lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. It was like a fine +mask, suddenly startled, made angry, and petrified. Driven home into +the heart of the stone figure attached to it, was a knife. Round its hilt was +a frill of paper, on which was scrawled: + +"Drive him fast to his tomb. This, from JACQUES." + + + +134 + + + +Chapter + + + +10 + + + +Two Promises + +More months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and Mr. +Charles Darnay was established in England as a higher teacher of the +French language who was conversant with French literature. In this age, +he would have been a Professor; in that age, he was a Tutor. He read +with young men who could find any leisure and interest for the study of +a living tongue spoken all over the world, and he cultivated a taste for its +stores of knowledge and fancy. He could write of them, besides, in +sound English, and render them into sound English. Such masters were +not at that time easily found; Princes that had been, and Kings that were +to be, were not yet of the Teacher class, and no ruined nobility had +dropped out of Tellson's ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. As a tu- +tor, whose attainments made the student's way unusually pleasant and +profitable, and as an elegant translator who brought something to his +work besides mere dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon be- +came known and encouraged. He was well acquainted, moreover, with +the circumstances of his country, and those were of ever-growing in- +terest. So, with great perseverance and untiring industry, he prospered. + +In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements of gold, nor +to lie on beds of roses; if he had had any such exalted expectation, he +would not have prospered. He had expected labour, and he found it, and +did it and made the best of it. In this, his prosperity consisted. + +A certain portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, where he read +with undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a contra- +band trade in European languages, instead of conveying Greek and Latin +through the Custom-house. The rest of his time he passed in London. + +Now, from the days when it was always summer in Eden, to these +days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a man has +invariably gone one way- Charles Darnay's way- the way of the love of a +woman. + + + +135 + + + +He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of his danger. He had nev- +er heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound of her compassionate +voice; he had never seen a face so tenderly beautiful, as hers when it was +confronted with his own on the edge of the grave that had been dug for +him. But, he had not yet spoken to her on the subject; the assassination at +the deserted chateau far away beyond the heaving water and the long, +long, dusty roads- the solid stone chateau which had itself become the +mere mist of a dream- had been done a year, and he had never yet, by so +much as a single spoken word, disclosed to her the state of his heart. + +That he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. It was again a sum- +mer day when, lately arrived in London from his college occupation, he +turned into the quiet corner in Soho, bent on seeking an opportunity of +opening his mind to Doctor Manette. It was the close of the summer day, +and he knew Lucie to be out with Miss Pross. + +He found the Doctor reading in his arm-chair at a window. The energy +which had at once supported him under his old sufferings and aggrav- +ated their sharpness, had been gradually restored to him. He was now a +very energetic man indeed, with great firmness of purpose, strength of +resolution, and vigour of action. In his recovered energy he was some- +times a little fitful and sudden, as he had at first been in the exercise of +his other recovered faculties; but, this had never been frequently observ- +able, and had grown more and more rare. + +He studied much, slept little, sustained a great deal of fatigue with +ease, and was equably cheerful. To him, now entered Charles Darnay, at +sight of whom he laid aside his book and held out his hand. + +"Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We have been counting on your +return these three or four days past. Mr. Stryver and Sydney Carton +were both here yesterday, and both made you out to be more than due." + +"I am obliged to them for their interest in the matter," he answered, a +little coldly as to them, though very warmly as to the Doctor. "Miss +Manette - " + +"Is well," said the Doctor, as he stopped short, "and your return will +delight us all. She has gone out on some household matters, but will +soon be home." + +"Doctor Manette, I knew she was from home. I took the opportunity of +her being from home, to beg to speak to you." + +There was a blank silence. + + + +136 + + + +"Yes?" said the Doctor, with evident constraint. "Bring your chair +here, and speak on." + +He complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the speaking on less +easy. + +"I have had the happiness, Doctor Manette, of being so intimate here," +so he at length began, "for some year and a half, that I hope the topic on +which I am about to touch may not - " + +He was stayed by the Doctor's putting out his hand to stop him. When +he had kept it so a little while, he said, drawing it back: + +"Is Lucie the topic?" + +"She is." + +"It is hard for me to speak of her at any time. It is very hard for me to +hear her spoken of in that tone of yours, Charles Darnay." + +"It is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love, Doctor +Manette!" he said deferentially. + +There was another blank silence before her father rejoined: + +"I believe it. I do you justice; I believe it." + +His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that it ori- +ginated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that Charles Darnay +hesitated. + +"Shall I go on, sir?" + +Another blank. + +"Yes, go on." + +"You anticipate what I would say, though you cannot know how earn- +estly I say it, how earnestly I feel it, without knowing my secret heart, +and the hopes and fears and anxieties with which it has long been laden. +Dear Doctor Manette, I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disinter- +estedly, devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her. You +have loved yourself; let your old love speak for me!" + +The Doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes bent on the +ground. At the last words, he stretched out his hand again, hurriedly, +and cried: + +"Not that, sir! Let that be! I adjure you, do not recall that!" + +His cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in Charles Darnay's +ears long after he had ceased. He motioned with the hand he had + + + +137 + + + +extended, and it seemed to be an appeal to Darnay to pause. The latter so +received it, and remained silent. + +"I ask your pardon," said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, after some +moments. "I do not doubt your loving Lucie; you may be satisfied of it." + +He turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him, or raise +his eyes. His chin dropped upon his hand, and his white hair overshad- +owed his face: + +"Have you spoken to Lucie?" + +"No." + +"Nor written?" + +"Never." + +"It would be ungenerous to affect not to know that your self-denial is +to be referred to your consideration for her father. Her father thanks +you." + +He offered his hand; but his eyes did not go with it. + +"I know," said Darnay, respectfully, "how can I fail to know, Doctor +Manette, I who have seen you together from day to day, that between +you and Miss Manette there is an affection so unusual, so touching, so +belonging to the circumstances in which it has been nurtured, that it can +have few parallels, even in the tenderness between a father and child. I +know, Doctor Manette- how can I fail to know- that, mingled with the af- +fection and duty of a daughter who has become a woman, there is, in her +heart, towards you, all the love and reliance of infancy itself. I know that, +as in her childhood she had no parent, so she is now devoted to you with +all the constancy and fervour of her present years and character, united +to the trustfulness and attachment of the early days in which you were +lost to her. I know perfectly well that if you had been restored to her +from the world beyond this life, you could hardly be invested, in her +sight, with a more sacred character than that in which you are always +with her. I know that when she is clinging to you, the hands of baby, girl, +and woman, all in one, are round your neck. I know that in loving you +she sees and loves her mother at her own age, sees and loves you at my +age, loves her mother broken-hearted, loves you through your dreadful +trial and in your blessed restoration. I have known this, night and day, +since I have known you in your home." + +Her father sat silent, with his face bent down. His breathing was a little +quickened; but he repressed all other signs of agitation. + + + +138 + + + +"Dear Doctor Manette, always knowing this, always seeing her and +you with this hallowed light about you, I have forborne, and forborne, as +long as it was in the nature of man to do it. I have felt, and do even now +feel, that to bring my love- even mine- between you, is to touch your his- +tory with something not quite so good as itself. But I love her. Heaven is +my witness that I love her!" + +"I believe it," answered her father, mournfully. "I have thought so be- +fore now. I believe it." + +"But, do not believe," said Darnay, upon whose ear the mournful +voice struck with a reproachful sound, "that if my fortune were so cast as +that, being one day so happy as to make her my wife, I must at any time +put any separation between her and you, I could or would breathe a +word of what I now say. Besides that I should know it to be hopeless, I +should know it to be a baseness. If I had any such possibility, even at a +remote distance of years, harboured in my thoughts, and hidden in my +heart- if it ever had been there- if it ever could be there- I could not now +touch this honoured hand." + +He laid his own upon it as he spoke. + +"No, dear Doctor Manette. Like you, a voluntary exile from France; +like you, driven from it by its distractions, oppressions, and miseries; like +you, striving to live away from it by my own exertions, and trusting in a +happier future; I look only to sharing your fortunes, sharing your Life +and home, and being faithful to you to the death. Not to divide with +Lucie her privilege as your child, companion, and friend; but to come in +aid of it, and bind her closer to you, if such a thing can be." + +His touch still lingered on her father's hand. Answering the touch for a +moment, but not coldly, her father rested his hands upon the arms of his +chair, and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the confer- +ence. A struggle was evidently in his face; a struggle with that occasional +look which had a tendency in it to dark doubt and dread. + +"You speak so feelingly and so manfully, Charles Darnay, that I thank +you with all my heart, and will open all my heart- or nearly so. Have you +any reason to believe that Lucie loves you?" + +"None. As yet, none." + +"Is it the immediate object of this confidence, that you may at once as- +certain that, with my knowledge?" + +"Not even so. I might not have the hopefulness to do it for weeks; I +might (mistaken or not mistaken) have that hopefulness to-morrow." + + + +139 + + + +"Do you seek any guidance from me?" + +"I ask none, sir. But I have thought it possible that you might have it in +your power, if you should deem it right, to give me some." + +"Do you seek any promise from me?" + +"I do seek that." + +"What is it?" + +"I well understand that, without you, I could have no hope. I well un- +derstand that, even if Miss Manette held me at this moment in her inno- +cent heart- do not think I have the presumption to assume so much- I +could retain no place in it against her love for her father." + +"If that be so, do you see what, on the other hand, is involved in it?" + +"I understand equally well, that a word from her father in any suitor's +favour, would outweigh herself and all the world. For which reason, +Doctor Manette," said Darnay, modestly but firmly, "I would not ask +that word, to save my life." + +"I am sure of it. Charles Darnay, mysteries arise out of close love, as +well as out of wide division; in the former case, they are subtle and delic- +ate, and difficult to penetrate. My daughter Lucie is, in this one respect, +such a mystery to me; I can make no guess at the state of her heart." + +"May I ask, sir, if you think she is - " As he hesitated, her father sup- +plied the rest. + +"Is sought by any other suitor?" + +"It is what I meant to say." + +Her father considered a Little before he answered: + +"You have seen Mr. Carton here, yourself. Mr. Stryver is here too, oc- +casionally. If it be at all, it can only be by one of these." + +"Or both," said Darnay. + +"I had not thought of both; I should not think either, likely. You want +a promise from me. Tell me what it is." + +"It is, that if Miss Manette should bring to you at any time, on her own +part, such a confidence as I have ventured to lay before you, you will +bear testimony to what I have said, and to your belief in it. I hope you +may be able to think so well of me, as to urge no influence against me. I +say nothing more of my stake in this; this is what I ask. The condition on +which I ask it, and which you have an undoubted right to require, I will +observe immediately." + + + +140 + + + +"I give the promise," said the Doctor, "without any condition. I believe +your object to be, purely and truthfully, as you have stated it. I believe +your intention is to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties between me +and my other and far dearer self. If she should ever tell me that you are +essential to her perfect happiness, I will give her to you. If there were- +Charles Darnay, if there were - " + +The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their bands were joined +as the Doctor spoke: + +"-any fancies, any reasons, any apprehensions, anything whatsoever, +new or old, against the man she really loved- the direct responsibility +thereof not lying on his head- they should all be obliterated for her sake. +She is everything to me; more to me than suffering, more to me than +wrong, more to me - Well! This is idle talk." + +So strange was the way in which he faded into silence, and so strange +his fixed look when he had ceased to speak, that Darnay felt his own +hand turn cold in the hand that slowly released and dropped it. + +"You said something to me," said Doctor Manette, breaking into a +smile. "What was it you said to me?" + +He was at a loss how to answer, until he remembered having spoken +of a condition. Relieved as his mind reverted to that, he answered: + +"Your confidence in me ought to be returned with full confidence on +my part. My present name, though but slightly changed from my moth- +er's, is not, as you will remember, my own. I wish to tell you what that +is, and why I am in England." + +"Stop!" said the Doctor of Beauvais. + +"I wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence, and have no +secret from you." + +"Stop!" + +For an instant, the Doctor even had his two hands at his ears; for an- +other instant, even had his two hands laid on Darnay 's lips. + +"Tell me when I ask you, not now. If your suit should prosper, if Lucie +should love you, you shall tell me on your marriage morning. Do you +promise?" + +"Willingly." + +"Give me your hand. She will be home directly, and it is better she +should not see us together to-night. Go! God bless you!" + + + +141 + + + +It was dark when Charles Darnay left him, and it was an hour later +and darker when Lucie came home; she hurried into the room alone- for +Miss Pross had gone straight up-stairs- and was surprised to find his +reading-chair empty. + +"My father!" she called to him. "Father dear!" + +Nothing was said in answer, but she heard a low hammering sound in +his bedroom. Passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in +at his door and came running back frightened, crying to herself, with her +blood all chilled, "What shall I do! What shall I do!" + +Her uncertainty lasted but a moment; she hurried back, and tapped at +his door, and softly called to him. The noise ceased at the sound of her +voice, and he presently came out to her, and they walked up and down +together for a long time. + +She came down from her bed, to look at him in his sleep that night. He +slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking tools, and his old unfinished +work, were all as usual. + + + +142 + + + +Chapter + + + +11 + + + +A Companion Picture + +"Sydney," said Mr. Stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his +jackal; "mix another bowl of punch; I have something to say to you." + +Sydney had been working double tides that night, and the night be- +fore, and the night before that, and a good many nights in succession, +making a grand clearance among Mr. Stryver's papers before the setting +in of the long vacation. The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver ar- +rears were handsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until +November should come with its fogs atmospheric, and fogs legal, and +bring grist to the mill again. + +Sydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for so much applic- +ation. It had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him through the +night; a correspondingly extra quantity of wine had preceded the towel- +ling; and he was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled his +turban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped it at inter- +vals for the last six hours. + +"Are you mixing that other bowl of punch?" said Stryver the portly, +with his hands in his waistband, glancing round from the sofa where he +lay on his back. + +"I am." + +"Now, look here! I am going to tell you something that will rather sur- +prise you, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as shrewd +as you usually do think me. I intend to marry." + +"Do you?" + +"Yes. And not for money. What do you say now?" + +"I don't feel disposed to say much. Who is she?" + +"Guess." + +"Do I know her?" + +"Guess." + + + +143 + + + +"I am not going to guess, at five o'clock in the morning, with my brains +frying and sputtering in my head. If you want me to guess, you must ask +me to dinner." + +"Well then, I'll tell you," said Stryver, coming slowly into a sitting pos- +ture. "Sydney, I rather despair of making myself intelligible to you, be- +cause you are such an insensible dog." + +"And you," returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, "are such a +sensitive and poetical spirit." + +"Come!" rejoined Stryver, laughing boastfully, "though I don't prefer +any claim to being the soul of Romance (for I hope I know better), still I +am a tenderer sort of fellow than you." + +"You are a luckier, if you mean that." + +"I don't mean that. I mean I am a man of more - more - " + +"Say gallantry, while you are about it," suggested Carton. + +"Well! I'll say gallantry. My meaning is that I am a man," said Stryver, +inflating himself at his friend as he made the punch, "who cares more to +be agreeable, who takes more pains to be agreeable, who knows better +how to be agreeable, in a woman's society, than you do." + +"Go on," said Sydney Carton. + +"No; but before I go on," said Stryver, shaking his head in his bullying +way, "I'll have this out with you. You've been at Doctor Manette's house +as much as I have, or more than I have. Why, I have been ashamed of +your moroseness there! Your manners have been of that silent and sullen +and hangdog kind, that, upon my life and soul, I have been ashamed of +you, Sydney!" + +"It should be very beneficial to a man in your practice at the bar, to be +ashamed of anything," returned Sydney; "you ought to be much obliged +to me." + +"You shall not get off in that way," rejoined Stryver, shouldering the +rejoinder at him; "no, Sydney, it's my duty to tell you - and I tell you to +your face to do you good - that you are a devilish ill-conditioned fellow +in that sort of society. You are a disagreeable fellow." + +Sydney drank a bumper of the punch he had made, and laughed. + +"Look at me!" said Stryver, squaring himself; "I have less need to make +myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in circum- +stances. Why do I do it?" + +"I never saw you do it yet," muttered Carton. + + + +144 + + + +"I do it because it's politic; I do it on principle. And look at me! I get +on." + +"You don't get on with your account of your matrimonial intentions," +answered Carton, with a careless air; "I wish you would keep to that. As +to me - will you never understand that I am incorrigible?" + +He asked the question with some appearance of scorn. + +"You have no business to be incorrigible," was his friend's answer, de- +livered in no very soothing tone. + +"I have no business to be, at all, that I know of," said Sydney Carton. +"Who is the lady?" + +"Now, don't let my announcement of the name make you uncomfort- +able, Sydney," said Mr. Stryver, preparing him with ostentatious friendli- +ness for the disclosure he was about to make, "because I know you don't +mean half you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. +I make this little preface, because you once mentioned the young lady to +me in slighting terms." + +"I did?" + +"Certainly; and in these chambers." + +Sydney Carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent +friend; drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend. + +"You made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. The +young lady is Miss Manette. If you had been a fellow of any sensitive- +ness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, Sydney, I might have been +a little resentful of your employing such a designation; but you are not. +You want that sense altogether; therefore I am no more annoyed when I +think of the expression, than I should be annoyed by a man's opinion of a +picture of mine, who had no eye for pictures: or of a piece of music of +mine, who had no ear for music." + +Sydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers, +looking at his friend. + +"Now you know all about it, Syd," said Mr. Stryver. "I don't care about +fortune: she is a charming creature, and I have made up my mind to +please myself: on the whole, I think I can afford to please myself. She +will have in me a man already pretty well off, and a rapidly rising man, +and a man of some distinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but +she is worthy of good fortune. Are you astonished?" + + + +145 + + + +Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, "Why should I be +astonished?" + +"You approve?" + +Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, "Why should I not +approve?" + +"Well!" said his friend Stryver, "you take it more easily than I fancied +you would, and are less mercenary on my behalf than I thought you +would be; though, to be sure, you know well enough by this time that +your ancient chum is a man of a pretty strong will. Yes, Sydney, I have +had enough of this style of life, with no other as a change from it; I feel +that it is a pleasant thing for a man to have a home when he feels in- +clined to go to it (when he doesn't, he can stay away), and I feel that Miss +Manette will tell well in any station, and will always do me credit. So I +have made up my mind. And now, Sydney, old boy, I want to say a +word to you about your prospects. You are in a bad way, you know; you +really are in a bad way. You don't know the value of money, you live +hard, you'll knock up one of these days, and be ill and poor; you really +ought to think about a nurse." + +The prosperous patronage with which he said it, made him look twice +as big as he was, and four times as offensive. + +"Now, let me recommend you," pursued Stryver, "to look it in the face. +I have looked it in the face, in my different way; look it in the face, you, +in your different way. Marry. Provide somebody to take care of you. +Never mind your having no enjoyment of women's society, nor under- +standing of it, nor tact for it. Find out somebody. Find out some respect- +able woman with a little property - somebody in the landlady way, or +lodging-letting way - and marry her, against a rainy day. That's the kind +of thing for you. Now think of it, Sydney." + +"I'll think of it," said Sydney. + + + +146 + + + +Chapter + + + +12 + + + +The Fellow of Delicacy + +Mr. Stryver having made up his mind to that magnanimous bestowal +of good fortune on the Doctor's daughter, resolved to make her happi- +ness known to her before he left town for the Long Vacation. After some +mental debating of the point, he came to the conclusion that it would be +as well to get all the preliminaries done with, and they could then ar- +range at their leisure whether he should give her his hand a week or two +before Michaelmas Term, or in the little Christmas vacation between it +and Hilary. + +As to the strength of his case, he had not a doubt about it, but clearly +saw his way to the verdict. Argued with the jury on substantial worldly +grounds - the only grounds ever worth taking into account - it was a +plain case, and had not a weak spot in it. He called himself for the +plaintiff, there was no getting over his evidence, the counsel for the de- +fendant threw up his brief, and the jury did not even turn to consider. +After trying it, Stryver, C. J., was satisfied that no plainer case could be. + +Accordingly, Mr. Stryver inaugurated the Long Vacation with a formal +proposal to take Miss Manette to Vauxhall Gardens; that failing, to +Ranelagh; that unaccountably failing too, it behoved him to present him- +self in Soho, and there declare his noble mind. + +Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way from the +Temple, while the bloom of the Long Vacation's infancy was still upon it. +Anybody who had seen him projecting himself into Soho while he was +yet on Saint Dunstan's side of Temple Bar, bursting in his full-blown +way along the pavement, to the jostlement of all weaker people, might +have seen how safe and strong he was. + +His way taking him past Tellson's, and he both banking at Tellson's +and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the Manettes, it entered +Mr. Stryver's mind to enter the bank, and reveal to Mr. Lorry the bright- +ness of the Soho horizon. So, he pushed open the door with the weak + + + +147 + + + +rattle in its throat, stumbled down the two steps, got past the two ancient +cashiers, and shouldered himself into the musty back closet where Mr. +Lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars to +his window as if that were ruled for figures too, and everything under +the clouds were a sum. + +"Halloa!" said Mr. Stryver. "How do you do? I hope you are well!" + +It was Stryver's grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big for +any place, or space. He was so much too big for Tellson's, that old clerks +in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he +squeezed them against the wall. The House itself, magnificently reading +the paper quite in the far-off perspective, lowered displeased, as if the +Stryver head had been butted into its responsible waistcoat. + +The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he would re- +commend under the circumstances, "How do you do, Mr. Stryver? How +do you do, sir?" and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in his manner +of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at Tellson's who shook +hands with a customer when the House pervaded the air. He shook in a +self-abnegating way, as one who shook for Tellson and Co. + +"Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?" asked Mr. Lorry, in his busi- +ness character. + +"Why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I +have come for a private word." + +"Oh indeed!" said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye +strayed to the House afar off. + +"I am going," said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the +desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to +be not half desk enough for him: "I am going to make an offer of myself +in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry." + +"Oh dear me!" cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his +visitor dubiously. + +"Oh dear me, sir?" repeated Stryver, drawing back. "Oh dear you, sir? +What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?" + +"My meaning," answered the man of business, "is, of course, friendly +and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and - in short, +my meaning is everything you could desire. But - really, you know, Mr. +Stryver - " Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest +manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, "you +know there really is so much too much of you!" + + + +148 + + + +"Well!" said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand, +opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, "if I understand you, +Mr. Lorry, I'll be hanged!" + +Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards that +end, and bit the feather of a pen. + +"D - n it all, sir!" said Stryver, staring at him, "am I not eligible?" + +"Oh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, you're eligible!" said Mr. Lorry. "If you say +eligible, you are eligible." + +"Am I not prosperous?" asked Stryver. + +"Oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous," said Mr. Lorry. + +"And advancing?" + +"If you come to advancing you know," said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be +able to make another admission, "nobody can doubt that." + +"Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?" demanded Stryver, +perceptibly crestfallen. + +"Well! I - Were you going there now?" asked Mr. Lorry. + +"Straight!" said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk. + +"Then I think I wouldn't, if I was you." + +"Why?" said Stryver. "Now, I'll put you in a corner," forensically +shaking a forefinger at him. "You are a man of business and bound to +have a reason. State your reason. Why wouldn't you go?" + +"Because," said Mr. Lorry, "I wouldn't go on such an object without +having some cause to believe that I should succeed." + +"D - n me!" cried Stryver, "but this beats everything." + +Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry +Stryver. + +"Here's a man of business - a man of years - a man of experience - in +a Bank," said Stryver; "and having summed up three leading reasons for +complete success, he says there's no reason at all! Says it with his head +on!" Mr. Stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would have been +infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off. + +"When I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and +when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak of +causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. The young +lady, my good sir," said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver arm, "the +young lady. The young lady goes before all." + + + +149 + + + +"Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry," said Stryver, squaring his el- +bows, "that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in +question is a mincing Fool?" + +"Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver," said Mr. Lorry, red- +dening, "that I will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady from +any lips; and that if I knew any man - which I hope I do not - whose +taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could +not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at +this desk, not even Tellson's should prevent my giving him a piece of my +mind." + +The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. +Stryver's blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be +angry; Mr. Lorry's veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, +were in no better state now it was his turn. + +"That is what I mean to tell you, sir," said Mr. Lorry. "Pray let there be +no mistake about it." + +Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then stood +hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which probably gave him the +toothache. He broke the awkward silence by saying: + +"This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You deliberately advise me +not to go up to Soho and offer myself - myself, Stryver of the King's +Bench bar?" + +"Do you ask me for my advice, Mr. Stryver?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"Very good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it correctly." + +"And all I can say of it is," laughed Stryver with a vexed laugh, "that +this - ha, ha! - beats everything past, present, and to come." + +"Now understand me," pursued Mr. Lorry. "As a man of business, I +am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man of +business, I know nothing of it. But, as an old fellow, who has carried +Miss Manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and +of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I have +spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. Now, you think I +may not be right?" + +"Not I!" said Stryver, whistling. "I can't undertake to find third parties +in common sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose sense in certain +quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. It's new to +me, but you are right, I dare say." + + + +150 + + + +"What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myself - And +understand me, sir," said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again, "I will +not - not even at Tellson's - have it characterised for me by any gentle- +man breathing." + +"There! I beg your pardon!" said Stryver. + +"Granted. Thank you. Well, Mr. Stryver, I was about to say: - it might +be painful to you to find yourself mistaken, it might be painful to Doctor +Manette to have the task of being explicit with you, it might be very +painful to Miss Manette to have the task of being explicit with you. You +know the terms upon which I have the honour and happiness to stand +with the family. If you please, committing you in no way, representing +you in no way, I will undertake to correct my advice by the exercise of a +little new observation and judgment expressly brought to bear upon it. If +you should then be dissatisfied with it, you can but test its soundness for +yourself; if, on the other hand, you should be satisfied with it, and it +should be what it now is, it may spare all sides what is best spared. What +do you say?" + +"How long would you keep me in town?" + +"Oh! It is only a question of a few hours. I could go to Soho in the +evening, and come to your chambers afterwards." + +"Then I say yes," said Stryver: "I won't go up there now, I am not so +hot upon it as that comes to; I say yes, and I shall expect you to look in +to-night. Good morning." + +Then Mr. Stryver turned and burst out of the Bank, causing such a +concussion of air on his passage through, that to stand up against it bow- +ing behind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength of +the two ancient clerks. Those venerable and feeble persons were always +seen by the public in the act of bowing, and were popularly believed, +when they had bowed a customer out, still to keep on bowing in the +empty office until they bowed another customer in. + +The barrister was keen enough to divine that the banker would not +have gone so far in his expression of opinion on any less solid ground +than moral certainty. Unprepared as he was for the large pill he had to +swallow, he got it down. "And now," said Mr. Stryver, shaking his +forensic forefinger at the Temple in general, when it was down, "my way +out of this, is, to put you all in the wrong." + + + +151 + + + +It was a bit of the art of an Old Bailey tactician, in which he found +great relief. "You shall not put me in the wrong, young lady," said Mr. +Stryver; "I'll do that for you." + +Accordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night as late as ten o'clock, +Mr. Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for the +purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his mind than the subject of the +morning. He even showed surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry, and was al- +together in an absent and preoccupied state. + +"Well!" said that good-natured emissary, after a full half -hour of boot- +less attempts to bring him round to the question. "I have been to Soho." + +"To Soho?" repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. "Oh, to be sure! What am I +thinking of!" + +"And I have no doubt," said Mr. Lorry, "that I was right in the conver- +sation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice." + +"I assure you," returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, "that I am +sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father's account. +I know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let us say no +more about it." + +"I don't understand you," said Mr. Lorry. + +"I dare say not," rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing +and final way; "no matter, no matter." + +"But it does matter," Mr. Lorry urged. + +"No it doesn't; I assure you it doesn't. Having supposed that there was +sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not +a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. +Young women have committed similar follies often before, and have re- +pented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an unselfish as- +pect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it would have been a +bad thing for me in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am glad +that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for +me in a worldly point of view - it is hardly necessary to say I could have +gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not proposed to +the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on re- +flexion, that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. +Lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of +empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always be +disappointed. Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you, I regret it on ac- +count of others, but I am satisfied on my own account. And I am really + + + +152 + + + +very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving +me your advice; you know the young lady better than I do; you were +right, it never would have done." + +Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at Mr. +Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of +showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head. +"Make the best of it, my dear sir," said Stryver; "say no more about it; +thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good night!" + +Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was. Mr. +Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling. + + + +153 + + + +Chapter + + + +13 + + + +The Fellow of No Delicacy + +If Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in the +house of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole year, +and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. When +he cared to talk, he talked well; but, the cloud of caring for nothing, +which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely +pierced by the light within him. + +And yet he did care something for the streets that environed that +house, and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. Many a +night he vaguely and unhappily wandered there, when wine had +brought no transitory gladness to him; many a dreary daybreak revealed +his solitary figure lingering there, and still lingering there when the first +beams of the sun brought into strong relief, removed beauties of archi- +tecture in spires of churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet +time brought some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattain- +able, into his mind. Of late, the neglected bed in the Temple Court had +known him more scantily than ever; and often when he had thrown him- +self upon it no longer than a few minutes, he had got up again, and +haunted that neighbourhood. + +On a day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after notifying to his jackal that +"he had thought better of that marrying matter") had carried his delicacy +into Devonshire, and when the sight and scent of flowers in the City +streets had some waifs of goodness in them for the worst, of health for +the sickliest, and of youth for the oldest, Sydney's feet still trod those +stones. From being irresolute and purposeless, his feet became animated +by an intention, and, in the working out of that intention, they took him +to the Doctor's door. + +He was shown up-stairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She had +never been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little +embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. But, looking up at his + + + +154 + + + +face in the interchange of the first few common-places, she observed a +change in it. + +"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton!" + +"No. But the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive to health. What +is to be expected of, or by, such profligates?" + +"Is it not - forgive me; I have begun the question on my lips - a pity to +live no better life?" + +"God knows it is a shame!" + +"Then why not change it?" + +Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see +that there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he +answered: + +"It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink +lower, and be worse." + +He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. +The table trembled in the silence that followed. + +She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew +her to be so, without looking at her, and said: + +"Pray forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the knowledge +of what I want to say to you. Will you hear me?" + +"If it will do you any good, Mr. Carton, if it would make you happier, +it would make me very glad!" + +"God bless you for your sweet compassion!" + +He unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily. + +"Don't be afraid to hear me. Don't shrink from anything I say. I am +like one who died young. All my life might have been." + +"No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be; I am +sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself." + +"Say of you, Miss Manette, and although I know better - although in +the mystery of my own wretched heart I know better - I shall never for- +get it!" + +She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed despair +of himself which made the interview unlike any other that could have +been holden. + +"If it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned +the love of the man you see before yourself - flung away, wasted, + + + +155 + + + +drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be - he would +have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he +would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight +you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. I know very well that you +can have no tenderness for me; I ask for none; I am even thankful that it +cannot be." + +"Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton? Can I not recall you - for- +give me again! - to a better course? Can I in no way repay your confid- +ence? I know this is a confidence," she modestly said, after a little hesita- +tion, and in earnest tears, "I know you would say this to no one else. Can +I turn it to no good account for yourself, Mr. Carton?" + +He shook his head. + +"To none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through a +very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to know +that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have +not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of +this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I +thought had died out of me. Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a +remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard +whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were si- +lent for ever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning +anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned +fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper +where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it." + +"Will nothing of it remain? O Mr. Carton, think again! Try again!" + +"No, Miss Manette; all through it, I have known myself to be quite un- +deserving. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, +to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap +of ashes that I am, into fire - a fire, however, inseparable in its nature +from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly +burning away." + +"Since it is my misfortune, Mr. Carton, to have made you more un- +happy than you were before you knew me - " + +"Don't say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if +anything could. You will not be the cause of my becoming worse." + +"Since the state of your mind that you describe, is, at all events, attrib- +utable to some influence of mine - this is what I mean, if I can make it + + + +156 + + + +plain - can I use no influence to serve you? Have I no power for good, +with you, at all?" + +"The utmost good that I am capable of now, Miss Manette, I have +come here to realise. Let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life, +the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the world; and +that there was something left in me at this time which you could deplore +and pity." + +"Which I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, +with all my heart, was capable of better things, Mr. Carton!" + +"Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved myself, +and I know better. I distress you; I draw fast to an end. Will you let me +believe, when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was re- +posed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone, and +will be shared by no one?" + +"If that will be a consolation to you, yes." + +"Not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you?" + +"Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, "the secret is +yours, not mine; and I promise to respect it." + +"Thank you. And again, God bless you." + +He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door. + +"Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming this +conversation by so much as a passing word. I will never refer to it again. +If I were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour of +my death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance - and shall +thank and bless you for it - that my last avowal of myself was made to +you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in +your heart. May it otherwise be light and happy!" + +He was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so +sad to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every +day kept down and perverted, that Lucie Manette wept mournfully for +him as he stood looking back at her. + +"Be comforted!" he said, "I am not worth such feeling, Miss Manette. +An hour or two hence, and the low companions and low habits that I +scorn but yield to, will render me less worth such tears as those, than any +wretch who creeps along the streets. Be comforted! But, within myself, I +shall always be, towards you, what I am now, though outwardly I shall +be what you have heretofore seen me. The last supplication but one I +make to you, is, that you will believe this of me." + + + +157 + + + +"I will, Mr. Carton." + +"My last supplication of all, is this; and with it, I will relieve you of a +visitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between +whom and you there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I +know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I +would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was +any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacri- +fice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind, at +some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time will +come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed +about you - ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the +home you so adorn - the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden +you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face +looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up +anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would +give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!" + +He said, "Farewell!" said a last "God bless you!" and left her. + + + +158 + + + +Chapter + + + +14 + + + +The Honest Tradesman + +To the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool in Fleet- +street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of ob- +jects in movement were every day presented. Who could sit upon any- +thing in Fleet-street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed +and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tending westward +with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever +tending to the plains beyond the range of red and purple where the sun +goes down! + +With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two +streams, like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on +duty watching one stream - saving that Jerry had no expectation of their +ever running dry. Nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful +kind, since a small part of his income was derived from the pilotage of +timid women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle term of life) +from Tellson's side of the tides to the opposite shore. Brief as such com- +panionship was in every separate instance, Mr. Cruncher never failed to +become so interested in the lady as to express a strong desire to have the +honour of drinking her very good health. And it was from the gifts be- +stowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that +he recruited his finances, as just now observed. + +Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused +in the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a public place, but +not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him. + +It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were +few, and belated women few, and when his affairs in general were so un- +prosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that Mrs. +Cruncher must have been "flopping" in some pointed manner, when an +unusual concourse pouring down Fleet-street westward, attracted his at- +tention. Looking that way, Mr. Cruncher made out that some kind of + + + +159 + + + +funeral was coming along, and that there was popular objection to this +funeral, which engendered uproar. + +"Young Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring, "it's a +bury in?." + +"Hooroar, father!" cried Young Jerry. + +The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious sig- +nificance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched his op- +portunity, and smote the young gentleman on the ear. + +"What d'ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want to +conwey to your own father, you young Rip? This boy is a getting too +many for me!" said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. "Him and his hoo- +roars! Don't let me hear no more of you, or you shall feel some more of +me. D'ye hear?" + +"I warn't doing no harm," Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek. + +"Drop it then," said Mr. Cruncher; "I won't have none of your no +harms. Get a top of that there seat, and look at the crowd." + +His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and +hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in which +mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trap- +pings that were considered essential to the dignity of the position. The +position appeared by no means to please him, however, with an increas- +ing rabble surrounding the coach, deriding him, making grimaces at +him, and incessantly groaning and calling out: "Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! +Spies!" with many compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat. + +Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr. Cruncher; he +always pricked up his senses, and became excited, when a funeral +passed Tellson's. Naturally, therefore, a funeral with this uncommon at- +tendance excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran +against him: + +"What is it, brother? What's it about?" + +"I don't know," said the man. "Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!" + +He asked another man. "Who is it?" + +"I don't know," returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth +nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising heat and with the greatest +ardour, "Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst! Spi - ies!" + + + +160 + + + +At length, a person better informed on the merits of the case, tumbled +against him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was the fu- +neral of one Roger Cly. + +"Was He a spy?" asked Mr. Cruncher. + +"Old Bailey spy," returned his informant. "Yaha! Tst! Yah! Old Bailey +Spi - i - ies!" + +"Why, to be sure!" exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at which he had +assisted. "I've seen him. Dead, is he?" + +"Dead as mutton," returned the other, "and can't be too dead. Have +'em out, there! Spies! Pull 'em out, there! Spies!" + +The idea was so acceptable in the prevalent absence of any idea, that +the crowd caught it up with eagerness, and loudly repeating the sugges- +tion to have 'em out, and to pull 'em out, mobbed the two vehicles so +closely that they came to a stop. On the crowd's opening the coach doors, +the one mourner scuffled out of himself and was in their hands for a mo- +ment; but he was so alert, and made such good use of his time, that in +another moment he was scouring away up a bye-street, after shedding +his cloak, hat, long hatband, white pocket-handkerchief, and other sym- +bolical tears. + +These, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide with great +enjoyment, while the tradesmen hurriedly shut up their shops; for a +crowd in those times stopped at nothing, and was a monster much +dreaded. They had already got the length of opening the hearse to take +the coffin out, when some brighter genius proposed instead, its being es- +corted to its destination amidst general rejoicing. Practical suggestions +being much needed, this suggestion, too, was received with acclamation, +and the coach was immediately filled with eight inside and a dozen out, +while as many people got on the roof of the hearse as could by any exer- +cise of ingenuity stick upon it. Among the first of these volunteers was +Jerry Cruncher himself, who modestly concealed his spiky head from the +observation of Tellson's, in the further corner of the mourning coach. + +The officiating undertakers made some protest against these changes +in the ceremonies; but, the river being alarmingly near, and several +voices remarking on the efficacy of cold immersion in bringing refractory +members of the profession to reason, the protest was faint and brief. The +remodelled procession started, with a chimney-sweep driving the +hearse - advised by the regular driver, who was perched beside him, un- +der close inspection, for the purpose - and with a pieman, also attended +by his cabinet minister, driving the mourning coach. A bear-leader, a + + + +161 + + + +popular street character of the time, was impressed as an additional or- +nament, before the cavalcade had gone far down the Strand; and his +bear, who was black and very mangy, gave quite an Undertaking air to +that part of the procession in which he walked. + +Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, and infinite ca- +ricaturing of woe, the disorderly procession went its way, recruiting at +every step, and all the shops shutting up before it. Its destination was the +old church of Saint Pancras, far off in the fields. It got there in course of +time; insisted on pouring into the burial-ground; finally, accomplished +the interment of the deceased Roger Cly in its own way, and highly to its +own satisfaction. + +The dead man disposed of, and the crowd being under the necessity of +providing some other entertainment for itself, another brighter genius +(or perhaps the same) conceived the humour of impeaching casual +passers-by, as Old Bailey spies, and wreaking vengeance on them. Chase +was given to some scores of inoffensive persons who had never been +near the Old Bailey in their lives, in the realisation of this fancy, and they +were roughly hustled and maltreated. The transition to the sport of +window-breaking, and thence to the plundering of public-houses, was +easy and natural. At last, after several hours, when sundry summer- +houses had been pulled down, and some area-railings had been torn up, +to arm the more belligerent spirits, a rumour got about that the Guards +were coming. Before this rumour, the crowd gradually melted away, and +perhaps the Guards came, and perhaps they never came, and this was +the usual progress of a mob. + +Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing sports, but had remained be- +hind in the churchyard, to confer and condole with the undertakers. The +place had a soothing influence on him. He procured a pipe from a +neighbouring public-house, and smoked it, looking in at the railings and +maturely considering the spot. + +"Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, apostrophising himself in his usual way, +"you see that there Cly that day, and you see with your own eyes that he +was a young 'un and a straight made r un." + +Having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a little longer, he turned +himself about, that he might appear, before the hour of closing, on his +station at Tellson's. Whether his meditations on mortality had touched +his liver, or whether his general health had been previously at all amiss, +or whether he desired to show a little attention to an eminent man, is not + + + +162 + + + +so much to the purpose, as that he made a short call upon his medical +adviser - a distinguished surgeon - on his way back. + +Young Jerry relieved his father with dutiful interest, and reported No +job in his absence. The bank closed, the ancient clerks came out, the usual +watch was set, and Mr. Cruncher and his son went home to tea. + +"Now, I tell you where it is!" said Mr. Cruncher to his wife, on enter- +ing. "If, as a honest tradesman, my wenturs goes wrong to-night, I shall +make sure that you've been praying again me, and I shall work you for it +just the same as if I seen you do it." + +The dejected Mrs. Cruncher shook her head. + +"Why, you're at it afore my face!" said Mr. Cruncher, with signs of +angry apprehension. + +"I am saying nothing." + +"Well, then; don't meditate nothing. You might as well flop as medit- +ate. You may as well go again me one way as another. Drop it +altogether." + +"Yes, Jerry." + +"Yes, Jerry," repeated Mr. Cruncher sitting down to tea. "Ah! It is yes, +Jerry. That's about it. You may say yes, Jerry." + +Mr. Cruncher had no particular meaning in these sulky corrobora- +tions, but made use of them, as people not unfrequently do, to express +general ironical dissatisfaction. + +"You and your yes, Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, taking a bite out of his +bread-and-butter, and seeming to help it down with a large invisible +oyster out of his saucer. "Ah! I think so. I believe you." + +"You are going out to-night?" asked his decent wife, when he took an- +other bite. + +"Yes, I am." + +"May I go with you, father?" asked his son, briskly. + +"No, you mayn't. I'm a going - as your mother knows - a fishing. +That's where I'm going to. Going a fishing." + +"Your fishing-rod gets rayther rusty; don't it, father?" + +"Never you mind." + +"Shall you bring any fish home, father?" + + + +163 + + + +"If I don't, you'll have short commons, to-morrow," returned that gen- +tleman, shaking his head; "that's questions enough for you; I ain't a go- +ing out, till you've been long abed." + +He devoted himself during the remainder of the evening to keeping a +most vigilant watch on Mrs. Cruncher, and sullenly holding her in con- +versation that she might be prevented from meditating any petitions to +his disadvantage. With this view, he urged his son to hold her in conver- +sation also, and led the unfortunate woman a hard life by dwelling on +any causes of complaint he could bring against her, rather than he would +leave her for a moment to her own reflexions. The devoutest person +could have rendered no greater homage to the efficacy of an honest pray- +er than he did in this distrust of his wife. It was as if a professed unbe- +liever in ghosts should be frightened by a ghost story. + +"And mind you!" said Mr. Cruncher. "No games to-morrow! If I, as a +honest tradesman, succeed in providing a jinte of meat or two, none of +your not touching of it, and sticking to bread. If I, as a honest tradesman, +am able to provide a little beer, none of your declaring on water. When +you go to Rome, do as Rome does. Rome will be a ugly customer to you, +if you don't. I'm your Rome, you know." + +Then he began grumbling again: + +"With your flying into the face of your own wittles and drink! I don't +know how scarce you mayn't make the wittles and drink here, by your +flopping tricks and your unfeeling conduct. Look at your boy: he is +your'n, ain't he? He's as thin as a lath. Do you call yourself a mother, and +not know that a mother's first duty is to blow her boy out?" + +This touched Young Jerry on a tender place; who adjured his mother +to perform her first duty, and, whatever else she did or neglected, above +all things to lay especial stress on the discharge of that maternal function +so affectingly and delicately indicated by his other parent. + +Thus the evening wore away with the Cruncher family, until Young +Jerry was ordered to bed, and his mother, laid under similar injunctions, +obeyed them. Mr. Cruncher beguiled the earlier watches of the night +with solitary pipes, and did not start upon his excursion until nearly one +o'clock. Towards that small and ghostly hour, he rose up from his chair, +took a key out of his pocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought +forth a sack, a crowbar of convenient size, a rope and chain, and other +fishing tackle of that nature. Disposing these articles about him in skilful +manner, he bestowed a parting defiance on Mrs. Cruncher, extinguished +the light, and went out. + + + +164 + + + +Young Jerry, who had only made a feint of undressing when he went +to bed, was not long after his father. Under cover of the darkness he fol- +lowed out of the room, followed down the stairs, followed down the +court, followed out into the streets. He was in no uneasiness concerning +his getting into the house again, for it was full of lodgers, and the door +stood ajar all night. + +Impelled by a laudable ambition to study the art and mystery of his +father's honest calling, Young Jerry, keeping as close to house fronts, +walls, and doorways, as his eyes were close to one another, held his hon- +oured parent in view. The honoured parent steering Northward, had not +gone far, when he was joined by another disciple of Izaak Walton, and +the two trudged on together. + +Within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyond the wink- +ing lamps, and the more than winking watchmen, and were out upon a +lonely road. Another fisherman was picked up here - and that so si- +lently, that if Young Jerry had been superstitious, he might have sup- +posed the second follower of the gentle craft to have, all of a sudden, +split himself into two. + +The three went on, and Young Jerry went on, until the three stopped +under a bank overhanging the road. Upon the top of the bank was a low +brick wall, surmounted by an iron railing. In the shadow of bank and +wall the three turned out of the road, and up a blind lane, of which the +wall - there, risen to some eight or ten feet high - formed one side. +Crouching down in a corner, peeping up the lane, the next object that +Young Jerry saw, was the form of his honoured parent, pretty well +defined against a watery and clouded moon, nimbly scaling an iron gate. +He was soon over, and then the second fisherman got over, and then the +third. They all dropped softly on the ground within the gate, and lay +there a little - listening perhaps. Then, they moved away on their hands +and knees. + +It was now Young Jerry's turn to approach the gate: which he did, +holding his breath. Crouching down again in a corner there, and looking +in, he made out the three fishermen creeping through some rank grass! +and all the gravestones in the churchyard - it was a large churchyard +that they were in - looking on like ghosts in white, while the church +tower itself looked on like the ghost of a monstrous giant. They did not +creep far, before they stopped and stood upright. And then they began to +fish. + + + +165 + + + +They fished with a spade, at first. Presently the honoured parent ap- +peared to be adjusting some instrument like a great corkscrew. Whatever +tools they worked with, they worked hard, until the awful striking of the +church clock so terrified Young Jerry, that he made off, with his hair as +stiff as his father's. + +But, his long-cherished desire to know more about these matters, not +only stopped him in his running away, but lured him back again. They +were still fishing perseveringly, when he peeped in at the gate for the +second time; but, now they seemed to have got a bite. There was a screw- +ing and complaining sound down below, and their bent figures were +strained, as if by a weight. By slow degrees the weight broke away the +earth upon it, and came to the surface. Young Jerry very well knew what +it would be; but, when he saw it, and saw his honoured parent about to +wrench it open, he was so frightened, being new to the sight, that he +made off again, and never stopped until he had run a mile or more. + +He would not have stopped then, for anything less necessary than +breath, it being a spectral sort of race that he ran, and one highly desir- +able to get to the end of. He had a strong idea that the coffin he had seen +was running after him; and, pictured as hopping on behind him, bolt up- +right, upon its narrow end, always on the point of overtaking him and +hopping on at his side - perhaps taking his arm - it was a pursuer to +shun. It was an inconsistent and ubiquitous fiend too, for, while it was +making the whole night behind him dreadful, he darted out into the +roadway to avoid dark alleys, fearful of its coming hopping out of them +like a dropsical boy's-Kite without tail and wings. It hid in doorways too, +rubbing its horrible shoulders against doors, and drawing them up to its +ears, as if it were laughing. It got into shadows on the road, and lay cun- +ningly on its back to trip him up. All this time it was incessantly hopping +on behind and gaining on him, so that when the boy got to his own door +he had reason for being half dead. And even then it would not leave him, +but followed him upstairs with a bump on every stair, scrambled into +bed with him, and bumped down, dead and heavy, on his breast when +he fell asleep. + +From his oppressed slumber, Young Jerry in his closet was awakened +after daybreak and before sunrise, by the presence of his father in the +family room. Something had gone wrong with him; at least, so Young +Jerry inferred, from the circumstance of his holding Mrs. Cruncher by +the ears, and knocking the back of her head against the head-board of the +bed. + + + +166 + + + +"I told you I would," said Mr. Cruncher, "and I did." + +"Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!" his wife implored. + +"You oppose yourself to the profit of the business," said Jerry, "and +me and my partners suffer. You was to honour and obey; why the devil +don't you?" + +"I try to be a good wife, Jerry," the poor woman protested, with tears. + +"Is it being a good wife to oppose your husband's business? Is it hon- +ouring your husband to dishonour his business? Is it obeying your hus- +band to disobey him on the wital subject of his business?" + +"You hadn't taken to the dreadful business then, Jerry." + +"It's enough for you," retorted Mr. Cruncher, "to be the wife of a hon- +est tradesman, and not to occupy your female mind with calculations +when he took to his trade or when he didn't. A honouring and obeying +wife would let his trade alone altogether. Call yourself a religious wo- +man? If you're a religious woman, give me a irreligious one! You have +no more nat'ral sense of duty than the bed of this here Thames river has +of a pile, and similarly it must be knocked into you." + +The altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice, and terminated +in the honest tradesman's kicking off his clay-soiled boots, and lying +down at his length on the floor. After taking a timid peep at him lying on +his back, with his rusty hands under his head for a pillow, his son lay +down too, and fell asleep again. + +There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else. Mr. +Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept an iron pot-lid +by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs. Cruncher, in case he +should observe any symptoms of her saying Grace. He was brushed and +washed at the usual hour, and set off with his son to pursue his ostens- +ible calling. + +Young Jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at his father's side +along sunny and crowded Fleet-street, was a very different Young Jerry +from him of the previous night, running home through darkness and +solitude from his grim pursuer. His cunning was fresh with the day, and +his qualms were gone with the night - in which particulars it is not im- +probable that he had compeers in Fleet-street and the City of London, +that fine morning. + +"Father," said Young Jerry, as they walked along: taking care to keep +at arm's length and to have the stool well between them: "what's a +Resurrection-Man? " + + + +167 + + + +Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he answered, +"How should I know?" + +"I thought you knowed everything, father," said the artless boy. + +"Hem! Well," returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, and lifting off +his hat to give his spikes free play, "he's a tradesman." + +"What's his goods, father?" asked the brisk Young Jerry. + +"His goods," said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, "is a +branch of Scientific goods." + +"Persons' bodies, ain't it, father?" asked the lively boy. + +"I believe it is something of that sort," said Mr. Cruncher. + +"Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection-Man when I'm quite +growed up!" + +Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and moral +way. "It depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Be careful to +dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you can help to +nobody, and there's no telling at the present time what you may not +come to be fit for." As Young Jerry, thus encouraged, went on a few +yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, Mr. +Cruncher added to himself: "Jerry, you honest tradesman, there's hopes +wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to you for +his mother!" + + + +168 + + + +Chapter + + + +15 + + + +Knitting + +There had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine-shop of Mon- +sieur Defarge. As early as six o'clock in the morning, sallow faces peep- +ing through its barred windows had descried other faces within, bending +over measures of wine. Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wine at the +best of times, but it would seem to have been an unusually thin wine that +he sold at this time. A sour wine, moreover, or a souring, for its influence +on the mood of those who drank it was to make them gloomy. No viva- +cious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grape of Monsieur +Defarge: but, a smouldering fire that burnt in the dark, lay hidden in the +dregs of it. + +This had been the third morning in succession, on which there had +been early drinking at the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. It had begun +on Monday, and here was Wednesday come. There had been more of +early brooding than drinking; for, many men had listened and +whispered and slunk about there from the time of the opening of the +door, who could not have laid a piece of money on the counter to save +their souls. These were to the full as interested in the place, however, as +if they could have commanded whole barrels of wine; and they glided +from seat to seat, and from corner to corner, swallowing talk in lieu of +drink, with greedy looks. + +Notwithstanding an unusual flow of company, the master of the wine- +shop was not visible. He was not missed; for, nobody who crossed the +threshold looked for him, nobody asked for him, nobody wondered to +see only Madame Defarge in her seat, presiding over the distribution of +wine, with a bowl of battered small coins before her, as much defaced +and beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage of humanity +from whose ragged pockets they had come. + +A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind, were perhaps +observed by the spies who looked in at the wine-shop, as they looked in +at every place, high and low, from the kings palace to the criminal's gaol. + + + +169 + + + +Games at cards languished, players at dominoes musingly built towers +with them, drinkers drew figures on the tables with spilt drops of wine, +Madame Defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleeve with her +toothpick, and saw and heard something inaudible and invisible a long +way off. + +Thus, Saint Antoine in this vinous feature of his, until midday. It was +high noontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets and un- +der his swinging lamps: of whom, one was Monsieur Defarge: the other +a mender of roads in a blue cap. All adust and athirst, the two entered +the wine-shop. Their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breast of +Saint Antoine, fast spreading as they came along, which stirred and +flickered in flames of faces at most doors and windows. Yet, no one had +followed them, and no man spoke when they entered the wine-shop, +though the eyes of every man there were turned upon them. + +"Good day, gentlemen!" said Monsieur Defarge. + +It may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue. It elicited +an answering chorus of "Good day!" + +"It is bad weather, gentlemen," said Defarge, shaking his head. + +Upon which, every man looked at his neighbour, and then all cast +down their eyes and sat silent. Except one man, who got up and went +out. + +"My wife," said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame Defarge: "I have +travelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads, called Jacques. +I met him - by accident - a day and half's journey out of Paris. He is a +good child, this mender of roads, called Jacques. Give him to drink, my +wife!" + +A second man got up and went out. Madame Defarge set wine before +the mender of roads called Jacques, who doffed his blue cap to the com- +pany, and drank. In the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse dark +bread; he ate of this between whiles, and sat munching and drinking +near Madame Defarge's counter. A third man got up and went out. + +Defarge refreshed himself with a draught of wine - but, he took less +than was given to the stranger, as being himself a man to whom it was +no rarity - and stood waiting until the countryman had made his break- +fast. He looked at no one present, and no one now looked at him; not +even Madame Defarge, who had taken up her knitting, and was at work. + +"Have you finished your repast, friend?" he asked, in due season. + +"Yes, thank you." + + + +170 + + + +"Come, then! You shall see the apartment that I told you you could oc- +cupy. It will suit you to a marvel." + +Out of the wine-shop into the street, out of the street into a courtyard, +out of the courtyard up a steep staircase, out of the staircase into a gar- +ret, - formerly the garret where a white-haired man sat on a low bench, +stooping forward and very busy, making shoes. + +No white-haired man was there now; but, the three men were there +who had gone out of the wine-shop singly. And between them and the +white-haired man afar off, was the one small link, that they had once +looked in at him through the chinks in the wall. + +Defarge closed the door carefully, and spoke in a subdued voice: + +"Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three! This is the witness en- +countered by appointment, by me, Jacques Four. He will tell you all. +Speak, Jacques Five!" + +The mender of roads, blue cap in hand, wiped his swarthy forehead +with it, and said, "Where shall I commence, monsieur?" + +"Commence," was Monsieur Defarge's not unreasonable reply, "at the +commencement." + +"I saw him then, messieurs," began the mender of roads, "a year ago +this running summer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging +by the chain. Behold the manner of it. I leaving my work on the road, the +sun going to bed, the carriage of the Marquis slowly ascending the hill, +he hanging by the chain - like this." + +Again the mender of roads went through the whole performance; in +which he ought to have been perfect by that time, seeing that it had been +the infallible resource and indispensable entertainment of his village +during a whole year. + +Jacques One struck in, and asked if he had ever seen the man before? + +"Never," answered the mender of roads, recovering his perpendicular. + +Jacques Three demanded how he afterwards recognised him then? + +"By his tall figure," said the mender of roads, softly, and with his fin- +ger at his nose. "When Monsieur the Marquis demands that evening, +'Say, what is he like?' I make response, Tall as a spectre.'" + +"You should have said, short as a dwarf," returned Jacques Two. + +"But what did I know? The deed was not then accomplished, neither +did he confide in me. Observe! Under those circumstances even, I do not +offer my testimony. Monsieur the Marquis indicates me with his finger, + + + +171 + + + +standing near our little fountain, and says, To me! Bring that rascal!' My +faith, messieurs, I offer nothing." + +"He is right there, Jacques," murmured Defarge, to him who had inter- +rupted. "Go on!" + +"Good!" said the mender of roads, with an air of mystery. "The tall +man is lost, and he is sought - how many months? Nine, ten, eleven?" + +"No matter, the number," said Defarge. "He is well hidden, but at last +he is unluckily found. Go on!" + +"I am again at work upon the hill-side, and the sun is again about to +go to bed. I am collecting my tools to descend to my cottage down in the +village below, where it is already dark, when I raise my eyes, and see +coming over the hill six soldiers. In the midst of them is a tall man with +his arms bound - tied to his sides - like this!" + +With the aid of his indispensable cap, he represented a man with his +elbows bound fast at his hips, with cords that were knotted behind him. + +"I stand aside, messieurs, by my heap of stones, to see the soldiers and +their prisoner pass (for it is a solitary road, that, where any spectacle is +well worth looking at), and at first, as they approach, I see no more than +that they are six soldiers with a tall man bound, and that they are almost +black to my sight - except on the side of the sun going to bed, where they +have a red edge, messieurs. Also, I see that their long shadows are on the +hollow ridge on the opposite side of the road, and are on the hill above +it, and are like the shadows of giants. Also, I see that they are covered +with dust, and that the dust moves with them as they come, tramp, +tramp! But when they advance quite near to me, I recognise the tall man, +and he recognises me. Ah, but he would be well content to precipitate +himself over the hill-side once again, as on the evening when he and I +first encountered, close to the same spot!" + +He described it as if he were there, and it was evident that he saw it +vividly; perhaps he had not seen much in his life. + +"I do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he does not +show the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know it, with +our eyes. 'Come on!' says the chief of that company, pointing to the vil- +lage, 'bring him fast to his tomb!' and they bring him faster. I follow. His +arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, his wooden shoes are +large and clumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame, and consequently +slow, they drive him with their guns - like this!" + + + +172 + + + +He imitated the action of a man's being impelled forward by the butt- +ends of muskets. + +"As they descend the hill like madmen running a race, he falls. They +laugh and pick him up again. His face is bleeding and covered with dust, +but he cannot touch it; thereupon they laugh again. They bring him into +the village; all the village runs to look; they take him past the mill, and +up to the prison; all the village sees the prison gate open in the darkness +of the night, and swallow him - like this!" + +He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and shut it with a sounding +snap of his teeth. Observant of his unwillingness to mar the effect by +opening it again, Defarge said, "Go on, Jacques." + +"All the village," pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a low +voice, "withdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all the village +sleeps; all the village dreams of that unhappy one, within the locks and +bars of the prison on the crag, and never to come out of it, except to per- +ish. In the morning, with my tools upon my shoulder, eating my morsel +of black bread as I go, I make a circuit by the prison, on my way to my +work. There I see him, high up, behind the bars of a lofty iron cage, +bloody and dusty as last night, looking through. He has no hand free, to +wave to me; I dare not call to him; he regards me like a dead man." + +Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The looks of all +of them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened to the +countryman's story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret, was +authoritative too. They had the air of a rough tribunal; Jacques One and +Two sitting on the old pallet-bed, each with his chin resting on his hand, +and his eyes intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three, equally intent, on +one knee behind them, with his agitated hand always gliding over the +network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose; Defarge standing +between them and the narrator, whom he had stationed in the light of +the window, by turns looking from him to them, and from them to him. + +"Go on, Jacques," said Defarge. + +"He remains up there in his iron cage some days. The village looks at +him by stealth, for it is afraid. But it always looks up, from a distance, at +the prison on the crag; and in the evening, when the work of the day is +achieved and it assembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces are turned +towards the prison. Formerly, they were turned towards the posting- +house; now, they are turned towards the prison. They whisper at the +fountain, that although condemned to death he will not be executed; +they say that petitions have been presented in Paris, showing that he was + + + +173 + + + +enraged and made mad by the death of his child; they say that a petition +has been presented to the King himself. What do I know? It is possible. +Perhaps yes, perhaps no." + +"Listen then, Jacques," Number One of that name sternly interposed. +"Know that a petition was presented to the King and Queen. All here, +yourself excepted, saw the King take it, in his carriage in the street, sit- +ting beside the Queen. It is Defarge whom you see here, who, at the haz- +ard of his life, darted out before the horses, with the petition in his +hand." + +"And once again listen, Jacques!" said the kneeling Number Three: his +fingers ever wandering over and over those fine nerves, with a strikingly +greedy air, as if he hungered for something - that was neither food nor +drink; "the guard, horse and foot, surrounded the petitioner, and struck +him blows. You hear?" + +"I hear, messieurs." + +"Go on then," said Defarge. + +"Again; on the other hand, they whisper at the fountain," resumed the +countryman, "that he is brought down into our country to be executed +on the spot, and that he will very certainly be executed. They even whis- +per that because he has slain Monseigneur, and because Monseigneur +was the father of his tenants - serfs - what you will - he will be executed +as a parricide. One old man says at the fountain, that his right hand, +armed with the knife, will be burnt off before his face; that, into wounds +which will be made in his arms, his breast, and his legs, there will be +poured boiling oil, melted lead, hot resin, wax, and sulphur; finally, that +he will be torn limb from limb by four strong horses. That old man says, +all this was actually done to a prisoner who made an attempt on the life +of the late King, Louis Fifteen. But how do I know if he lies? I am not a +scholar." + +"Listen once again then, Jacques!" said the man with the restless hand +and the craving air. "The name of that prisoner was Damiens, and it was +all done in open day, in the open streets of this city of Paris; and nothing +was more noticed in the vast concourse that saw it done, than the crowd +of ladies of quality and fashion, who were full of eager attention to the +last - to the last, Jacques, prolonged until nightfall, when he had lost two +legs and an arm, and still breathed! And it was done - why, how old are +you?" + +"Thirty-five," said the mender of roads, who looked sixty. + + + +174 + + + +"It was done when you were more than ten years old; you might have +seen it." + +"Enough!" said Defarge, with grim impatience. "Long live the Devil! +Goon." + +"Well! Some whisper this, some whisper that; they speak of nothing +else; even the fountain appears to fall to that tune. At length, on Sunday +night when all the village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down from +the prison, and their guns ring on the stones of the little street. Workmen +dig, workmen hammer, soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, by the +fountain, there is raised a gallows forty feet high, poisoning the water." + +The mender of roads looked through rather than at the low ceiling, +and pointed as if he saw the gallows somewhere in the sky. + +"All work is stopped, all assemble there, nobody leads the cows out, +the cows are there with the rest. At midday, the roll of drums. Soldiers +have marched into the prison in the night, and he is in the midst of many +soldiers. He is bound as before, and in his mouth there is a gag - tied so, +with a tight string, making him look almost as if he laughed." He sugges- +ted it, by creasing his face with his two thumbs, from the corners of his +mouth to his ears. "On the top of the gallows is fixed the knife, blade up- +wards, with its point in the air. He is hanged there forty feet high - and +is left hanging, poisoning the water." + +They looked at one another, as he used his blue cap to wipe his face, +on which the perspiration had started afresh while he recalled the +spectacle. + +"It is frightful, messieurs. How can the women and the children draw +water! Who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow! Under it, have +I said? When I left the village, Monday evening as the sun was going to +bed, and looked back from the hill, the shadow struck across the church, +across the mill, across the prison - seemed to strike across the earth, +messieurs, to where the sky rests upon it!" + +The hungry man gnawed one of his fingers as he looked at the other +three, and his finger quivered with the craving that was on him. + +"That's all, messieurs. I left at sunset (as I had been warned to do), and +I walked on, that night and half next day, until I met (as I was warned I +should) this comrade. With him, I came on, now riding and now walk- +ing, through the rest of yesterday and through last night. And here you +see me!" + + + +175 + + + +After a gloomy silence, the first Jacques said, "Good! You have acted +and recounted faithfully. Will you wait for us a little, outside the door?" + +"Very willingly," said the mender of roads. Whom Defarge escorted to +the top of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned. + +The three had risen, and their heads were together when he came back +to the garret. + +"How say you, Jacques?" demanded Number One. "To be registered?" + +"To be registered, as doomed to destruction," returned Defarge. + +"Magnificent!" croaked the man with the craving. + +"The chateau, and all the race?" inquired the first. + +"The chateau and all the race," returned Defarge. "Extermination." + +The hungry man repeated, in a rapturous croak, "Magnificent!" and +began gnawing another finger. + +"Are you sure," asked Jacques Two, of Defarge, "that no embarrass- +ment can arise from our manner of keeping the register? Without doubt +it is safe, for no one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall we al- +ways be able to decipher it - or, I ought to say, will she?" + +"Jacques," returned Defarge, drawing himself up, "if madame my wife +undertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not lose a +word of it - not a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches and her own +symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. Confide in Madame +Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives, to erase +himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name or crimes +from the knitted register of Madame Defarge." + +There was a murmur of confidence and approval, and then the man +who hungered, asked: "Is this rustic to be sent back soon? I hope so. He +is very simple; is he not a little dangerous?" + +"He knows nothing," said Defarge; "at least nothing more than would +easily elevate himself to a gallows of the same height. I charge myself +with him; let him remain with me; I will take care of him, and set him on +his road. He wishes to see the fine world - the King, the Queen, and +Court; let him see them on Sunday." + +"What?" exclaimed the hungry man, staring. "Is it a good sign, that he +wishes to see Royalty and Nobility?" + +"Jacques," said Defarge; "judiciously show a cat milk, if you wish her +to thirst for it. Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wish him +to bring it down one day." + + + +176 + + + +Nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being found already +dozing on the topmost stair, was advised to lay himself down on the +pallet-bed and take some rest. He needed no persuasion, and was soon +asleep. + +Worse quarters than Defarge's wine-shop, could easily have been +found in Paris for a provincial slave of that degree. Saving for a mysteri- +ous dread of madame by which he was constantly haunted, his life was +very new and agreeable. But, madame sat all day at her counter, so ex- +pressly unconscious of him, and so particularly determined not to per- +ceive that his being there had any connexion with anything below the +surface, that he shook in his wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on +her. For, he contended with himself that it was impossible to foresee +what that lady might pretend next; and he felt assured that if she should +take it into her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seen +him do a murder and afterwards flay the victim, she would infallibly go +through with it until the play was played out. + +Therefore, when Sunday came, the mender of roads was not en- +chanted (though he said he was) to find that madame was to accompany +monsieur and himself to Versailles. It was additionally disconcerting to +have madame knitting all the way there, in a public conveyance; it was +additionally disconcerting yet, to have madame in the crowd in the after- +noon, still with her knitting in her hands as the crowd waited to see the +carriage of the King and Queen. + +"You work hard, madame," said a man near her. + +"Yes," answered Madame Defarge; "I have a good deal to do." + +"What do you make, madame?" + +"Many things." + +"For instance - " + +"For instance," returned Madame Defarge, composedly, "shrouds." + +The man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, and the +mender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightily +close and oppressive. If he needed a King and Queen to restore him, he +was fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the large-faced +King and the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, attended by +the shining Bull's Eye of their Court, a glittering multitude of laughing +ladies and fine lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendour +and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful faces of both +sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so much to his temporary + + + +177 + + + +intoxication, that he cried Long live the King, Long live the Queen, Long +live everybody and everything! as if he had never heard of ubiquitous +Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens, courtyards, terraces, foun- +tains, green banks, more King and Queen, more Bull's Eye,more lords +and ladies, more Long live they all! until he absolutely wept with senti- +ment. During the whole of this scene, which lasted some three hours, he +had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental company, and +throughout Defarge held him by the collar, as if to restrain him from fly- +ing at the objects of his brief devotion and tearing them to pieces. + +"Bravo!" said Defarge, clapping him on the back when it was over, like +a patron; "you are a good boy!" + +The mender of roads was now coming to himself, and was mistrustful +of having made a mistake in his late demonstrations; but no. + +"You are the fellow we want," said Defarge, in his ear; "you make +these fools believe that it will last for ever. Then, they are the more in- +solent, and it is the nearer ended." + +"Hey!" cried the mender of roads, reflectively; "that's true." + +"These fools know nothing. While they despise your breath, and +would stop it for ever and ever, in you or in a hundred like you rather +than in one of their own horses or dogs, they only know what your +breath tells them. Let it deceive them, then, a little longer; it cannot de- +ceive them too much." + +Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded in +confirmation. + +"As to you," said she, "you would shout and shed tears for anything, +if it made a show and a noise. Say! Would you not?" + +"Truly, madame, I think so. For the moment." + +"If you were shown a great heap of dolls, and were set upon them to +pluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you +would pick out the richest and gayest. Say! Would you not?" + +"Truly yes, madame." + +"Yes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable to fly, and were +set upon them to strip them of their feathers for your own advantage, +you would set upon the birds of the finest feathers; would you not?" + +"It is true, madame." + + + +178 + + + +"You have seen both dolls and birds to-day," said Madame Defarge, +with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been ap- +parent; "now, go home!" + + + +179 + + + +Chapter + + + +16 + + + +Still Knitting + +Madame Defarge and monsieur her husband returned amicably to the +bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the +darkness, and through the dust, and down the weary miles of avenue by +the wayside, slowly tending towards that point of the compass where +the chateau of Monsieur the Marquis, now in his grave, listened to the +whispering trees. Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listen- +ing to the trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrows who, +in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of dead stick to burn, +strayed within sight of the great stone courtyard and terrace staircase, +had it borne in upon their starved fancy that the expression of the faces +was altered. A rumour just lived in the village - had a faint and bare ex- +istence there, as its people had - that when the knife struck home, the +faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of anger and pain; also, that +when that dangling figure was hauled up forty feet above the fountain, +they changed again, and bore a cruel look of being avenged, which they +would henceforth bear for ever. In the stone face over the great window +of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were +pointed out in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, and +which nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions when two or +three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take a hurried peep at +Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinny finger would not have pointed +to it for a minute, before they all started away among the moss and +leaves, like the more fortunate hares who could find a living there. + +Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the +stone floor, and the pure water in the village well - thousands of acres of +land - a whole province of France - all France itself - lay under the night +sky, concentrated into a faint hair-breadth line. So does a whole world, +with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as +mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner +of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble + + + +180 + + + +shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and vir- +tue, of every responsible creature on it. + +The Defarges, husband and wife, came lumbering under the starlight, +in their public vehicle, to that gate of Paris whereunto their journey nat- +urally tended. There was the usual stoppage at the barrier guardhouse, +and the usual lanterns came glancing forth for the usual examination and +inquiry. Monsieur Defarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldiery +there, and one of the police. The latter he was intimate with, and affec- +tionately embraced. + +When Saint Antoine had again enfolded the Defarges in his dusky +wings, and they, having finally alighted near the Saint's boundaries, +were picking their way on foot through the black mud and offal of his +streets, Madame Defarge spoke to her husband: + +"Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tell thee?" + +"Very little to-night, but all he knows. There is another spy commis- +sioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for all that he can say, +but he knows of one." + +"Eh well!" said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool +business air. "It is necessary to register him. How do they call that man?" + +"He is English." + +"So much the better. His name?" + +"Barsad," said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he +had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect +correctness. + +"Barsad," repeated madame. "Good. Christian name?" + +"John." + +"John Barsad," repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself. +"Good. His appearance; is it known?" + +"Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair; com- +plexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin, +long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclin- +ation towards the left cheek; expression, therefore, sinister." + +"Eh my faith. It is a portrait!" said madame, laughing. "He shall be +registered to-morrow." + +They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it was mid- +night), and where Madame Defarge immediately took her post at her +desk, counted the small moneys that had been taken during her absence, + + + +181 + + + +examined the stock, went through the entries in the book, made other +entries of her own, checked the serving man in every possible way, and +finally dismissed him to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the +bowl of money for the second time, and began knotting them up in her +handkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keeping through the +night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and +down, complacently admiring, but never interfering; in which condition, +indeed, as to the business and his domestic affairs, he walked up and +down through life. + +The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded by so foul +a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur Defarge's olfactory sense +was by no means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger +than it ever tasted, and so did the stock of rum and brandy and aniseed. +He whiffed the compound of scents away, as he put down his smoked- +out pipe. + +"You are fatigued," said madame, raising her glance as she knotted the +money. "There are only the usual odours." + +"I am a little tired," her husband acknowledged. + +"You are a little depressed, too," said madame, whose quick eyes had +never been so intent on the accounts, but they had had a ray or two for +him. "Oh, the men, the men!" + +"But my dear!" began Defarge. + +"But my dear!" repeated madame, nodding firmly; "but my dear! You +are faint of heart to-night, my dear!" + +"Well, then," said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung out of his +breast, "it is a long time." + +"It is a long time," repeated his wife; "and when is it not a long time? +Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule." + +"It does not take a long time to strike a man with Lightning," said +Defarge. + +"How long," demanded madame, composedly, "does it take to make +and store the lightning? Tell me." + +Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there were something in +that too. + +"It does not take a long time," said madame, "for an earthquake to +swallow a town. Eh well! Tell me how long it takes to prepare the +earthquake?" + + + +182 + + + +"A long time, I suppose," said Defarge. + +"But when it is ready, it takes place, and grinds to pieces everything +before it. In the meantime, it is always preparing, though it is not seen or +heard. That is your consolation. Keep it." + +She tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe. + +"I tell thee," said madame, extending her right hand, for emphasis, +"that although it is a long time on the road, it is on the road and coming. +I tell thee it never retreats, and never stops. I tell thee it is always advan- +cing. Look around and consider the lives of all the world that we know, +consider the faces of all the world that we know, consider the rage and +discontent to which the Jacquerie addresses itself with more and more of +certainty every hour. Can such things last? Bah! I mock you." + +"My brave wife," returned Defarge, standing before her with his head +a little bent, and his hands clasped at his back, like a docile and attentive +pupil before his catechist, "I do not question all this. But it has lasted a +long time, and it is possible - you know well, my wife, it is pos- +sible - that it may not come, during our lives." + +"Eh well! How then?" demanded madame, tying another knot, as if +there were another enemy strangled. + +"Well!" said Defarge, with a half complaining and half apologetic +shrug. "We shall not see the triumph." + +"We shall have helped it," returned madame, with her extended hand +in strong action. "Nothing that we do, is done in vain. I believe, with all +my soul, that we shall see the triumph. But even if not, even if I knew +certainly not, show me the neck of an aristocrat and tyrant, and still I +would - " + +Then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible knot indeed. + +"Hold!" cried Defarge, reddening a little as if he felt charged with +cowardice; "I too, my dear, will stop at nothing." + +"Yes! But it is your weakness that you sometimes need to see your vic- +tim and your opportunity, to sustain you. Sustain yourself without that. +When the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil; but wait for the time +with the tiger and the devil chained - not shown - yet always ready." + +Madame enforced the conclusion of this piece of advice by striking her +little counter with her chain of money as if she knocked its brains out, +and then gathering the heavy handkerchief under her arm in a serene +manner, and observing that it was time to go to bed. + + + +183 + + + +Next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual place in the +wine-shop, knitting away assiduously. A rose lay beside her, and if she +now and then glanced at the flower, it was with no infraction of her usu- +al preoccupied air. There were a few customers, drinking or not drink- +ing, standing or seated, sprinkled about. The day was very hot, and +heaps of flies, who were extending their inquisitive and adventurous +perquisitions into all the glutinous little glasses near madame, fell dead +at the bottom. Their decease made no impression on the other flies out +promenading, who looked at them in the coolest manner (as if they +themselves were elephants, or something as far removed), until they met +the same fate. Curious to consider how heedless flies are! - perhaps they +thought as much at Court that sunny summer day. + +A figure entering at the door threw a shadow on Madame Defarge +which she felt to be a new one. She laid down her knitting, and began to +pin her rose in her head-dress, before she looked at the figure. + +It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose, the +customers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop out of the wine- +shop. + +"Good day, madame," said the new-comer. + +"Good day, monsieur." + +She said it aloud, but added to herself, as she resumed her knitting: +"Hah! Good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black hair, +generally rather handsome visage, complexion dark, eyes dark, thin, +long and sallow face, aquiline nose but not straight, having a peculiar in- +clination towards the left cheek which imparts a sinister expression! +Good day, one and all!" + +"Have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac, and a +mouthful of cool fresh water, madame." + +Madame complied with a polite air. + +"Marvellous cognac this, madame!" + +It was the first time it had ever been so complemented, and Madame +Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better. She said, +however, that the cognac was flattered, and took up her knitting. The +visitor watched her fingers for a few moments, and took the opportunity +of observing the place in general. + +"You knit with great skill, madame." + +"I am accustomed to it." + + + +184 + + + +"A pretty pattern too!" + +"You think so?" said madame, looking at him with a smile. + +"Decidedly. May one ask what it is for?" + +"Pastime," said madame, still looking at him with a smile while her +fingers moved nimbly. + +"Not for use?" + +"That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I do - Well," said ma- +dame, drawing a breath and nodding her head with a stern kind of +coquetry, "I'll use it!" + +It was remarkable; but, the taste of Saint Antoine seemed to be de- +cidedly opposed to a rose on the head-dress of Madame Defarge. Two +men had entered separately, and had been about to order drink, when, +catching sight of that novelty, they faltered, made a pretence of looking +about as if for some friend who was not there, and went away. Nor, of +those who had been there when this visitor entered, was there one left. +They had all dropped off. The spy had kept his eyes open, but had been +able to detect no sign. They had lounged away in a poverty-stricken, +purposeless, accidental manner, quite natural and unimpeachable. + +"John," thought madame, checking off her work as her fingers knitted, +and her eyes looked at the stranger. "Stay long enough, and I shall knit +'Barsad' before you go." + +"You have a husband, madame?" + +"I have." + +"Children?" + +"No children." + +"Business seems bad?" + +"Business is very bad; the people are so poor." + +"Ah, the unfortunate, miserable people! So oppressed, too - as you +say." + +"As you say," madame retorted, correcting him, and deftly knitting an +extra something into his name that boded him no good. + +"Pardon me; certainly it was I who said so, but you naturally think so. +Of course." + +"I think?" returned madame, in a high voice. "I and my husband have +enough to do to keep this wine-shop open, without thinking. All we +think, here, is how to live. That is the subject we think of, and it gives us, + + + +185 + + + +from morning to night, enough to think about, without embarrassing our +heads concerning others. I think for others? No, no." + +The spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could find or make, +did not allow his baffled state to express itself in his sinister face; but, +stood with an air of gossiping gallantry, leaning his elbow on Madame +Defarge's little counter, and occasionally sipping his cognac. + +"A bad business this, madame, of Gaspard's execution. Ah! the poor +Gaspard!" With a sigh of great compassion. + +"My faith!" returned madame, coolly and lightly, "if people use knives +for such purposes, they have to pay for it. He knew beforehand what the +price of his luxury was; he has paid the price." + +"I believe," said the spy, dropping his soft voice to a tone that invited +confidence, and expressing an injured revolutionary susceptibility in +every muscle of his wicked face: "I believe there is much compassion and +anger in this neighbourhood, touching the poor fellow? Between +ourselves." + +"Is there?" asked madame, vacantly. + +"Is there not?" + +" - Here is my husband!" said Madame Defarge. + +As the keeper of the wine-shop entered at the door, the spy saluted +him by touching his hat, and saying, with an engaging smile, "Good day, +Jacques!" Defarge stopped short, and stared at him. + +"Good day, Jacques!" the spy repeated; with not quite so much confid- +ence, or quite so easy a smile under the stare. + +"You deceive yourself, monsieur," returned the keeper of the wine- +shop. "You mistake me for another. That is not my name. I am Ernest +Defarge." + +"It is all the same," said the spy, airily, but discomfited too: "good +day!" + +"Good day!" answered Defarge, drily. + +"I was saying to madame, with whom I had the pleasure of chatting +when you entered, that they tell me there is - and no wonder! - much +sympathy and anger in Saint Antoine, touching the unhappy fate of poor +Gaspard." + +"No one has told me so," said Defarge, shaking his head. "I know +nothing of it." + + + +186 + + + +Having said it, he passed behind the little counter, and stood with his +hand on the back of his wife's chair, looking over that barrier at the per- +son to whom they were both opposed, and whom either of them would +have shot with the greatest satisfaction. + +The spy, well used to his business, did not change his unconscious atti- +tude, but drained his little glass of cognac, took a sip of fresh water, and +asked for another glass of cognac. Madame Defarge poured it out for +him, took to her knitting again, and hummed a little song over it. + +"You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than I do?" +observed Defarge. + +"Not at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so profoundly interested +in its miserable inhabitants." + +"Hah!" muttered Defarge. + +"The pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur Defarge, recalls to +me," pursued the spy, "that I have the honour of cherishing some inter- +esting associations with your name." + +"Indeed!" said Defarge, with much indifference. + +"Yes, indeed. When Doctor Manette was released, you, his old do- +mestic, had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered to you. You see +I am informed of the circumstances?" + +"Such is the fact, certainly," said Defarge. He had had it conveyed to +him, in an accidental touch of his wife's elbow as she knitted and +warbled, that he would do best to answer, but always with brevity. + +"It was to you," said the spy, "that his daughter came; and it was from +your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a neat brown +monsieur; how is he called? - in a little wig - Lorry - of the bank of Tell- +son and Company - over to England." + +"Such is the fact," repeated Defarge. + +"Very interesting remembrances!" said the spy. "I have known Doctor +Manette and his daughter, in England." + +"Yes?" said Defarge. + +"You don't hear much about them now?" said the spy. + +"No," said Defarge. + +"In effect," madame struck in, looking up from her work and her little +song, "we never hear about them. We received the news of their safe ar- +rival, and perhaps another letter, or perhaps two; but, since then, they + + + +187 + + + +have gradually taken their road in life - we, ours - and we have held no +correspondence . " + +"Perfectly so, madame," replied the spy. "She is going to be married." + +"Going?" echoed madame. "She was pretty enough to have been mar- +ried long ago. You English are cold, it seems to me." + +"Oh! You know I am English." + +"I perceive your tongue is," returned madame; "and what the tongue +is, I suppose the man is." + +He did not take the identification as a compliment; but he made the +best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After sipping his cognac to the +end, he added: + +"Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to an Englishman; +to one who, like herself, is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah, +poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!), it is a curious thing that she is going +to marry the nephew of Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was +exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the present Mar- +quis. But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he is Mr. +Charles Darnay. D'Aulnais is the name of his mother's family." + +Madame Defarge knitted steadily, but the intelligence had a palpable +effect upon her husband. Do what he would, behind the little counter, as +to the striking of a light and the lighting of his pipe, he was troubled, and +his hand was not trustworthy. The spy would have been no spy if he had +failed to see it, or to record it in his mind. + +Having made, at least, this one hit, whatever it might prove to be +worth, and no customers coming in to help him to any other, Mr. Barsad +paid for what he had drunk, and took his leave: taking occasion to say, in +a genteel manner, before he departed, that he looked forward to the +pleasure of seeing Monsieur and Madame Defarge again. For some +minutes after he had emerged into the outer presence of Saint Antoine, +the husband and wife remained exactly as he had left them, lest he +should come back. + +"Can it be true," said Defarge, in a low voice, looking down at his wife +as he stood smoking with his hand on the back of her chair: "what he has +said of Ma'amselle Manette?" + +"As he has said it," returned madame, lifting her eyebrows a little, "it +is probably false. But it may be true." + +"If it is - " Defarge began, and stopped. + + + +188 + + + +"If it is?" repeated his wife. + +" - And if it does come, while we live to see it triumph - I hope, for her +sake, Destiny will keep her husband out of France." + +"Her husband's destiny," said Madame Defarge, with her usual com- +posure, "will take him where he is to go, and will lead him to the end +that is to end him. That is all I know." + +"But it is very strange - now, at least, is it not very strange" - said De- +farge, rather pleading with his wife to induce her to admit it, "that, after +all our sympathy for Monsieur her father, and herself, her husband's +name should be proscribed under your hand at this moment, by the side +of that infernal dog's who has just left us?" + +"Stranger things than that will happen when it does come," answered +madame. "I have them both here, of a certainty; and they are both here +for their merits; that is enough." + +She roiled up her knitting when she had said those words, and +presently took the rose out of the handkerchief that was wound about +her head. Either Saint Antoine had an instinctive sense that the objection- +able decoration was gone, or Saint Antoine was on the watch for its dis- +appearance; howbeit, the Saint took courage to lounge in, very shortly af- +terwards, and the wine-shop recovered its habitual aspect. + +In the evening, at which season of all others Saint Antoine turned him- +self inside out, and sat on door-steps and window-ledges, and came to +the corners of vile streets and courts, for a breath of air, Madame Defarge +with her work in her hand was accustomed to pass from place to place +and from group to group: a Missionary - there were many like +her - such as the world will do well never to breed again. All the women +knitted. They knitted worthless things; but, the mechanical work was a +mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; the hands moved for the +jaws and the digestive apparatus: if the bony fingers had been still, the +stomachs would have been more famine-pinched. + +But, as the fingers went, the eyes went, and the thoughts. And as Ma- +dame Defarge moved on from group to group, all three went quicker +and fiercer among every little knot of women that she had spoken with, +and left behind. + +Her husband smoked at his door, looking after her with admiration. +"A great woman," said he, "a strong woman, a grand woman, a fright- +fully grand woman!" + + + +189 + + + +Darkness closed around, and then came the ringing of church bells +and the distant beating of the military drums in the Palace Courtyard, as +the women sat knitting, knitting. Darkness encompassed them. Another +darkness was closing in as surely, when the church bells, then ringing +pleasantly in many an airy steeple over France, should be melted into +thundering cannon; when the military drums should be beating to +drown a wretched voice, that night all potent as the voice of Power and +Plenty, Freedom and Life. So much was closing in about the women who +sat knitting, knitting, that they their very selves were closing in around a +structure yet unbuilt, where they were to sit knitting, knitting, counting +dropping heads. + + + +190 + + + +Chapter + + + +17 + + + +One Night + +Never did the sun go down with a brighter glory on the quiet corner in +Soho, than one memorable evening when the Doctor and his daughter +sat under the plane-tree together. Never did the moon rise with a milder +radiance over great London, than on that night when it found them still +seated under the tree, and shone upon their faces through its leaves. + +Lucie was to be married to-morrow. She had reserved this last evening +for her father, and they sat alone under the plane-tree. + +"You are happy, my dear father?" + +"Quite, my child." + +They had said little, though they had been there a long time. When it +was yet light enough to work and read, she had neither engaged herself +in her usual work, nor had she read to him. She had employed herself in +both ways, at his side under the tree, many and many a time; but, this +time was not quite like any other, and nothing could make it so. + +"And I am very happy to-night, dear father. I am deeply happy in the +love that Heaven has so blessed - my love for Charles, and Charles's +love for me. But, if my life were not to be still consecrated to you, or if +my marriage were so arranged as that it would part us, even by the +length of a few of these streets, I should be more unhappy and self-re- +proachful now than I can tell you. Even as it is - " + +Even as it was, she could not command her voice. + +In the sad moonlight, she clasped him by the neck, and laid her face +upon his breast. In the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the +sun itself is - as the light called human life is - at its coming and its +going. + +"Dearest dear! Can you tell me, this last time, that you feel quite, quite +sure, no new affections of mine, and no new duties of mine, will ever + + + +191 + + + +interpose between us? I know it well, but do you know it? In your own +heart, do you feel quite certain?" + +Her father answered, with a cheerful firmness of conviction he could +scarcely have assumed, "Quite sure, my darling! More than that," he ad- +ded, as he tenderly kissed her: "my future is far brighter, Lucie, seen +through your marriage, than it could have been - nay, than it ever +was - without it." + +"If I could hope that, my father! - " + +"Believe it, love! Indeed it is so. Consider how natural and how plain it +is, my dear, that it should be so. You, devoted and young, cannot fully +appreciate the anxiety I have felt that your life should not be wasted - " + +She moved her hand towards his lips, but he took it in his, and re- +peated the word. + +" - wasted, my child - should not be wasted, struck aside from the nat- +ural order of things - for my sake. Your unselfishness cannot entirely +comprehend how much my mind has gone on this; but, only ask your- +self, how could my happiness be perfect, while yours was incomplete?" + +"If I had never seen Charles, my father, I should have been quite +happy with you." + +He smiled at her unconscious admission that she would have been un- +happy without Charles, having seen him; and replied: + +"My child, you did see him, and it is Charles. If it had not been +Charles, it would have been another. Or, if it had been no other, I should +have been the cause, and then the dark part of my life would have cast +its shadow beyond myself, and would have fallen on you." + +It was the first time, except at the trial, of her ever hearing him refer to +the period of his suffering. It gave her a strange and new sensation while +his words were in her ears; and she remembered it long afterwards. + +"See!" said the Doctor of Beauvais, raising his hand towards the moon. +"I have looked at her from my prison-window, when I could not bear her +light. I have looked at her when it has been such torture to me to think of +her shining upon what I had lost, that I have beaten my head against my +prison-walls. I have looked at her, in a state so dun and lethargic, that I +have thought of nothing but the number of horizontal lines I could draw +across her at the full, and the number of perpendicular lines with which I +could intersect them." He added in his inward and pondering manner, +as he looked at the moon, "It was twenty either way, I remember, and +the twentieth was difficult to squeeze in." + + + +192 + + + +The strange thrill with which she heard him go back to that time, +deepened as he dwelt upon it; but, there was nothing to shock her in the +manner of his reference. He only seemed to contrast his present cheerful- +ness and felicity with the dire endurance that was over. + +"I have looked at her, speculating thousands of times upon the unborn +child from whom I had been rent. Whether it was alive. Whether it had +been born alive, or the poor mother's shock had killed it. Whether it was +a son who would some day avenge his father. (There was a time in my +imprisonment, when my desire for vengeance was unbearable.) Whether +it was a son who would never know his father's story; who might even +live to weigh the possibility of his father's having disappeared of his +own will and act. Whether it was a daughter who would grow to be a + + + +woman." + + + +She drew closer to him, and kissed his cheek and his hand. + +"I have pictured my daughter, to myself, as perfectly forgetful of me +- rather, altogether ignorant of me, and unconscious of me. I have cast +up the years of her age, year after year. I have seen her married to a man +who knew nothing of my fate. I have altogether perished from the re- +membrance of the living, and in the next generation my place was a +blank." + +"My father! Even to hear that you had such thoughts of a daughter +who never existed, strikes to my heart as if I had been that child." + +"You, Lucie? It is out of the Consolation and restoration you have +brought to me, that these remembrances arise, and pass between us and +the moon on this last night. - What did I say just now?" + +"She knew nothing of you. She cared nothing for you." + +"So! But on other moonlight nights, when the sadness and the silence +have touched me in a different way - have affected me with something +as like a sorrowful sense of peace, as any emotion that had pain for its +foundations could - I have imagined her as coming to me in my cell, and +leading me out into the freedom beyond the fortress. I have seen her im- +age in the moonlight often, as I now see you; except that I never held her +in my arms; it stood between the little grated window and the door. But, +you understand that that was not the child I am speaking of?" + +"The figure was not; the - the - image; the fancy?" + +"No. That was another thing. It stood before my disturbed sense of +sight, but it never moved. The phantom that my mind pursued, was an- +other and more real child. Of her outward appearance I know no more + + + +193 + + + +than that she was like her mother. The other had that likeness too - as +you have - but was not the same. Can you follow me, Lucie? Hardly, I +think? I doubt you must have been a solitary prisoner to understand +these perplexed distinctions." + +His collected and calm manner could not prevent her blood from run- +ning cold, as he thus tried to anatomise his old condition. + +"In that more peaceful state, I have imagined her, in the moonlight, +coming to me and taking me out to show me that the home of her mar- +ried life was full of her loving remembrance of her lost father. My picture +was in her room, and I was in her prayers. Her life was active, cheerful, +useful; but my poor history pervaded it all." + +"I was that child, my father, I was not half so good, but in my love that +was I." + +"And she showed me her children," said the Doctor of Beauvais, "and +they had heard of me, and had been taught to pity me. When they +passed a prison of the State, they kept far from its frowning walls, and +looked up at its bars, and spoke in whispers. She could never deliver me; +I imagined that she always brought me back after showing me such +things. But then, blessed with the relief of tears, I fell upon my knees, +and blessed her." + +"I am that child, I hope, my father. O my dear, my dear, will you bless +me as fervently to-morrow?" + +"Lucie, I recall these old troubles in the reason that I have to-night for +loving you better than words can tell, and thanking God for my great +happiness. My thoughts, when they were wildest, never rose near the +happiness that I have known with you, and that we have before us." + +He embraced her, solemnly commended her to Heaven, and humbly +thanked Heaven for having bestowed her on him. By-and-bye, they went +into the house. + +There was no one bidden to the marriage but Mr. Lorry; there was +even to be no bridesmaid but the gaunt Miss Pross. The marriage was to +make no change in their place of residence; they had been able to extend +it, by taking to themselves the upper rooms formerly belonging to the +apocryphal invisible lodger, and they desired nothing more. + +Doctor Manette was very cheerful at the little supper. They were only +three at table, and Miss Pross made the third. He regretted that Charles +was not there; was more than half disposed to object to the loving little +plot that kept him away; and drank to him affectionately. + + + +194 + + + +So, the time came for him to bid Lucie good night, and they separated. +But, in the stillness of the third hour of the morning, Lucie came down- +stairs again, and stole into his room; not free from unshaped fears, +beforehand. + +All things, however, were in their places; all was quiet; and he lay +asleep, his white hair picturesque on the untroubled pillow, and his +hands lying quiet on the coverlet. She put her needless candle in the +shadow at a distance, crept up to his bed, and put her lips to his; then, +leaned over him, and looked at him. + +Into his handsome face, the bitter waters of captivity had worn; but, he +covered up their tracks with a determination so strong, that he held the +mastery of them even in his sleep. A more remarkable face in its quiet, +resolute, and guarded struggle with an unseen assailant, was not to be +beheld in all the wide dominions of sleep, that night. + +She timidly laid her hand on his dear breast, and put up a prayer that +she might ever be as true to him as her love aspired to be, and as his sor- +rows deserved. Then, she withdrew her hand, and kissed his lips once +more, and went away. So, the sunrise came, and the shadows of the +leaves of the plane-tree moved upon his face, as softly as her lips had +moved in praying for him. + + + +195 + + + +Chapter + + + +18 + + + +Nine Days + +The marriage-day was shining brightly, and they were ready outside +the closed door of the Doctor's room, where he was speaking with +Charles Darnay. They were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, +Mr. Lorry, and Miss Pross - to whom the event, through a gradual pro- +cess of reconcilement to the inevitable, would have been one of absolute +bliss, but for the yet lingering consideration that her brother Solomon +should have been the bridegroom. + +"And so," said Mr. Lorry, who could not sufficiently admire the bride, +and who had been moving round her to take in every point of her quiet, +pretty dress; "and so it was for this, my sweet Lucie, that I brought you +across the Channel, such a baby' Lord bless me' How little I thought +what I was doing! How lightly I valued the obligation I was conferring +on my friend Mr. Charles!" + +"You didn't mean it," remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross, "and +therefore how could you know it? Nonsense!" + +"Really? Well; but don't cry," said the gentle Mr. Lorry. + +"I am not crying," said Miss Pross; "you are." + +"I, my Pross?" (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be pleasant with her, +on occasion.) + +"You were, just now; I saw you do it, and I don't wonder at it. Such a +present of plate as you have made 'em, is enough to bring tears into any- +body's eyes. There's not a fork or a spoon in the collection," said Miss +Pross, "that I didn't cry over, last night after the box came, till I couldn't +see it." + +"I am highly gratified," said Mr. Lorry, "though, upon my honour, I +had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remembrance in- +visible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion that makes a man specu- +late on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To think that there might have +been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty years almost!" + + + +196 + + + +"Not at all!" From Miss Pross. + +"You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?" asked the gen- +tleman of that name. + +"Pooh!" rejoined Miss Pross; "you were a bachelor in your cradle." + +"Well!" observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting his little wig, "that +seems probable, too." + +"And you were cut out for a bachelor," pursued Miss Pross, "before +you were put in your cradle." + +"Then, I think," said Mr. Lorry, "that I was very unhandsomely dealt +with, and that I ought to have had a voice in the selection of my pattern. +Enough! Now, my dear Lucie," drawing his arm soothingly round her +waist, "I hear them moving in the next room, and Miss Pross and I, as +two formal folks of business, are anxious not to lose the final opportunity +of saying something to you that you wish to hear. You leave your good +father, my dear, in hands as earnest and as loving as your own; he shall +be taken every conceivable care of; during the next fortnight, while you +are in Warwickshire and thereabouts, even Tellson's shall go to the wall +(comparatively speaking) before him. And when, at the fortnight's end, +he comes to join you and your beloved husband, on your other fort- +night's trip in Wales, you shall say that we have sent him to you in the +best health and in the happiest frame. Now, I hear Somebody's step com- +ing to the door. Let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned bachelor +blessing, before Somebody comes to claim his own." + +For a moment, he held the fair face from him to look at the well-re- +membered expression on the forehead, and then laid the bright golden +hair against his little brown wig, with a genuine tenderness and delicacy +which, if such things be old-fashioned, were as old as Adam. + +The door of the Doctor's room opened, and he came out with Charles +Darnay. He was so deadly pale - which had not been the case when they +went in together - that no vestige of colour was to be seen in his face. +But, in the composure of his manner he was unaltered, except that to the +shrewd glance of Mr. Lorry it disclosed some shadowy indication that +the old air of avoidance and dread had lately passed over him, like a cold +wind. + +He gave his arm to his daughter, and took her down-stairs to the +chariot which Mr. Lorry had hired in honour of the day. The rest fol- +lowed in another carriage, and soon, in a neighbouring church, where no + + + +197 + + + +strange eyes looked on, Charles Darnay and Lucie Manette were happily +married. + +Besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles of the little +group when it was done, some diamonds, very bright and sparkling, +glanced on the bride's hand, which were newly released from the dark +obscurity of one of Mr. Lorry's pockets. They returned home to break- +fast, and all went well, and in due course the golden hair that had +mingled with the poor shoemaker's white locks in the Paris garret, were +mingled with them again in the morning sunlight, on the threshold of +the door at parting. + +It was a hard parting, though it was not for long. But her father +cheered her, and said at last, gently disengaging himself from her enfold- +ing arms, "Take her, Charles! She is yours!" + +And her agitated hand waved to them from a chaise window, and she +was gone. + +The corner being out of the way of the idle and curious, and the pre- +parations having been very simple and few, the Doctor, Mr. Lorry, and +Miss Pross, were left quite alone. It was when they turned into the wel- +come shade of the cool old hall, that Mr. Lorry observed a great change +to have come over the Doctor; as if the golden arm uplifted there, had +struck him a poisoned blow. + +He had naturally repressed much, and some revulsion might have +been expected in him when the occasion for repression was gone. But, it +was the old scared lost look that troubled Mr. Lorry; and through his ab- +sent manner of clasping his head and drearily wandering away into his +own room when they got up-stairs, Mr. Lorry was reminded of Defarge +the wine-shop keeper, and the starlight ride. + +"I think," he whispered to Miss Pross, after anxious consideration, "I +think we had best not speak to him just now, or at all disturb him. I must +look in at Tellson's; so I will go there at once and come back presently. +Then, we will take him a ride into the country, and dine there, and all +will be well." + +It was easier for Mr. Lorry to look in at Tellson's, than to look out of +Tellson's. He was detained two hours. When he came back, he ascended +the old staircase alone, having asked no question of the servant; going +thus into the Doctor's rooms, he was stopped by a low sound of +knocking. + +"Good God!" he said, with a start. "What's that?" + + + +198 + + + +Miss Pross, with a terrified face, was at his ear. "O me, O me! All is +lost!" cried she, wringing her hands. "What is to be told to Ladybird? He +doesn't know me, and is making shoes!" + +Mr. Lorry said what he could to calm her, and went himself into the +Doctor's room. The bench was turned towards the light, as it had been +when he had seen the shoemaker at his work before, and his head was +bent down, and he was very busy. + +"Doctor Manette. My dear friend, Doctor Manette!" + +The Doctor looked at him for a moment - half inquiringly, half as if he +were angry at being spoken to - and bent over his work again. + +He had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was open at the +throat, as it used to be when he did that work; and even the old haggard, +faded surface of face had come back to him. He worked hard - impa- +tiently - as if in some sense of having been interrupted. + +Mr. Lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed that it was a +shoe of the old size and shape. He took up another that was lying by +him, and asked what it was. + +"A young lady's walking shoe," he muttered, without looking up. "It +ought to have been finished long ago. Let it be." + +"But, Doctor Manette. Look at me!" + +He obeyed, in the old mechanically submissive manner, without paus- +ing in his work. + +"You know me, my dear friend? Think again. This is not your proper +occupation. Think, dear friend!" + +Nothing would induce him to speak more. He looked up, for an in- +stant at a time, when he was requested to do so; but, no persuasion +would extract a word from him. He worked, and worked, and worked, +in silence, and words fell on him as they would have fallen on an echo- +less wall, or on the air. The only ray of hope that Mr. Lorry could discov- +er, was, that he sometimes furtively looked up without being asked. In +that, there seemed a faint expression of curiosity or perplexity - as +though he were trying to reconcile some doubts in his mind. + +Two things at once impressed themselves on Mr. Lorry, as important +above all others; the first, that this must be kept secret from Lucie; the +second, that it must be kept secret from all who knew him. In conjunc- +tion with Miss Pross, he took immediate steps towards the latter precau- +tion, by giving out that the Doctor was not well, and required a few days +of complete rest. In aid of the kind deception to be practised on his + + + +199 + + + +daughter, Miss Pross was to write, describing his having been called +away professionally, and referring to an imaginary letter of two or three +hurried lines in his own hand, represented to have been addressed to her +by the same post. + +These measures, advisable to be taken in any case, Mr. Lorry took in +the hope of his coming to himself. If that should happen soon, he kept +another course in reserve; which was, to have a certain opinion that he +thought the best, on the Doctor's case. + +In the hope of his recovery, and of resort to this third course being +thereby rendered practicable, Mr. Lorry resolved to watch him attent- +ively, with as little appearance as possible of doing so. He therefore +made arrangements to absent himself from Tellson's for the first time in +his life, and took his post by the window in the same room. + +He was not long in discovering that it was worse than useless to speak +to him, since, on being pressed, he became worried. He abandoned that +attempt on the first day, and resolved merely to keep himself always be- +fore him, as a silent protest against the delusion into which he had fallen, +or was falling. He remained, therefore, in his seat near the window, read- +ing and writing, and expressing in as many pleasant and natural ways as +he could think of, that it was a free place. + +Doctor Manette took what was given him to eat and drink, and +worked on, that first day, until it was too dark to see - worked on, half +an hour after Mr. Lorry could not have seen, for his life, to read or write. +When he put his tools aside as useless, until morning, Mr. Lorry rose and +said to him: + +"Will you go out?" + +He looked down at the floor on either side of him in the old manner, +looked up in the old manner, and repeated in the old low voice: + +"Out?" + +"Yes; for a walk with me. Why not?" + +He made no effort to say why not, and said not a word more. But, Mr. +Lorry thought he saw, as he leaned forward on his bench in the dusk, +with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, that he was in +some misty way asking himself, "Why not?" The sagacity of the man of +business perceived an advantage here, and determined to hold it. + +Miss Pross and he divided the night into two watches, and observed +him at intervals from the adjoining room. He paced up and down for a +long time before he lay down; but, when he did finally lay himself down, + + + +200 + + + +he fell asleep. In the morning, he was up betimes, and went straight to +his bench and to work. + +On this second day, Mr. Lorry saluted him cheerfully by his name, and +spoke to him on topics that had been of late familiar to them. He re- +turned no reply, but it was evident that he heard what was said, and that +he thought about it, however confusedly. This encouraged Mr. Lorry to +have Miss Pross in with her work, several times during the day; at those +times, they quietly spoke of Lucie, and of her father then present, pre- +cisely in the usual manner, and as if there were nothing amiss. This was +done without any demonstrative accompaniment, not long enough, or +often enough to harass him; and it lightened Mr. Lorry's friendly heart to +believe that he looked up oftener, and that he appeared to be stirred by +some perception of inconsistencies surrounding him. + +When it fell dark again, Mr. Lorry asked him as before: + +"Dear Doctor, will you go out?" + +As before, he repeated, "Out?" + +"Yes; for a walk with me. Why not?" + +This time, Mr. Lorry feigned to go out when he could extract no an- +swer from him, and, after remaining absent for an hour, returned. In the +meanwhile, the Doctor had removed to the seat in the window, and had +sat there looking down at the plane-tree; but, on Mr. Lorry's return, be +slipped away to his bench. + +The time went very slowly on, and Mr. Lorry's hope darkened, and his +heart grew heavier again, and grew yet heavier and heavier every day. +The third day came and went, the fourth, the fifth. Five days, six days, +seven days, eight days, nine days. + +With a hope ever darkening, and with a heart always growing heavier +and heavier, Mr. Lorry passed through this anxious time. The secret was +well kept, and Lucie was unconscious and happy; but he could not fail to +observe that the shoemaker, whose hand had been a little out at first, +was growing dreadfully skilful, and that he had never been so intent on +his work, and that his hands had never been so nimble and expert, as in +the dusk of the ninth evening. + + + +201 + + + +Chapter + + + +19 + + + +An Opinion + +Worn out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry fell asleep at his post. On +the tenth morning of his suspense, he was startled by the shining of the +sun into the room where a heavy slumber had overtaken him when it +was dark night. + +He rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when he had +done so, whether he was not still asleep. For, going to the door of the +Doctor's room and looking in, he perceived that the shoemaker's bench +and tools were put aside again, and that the Doctor himself sat reading at +the window. He was in his usual morning dress, and his face (which Mr. +Lorry could distinctly see), though still very pale, was calmly studious +and attentive. + +Even when he had satisfied himself that he was awake, Mr. Lorry felt +giddily uncertain for some few moments whether the late shoemaking +might not be a disturbed dream of his own; for, did not his eyes show +him his friend before him in his accustomed clothing and aspect, and +employed as usual; and was there any sign within their range, that the +change of which he had so strong an impression had actually happened? + +It was but the inquiry of his first confusion and astonishment, the an- +swer being obvious. If the impression were not produced by a real cor- +responding and sufficient cause, how came he, Jarvis Lorry, there? How +came he to have fallen asleep, in his clothes, on the sofa in Doctor +Manette's consulting-room, and to be debating these points outside the +Doctor's bedroom door in the early morning? + +Within a few minutes, Miss Pross stood whispering at his side. If he +had had any particle of doubt left, her talk would of necessity have re- +solved it; but he was by that time clear-headed, and had none. He ad- +vised that they should let the time go by until the regular breakfast-hour, +and should then meet the Doctor as if nothing unusual had occurred. If +he appeared to be in his customary state of mind, Mr. Lorry would then + + + +202 + + + +cautiously proceed to seek direction and guidance from the opinion he +had been, in his anxiety, so anxious to obtain. + +Miss Pross, submitting herself to his judgment, the scheme was +worked out with care. Having abundance of time for his usual methodic- +al toilette, Mr. Lorry presented himself at the breakfast-hour in his usual +white linen, and with his usual neat leg. The Doctor was summoned in +the usual way, and came to breakfast. + +So far as it was possible to comprehend him without overstepping +those delicate and gradual approaches which Mr. Lorry felt to be the +only safe advance, he at first supposed that his daughter's marriage had +taken place yesterday. An incidental allusion, purposely thrown out, to +the day of the week, and the day of the month, set him thinking and +counting, and evidently made him uneasy. In all other respects, +however, he was so composedly himself, that Mr. Lorry determined to +have the aid he sought. And that aid was his own. + +Therefore, when the breakfast was done and cleared away, and he and +the Doctor were left together, Mr. Lorry said, feelingly: + +"My dear Manette, I am anxious to have your opinion, in confidence, +on a very curious case in which I am deeply interested; that is to say, it is +very curious to me; perhaps, to your better information it may be less +so." + +Glancing at his hands, which were discoloured by his late work, the +Doctor looked troubled, and listened attentively. He had already glanced +at his hands more than once. + +"Doctor Manette," said Mr. Lorry, touching him affectionately on the +arm, "the case is the case of a particularly dear friend of mine. Pray give +your mind to it, and advise me well for his sake - and above all, for his +daughter's - his daughter's, my dear Manette." + +"If I understand," said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, "some mental +shock-?" + +"Yes!" + +"Be explicit," said the Doctor. "Spare no detail." + +Mr. Lorry saw that they understood one another, and proceeded. + +"My dear Manette, it is the case of an old and a prolonged shock, of +great acuteness and severity to the affections, the feelings, the - the - as +you express it - the mind. The mind. It is the case of a shock under which +the sufferer was borne down, one cannot say for how long, because I be- +lieve he cannot calculate the time himself, and there are no other means + + + +203 + + + +of getting at it. It is the case of a shock from which the sufferer recovered, +by a process that he cannot trace himself - as I once heard him publicly +relate in a striking manner. It is the case of a shock from which he has re- +covered, so completely, as to be a highly intelligent man, capable of close +application of mind, and great exertion of body, and of constantly mak- +ing fresh additions to his stock of knowledge, which was already very +large. But, unfortunately, there has been," he paused and took a deep +breath - "a slight relapse." + +The Doctor, in a low voice, asked, "Of how long duration?" + +"Nine days and nights." + +"How did it show itself? I infer," glancing at his hands again, "in the +resumption of some old pursuit connected with the shock?" + +"That is the fact." + +"Now, did you ever see him," asked the Doctor, distinctly and collec- +tedly, though in the same low voice, "engaged in that pursuit +originally?" + +"Once." + +"And when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respects - or in all +respects - as he was then?" + +"I think in all respects." + +"You spoke of his daughter. Does his daughter know of the relapse?" + +"No. It has been kept from her, and I hope will always be kept from +her. It is known only to myself, and to one other who may be trusted." + +The Doctor grasped his hand, and murmured, "That was very kind. +That was very thoughtful!" Mr. Lorry grasped his hand in return, and +neither of the two spoke for a little while. + +"Now, my dear Manette," said Mr. Lorry, at length, in his most con- +siderate and most affectionate way, "I am a mere man of business, and +unfit to cope with such intricate and difficult matters. I do not possess +the kind of information necessary; I do not possess the kind of intelli- +gence; I want guiding. There is no man in this world on whom I could so +rely for right guidance, as on you. Tell me, how does this relapse come +about? Is there danger of another? Could a repetition of it be prevented? +How should a repetition of it be treated? How does it come about at all? +What can I do for my friend? No man ever can have been more desirous +in his heart to serve a friend, than I am to serve mine, if I knew how. + + + +204 + + + +But I don't know how to originate, in such a case. If your sagacity, +knowledge, and experience, could put me on the right track, I might be +able to do so much; unenlightened and undirected, I can do so little. Pray +discuss it with me; pray enable me to see it a little more clearly, and +teach me how to be a little more useful." + +Doctor Manette sat meditating after these earnest words were spoken, +and Mr. Lorry did not press him. + +"I think it probable," said the Doctor, breaking silence with an effort, +"that the relapse you have described, my dear friend, was not quite un- +foreseen by its subject." + +"Was it dreaded by him?" Mr. Lorry ventured to ask. + +"Very much." He said it with an involuntary shudder. + +"You have no idea how such an apprehension weighs on the sufferer's +mind, and how difficult - how almost impossible - it is, for him to force +himself to utter a word upon the topic that oppresses him." + +"Would he," asked Mr. Lorry, "be sensibly relieved if he could prevail +upon himself to impart that secret brooding to any one, when it is on +him?" + +"I think so. But it is, as I have told you, next to impossible. I even be- +lieve it - in some cases - to be quite impossible." + +"Now," said Mr. Lorry, gently laying his hand on the Doctor's arm +again, after a short silence on both sides, "to what would you refer this +attack? " + +"I believe," returned Doctor Manette, "that there had been a strong +and extraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance that +was the first cause of the malady. Some intense associations of a most +distressing nature were vividly recalled, I think. It is probable that there +had long been a dread lurking in his mind, that those associations would +be recalled - say, under certain circumstances - say, on a particular occa- +sion. He tried to prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare +himself made him less able to bear it." + +"Would he remember what took place in the relapse?" asked Mr. +Lorry, with natural hesitation. + +The Doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head, and +answered, in a low voice, "Not at all." + +"Now, as to the future," hinted Mr. Lorry. + + + +205 + + + +"As to the future," said the Doctor, recovering firmness, "I should +have great hope. As it pleased Heaven in its mercy to restore him so +soon, I should have great hope. He, yielding under the pressure of a +complicated something, long dreaded and long vaguely foreseen and +contended against, and recovering after the cloud had burst and passed, +I should hope that the worst was over." + +"Well, well! That's good comfort. I am thankful!" said Mr. Lorry. + +"I am thankful!" repeated the Doctor, bending his head with +reverence. + +"There are two other points," said Mr. Lorry, "on which I am anxious +to be instructed. I may go on?" + +"You cannot do your friend a better service." The Doctor gave him his +hand. + +"To the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusually energetic; +he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition of professional +knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to many things. Now, +does he do too much?" + +"I think not. It may be the character of his mind, to be always in singu- +lar need of occupation. That may be, in part, natural to it; in part, the res- +ult of affliction. The less it was occupied with healthy things, the more it +would be in danger of turning in the unhealthy direction. He may have +observed himself, and made the discovery." + +"You are sure that he is not under too great a strain?" + +"I think I am quite sure of it." + +"My dear Manette, if he were overworked now - " + +"My dear Lorry, I doubt if that could easily be. There has been a viol- +ent stress in one direction, and it needs a counterweight." + +"Excuse me, as a persistent man of business. Assuming for a moment, +that he was overworked; it would show itself in some renewal of this +disorder?" + +"I do not think so. I do not think," said Doctor Manette with the firm- +ness of self-conviction, "that anything but the one train of association +would renew it. I think that, henceforth, nothing but some extraordinary +jarring of that chord could renew it. After what has happened, and after +his recovery, I find it difficult to imagine any such violent sounding of +that string again. I trust, and I almost believe, that the circumstances +likely to renew it are exhausted." + + + +206 + + + +He spoke with the diffidence of a man who knew how slight a thing +would overset the delicate organisation of the mind, and yet with the +confidence of a man who had slowly won his assurance out of personal +endurance and distress. It was not for his friend to abate that confidence. +He professed himself more relieved and encouraged than he really was, +and approached his second and last point. He felt it to be the most diffi- +cult of all; but, remembering his old Sunday morning conversation with +Miss Pross, and remembering what he had seen in the last nine days, he +knew that he must face it. + +"The occupation resumed under the influence of this passing affliction +so happily recovered from," said Mr. Lorry, clearing his throat, "we will +call - Blacksmith's work, Blacksmith's work. We will say, to put a case +and for the sake of illustration, that he had been used, in his bad time, to +work at a little forge. We will say that he was unexpectedly found at his +forge again. Is it not a pity that he should keep it by him?" + +The Doctor shaded his forehead with his hand, and beat his foot +nervously on the ground. + +"He has always kept it by him," said Mr. Lorry, with an anxious look +at his friend. "Now, would it not be better that he should let it go?" + +Still, the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beat his foot nervously on the +ground. + +"You do not find it easy to advise me?" said Mr. Lorry. "I quite under- +stand it to be a nice question. And yet I think - " And there he shook his +head, and stopped. + +"You see," said Doctor Manette, turning to him after an uneasy pause, +"it is very hard to explain, consistently, the innermost workings of this +poor man's mind. He once yearned so frightfully for that occupation, +and it was so welcome when it came; no doubt it relieved his pain so +much, by substituting the perplexity of the fingers for the perplexity of +the brain, and by substituting, as he became more practised, the ingenu- +ity of the hands, for the ingenuity of the mental torture; that he has never +been able to bear the thought of putting it quite out of his reach. Even +now, when I believe he is more hopeful of himself than he has ever been, +and even speaks of himself with a kind of confidence, the idea that he +might need that old employment, and not find it, gives him a sudden +sense of terror, like that which one may fancy strikes to the heart of a lost +child." + +He looked like his illustration, as he raised his eyes to Mr. Lorry's face. + + + +207 + + + +"But may not - mind! I ask for information, as a plodding man of busi- +ness who only deals with such material objects as guineas, shillings, and +bank-notes - may not the retention of the thing involve the retention of +the idea? If the thing were gone, my dear Manette, might not the fear go +with it? In short, is it not a concession to the misgiving, to keep the +forge?" + +There was another silence. + +"You see, too," said the Doctor, tremulously, "it is such an old +companion." + +"I would not keep it," said Mr. Lorry, shaking his head; for he gained +in firmness as he saw the Doctor disquieted. "I would recommend him +to sacrifice it. I only want your authority. I am sure it does no good. +Come! Give me your authority, like a dear good man. For his daughter's +sake, my dear Manette!" + +Very strange to see what a struggle there was within him! + +"In her name, then, let it be done; I sanction it. But, I would not take it +away while he was present. Let it be removed when he is not there; let +him miss his old companion after an absence." + +Mr. Lorry readily engaged for that, and the conference was ended. +They passed the day in the country, and the Doctor was quite restored. +On the three following days he remained perfectly well, and on the four- +teenth day he went away to join Lucie and her husband. The precaution +that had been taken to account for his silence, Mr. Lorry had previously +explained to him, and he had written to Lucie in accordance with it, and +she had no suspicions. + +On the night of the day on which he left the house, Mr. Lorry went in- +to his room with a chopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended by Miss +Pross carrying a light. There, with closed doors, and in a mysterious and +guilty manner, Mr. Lorry hacked the shoemaker's bench to pieces, while +Miss Pross held the candle as if she were assisting at a murder - for +which, indeed, in her grimness, she was no unsuitable figure. The burn- +ing of the body (previously reduced to pieces convenient for the pur- +pose) was commenced without delay in the kitchen fire; and the tools, +shoes, and leather, were buried in the garden. So wicked do destruction +and secrecy appear to honest minds, that Mr. Lorry and Miss Pross, +while engaged in the commission of their deed and in the removal of its +traces, almost felt, and almost looked, like accomplices in a horrible +crime. + + + +208 + + + +Chapter + + + +A Plea + + + +20 + + + +When the newly-married pair came home, the first person who ap- +peared, to offer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not +been at home many hours, when he presented himself. He was not im- +proved in habits, or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain +rugged air of fidelity about him, which was new to the observation of +Charles Darnay. + +He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, +and of speaking to him when no one overheard. + +"Mr. Darnay," said Carton, "I wish we might be friends." + +"We are already friends, I hope." + +"You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don't +mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be +friends, I scarcely mean quite that, either." + +Charles Darnay - as was natural - asked him, in all good-humour and +good-fellowship, what he did mean? + +"Upon my life," said Carton, smiling, "I find that easier to compre- +hend in my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. +You remember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than - +than usual?" + +"I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess +that you had been drinking." + +"I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for +I always remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day, +when all days are at an end for me! Don't be alarmed; I am not going to +preach." + +"I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but alarming +to me." + + + +209 + + + +"Ah!" said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved +that away. "On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, +as you know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I +wish you would forget it." + +"I forgot it long ago." + +"Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to +me, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it, and +a light answer does not help me to forget it." + +"If it was a light answer," returned Darnay, "I beg your forgiveness for +it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my surprise, +seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on the faith of a +gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good Heaven, +what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to re- +member, in the great service you rendered me that day?" + +"As to the great service," said Carton, "I am bound to avow to you, +when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, +I don't know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered +it. - Mind! I say when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past." + +"You make light of the obligation," returned Darnay, "but I will not +quarrel with your light answer." + +"Genuine truth, Mr. Darnay, trust me! I have gone aside from my pur- +pose; I was speaking about our being friends. Now, you know me; you +know I am incapable of all the higher and better flights of men. If you +doubt it, ask Stryver, and he'll tell you so." + +"I prefer to form my own opinion, without the aid of his." + +"Well! At any rate you know me as a dissolute dog, who has never +done any good, and never will." + +"I don't know that you 'never will.'" + +"But I do, and you must take my word for it. Well! If you could endure +to have such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferent reputa- +tion, coming and going at odd times, I should ask that I might be permit- +ted to come and go as a privileged person here; that I might be regarded +as an useless (and I would add, if it were not for the resemblance I detec- +ted between you and me, an unornamental) piece of furniture, tolerated +for its old service, and taken no notice of. I doubt if I should abuse the +permission. It is a hundred to one if I should avail myself of it four times +in a year. It would satisfy me, I dare say, to know that I had it." + +"Will you try?" + + + +210 + + + +"That is another way of saying that I am placed on the footing I have +indicated. I thank you, Darnay. I may use that freedom with your + +name?" + +"I think so, Carton, by this time." + +They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. Within a minute +afterwards, he was, to all outward appearance, as unsubstantial as ever. + +When he was gone, and in the course of an evening passed with Miss +Pross, the Doctor, and Mr. Lorry, Charles Darnay made some mention of +this conversation in general terms, and spoke of Sydney Carton as a +problem of carelessness and recklessness. He spoke of him, in short, not +bitterly or meaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybody might who +saw him as he showed himself. + +He had no idea that this could dwell in the thoughts of his fair young +wife; but, when he afterwards joined her in their own rooms, he found +her waiting for him with the old pretty lifting of the forehead strongly +marked. + +"We are thoughtful to-night!" said Darnay, drawing his arm about her. + +"Yes, dearest Charles," with her hands on his breast, and the inquiring +and attentive expression fixed upon him; "we are rather thoughtful to- +night, for we have something on our mind to-night." + +"What is it, my Lucie?" + +"Will you promise not to press one question on me, if I beg you not to +ask it?" + +"Will I promise? What will I not promise to my Love?" + +What, indeed, with his hand putting aside the golden hair from the +cheek, and his other hand against the heart that beat for him! + +"I think, Charles, poor Mr. Carton deserves more consideration and re- +spect than you expressed for him to-night." + +"Indeed, my own? Why so?" + +"That is what you are not to ask me. But I think - I know - he does." + +"If you know it, it is enough. What would you have me do, my Life?" + +"I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and +very lenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe +that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep +wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding." + + + +211 + + + +"It is a painful reflexion to me," said Charles Darnay, quite astounded, +"that I should have done him any wrong. I never thought this of him." + +"My husband, it is so. I fear he is not to be reclaimed; there is scarcely +a hope that anything in his character or fortunes is reparable now. But, I +am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things, even magnanim- +ous things." + +She looked so beautiful in the purity of her faith in this lost man, that +her husband could have looked at her as she was for hours. + +"And, O my dearest Love!" she urged, clinging nearer to him, laying +her head upon his breast, and raising her eyes to his, "remember how +strong we are in our happiness, and how weak he is in his misery!" + +The supplication touched him home. "I will always remember it, dear +Heart! I will remember it as long as I live." + +He bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, and folded +her in his arms. If one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets, +could have heard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the drops +of pity kissed away by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of +that husband, he might have cried to the night - and the words would +not have parted from his lips for the first time - + +"God bless her for her sweet compassion!" + + + +212 + + + +Chapter + + + +21 + + + +Echoing Footsteps + +A wonderful corner for echoes, it has been remarked, that corner +where the Doctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden thread which +bound her husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress +and companion, in a life of quiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in the +tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years. + +At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young +wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes +would be dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, +something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart +too much. Fluttering hopes and doubts - hopes, of a love as yet un- +known to her: doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new de- +light - divided her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the +sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband +who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, +swelled to her eyes, and broke like waves. + +That time passed, and her little Lucie lay on her bosom. Then, among +the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet and the sound +of her prattling words. Let greater echoes resound as they would, the +young mother at the cradle side could always hear those coming. They +came, and the shady house was sunny with a child's laugh, and the Div- +ine friend of children, to whom in her trouble she had confided hers, +seemed to take her child in his arms, as He took the child of old, and +made it a sacred joy to her. + +Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together, +weaving the service of her happy influence through the tissue of all their +lives, and making it predominate nowhere, Lucie heard in the echoes of +years none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her husband's step was +strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm and equal. Lo, +Miss Pross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly + + + +213 + + + +charger, whip-corrected, snorting and pawing the earth under the plane- +tree in the garden! + +Even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were not +harsh nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo on a +pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said, with a radiant +smile, "Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave you both, and to +leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I must go!" those were not +tears all of agony that wetted his young mother's cheek, as the spirit de- +parted from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Suffer them and +forbid them not. They see my Father's face. O Father, blessed words! + +Thus, the rustling of an Angel's wings got blended with the other +echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of +Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb were +mingled with them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed +murmur - like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore +- as the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or +dressing a doll at her mother's footstool, chattered in the tongues of the +Two Cities that were blended in her life. + +The Echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of Sydney Carton. +Some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of com- +ing in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he +had once done often. He never came there heated with wine. And one +other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been +whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages. + +No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a +blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a moth- +er, but her children had a strange sympathy with him - an instinctive +delicacy of pity for him. What fine hidden sensibilities are touched in +such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. Carton was the +first stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept +his place with her as she grew. The little boy had spoken of him, almost +at the last. "Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!" + +Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some great en- +gine forcing itself through turbid water, and dragged his useful friend in +his wake, like a boat towed astern. As the boat so favoured is usually in a +rough plight, and mostly under water, so, Sydney had a swamped life of +it. But, easy and strong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger +in him than any stimulating sense of desert or disgrace, made it the life +he was to lead; and he no more thought of emerging from his state of + + + +214 + + + +lion's jackal, than any real jackal may be supposed to think of rising to be +a lion. Stryver was rich; had married a florid widow with property and +three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about them but the +straight hair of their dumpling heads. + +These three young gentlemen, Mr. Stryver, exuding patronage of the +most offensive quality from every pore, had walked before him like three +sheep to the quiet corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie's +husband: delicately saying "Halloa! here are three lumps of bread-and- +cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!" The polite rejection of +the three lumps of bread-and-cheese had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with +indignation, which he afterwards turned to account in the training of the +young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the pride of Beggars, +like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the habit of declaiming to Mrs. +Stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put +in practice to "catch" him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in him- +self, madam, which had rendered him "not to be caught." Some of his +King's Bench familiars, who were occasionally parties to the full-bodied +wine and the lie, excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it +so often, that he believed it himself - which is surely such an incorrigible +aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any such offender's +being carried off to some suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of +the way. + +These were among the echoes to which Lucie, sometimes pensive, +sometimes amused and laughing, listened in the echoing corner, until +her little daughter was six years old. How near to her heart the echoes of +her child's tread came, and those of her own dear father's, always active +and self-possessed, and those of her dear husband's, need not be told. +Nor, how the lightest echo of their united home, directed by herself with +such a wise and elegant thrift that it was more abundant than any waste, +was music to her. Nor, how there were echoes all about her, sweet in her +ears, of the many times her father had told her that he found her more +devoted to him married (if that could be) than single, and of the many +times her husband had said to her that no cares and duties seemed to di- +vide her love for him or her help to him, and asked her "What is the ma- +gic secret, my darling, of your being everything to all of us, as if there +were only one of us, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to have too +much to do?" + +But, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled men- +acingly in the corner all through this space of time. And it was now, + + + +215 + + + +about little Lucie's sixth birthday, that they began to have an awful +sound, as of a great storm in France with a dreadful sea rising. + +On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, +Mr. Lorry came in late, from Tellson's, and sat himself down by Lucie +and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot, wild night, and they +were all three reminded of the old Sunday night when they had looked +at the lightning from the same place. + +"I began to think," said Mr. Lorry, pushing his brown wig back, "that I +should have to pass the night at Tellson's. We have been so full of busi- +ness all day, that we have not known what to do first, or which way to +turn. There is such an uneasiness in Paris, that we have actually a run of +confidence upon us! Our customers over there, seem not to be able to +confide their property to us fast enough. There is positively a mania +among some of them for sending it to England." + +"That has a bad look," said Darnay - + +"A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don't know what +reason there is in it. People are so unreasonable! Some of us at Tellson's +are getting old, and we really can't be troubled out of the ordinary +course without due occasion." + +"Still," said Darnay, "you know how gloomy and threatening the sky + + + +is." + + + +"I know that, to be sure," assented Mr. Lorry, trying to persuade him- +self that his sweet temper was soured, and that he grumbled, "but I am +determined to be peevish after my long day's botheration. Where is +Manette?" + +"Here he is," said the Doctor, entering the dark room at the moment. + +"I am quite glad you are at home; for these hurries and forebodings by +which I have been surrounded all day long, have made me nervous +without reason. You are not going out, I hope?" + +"No; I am going to play backgammon with you, if you like," said the +Doctor. + +"I don't think I do like, if I may speak my mind. I am not fit to be pit- +ted against you to-night. Is the teaboard still there, Lucie? I can't see." + +"Of course, it has been kept for you." + +"Thank ye, my dear. The precious child is safe in bed?" + +"And sleeping soundly." + + + +216 + + + +"That's right; all safe and well! I don't know why anything should be +otherwise than safe and well here, thank God; but I have been so put out +all day, and I am not as young as I was! My tea, my dear! Thank ye. +Now, come and take your place in the circle, and let us sit quiet, and +hear the echoes about which you have your theory." + +"Not a theory; it was a fancy." + +"A fancy, then, my wise pet," said Mr. Lorry, patting her hand. "They +are very numerous and very loud, though, are they not? Only hear +them!" + +Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into any- +body's life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the +footsteps raging in Saint Antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in the +dark London window. + +Saint Antoine had been, that morning, a vast dusky mass of scare- +crows heaving to and fro, with frequent gleams of light above the bil- +lowy heads, where steel blades and bayonets shone in the sun. A tre- +mendous roar arose from the throat of Saint Antoine, and a forest of na- +ked arms struggled in the air like shrivelled branches of trees in a winter +wind: all the fingers convulsively clutching at every weapon or semb- +lance of a weapon that was thrown up from the depths below, no matter +how far off. + +Who gave them out, whence they last came, where they began, +through what agency they crookedly quivered and jerked, scores at a +time, over the heads of the crowd, like a kind of lightning, no eye in the +throng could have told; but, muskets were being distributed - so were +cartridges, powder, and ball, bars of iron and wood, knives, axes, pikes, +every weapon that distracted ingenuity could discover or devise. People +who could lay hold of nothing else, set themselves with bleeding hands +to force stones and bricks out of their places in walls. Every pulse and +heart in Saint Antoine was on high-fever strain and at high-fever heat. +Every living creature there held life as of no account, and was demented +with a passionate readiness to sacrifice it. + +As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centre point, so, all this raging +circled round Defarge's wine-shop, and every human drop in the +caldron had a tendency to be sucked towards the vortex where Defarge +himself, already begrimed with gunpowder and sweat, issued orders, is- +sued arms, thrust this man back, dragged this man forward, disarmed +one to arm another, laboured and strove in the thickest of the uproar. + + + +217 + + + +"Keep near to me, Jacques Three," cried Defarge; "and do you, Jacques +One and Two, separate and put yourselves at the head of as many of +these patriots as you can. Where is my wife?" + +"Eh, well! Here you see me!" said madame, composed as ever, but not +knitting to-day. Madame's resolute right hand was occupied with an axe, +in place of the usual softer implements, and in her girdle were a pistol +and a cruel knife. + +"Where do you go, my wife?" + +"I go," said madame, "with you at present. You shall see me at the +head of women, by-and-bye." + +"Come, then!" cried Defarge, in a resounding voice. "Patriots and +friends, we are ready! The Bastille!" + +With a roar that sounded as if all the breath in France had been shaped +into the detested word, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on +depth, and overflowed the city to that point. Alarm-bells ringing, drums +beating, the sea raging and thundering on its new beach, the attack +began. + +Deep ditches, double drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great +towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. Through the fire and through +the smoke - in the fire and in the smoke, for the sea cast him up against a +cannon, and on the instant he became a cannonier - Defarge of the wine- +shop worked like a manful soldier, Two fierce hours. + +Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great +towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. One drawbridge down! +"Work, comrades all, work! Work, Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques +One Thousand, Jacques Two Thousand, Jacques Five-and-Twenty Thou- +sand; in the name of all the Angels or the Devils - which you +prefer - work!" Thus Defarge of the wine-shop, still at his gun, which +had long grown hot. + +"To me, women!" cried madame his wife. "What! We can kill as well +as the men when the place is taken!" And to her, with a shrill thirsty cry, +trooping women variously armed, but all armed alike in hunger and +revenge. + +Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, still the deep ditch, the single +drawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers. Slight +displacements of the raging sea, made by the falling wounded. Flashing +weapons, blazing torches, smoking waggonloads of wet straw, hard +work at neighbouring barricades in all directions, shrieks, volleys, + + + +218 + + + +execrations, bravery without stint, boom smash and rattle, and the furi- +ous sounding of the living sea; but, still the deep ditch, and the single +drawbridge, and the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers, and +still Defarge of the wine-shop at his gun, grown doubly hot by the ser- +vice of Four fierce hours. + +A white flag from within the fortress, and a parley - this dimly per- +ceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible in it - suddenly the +sea rose immeasurably wider and higher, and swept Defarge of the +wine-shop over the lowered drawbridge, past the massive stone outer +walls, in among the eight great towers surrendered! + +So resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on, that even to +draw his breath or turn his head was as impracticable as if he had been +struggling in the surf at the South Sea, until he was landed in the outer +courtyard of the Bastille. There, against an angle of a wall, he made a +struggle to look about him. Jacques Three was nearly at his side; Ma- +dame Defarge, still heading some of her women, was visible in the inner +distance, and her knife was in her hand. Everywhere was tumult, exulta- +tion, deafening and maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet +furious dumb-show. + +"The Prisoners!" + +"The Records!" + +"The secret cells!" + +"The instruments of torture!" + +"The Prisoners!" + +Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherences, "The Prisoners!" was +the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if there were an etern- +ity of people, as well as of time and space. When the foremost billows +rolled past, bearing the prison officers with them, and threatening them +all with instant death if any secret nook remained undisclosed, Defarge +laid his strong hand on the breast of one of these men - a man with a +grey head, who had a lighted torch in his hand - separated him from the +rest, and got him between himself and the wall. + +"Show me the North Tower!" said Defarge. "Quick!" + +"I will faithfully," replied the man, "if you will come with me. But +there is no one there." + +"What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North Tower?" asked +Defarge. "Quick!" + + + +219 + + + +"The meaning, monsieur?" + +"Does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? Or do you mean that I +shall strike you dead?" + +"Kill him!" croaked Jacques Three, who had come close up. + +"Monsieur, it is a cell." + +"Show it me!" + +"Pass this way, then." + +Jacques Three, with his usual craving on him, and evidently disap- +pointed by the dialogue taking a turn that did not seem to promise +bloodshed, held by Defarge's arm as he held by the turnkey's. Their +three heads had been close together during this brief discourse, and it +had been as much as they could do to hear one another, even then: so +tremendous was the noise of the living ocean, in its irruption into the +Fortress, and its inundation of the courts and passages and staircases. All +around outside, too, it beat the walls with a deep, hoarse roar, from +which, occasionally, some partial shouts of tumult broke and leaped into +the air like spray. + +Through gloomy vaults where the light of day had never shone, past +hideous doors of dark dens and cages, down cavernous flights of steps, +and again up steep rugged ascents of stone and brick, more like dry wa- +terfalls than staircases, Defarge, the turnkey, and Jacques Three, linked +hand and arm, went with all the speed they could make. Here and there, +especially at first, the inundation started on them and swept by; but +when they had done descending, and were winding and climbing up a +tower, they were alone. Hemmed in here by the massive thickness of +walls and arches, the storm within the fortress and without was only +audible to them in a dull, subdued way, as if the noise out of which they +had come had almost destroyed their sense of hearing. + +The turnkey stopped at a low door, put a key in a clashing lock, swung +the door slowly open, and said, as they all bent their heads and passed +in: + +"One hundred and five, North Tower!" + +There was a small, heavily-grated, unglazed window high in the wall, +with a stone screen before it, so that the sky could be only seen by stoop- +ing low and looking up. There was a small chimney, heavily barred +across, a few feet within. There was a heap of old feathery wood-ashes +on the hearth. There was a stool, and table, and a straw bed. There were +the four blackened walls, and a rusted iron ring in one of them. + + + +220 + + + +"Pass that torch slowly along these walls, that I may see them," said +Defarge to the turnkey. + +The man obeyed, and Defarge followed the light closely with his eyes. + +"Stop! - Look here, Jacques!" + +"A. M.!" croaked Jacques Three, as he read greedily. + +"Alexandre Manette," said Defarge in his ear, following the letters +with his swart forefinger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. "And here +he wrote 'a poor physician.' And it was he, without doubt, who +scratched a calendar on this stone. What is that in your hand? A crow- +bar? Give it me!" + +He had still the linstock of his gun in his own hand. He made a sudden +exchange of the two instruments, and turning on the worm-eaten stool +and table, beat them to pieces in a few blows. + +"Hold the light higher!" he said, wrathfully, to the turnkey. "Look +among those fragments with care, Jacques. And see! Here is my knife," +throwing it to him; "rip open that bed, and search the straw. Hold the +light higher, you!" + +With a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon the hearth, and, +peering up the chimney, struck and prised at its sides with the crowbar, +and worked at the iron grating across it. In a few minutes, some mortar +and dust came dropping down, which he averted his face to avoid; and +in it, and in the old wood-ashes, and in a crevice in the chimney into +which his weapon had slipped or wrought itself, he groped with a cau- +tious touch. + +"Nothing in the wood, and nothing in the straw, Jacques?" + +"Nothing." + +"Let us collect them together, in the middle of the cell. So! Light them, +you!" + +The turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed high and hot. Stooping +again to come out at the low-arched door, they left it burning, and re- +traced their way to the courtyard; seeming to recover their sense of hear- +ing as they came down, until they were in the raging flood once more. + +They found it surging and tossing, in quest of Defarge himself. Saint +Antoine was clamorous to have its wine-shop keeper foremost in the +guard upon the governor who had defended the Bastille and shot the +people. Otherwise, the governor would not be marched to the Hotel de +Ville for judgment. Otherwise, the governor would escape, and the + + + +221 + + + +people's blood (suddenly of some value, after many years of worthless- +ness) be unavenged. + +In the howling universe of passion and contention that seemed to en- +compass this grim old officer conspicuous in his grey coat and red decor- +ation, there was but one quite steady figure, and that was a woman's. +"See, there is my husband!" she cried, pointing him out. "See Defarge!" +She stood immovable close to the grim old officer, and remained immov- +able close to him; remained immovable close to him through the streets, +as Defarge and the rest bore him along; remained immovable close to +him when he was got near his destination, and began to be struck at +from behind; remained immovable close to him when the long-gathering +rain of stabs and blows fell heavy; was so close to him when he dropped +dead under it, that, suddenly animated, she put her foot upon his neck, +and with her cruel knife - long ready - hewed off his head. + +The hour was come, when Saint Antoine was to execute his horrible +idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show what he could be and do. +Saint Antoine's blood was up, and the blood of tyranny and domination +by the iron hand was down - down on the steps of the Hotel de Ville +where the governor's body lay - down on the sole of the shoe of Ma- +dame Defarge where she had trodden on the body to steady it for mutil- +ation. "Lower the lamp yonder!" cried Saint Antoine, after glaring round +for a new means of death; "here is one of his soldiers to be left on +guard!" The swinging sentinel was posted, and the sea rushed on. + +The sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive upheaving +of wave against wave, whose depths were yet unfathomed and whose +forces were yet unknown. The remorseless sea of turbulently swaying +shapes, voices of vengeance, and faces hardened in the furnaces of suf- +fering until the touch of pity could make no mark on them. + +But, in the ocean of faces where every fierce and furious expression +was in vivid life, there were two groups of faces - each seven in number +- so fixedly contrasting with the rest, that never did sea roll which bore +more memorable wrecks with it. Seven faces of prisoners, suddenly re- +leased by the storm that had burst their tomb, were carried high over- +head: all scared, all lost, all wondering and amazed, as if the Last Day +were come, and those who rejoiced around them were lost spirits. Other +seven faces there were, carried higher, seven dead faces, whose drooping +eyelids and half-seen eyes awaited the Last Day. Impassive faces, yet +with a suspended - not an abolished - expression on them; faces, rather, + + + +222 + + + +in a fearful pause, as having yet to raise the dropped lids of the eyes, and +bear witness with the bloodless lips, "Thou didst it!" + +Seven prisoners released, seven gory heads on pikes, the keys of the +accursed fortress of the eight strong towers, some discovered letters and +other memorials of prisoners of old time, long dead of broken +hearts, - such, and such - like, the loudly echoing footsteps of Saint An- +toine escort through the Paris streets in mid-July, one thousand seven +hundred and eighty-nine. Now, Heaven defeat the fancy of Lucie +Darnay, and keep these feet far out of her life! For, they are headlong, +mad, and dangerous; and in the years so long after the breaking of the +cask at Defarge's wine-shop door, they are not easily purified when once +stained red. + + + +223 + + + +Chapter + + + +22 + + + +The Sea still Rises + +Haggard Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to +soften his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, +with the relish of fraternal embraces and congratulations, when Madame +Defarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers. Ma- +dame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of +Spies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting +themselves to the saint's mercies. The lamps across his streets had a +portentously elastic swing with them. + +Madame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and +heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were +several knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a mani- +fest sense of power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, +awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: "I +know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in +myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of +this, to destroy life in you?" Every lean bare arm, that had been without +work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike. +The fingers of the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that +they could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine; +the image had been hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the +last finishing blows had told mightily on the expression. + +Madame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as +was to be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her +sisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved +grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had +already earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance. + +"Hark!" said The Vengeance. "Listen, then! Who comes?" + + + +224: + + + +As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of Saint Antoine +Quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spread- +ing murmur came rushing along. + +"It is Defarge," said madame. "Silence, patriots!" + +Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked +around him! "Listen, everywhere!" said madame again. "Listen to him!" +Defarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open +mouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had +sprung to their feet. + +"Say then, my husband. What is it?" + +"News from the other world!" + +"How, then?" cried madame, contemptuously. "The other world?" + +"Does everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people +that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?" + +"Everybody!" from all throats. + +"The news is of him. He is among us!" + +"Among us!" from the universal throat again. "And dead?" + +"Not dead! He feared us so much - and with reason - that he caused +himself to be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But +they have found him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him +in. I have seen him but now, on his way to the Hotel de Ville, a prisoner. +I have said that he had reason to fear us. Say all! Had he reason?" + +Wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he had +never known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if he +could have heard the answering cry. + +A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife looked +steadfastly at one another. The Vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drum +was heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter. + +"Patriots!" said Defarge, in a determined voice, "are we ready?" + +Instantly Madame Defarge's knife was in her girdle; the drum was +beating in the streets, as if it and a drummer had flown together by ma- +gic; and The Vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks, and flinging her arms +about her head like all the forty Furies at once, was tearing from house to +house, rousing the women. + +The men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with which they +looked from windows, caught up what arms they had, and came pour- +ing down into the streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the + + + +225 + + + +boldest. From such household occupations as their bare poverty yielded, +from their children, from their aged and their sick crouching on the bare +ground famished and naked, they ran out with streaming hair, urging +one another, and themselves, to madness with the wildest cries and ac- +tions. Villain Foulon taken, my sister! Old Foulon taken, my mother! +Miscreant Foulon taken, my daughter! Then, a score of others ran into +the midst of these, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and scream- +ing, Foulon alive! Foulon who told the starving people they might eat +grass! Foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when I had +no bread to give him! Foulon who told my baby it might suck grass, +when these breasts where dry with want! O mother of God, this Foulon! +O Heaven our suffering! Hear me, my dead baby and my withered fath- +er: I swear on my knees, on these stones, to avenge you on Foulon! Hus- +bands, and brothers, and young men, Give us the blood of Foulon, Give +us the head of Foulon, Give us the heart of Foulon, Give us the body and +soul of Foulon, Rend Foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that +grass may grow from him! With these cries, numbers of the women, +lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking and tearing at their own +friends until they dropped into a passionate swoon, and were only saved +by the men belonging to them from being trampled under foot. + +Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! This Foulon was +at the Hotel de Ville, and might be loosed. Never, if Saint Antoine knew +his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs! Armed men and women flocked +out of the Quarter so fast, and drew even these last dregs after them with +such a force of suction, that within a quarter of an hour there was not a +human creature in Saint Antoine's bosom but a few old crones and the +wailing children. + +No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of Examination where +this old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into the adjacent +open space and streets. The Defarges, husband and wife, The Vengeance, +and Jacques Three, were in the first press, and at no great distance from +him in the Hall. + +"See!" cried madame, pointing with her knife. "See the old villain +bound with ropes. That was well done to tie a bunch of grass upon his +back. Ha, ha! That was well done. Let him eat it now!" Madame put her +knife under her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play. + +The people immediately behind Madame Defarge, explaining the +cause of her satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explain- +ing to others, and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded + + + +226 + + + +with the clapping of hands. Similarly, during two or three hours of +drawl, and the winnowing of many bushels of words, Madame Defarge's +frequent expressions of impatience were taken up, with marvellous +quickness, at a distance: the more readily, because certain men who had +by some wonderful exercise of agility climbed up the external architec- +ture to look in from the windows, knew Madame Defarge well, and ac- +ted as a telegraph between her and the crowd outside the building. + +At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope or +protection, directly down upon the old prisoner's head. The favour was +too much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had +stood surprisingly long, went to the winds, and Saint Antoine had got +him! + +It was known directly, to the furthest confines of the crowd. Defarge +had but sprung over a railing and a table, and folded the miserable +wretch in a deadly embrace - Madame Defarge had but followed and +turned her hand in one of the ropes with which he was tied - The Ven- +geance and Jacques Three were not yet up with them, and the men at the +windows had not yet swooped into the Hall, like birds of prey from their +high perches - when the cry seemed to go up, all over the city, "Bring +him out! Bring him to the lamp!" + +Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the building; now, +on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back; dragged, and struck at, +and stifled by the bunches of grass and straw that were thrust into his +face by hundreds of hands; torn, bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always +entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of vehement agony of ac- +tion, with a small clear space about him as the people drew one another +back that they might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a +forest of legs; he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the +fatal lamps swung, and there Madame Defarge let him go - as a cat +might have done to a mouse - and silently and composedly looked at +him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the women pas- +sionately screeching at him all the time, and the men sternly calling out +to have him killed with grass in his mouth. Once, he went aloft, and the +rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the +rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, +and held him, and his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in +the mouth for all Saint Antoine to dance at the sight of. + +Nor was this the end of the day's bad work, for Saint Antoine so +shouted and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on hearing + + + +227 + + + +when the day closed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of +the people's enemies and insulters, was coming into Paris under a guard +five hundred strong, in cavalry alone. Saint Antoine wrote his crimes on +flaring sheets of paper, seized him - would have torn him out of the +breast of an army to bear Foulon company - set his head and heart on +pikes, and carried the three spoils of the day, in Wolf-procession through +the streets. + +Not before dark night did the men and women come back to the chil- +dren, wailing and breadless. Then, the miserable bakers' shops were be- +set by long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad bread; and while +they waited with stomachs faint and empty, they beguiled the time by +embracing one another on the triumphs of the day, and achieving them +again in gossip. Gradually, these strings of ragged people shortened and +frayed away; and then poor lights began to shine in high windows, and +slender fires were made in the streets, at which neighbours cooked in +common, afterwards supping at their doors. + +Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of most +other sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused some +nourishment into the flinty viands, and struck some sparks of cheerful- +ness out of them. Fathers and mothers who had had their full share in +the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children; and lov- +ers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and hoped. + +It was almost morning, when Defarge's wine-shop parted with its last +knot of customers, and Monsieur Defarge said to madame his wife, in +husky tones, while fastening the door: + +"At last it is come, my dear!" + +"Eh well!" returned madame. "Almost." + +Saint Antoine slept, the Defarges slept: even The Vengeance slept with +her starved grocer, and the drum was at rest. The drum's was the only +voice in Saint Antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. The Ven- +geance, as custodian of the drum, could have wakened him up and had +the same speech out of him as before the Bastille fell, or old Foulon was +seized; not so with the hoarse tones of the men and women in Saint An- +toine's bosom. + + + +228 + + + +Chapter + + + +23 + + + +Fire Rises + +There was a change on the village where the fountain fell, and where +the mender of roads went forth daily to hammer out of the stones on the +highway such morsels of bread as might serve for patches to hold his +poor ignorant soul and his poor reduced body together. The prison on +the crag was not so dominant as of yore; there were soldiers to guard it, +but not many; there were officers to guard the soldiers, but not one of +them knew what his men would do - beyond this: that it would prob- +ably not be what he was ordered. + +Far and wide lay a ruined country, yielding nothing but desolation. +Every green leaf, every blade of grass and blade of grain, was as shriv- +elled and poor as the miserable people. Everything was bowed down, +dejected, oppressed, and broken. Habitations, fences, domesticated an- +imals, men, women, children, and the soil that bore them - all worn out. + +Monseigneur (often a most worthy individual gentleman) was a na- +tional blessing, gave a chivalrous tone to things, was a polite example of +luxurious and shining fife, and a great deal more to equal purpose; nev- +ertheless, Monseigneur as a class had, somehow or other, brought things +to this. Strange that Creation, designed expressly for Monseigneur, +should be so soon wrung dry and squeezed out! There must be +something short-sighted in the eternal arrangements, surely! Thus it was, +however; and the last drop of blood having been extracted from the +flints, and the last screw of the rack having been turned so often that its +purchase crumbled, and it now turned and turned with nothing to bite, +Monseigneur began to run away from a phenomenon so low and +unaccountable. + +But, this was not the change on the village, and on many a village like +it. For scores of years gone by, Monseigneur had squeezed it and wrung +it, and had seldom graced it with his presence except for the pleasures of +the chase - now, found in hunting the people; now, found in hunting the +beasts, for whose preservation Monseigneur made edifying spaces of + + + +229 + + + +barbarous and barren wilderness. No. The change consisted in the ap- +pearance of strange faces of low caste, rather than in the disappearance +of the high caste, chiselled, and otherwise beautified and beautifying fea- +tures of Monseigneur. + +For, in these times, as the mender of roads worked, solitary, in the +dust, not often troubling himself to reflect that dust he was and to dust +he must return, being for the most part too much occupied in thinking +how little he had for supper and how much more he would eat if he had +it - in these times, as he raised his eyes from his lonely labour, and +viewed the prospect, he would see some rough figure approaching on +foot, the like of which was once a rarity in those parts, but was now a fre- +quent presence. As it advanced, the mender of roads would discern +without surprise, that it was a shaggy-haired man, of almost barbarian +aspect, tall, in wooden shoes that were clumsy even to the eyes of a +mender of roads, grim, rough, swart, steeped in the mud and dust of +many highways, dank with the marshy moisture of many low grounds, +sprinkled with the thorns and leaves and moss of many byways through +woods. + +Such a man came upon him, like a ghost, at noon in the July weather, +as he sat on his heap of stones under a bank, taking such shelter as he +could get from a shower of hail. + +The man looked at him, looked at the village in the hollow, at the mill, +and at the prison on the crag. When he had identified these objects in +what benighted mind he had, he said, in a dialect that was just +intelligible: + +"How goes it, Jacques?" + +"All well, Jacques." + +"Touch then!" + +They joined hands, and the man sat down on the heap of stones. + +"No dinner?" + +"Nothing but supper now," said the mender of roads, with a hungry +face. + +"It is the fashion," growled the man. "I meet no dinner anywhere." + +He took out a blackened pipe, filled it, lighted it with flint and steel, +pulled at it until it was in a bright glow: then, suddenly held it from him +and dropped something into it from between his finger and thumb, that +blazed and went out in a puff of smoke. + + + +230 + + + +"Touch then." It was the turn of the mender of roads to say it this time, +after observing these operations. They again joined hands. + +"To-night?" said the mender of roads. + +"To-night," said the man, putting the pipe in his mouth. + +"Where?" + +"Here." + +He and the mender of roads sat on the heap of stones looking silently +at one another, with the hail driving in between them like a pigmy +charge of bayonets, until the sky began to clear over the village. + +"Show me!" said the traveller then, moving to the brow of the hill. + +"See!" returned the mender of roads, with extended finger. "You go +down here, and straight through the street, and past the fountain - " + +"To the Devil with all that!" interrupted the other, rolling his eye over +the landscape. "I go through no streets and past no fountains. Well?" + +"Well! About two leagues beyond the summit of that hill above the +village." + +"Good. When do you cease to work?" + +"At sunset." + +"Will you wake me, before departing? I have walked two nights +without resting. Let me finish my pipe, and I shall sleep like a child. Will +you wake me?" + +"Surely." + +The wayfarer smoked his pipe out, put it in his breast, slipped off his +great wooden shoes, and lay down on his back on the heap of stones. He +was fast asleep directly. + +As the road-mender plied his dusty labour, and the hail-clouds, rolling +away, revealed bright bars and streaks of sky which were responded to +by silver gleams upon the landscape, the little man (who wore a red cap +now, in place of his blue one) seemed fascinated by the figure on the +heap of stones. His eyes were so often turned towards it, that he used his +tools mechanically, and, one would have said, to very poor account. The +bronze face, the shaggy black hair and beard, the coarse woollen red cap, +the rough medley dress of home-spun stuff and hairy skins of beasts, the +powerful frame attenuated by spare living, and the sullen and desperate +compression of the lips in sleep, inspired the mender of roads with awe. +The traveller had travelled far, and his feet were footsore, and his ankles +chafed and bleeding; his great shoes, stuffed with leaves and grass, had + + + +231 + + + +been heavy to drag over the many long leagues, and his clothes were +chafed into holes, as he himself was into sores. Stooping down beside +him, the road-mender tried to get a peep at secret weapons in his breast +or where not; but, in vain, for he slept with his arms crossed upon him, +and set as resolutely as his lips. Fortified towns with their stockades, +guard-houses, gates, trenches, and drawbridges, seemed to the mender +of roads, to be so much air as against this figure. And when he lifted his +eyes from it to the horizon and looked around, he saw in his small fancy +similar figures, stopped by no obstacle, tending to centres all over +France. + +The man slept on, indifferent to showers of hail and intervals of +brightness, to sunshine on his face and shadow, to the paltering lumps of +dull ice on his body and the diamonds into which the sun changed them, +until the sun was low in the west, and the sky was glowing. Then, the +mender of roads having got his tools together and all things ready to go +down into the village, roused him. + +"Good!" said the sleeper, rising on his elbow. "Two leagues beyond +the summit of the hill?" + +"About." + +"About. Good!" + +The mender of roads went home, with the dust going on before him +according to the set of the wind, and was soon at the fountain, squeezing +himself in among the lean kine brought there to drink, and appearing +even to whisper to them in his whispering to all the village. When the +village had taken its poor supper, it did not creep to bed, as it usually +did, but came out of doors again, and remained there. A curious conta- +gion of whispering was upon it, and also, when it gathered together at +the fountain in the dark, another curious contagion of looking expect- +antly at the sky in one direction only. Monsieur Gabelle, chief function- +ary of the place, became uneasy; went out on his house-top alone, and +looked in that direction too; glanced down from behind his chimneys at +the darkening faces by the fountain below, and sent word to the sacristan +who kept the keys of the church, that there might be need to ring the +tocsin by-and-bye. + +The night deepened. The trees environing the old chateau, keeping its +solitary state apart, moved in a rising wind, as though they threatened +the pile of building massive and dark in the gloom. Up the two terrace +flights of steps the rain ran wildly, and beat at the great door, like a swift +messenger rousing those within; uneasy rushes of wind went through + + + +232 + + + +the hall, among the old spears and knives, and passed lamenting up the +stairs, and shook the curtains of the bed where the last Marquis had +slept. East, West, North, and South, through the woods, four heavy- +treading, unkempt figures crushed the high grass and cracked the +branches, striding on cautiously to come together in the courtyard. Four +lights broke out there, and moved away in different directions, and all +was black again. + +But, not for long. Presently, the chateau began to make itself strangely +visible by some light of its own, as though it were growing luminous. +Then, a flickering streak played behind the architecture of the front, pick- +ing out transparent places, and showing where balustrades, arches, and +windows were. Then it soared higher, and grew broader and brighter. +Soon, from a score of the great windows, flames burst forth, and the +stone faces awakened, stared out of fire. + +A faint murmur arose about the house from the few people who were +left there, and there was a saddling of a horse and riding away. There +was spurring and splashing through the darkness, and bridle was drawn +in the space by the village fountain, and the horse in a foam stood at +Monsieur Gabelle's door. "Help, Gabelle! Help, every one!" The tocsin +rang impatiently, but other help (if that were any) there was none. The +mender of roads, and two hundred and fifty particular friends, stood +with folded arms at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. +"It must be forty feet high," said they, grimly; and never moved. + +The rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam, clattered away +through the village, and galloped up the stony steep, to the prison on the +crag. At the gate, a group of officers were looking at the fire; removed +from them, a group of soldiers. "Help, gentlemen - officers! The chateau +is on fire; valuable objects may be saved from the flames by timely aid! +Help, help!" The officers looked towards the soldiers who looked at the +fire; gave no orders; and answered, with shrugs and biting of lips, "It +must burn." + +As the rider rattled down the hill again and through the street, the vil- +lage was illuminating. The mender of roads, and the two hundred and +fifty particular friends, inspired as one man and woman by the idea of +lighting up, had darted into their houses, and were putting candles in +every dull little pane of glass. The general scarcity of everything, occa- +sioned candles to be borrowed in a rather peremptory manner of Mon- +sieur Gabelle; and in a moment of reluctance and hesitation on that func- +tionary's part, the mender of roads, once so submissive to authority, had + + + +233 + + + +remarked that carriages were good to make bonfires with, and that post- +horses would roast. + +The chateau was left to itself to flame and burn. In the roaring and ra- +ging of the conflagration, a red-hot wind, driving straight from the in- +fernal regions, seemed to be blowing the edifice away. With the rising +and falling of the blaze, the stone faces showed as if they were in tor- +ment. When great masses of stone and timber fell, the face with the two +dints in the nose became obscured: anon struggled out of the smoke +again, as if it were the face of the cruel Marquis, burning at the stake and +contending with the fire. + +The chateau burned; the nearest trees, laid hold of by the fire, scorched +and shrivelled; trees at a distance, fired by the four fierce figures, begirt +the blazing edifice with a new forest of smoke. Molten lead and iron +boiled in the marble basin of the fountain; the water ran dry; the extin- +guisher tops of the towers vanished like ice before the heat, and trickled +down into four rugged wells of flame. Great rents and splits branched +out in the solid walls, like crystallisation; stupefied birds wheeled about +and dropped into the furnace; four fierce figures trudged away, East, +West, North, and South, along the night- enshrouded roads, guided by +the beacon they had lighted, towards their next destination. The illumin- +ated village had seized hold of the tocsin, and, abolishing the lawful +ringer, rang for joy. + +Not only that; but the village, light-headed with famine, fire, and bell- +ringing, and bethinking itself that Monsieur Gabelle had to do with the +collection of rent and taxes - though it was but a small instalment of +taxes, and no rent at all, that Gabelle had got in those latter +days - became impatient for an interview with him, and, surrounding +his house, summoned him to come forth for personal conference. +Whereupon, Monsieur Gabelle did heavily bar his door, and retire to +hold counsel with himself. The result of that conference was, that Gabelle +again withdrew himself to his housetop behind his stack of chimneys; +this time resolved, if his door were broken in (he was a small Southern +man of retaliative temperament), to pitch himself head foremost over the +parapet, and crush a man or two below. + +Probably, Monsieur Gabelle passed a long night up there, with the dis- +tant chateau for fire and candle, and the beating at his door, combined +with the joy-ringing, for music; not to mention his having an ill-omened +lamp slung across the road before his posting-house gate, which the vil- +lage showed a lively inclination to displace in his favour. A trying + + + +234 + + + +suspense, to be passing a whole summer night on the brink of the black +ocean, ready to take that plunge into it upon which Monsieur Gabelle +had resolved! But, the friendly dawn appearing at last, and the rush- +candles of the village guttering out, the people happily dispersed, and +Monsieur Gabelle came down bringing his life with him for that while. + +Within a hundred miles, and in the light of other fires, there were oth- +er functionaries less fortunate, that night and other nights, whom the +rising sun found hanging across once-peaceful streets, where they had +been born and bred; also, there were other villagers and townspeople +less fortunate than the mender of roads and his fellows, upon whom the +functionaries and soldiery turned with success, and whom they strung +up in their turn. But, the fierce figures were steadily wending East, West, +North, and South, be that as it would; and whosoever hung, fire burned. +The altitude of the gallows that would turn to water and quench it, no +functionary, by any stretch of mathematics, was able to calculate +successfully. + + + +235 + + + +Chapter + + + +24 + + + +Drawn to the Loadstone Rock + +In such risings of fire and risings of sea - the firm earth shaken by the +rushes of an angry ocean which had now no ebb, but was always on the +flow, higher and higher, to the terror and wonder of the beholders on the +shore - three years of tempest were consumed. Three more birthdays of +little Lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peaceful tissue +of the life of her home. + +Many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes in +the corner, with hearts that failed them when they heard the thronging +feet. For, the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a +people, tumultuous under a red flag and with their country declared in +danger, changed into wild beasts, by terrible enchantment long persisted +in. + +Monseigneur, as a class, had dissociated himself from the phenomen- +on of his not being appreciated: of his being so little wanted in France, as +to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it, and this +life together. Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devil with infinite +pains, and was so terrified at the sight of him that he could ask the +Enemy no question, but immediately fled; so, Monseigneur, after boldly +reading the Lord's Prayer backwards for a great number of years, and +performing many other potent spells for compelling the Evil One, no +sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels. + +The shining Bull's Eye of the Court was gone, or it would have been +the mark for a hurricane of national bullets. It had never been a good eye +to see with - had long had the mote in it of Lucifer's pride, Sard- +ana - palus's luxury, and a mole's blindness - but it had dropped out +and was gone. The Court, from that exclusive inner circle to its outer- +most rotten ring of intrigue, corruption, and dissimulation, was all gone +together. Royalty was gone; had been besieged in its Palace and +"suspended," when the last tidings came over. + + + +236 + + + +The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two +was come, and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide. + +As was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place of Mon- +seigneur, in London, was Tellson's Bank. Spirits are supposed to haunt +the places where their bodies most resorted, and Monseigneur without a +guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be. Moreover, it was +the spot to which such French intelligence as was most to be relied upon, +came quickest. Again: Tellson's was a munificent house, and extended +great liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate. +Again: those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time, and anticip- +ating plunder or confiscation, had made provident remittances to Tell- +son's, were always to be heard of there by their needy brethren. To +which it must be added that every new-comer from France reported +himself and his tidings at Tellson's, almost as a matter of course. For +such variety of reasons, Tellson's was at that time, as to French intelli- +gence, a kind of High Exchange; and this was so well known to the pub- +lic, and the inquiries made there were in consequence so numerous, that +Tellson's sometimes wrote the latest news out in a line or so and posted +it in the Bank windows, for all who ran through Temple Bar to read. + +On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and Charles +Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. The peniten- +tial den once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news- +Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within half an hour or so +of the time of closing. + +"But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived," said Charles +Darnay, rather hesitating, "I must still suggest to you - " + +"I understand. That I am too old?" said Mr. Lorry. + +"Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a +disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you." + +"My dear Charles," said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, "you +touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. It is +safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of +hard upon fourscore when there are so many people there much better +worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a +disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from +our House here to our House there, who knows the city and the busi- +ness, of old, and is in Tellson's confidence. As to the uncertain travelling, +the long journey, and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to + + + +237 + + + +submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson's, after all +these years, who ought to be?" + +"I wish I were going myself," said Charles Darnay, somewhat rest- +lessly, and like one thinking aloud. + +"Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!" exclaimed Mr. +Lorry. "You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? +You are a wise counsellor." + +"My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that the +thought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passed +through my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had some +sympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something to +them," he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, "that one might +be listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint. +Only last night, after you had left us, when I was talking to Lucie - " + +"When you were talking to Lucie," Mr. Lorry repeated. "Yes. I wonder +you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were +going to France at this time of day!" + +"However, I am not going," said Charles Darnay, with a smile. "It is +more to the purpose that you say you are." + +"And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles," Mr. Lorry +glanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, "you can have no +conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and of +the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. The +Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to +numbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; +and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Paris is +not set afire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selection +from these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or oth- +erwise getting of them out of harm's way, is within the power (without +loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And +shall I hang back, when Tellson's knows this and says this - Tellson's, +whose bread I have eaten these sixty years - because I am a little stiff +about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!" + +"How I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. Lorry." + +"Tut! Nonsense, sir! - And, my dear Charles," said Mr. Lorry, glancing +at the House again, "you are to remember, that getting things out of Par- +is at this present time, no matter what things, is next to an impossibility. +Papers and precious matters were this very day brought to us here (I + + + +238 + + + +speak in strict confidence; it is not business-like to whisper it, even to +you), by the strangest bearers you can imagine, every one of whom had +his head hanging on by a single hair as he passed the Barriers. At anoth- +er time, our parcels would come and go, as easily as in business-like Old +England; but now, everything is stopped." + +"And do you really go to-night?" + +"I really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit of +delay." + +"And do you take no one with you?" + +"All sorts of people have been proposed to me, but I will have nothing +to say to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. Jerry has been my body- +guard on Sunday nights for a long time past and I am used to him. +Nobody will suspect Jerry of being anything but an English bull-dog, or +of having any design in his head but to fly at anybody who touches his +master." + +"I must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry and +youthfulness." + +"I must say again, nonsense, nonsense! When I have executed this little +commission, I shall, perhaps, accept Tellson's proposal to retire and live +at my ease. Time enough, then, to think about growing old." + +This dialogue had taken place at Mr. Lorry's usual desk, with Monsei- +gneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do +to avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. It was too much the +way of Monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was much +too much the way of native British orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible Re- +volution as if it were the only harvest ever known under the skies that +had not been sown - as if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be +done, that had led to it - as if observers of the wretched millions in +France, and of the misused and perverted resources that should have +made them prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, +and had not in plain words recorded what they saw. Such vapouring, +combined with the extravagant plots of Monseigneur for the restoration +of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself, and worn out +Heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be endured without some +remonstrance by any sane man who knew the truth. And it was such va- +pouring all about his ears, like a troublesome confusion of blood in his +own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, which had already +made Charles Darnay restless, and which still kept him so. + + + +239 + + + +Among the talkers, was Stryver, of the King's Bench Bar, far on his +way to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme: broaching to +Monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up and exterminating +them from the face of the earth, and doing without them: and for accom- +plishing many similar objects akin in their nature to the abolition of +eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race. Him, Darnay heard with +a particular feeling of objection; and Darnay stood divided between go- +ing away that he might hear no more, and remaining to interpose his +word, when the thing that was to be, went on to shape itself out. + +The House approached Mr. Lorry, and laying a soiled and unopened +letter before him, asked if he had yet discovered any traces of the person +to whom it was addressed? The House laid the letter down so close to +Darnay that he saw the direction - the more quickly because it was his +own right name. The address, turned into English, ran: + +"Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evremonde, of +France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson and Co., Bankers, Lon- +don, England." + +On the marriage morning, Doctor Manette had made it his one urgent +and express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of this name +should be - unless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligation - kept inviol- +ate between them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had +no suspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none. + +"No," said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; "I have referred it, I think, +to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this gentleman is +to be found." + +The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the Bank, +there was a general set of the current of talkers past Mr. Lorry's desk. He +held the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the per- +son of this plotting and indignant refugee; and Monseigneur looked at it +in the person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and This, That, and +The Other, all had something disparaging to say, in French or in English, +concerning the Marquis who was not to be found. + +"Nephew, I believe - but in any case degenerate successor - of the pol- +ished Marquis who was murdered," said one. "Happy to say, I never +knew him." + +"A craven who abandoned his post," said another - this Monseigneur +had been got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load +of hay - "some years ago." + + + +240 + + + +"Infected with the new doctrines/' said a third, eyeing the direction +through his glass in passing; "set himself in opposition to the last Mar- +quis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left them to the +ruffian herd. They will recompense him now, I hope, as he deserves." + +"Hey?" cried the blatant Stryver. "Did he though? Is that the sort of +fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. D - n the fellow!" + +Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr. Stryver on +the shoulder, and said: + +"I know the fellow." + +"Do you, by Jupiter?" said Stryver. "I am sorry for it." + +"Why?" + +"Why, Mr. Darnay? D'ye hear what he did? Don't ask, why, in these +times." + +"But I do ask why?" + +"Then I tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I am sorry for it. I am sorry to hear +you putting any such extraordinary questions. Here is a fellow, who, in- +fected by the most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilry that ever +was known, abandoned his property to the vilest scum of the earth that +ever did murder by wholesale, and you ask me why I am sorry that a +man who instructs youth knows him? Well, but I'll answer you. I am +sorry because I believe there is contamination in such a scoundrel. That's +why." + +Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty checked himself, +and said: "You may not understand the gentleman." + +"I understand how to put you in a corner, Mr. Darnay," said Bully +Stryver, "and I'll do it. If this fellow is a gentleman, I don't understand +him. You may tell him so, with my compliments. You may also tell him, +from me, that after abandoning his worldly goods and position to this +butcherly mob, I wonder he is not at the head of them. But, no, gentle- +men," said Stryver, looking all round, and snapping his fingers, "I know +something of human nature, and I tell you that you'll never find a fellow +like this fellow, trusting himself to the mercies of such precious proteges. +No, gentlemen; he'll always show 'em a clean pair of heels very early in +the scuffle, and sneak away." + +With those words, and a final snap of his fingers, Mr. Stryver +shouldered himself into Fleet-street, amidst the general approbation of +his hearers. Mr. Lorry and Charles Darnay were left alone at the desk, in +the general departure from the Bank. + + + +241 + + + +"Will you take charge of the letter?" said Mr. Lorry. "You know where +to deliver it?" + +"I do." + +"Will you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have been ad- +dressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it, and that +it has been here some time?" + +"I will do so. Do you start for Paris from here?" + +"From here, at eight." + +"I will come back, to see you off." + +Very ill at ease with himself, and with Stryver and most other men, +Darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the Temple, opened +the letter, and read it. These were its contents: + +"Prison of the Abbaye, Paris. + +"June 21, 1792. "Monsieur Heretofore the Marquis. + +"After having long been in danger of my life at the hands of the vil- +lage, I have been seized, with great violence and indignity, and brought +a long journey on foot to Paris. On the road I have suffered a great deal. +Nor is that all; my house has been destroyed - razed to the ground. + +"The crime for which I am imprisoned, Monsieur heretofore the Mar- +quis, and for which I shall be summoned before the tribunal, and shall +lose my life (without your so generous help), is, they tell me, treason +against the majesty of the people, in that I have acted against them for an +emigrant. It is in vain I represent that I have acted for them, and not +against, according to your commands. It is in vain I represent that, before +the sequestration of emigrant property, I had remitted the imposts they +had ceased to pay; that I had collected no rent; that I had had recourse to +no process. The only response is, that I have acted for an emigrant, and +where is that emigrant? + +"Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is that +emigrant? I cry in my sleep where is he? I demand of Heaven, will he not +come to deliver me? No answer. Ah Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I +send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your +ears through the great bank of Tilson known at Paris! + +"For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your +noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, to suc- +cour and release me. My fault is, that I have been true to you. Oh Mon- +sieur heretofore the Marquis, I pray you be you true to me! + + + +242 + + + +"From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and +nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the +assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service. + +"Your afflicted, + +"Gabelle." + +The latent uneasiness in Darnay's mind was roused to vigourous life +by this letter. The peril of an old servant and a good one, whose only +crime was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him so reproachfully +in the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the Temple considering what +to do, he almost hid his face from the passersby. + +He knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culmin- +ated the bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his re- +sentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his con- +science regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed to uphold, +he had acted imperfectly. He knew very well, that in his love for Lucie, +his renunciation of his social place, though by no means new to his own +mind, had been hurried and incomplete. He knew that he ought to have +systematically worked it out and supervised it, and that he had meant to +do it, and that it had never been done. + +The happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of being +always actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the time +which had followed on one another so fast, that the events of this week +annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events of the week +following made all new again; he knew very well, that to the force of +these circumstances he had yielded: - not without disquiet, but still +without continuous and accumulating resistance. That he had watched +the times for a time of action, and that they had shifted and struggled +until the time had gone by, and the nobility were trooping from France +by every highway and byway, and their property was in course of con- +fiscation and destruction, and their very names were blotting out, was as +well known to himself as it could be to any new authority in France that +might impeach him for it. + +But, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so +far from having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relin- +quished them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with no favour +in it, won his own private place there, and earned his own bread. Mon- +sieur Gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estate on written +instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to +give - such fuel as the heavy creditors would let them have in the winter, + + + +243 + + + +and such produce as could be saved from the same grip in the sum- +mer - and no doubt he had put the fact in plea and proof, for his own +safety, so that it could not but appear now. + +This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to +make, that he would go to Paris. + +Yes. Like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams had driv- +en him within the influence of the Loadstone Rock, and it was drawing +him to itself, and he must go. Everything that arose before his mind drif- +ted him on, faster and faster, more and more steadily, to the terrible at- +traction. His latent uneasiness had been, that bad aims were being +worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments, and that he +who could not fail to know that he was better than they, was not there, +trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assert the claims of mercy +and humanity. With this uneasiness half stifled, and half reproaching +him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison of himself with the +brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong; upon that comparison +(injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers of Monseigneur, +which had stung him bitterly, and those of Stryver, which above all were +coarse and galling, for old reasons. Upon those, had followed Gabelle's +letter: the appeal of an innocent prisoner, in danger of death, to his +justice, honour, and good name. + +His resolution was made. He must go to Paris. + +Yes. The Loadstone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until +he struck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. The intention +with which he had done what he had done, even although he had left it +incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect that would be gratefully +acknowledged in France on his presenting himself to assert it. Then, that +glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the sanguine mirage of +so many good minds, arose before him, and he even saw himself in the +illusion with some influence to guide this raging Revolution that was +running so fearfully wild. + +As he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered that +neither Lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone. Lucie +should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, always reluctant +to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old, should come +to the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not in the balance of +suspense and doubt. How much of the incompleteness of his situation +was referable to her father, through the painful anxiety to avoid reviving + + + +244 + + + +old associations of France in his mind, he did not discuss with himself. +But, that circumstance too, had had its influence in his course. + +He walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time to re- +turn to Tellson's and take leave of Mr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in +Paris he would present himself to this old friend, but he must say noth- +ing of his intention now. + +A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry was +booted and equipped. + +"I have delivered that letter," said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. "I +would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but +perhaps you will take a verbal one?" + +"That I will, and readily," said Mr. Lorry, "if it is not dangerous." + +"Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye." + +"What is his name?" said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his +hand. + +"Gabelle." + +"Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in +prison?" + +"Simply, 'that he has received the letter, and will come.'" + +"Any time mentioned?" + +"He will start upon his journey to-morrow night." + +"Any person mentioned?" + +"No." + +He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, +and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into +the misty air of Fleet-street. "My love to Lucie, and to little Lucie," said +Mr. Lorry at parting, "and take precious care of them till I come back." +Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled, as the carriage +rolled away. + +That night - it was the fourteenth of August - he sat up late, and wrote +two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he +was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length, the reasons that he +had, for feeling confident that he could become involved in no personal +danger there; the other was to the Doctor, confiding Lucie and their dear +child to his care, and dwelling on the same topics with the strongest as- +surances. To both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of his +safety, immediately after his arrival. + + + +245 + + + +It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the first reser- +vation of their joint lives on his mind. It was a hard matter to preserve +the innocent deceit of which they were profoundly unsuspicious. But, an +affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him resolute +not to tell her what impended (he had been half moved to do it, so +strange it was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid), and the +day passed quickly. Early in the evening he embraced her, and her +scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that he would return by-and- +bye (an imaginary engagement took him out, and he had secreted a +valise of clothes ready), and so he emerged into the heavy mist of the +heavy streets, with a heavier heart. + +The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all the tides +and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He left his two +letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hour before midnight, +and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began his journey. "For the +love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble +name!" was the poor prisoner's cry with which he strengthened his sink- +ing heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him, and floated +away for the Loadstone Rock. + + + +246 + + + +Part 3 +The Track of a Storm + + + +24:7 + + + +Chapter + + + +1 + + + +In Secret + +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-patri- +ots, 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 ca- +pricious 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 watch- +fulness 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. + + + +248 + + + +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 dis- +pense 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 star- +ted 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. + + + +249 + + + +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 be- +ing 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, he +reasoned with himself that it could have no reference to the merits of an +individual case that was not yet stated, and of representations, confirm- +able by the prisoner in the Abbaye, that were not yet made. + +But when they came to the town of Beauvais - which they did at even- +tide, 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, re- +suming 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 con- +demned 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 + + + +250 + + + +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 post- +master, 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 oth- +ers - 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, circ- +ling hand in hand round a shrivelled tree of Liberty, or all drawn up to- +gether 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. + + + +251 + + + +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 im- +posed 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 patri- +ots, 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 men- +tion 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 examina- +tion 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 tri-colour +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 es- +cort, 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 com- +mon 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 un- +certain condition. Some registers were lying open on a desk, and an of- +ficer 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?" + + + +252 + + + +"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. You 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 of- +ficer wrote until he had finished, read over to himself what he had writ- +ten, sanded it, and handed it to Defarge, with the words "In secret." + +Defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he must accom- +pany him. The prisoner obeyed, and a guard of two armed patriots atten- +ded them. + +"Is it you," said Defarge, in a low voice, as they went down the guard- +house 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 An- +toine. Possibly you have heard of me." + +"My wife came to your house to reclaim her father? Yes!" + + + +253 + + + +The word "wife" seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder to Defarge, to +say with sudden impatience, "In the name of that sharp female newly- +born, 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 Par- +is, 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 silence, 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 + + + +254 + + + +their heads, and a few shook their fingers at him as an aristocrat; other- +wise, 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 audi- +ence 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 am- +bassadors 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, ima- +gined 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 ig- +norant 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 gen- +erality 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 with- +drew, with his two fellow-patriots. + + + +255 + + + +"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 ad- +ded, "For the love of Liberty;" which sounded in that place like an inap- +propriate 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 prison- +ers 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 dis- +grace, the new-comer recoiled from this company. But the crowning un- +reality 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 en- +gaging 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 + + + +256 + + + +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 appear- +ance 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 gen- +tleman 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 so- +ciety - 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 un- +der the gaoler's hand; and the apparitions vanished from his sight +forever. + +The wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. When they +bad ascended forty steps (the prisoner of half an hour already counted +them), the gaoler opened a low black door, and they passed into a solit- +ary cell. It struck cold and damp, but was not dark. + + + +257 + + + +"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 illu- +minated 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 wail of voices that he knew, in the swell +that rose above them. + + + +258 + + + +Chapter + + + +2 + + + +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, patri- +ot emissaries of the law were in possession of Monseigneur's house, and +had marked it with the tri-colour, 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 + + + +259 + + + +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, lie strong root-ivy. it chanced that they de- +rived a kind of security from the patriotic occupation of the main build- +ing, 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 hur- +riedly 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 + + + +260 + + + +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 sud- +denly 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 un- +known 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 beg 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, ex- +cept to overwhelm me with embraces, or carry me in triumph. My old + + + +261 + + + +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 ter- +rified, 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 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 Rapped back when the whirl- +ings of the grindstone brought their faces up, were more horrible and +cruel than the visages of the wildest savages in their most barbarous dis- +guise. False eyebrows and false moustaches were stuck upon them, and +their hideous countenances were all bloody and sweaty, and all awry +with howling, and all staring and glaring with beastly excitement and + + + +262 + + + +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 atmo- +sphere 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 wield- +ers 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 ex- +planation 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 con- +fidence 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 mo- +ments there was a pause, and a hurry, and a murmur, and the unintelli- +gible 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! + + + +263 + + + +Room for the Bastille prisoner in front there! Save the prisoner Evre- +monde 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 as- +sisted 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 sur- +prised 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 be- +smeared 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. + + + +264 + + + +Chapter + + + +3 + + + +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 dan- +gerous 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 retained to his own occupa- +tions. A disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear upon them, and +slowly and heavily the day lagged on with him. + + + +265 + + + +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 he heard a foot upon the stair. In a few moments, a man +stood in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him, ad- +dressed 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 em- +phasis, 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 read- +ing 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 per- +sons. It is for their safety." + + + +266 + + + +Beginning to be struck by Defarge's manner, Mr. Lorry looked dubi- +ously at him, and led the way. Both the women followed; the second wo- +man 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 tid- +ings Mr. Lorry gave her of her husband, and clasped the hand that de- +livered 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 lif- +ted 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 all 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 propiti- +ate, 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. + + + +267 + + + +"Is that his child?" said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for the +first 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 shad- +ow 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 hus- +band. 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!" + + + +268 + + + +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. De- +farge 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 him- +self, for all that, and in his secret mind it troubled him greatly. + + + +269 + + + +Chapter + + + +4 + + + +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 at- +tack 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 prison- +ers 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 re- +leased, when the tide in his favour met with some unexplained check + + + +270 + + + +(not intelligible to the Doctor), which led to a few words of secret confer- +ence. 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. + + + +271 + + + +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 man- +kind, 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 gen- +eral 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 connexions 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 re- +verse them, for he could have had no pride but in rendering some ser- +vice 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 yiel- +ded fruit equally on hill and plain, on rock, in gravel, and alluvial mud, + + + +272 + + + +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 de- +luge 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 +head 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 revolution- +ary tribunal in the capital, and forty or fifty thousand revolutionary com- +mittees 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 per- +son to any bad and guilty one; prisons gorged with people who had +committed no offence, and could obtain no hearing; 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 +infallibly 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 + + + +273 + + + +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. + + + +274: + + + +Chapter + + + +5 + + + +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 des- +pair, 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 pray- +er at night for one dear prisoner especially, among the many unhappy +souls in prison and the shadow of death - were almost the only out- +spoken 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 + + + +275 + + + +well attended to as the brighter clothes of happy days. She lost her col- +our, 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 es- +tablished 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. + + + +276 + + + +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 for- +gotten 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 hot 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 + + + +277 + + + +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 fe- +male 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 af- +terwards, 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 uni- +son. 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 ap- +parition of a dance-figure gone raving mad arose among them. They ad- +vanced, 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 re- +versed 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 + + + +278 + + + +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 cheerful- +ness 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 be- +fore 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 Conci- +ergerie; 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." + + + +279 + + + +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, de- +noted 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 let- +ters: 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?" + + + +280 + + + +Chapter + + + +6 + + + +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 ar- +rival. 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 re- +filled, and the time was, at best, short to the lock-up hour, when the com- +mon rooms and corridors would be delivered over to the great dogs who +kept watch there through the night. The prisoners were far from insens- +ible or unfeeling; their ways arose out of the condition of the time. + + + +281 + + + +Similarly, though with a subtle difference, a species of fervour or intoxic- +ation, known, without doubt, to have led some persons to brave the guil- +lotine 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 fif- +teen 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. Look- +ing 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, crudest, 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 prosec- +utor as an emigrant, whose life was forfeit to the Republic, under the de- +cree 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 + + + +282 + + + +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 prison- +er 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 coun- +try - 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 Al- +exandre 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 cau- +tious 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? + + + +283 + + + +He had not returned sooner, he replied, simply because he had no +means of living in France, save those he had resigned; whereas, in Eng- +land, he lived by giving instruction in the French language and literat- +ure. 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 testi- +mony, 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!" until +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 pro- +duced and read. Citizen Gabelle was called to confirm it, and did so. Cit- +izen Gabelle hinted, with infinite delicacy and politeness, that in the +pressure of business imposed on the Tribunal by the multitude of en- +emies 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 clearness of his answers, made a great impression; but, as he +proceeded, as he showed that the Accused was his first friend on his re- +lease 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 govern- +ment there, he had actually been tried for his life by it, as the foe of Eng- +land 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 + + + +284 + + + +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 popu- +lace set up a shout of applause. All the voices were in the prisoner's fa- +vour, and the President declared him free. + +Then, began one of those extraordinary scenes with which the popu- +lace 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 pris- +oner 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 ex- +haustion; 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 + + + +285 + + + +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 pre- +vailing 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 be- +fore 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 + + + +286 + + + +his strength. "You must not be weak, my darling," he remonstrated; +"don't tremble so. I have saved him." + + + +287 + + + +Chapter + + + +7 + + + +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 passion- +ately 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 shoemak- +ing, no One Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had accom- +plished 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 ser- +vice; and Jerry (almost wholly transferred to them by Mr. Lorry) had be- +come 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 + + + +288 + + + +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 em- +ployed 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 asso- +ciation with a French family, might have known as much of their lan- +guage as of her own, if she had had a mind, she had no mind in that dir- +ection; 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 held up, whatever his number might be. + +"Now, Mr. Cruncher," said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red with feli- +city; "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," re- +torted Jerry, "whether they drink your health or the Old Un's." + +"Who's he?" said Miss Pross. + + + +289 + + + +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 smother- +ings 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, approv- +ingly. "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 pro- +spect 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!" + + + +290 + + + +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 be +stood with the lamp in his hand, as if be woe a statue made to hold it, +moved after these words were spoken, put the lamp down, and + + + +291 + + + +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!" + + + +292 + + + +Chapter + + + +8 + + + +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 indispens- +able 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 all 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 re- +sumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the +popular high-shouldered shaggy black spencer looked, in that attitude, + + + +293 + + + +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 wo- +man, 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 ac- +count - 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 + + + +294 + + + +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 lan- +guage, which caused them all to relapse into their former places and +pursuits. + +"Now," said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, "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. Confound 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 + + + +295 + + + +the case, all the world over), when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on the +shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedly interposed with the following sin- +gular question: + +"I say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is John So- +lomon, or Solomon John?" + +The official turned towards him with sudden distrust. He had not pre- +viously 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 regard- +ing 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 - wit- +ness 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 be- +hind 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 em- +ployed 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 + + + +296 + + + +hour or more ago. You have a face to be remembered, and I remember +faces well. Made curious by seeing you in that connexion, and having a +reason, to which you are no stranger, for associating you with the misfor- +tunes 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 ru- +mour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of your call- +ing. 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 sis- +ter; "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 pleas- +antly 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 re- +membered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney's arm and looked + + + +297 + + + +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, ad- +equately 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 had 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 immedi- +ately 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 re- +lationship. 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 messen- +gers at the gate, and saw them admitted by the porter. There is no +earthly doubt that he is retaken." + + + +298 + + + +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 tomor- +row. 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 run 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 com- +mittees, 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 French- +man, 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 gov- +ernment, the enemy of France and freedom. That's an excellent card. In- +ference clear as day in this region of suspicion, that Mr. Barsad, still in + + + +299 + + + +the pay of the aristocratic English government, is the spy of Pitt, the +treacherous foe of the Republic crouching in its bosom, the English trait- +or 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 country- +men there: gradually, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among the nat- +ives. 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 introduc- +tion to familiar conversation with the Defarges; and tried them on Ma- +dame Defarge, and had broken down with them signally. He always re- +membered with fear and trembling, that that terrible woman had knitted +when he talked with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fin- +gers 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 im- +possible; 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, + + + +300 + + + +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 un- +der 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 dis- +creditable station - though it must be filled by somebody; but this gentle- +man 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 him- +self, 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 re- +lieving 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 osten- +tatiously 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 contem- +plating 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." + + + +301 + + + +"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 idling 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 dis- +tance of time, was a partner of mine) has been dead several years. I atten- +ded him in his last illness. He was buried in London, at the church of +Saint Pancras-in-the-Fields. His unpopularity with the blackguard multi- +tude 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 remark- +able 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 reflexion 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." + + + +302 + + + +"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 un- +speakable 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 trades- +men! 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 ill- +conwenient 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 an- +other 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 unpopu- +lar 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 conten- +tious Mr. Cruncher; "you'll have trouble enough with giving your atten- +tion to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!" - Mr. Cruncher +could not be restrained from making rather an ostentatious parade of his + + + +303 + + + +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. Re- +member! 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." + + + +304 + + + +Chapter + + + +9 + + + +The Game Made + +While Sydney Carton and the Sheep of the prisons were in the adjoin- +ing dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry +looked at Jerry in considerable doubt and mistrust. That honest +tradesman's manner of receiving the look, did not inspire confidence; he +changed the leg on which he rested, as often as if he had fifty of those +limbs, and were trying them all; he examined his finger-nails with a very +questionable closeness of attention; and whenever Mr. Lorry's eye +caught his, he was taken with that peculiar kind of short cough requiring +the hollow of a hand before it, which is seldom, if ever, known to be an +infirmity attendant on perfect openness of character. + +"Jerry," said Mr. Lorry. "Come here." + +Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders in ad- +vance of him. + +"What have you been, besides a messenger?" + +After some cogitation, accompanied with an intent look at his patron, +Mr. Cruncher conceived the luminous idea of replying, "Agicultooral +character." + +"My mind misgives me much," said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking a fore- +finger at him, "that you have used the respectable and great house of +Tellson's as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of an +infamous description. If you have, don't expect me to befriend you when +you get back to England. If you have, don't expect me to keep your +secret. Tellson's shall not be imposed upon." + +"I hope, sir," pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, "that a gentleman like +yourself wot I've had the honour of odd jobbing till I'm grey at it, would +think twice about harming of me, even if it wos so - I don't say it is, but +even if it wos. And which it is to be took into account that if it wos, it +wouldn't, even then, be all o' one side. There'd be two sides to it. There +might be medical doctors at the present hour, a picking up their guineas + + + +305 + + + +where a honest tradesman don't pick up his fardens - fardens! no, nor +yet his half fardens - half fardens! no, nor yet his quarter - a banking +away like smoke at Tellson's, and a cocking their medical eyes at that +tradesman on the sly, a going in and going out to their own car- +riages - ah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that 'ud be impos- +ing, too, on Tellson's. For you cannot sarse the goose and not the gander. +And here's Mrs. Cruncher, or leastways wos in the Old England times, +and would be to-morrow, if cause given, a floppin' again the business to +that degree as is ruinating - stark ruinating! Whereas them medical doc- +tors' wives don't flop - catch 'em at it! Or, if they flop, their toppings +goes in favour of more patients, and how can you rightly have one +without t'other? Then, wot with undertakers, and wot with parish clerks, +and wot with sextons, and wot with private watchmen (all awaricious +and all in it), a man wouldn't get much by it, even if it wos so. And wot +little a man did get, would never prosper with him, Mr. Lorry. He'd nev- +er have no good of it; he'd want all along to be out of the line, if he, could +see his way out, being once in - even if it wos so." + +"Ugh!" cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless, "I am shocked at +the sight of you." + +"Now, what I would humbly offer to you, sir," pursued Mr. Cruncher, +"even if it wos so, which I don't say it is - " + +"Don't prevaricate," said Mr. Lorry. + +"No, I will not, sir," returned Mr. Crunches as if nothing were further +from his thoughts or practice - "which I don't say it is - wot I would +humbly offer to you, sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that +there Bar, sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be a +man, wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job you, till your +heels is where your head is, if such should be your wishes. If it wos so, +which I still don't say it is (for I will not prewaricate to you, sir), let that +there boy keep his father's place, and take care of his mother; don't blow +upon that boy's father - do not do it, sir - and let that father go into the +line of the reg'lar diggin', and make amends for what he would have un- +dug - if it wos so-by diggin' of 'em in with a will, and with conwictions +respectin' the futur' keepin' of 'em safe. That, Mr. Lorry," said Mr. +Cruncher, wiping his forehead with his arm, as an announcement that he +had arrived at the peroration of his discourse, "is wot I would respect- +fully offer to you, sir. A man don't see all this here a goin' on dreadful +round him, in the way of Subjects without heads, dear me, plentiful +enough fur to bring the price down to porterage and hardly that, without + + + +306 + + + +havin' his serious thoughts of things. And these here would be mine, if it +wos so, entreatin' of you fur to bear in mind that wot I said just now, I up +and said in the good cause when I might have kep' it back." + +"That at least is true, said Mr. Lorry. "Say no more now. It may be that +I shall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and repent in action - not +in words. I want no more words." + +Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy re- +turned from the dark room. "Adieu, Mr. Barsad," said the former; "our +arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me." + +He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When +they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done? + +"Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have ensured access +to him, once." + +Mr. Lorry's countenance fell. + +"It is all I could do," said Carton. "To propose too much, would be to +put this man's head under the axe, and, as he himself said, nothing +worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was obviously the +weakness of the position. There is no help for it." + +"But access to him," said Mr. Lorry, "if it should go ill before the +Tribunal, will not save him." + +"I never said it would." + +Mr. Lorry's eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his +darling, and the heavy disappointment of his second arrest, gradually +weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne with anxiety of late, +and his tears fell. + +"You are a good man and a true friend," said Carton, in an altered +voice. "Forgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see my +father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your sorrow +more, if you were my father. You are free from that misfortune, +however." + +Though he said the last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there +was a true feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that Mr. +Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly unpre- +pared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed it. + +"To return to poor Darnay," said Carton. "Don't tell Her of this inter- +view, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see him. She + + + +307 + + + +might think it was contrived, in case of the worse, to convey to him the +means of anticipating the sentence." + +Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to +see if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and evid- +ently understood it. + +"She might think a thousand things," Carton said, "and any of them +would only add to her trouble. Don't speak of me to her. As I said to you +when I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do +any little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, without that. +You are going to her, I hope? She must be very desolate to-night." + +"I am going now, directly." + +"I am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reli- +ance on you. How does she look?" + +"Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful." + +"Ah!" + +It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh - almost like a sob. It attrac- +ted Mr. Lorry's eyes to Carton's face, which was turned to the fire. A +light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed +from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright +day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which +was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and top-boots, +then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made +him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging +loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to +elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the +hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of +his foot. + +"I forgot it," he said. + +Mr. Lorry's eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of the +wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and having +the expression of prisoners' faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly re- +minded of that expression. + +"And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?" said Carton, turn- +ing to him. + +"Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so unexpec- +tedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped to have left +them in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Paris. I have my Leave to +Pass. I was ready to go." + + + +308 + + + +They were both silent. + +"Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?" said Carton, wistfully. + +"I am in my seventy-eighth year." + +"You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied; +trusted, respected, and looked up to?" + +"I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man. indeed, I +may say that I was a man of business when a boy." + +"See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will miss +you when you leave it empty!" + +"A solitary old bachelor," answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. +"There is nobody to weep for me." + +"How can you say that? Wouldn't She weep for you? Wouldn't her +child?" + +"Yes, yes, thank God. I didn't quite mean what I said." + +"It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?" + +"Surely, surely." + +"If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, 'I +have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, +of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in no regard; I +have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by!' your +seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they +not?" + +"You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be." + +Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence of a +few moments, said: + +"I should like to ask you: - Does your childhood seem far off? Do the +days when you sat at your mother's knee, seem days of very long ago?" + +Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered: + +"Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw +closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the +beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of +the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long +fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many as- +sociations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with +me, and my faults were not confirmed in me." + + + +309 + + + +"I understand the feeling!" exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. "And +you are the better for it?" + +"I hope so." + +Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with +his outer coat; "But you," said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, "you are +young." + +"Yes," said Carton. "I am not old, but my young way was never the +way to age. Enough of me." + +"And of me, I am sure," said Mr. Lorry. "Are you going out?" + +"I'll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless +habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don't be uneasy; I +shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?" + +"Yes, unhappily." + +"I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place +for me. Take my arm, sir." + +Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A +few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry's destination. Carton left him +there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again +when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the pris- +on every day. "She came out here," he said, looking about him, "turned +this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her +steps." + +It was ten o'clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, +where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having +closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door. + +"Good night, citizen," said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the +man eyed him inquisitively. + +"Good night, citizen." + +"How goes the Republic?" + +"You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount +to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being +exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!" + +"Do you often go to see him - " + +"Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at +work?" + +"Never." + + + +310 + + + +"Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself, cit- +izen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than +two pipes. Word of honour!" + +As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to ex- +plain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising +desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away. + +"But you are not English," said the wood-sawyer, "though you wear +English dress?" + +"Yes," said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder. + +"You speak like a Frenchman." + +"I am an old student here." + +"Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman." + +"Good night, citizen." + +"But go and see that droll dog," the little man persisted, calling after +him. "And take a pipe with you!" + +Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle +of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a +scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who re- +membered the way well, several dark and dirty streets - much dirtier +than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in +those times of terror - he stopped at a chemist's shop, which the owner +was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a +tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man. + +Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his +counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. "Whew!" the chemist +whistled softly, as he read it. "Hi! hi! hi!" + +Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said: + +"For you, citizen?" + +"For me." + +"You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the con- +sequences of mixing them?" + +"Perfectly." + +Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one +by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, +and deliberately left the shop. "There is nothing more to do," said he, +glancing upward at the moon, "until to-morrow. I can't sleep." + + + +311 + + + +It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words +aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negli- +gence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had +wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his +road and saw its end. + +Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as +a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His +mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been +read at his father's grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark +streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing +on high above him. "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he +that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whoso- +ever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die." + +In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow +rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and +for to-morrow's victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still +of to-morrow's and to-morrow's, the chain of association that brought +the words home, like a rusty old ship's anchor from the deep, might have +been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on. + +With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were +going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors sur- +rounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were +said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-de- +struction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in +the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for +Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the +sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that +no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out +of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole +life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; +Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets. + +Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be sus- +pected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy +shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people +poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of +the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way +across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before, +the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss. + + + +312 + + + +"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in +me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and be- +lieveth in me, shall never die." + +Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words +were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and +steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he +heard them always. + +The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the +water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the pic- +turesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of +the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. +Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and +for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's +dominion. + +But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden +of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And +looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light ap- +peared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled +under it. + +The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial +friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the +houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. +When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, +watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream +absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea. - "Like me." + +A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then +glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in +the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for +a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in +the words, "I am the resurrection and the life." + +Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to sur- +mise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing +but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to +refresh himself, went out to the place of trial. + +The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep - whom +many fell away from in dread - pressed him into an obscure corner +among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. +She was there, sitting beside her father. + + + +313 + + + +When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so +sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying tender- +ness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into +his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If there had been +any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney Carton, it would +have been seen to be the same influence exactly. + +Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, +ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could +have been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had +not first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the +Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds. + +Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and +good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and +the day after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving +face, and his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appear- +ance gave great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal- +looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The +whole jury, as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer. + +Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No +favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising, +murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other +eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at +one another, before bending forward with a strained attention. + +Charles Evremonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Reaccused +and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected +and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyr- +ants, one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished +privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evremonde, +called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law. + +To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor. + +The President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly? + +"Openly, President." + +"By whom?" + +"Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine." + +"Good." + +"Therese Defarge, his wife." + +"Good." + + + +314 + + + +"Alexandre Manette, physician." + +A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor +Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been +seated. + +"President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a +fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My +daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who +and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband +of my child!" + +"Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of +the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to +you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic." + +Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and +with warmth resumed. + +"If the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child her- +self, you would have no duty but to sacrifice her. Listen to what is to fol- +low. In the meanwhile, be silent!" + +Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Manette sat down, +with his eyes looking around, and his lips trembling; his daughter drew +closer to him. The craving man on the jury rubbed his hands together, +and restored the usual hand to his mouth. + +Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough to admit of +his being heard, and rapidly expounded the story of the imprisonment, +and of his having been a mere boy in the Doctor's service, and of the re- +lease, and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered to +him. This short examination followed, for the court was quick with its +work. + +"You did good service at the taking of the Bastille, citizen?" + +"I believe so." + +Here, an excited woman screeched from the crowd: "You were one of +the best patriots there. Why not say so? You were a cannoneer that day +there, and you were among the first to enter the accursed fortress when +it fell. Patriots, I speak the truth!" + +It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of the +audience, thus assisted the proceedings. The President rang his bell; but, +The Vengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, "I defy that +bell!" wherein she was likewise much commended. + + + +315 + + + +"Inform the Tribunal of what you did that day within the Bastille, +citizen." + +"I knew," said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who stood at the bot- +tom of the steps on which he was raised, looking steadily up at him; "I +knew that this prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell +known as One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from himself. +He knew himself by no other name than One Hundred and Five, North +Tower, when he made shoes under my care. As I serve my gun that day, +I resolve, when the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount +to the cell, with a fellow-citizen who is one of the Jury, directed by a +gaoler. I examine it, very closely. In a hole in the chimney, where a stone +has been worked out and replaced, I find a written paper. This is that +written paper. I have made it my business to examine some specimens of +the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of Doctor Manette. I +confide this paper, in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the +President." + +"Let it be read." + +In a dead silence and stillness - the prisoner under trial looking lov- +ingly at his wife, his wife only looking from him to look with solicitude +at her father, Doctor Manette keeping his eyes fixed on the reader, Ma- +dame Defarge never taking hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking +his from his feasting wife, and all the other eyes there intent upon the +Doctor, who saw none of them - the paper was read, as follows. + + + +316 + + + +Chapter + + + +10 + + + +The Substance of the Shadow + +"I, Alexandre Manette, unfortunate physician, native of Beauvais, and +afterwards resident in Paris, write this melancholy paper in my doleful +cell in the Bastille, during the last month of the year, 1767. I write it at +stolen intervals, under every difficulty. I design to secrete it in the wall of +the chimney, where I have slowly and laboriously made a place of con- +cealment for it. Some pitying hand may find it there, when I and my sor- +rows are dust. + +"These words are formed by the rusty iron point with which I write +with difficulty in scrapings of soot and charcoal from the chimney, +mixed with blood, in the last month of the tenth year of my captivity. +Hope has quite departed from my breast. I know from terrible warnings +I have noted in myself that my reason will not long remain unimpaired, +but I solemnly declare that I am at this time in the possession of my right +mind - that my memory is exact and circumstantial - and that I write the +truth as I shall answer for these my last recorded words, whether they be +ever read by men or not, at the Eternal Judgment-seat. + +"One cloudy moonlight night, in the third week of December (I think +the twenty-second of the month) in the year 1757, 1 was walking on a re- +tired part of the quay by the Seine for the refreshment of the frosty air, at +an hour's distance from my place of residence in the Street of the School +of Medicine, when a carriage came along behind me, driven very fast. As +I stood aside to let that carriage pass, apprehensive that it might other- +wise run me down, a head was put out at the window, and a voice called +to the driver to stop. + +"The carriage stopped as soon as the driver could rein in his horses, +and the same voice called to me by my name. I answered. The carriage +was then so far in advance of me that two gentlemen had time to open +the door and alight before I came up with it. + + + +317 + + + +I observed that they were both wrapped in cloaks, and appeared to +conceal themselves. As they stood side by side near the carriage door, I +also observed that they both looked of about my own age, or rather +younger, and that they were greatly alike, in stature, manner, voice, and +(as far as I could see) face too. + +'"You are Doctor Manette?' said one. + +"I am." + +'"Doctor Manette, formerly of Beauvais,' said the other; 'the young +physician, originally an expert surgeon, who within the last year or two +has made a rising reputation in Paris?' + +'"Gentlemen, 1 I returned, T am that Doctor Manette of whom you +speak so graciously.' + +'"We have been to your residence,' said the first, 'and not being so for- +tunate as to find you there, and being informed that you were probably +walking in this direction, we followed, in the hope of overtaking you. +Will you please to enter the carriage?' + +"The manner of both was imperious, and they both moved, as these +words were spoken, so as to place me between themselves and the car- +riage door. They were armed. I was not. + +"'Gentlemen,' said I, 'pardon me; but I usually inquire who does me +the honour to seek my assistance, and what is the nature of the case to +which I am summoned.' + +"The reply to this was made by him who had spoken second. 'Doctor, +your clients are people of condition. As to the nature of the case, our con- +fidence in your skill assures us that you will ascertain it for yourself bet- +ter than we can describe it. Enough. Will you please to enter the +carriage?' + +"I could do nothing but comply, and I entered it in silence. They both +entered after me - the last springing in, after putting up the steps. The +carriage turned about, and drove on at its former speed. + +"I repeat this conversation exactly as it occurred. I have no doubt that +it is, word for word, the same. I describe everything exactly as it took +place, constraining my mind not to wander from the task. Where I make +the broken marks that follow here, I leave off for the time, and put my +paper in its hiding-place. + +* * * * + + + +318 + + + +"The carriage left the streets behind, passed the North Barrier, and +emerged upon the country road. At two-thirds of a league from the Bar- +rier - I did not estimate the distance at that time, but afterwards when I +traversed it - it struck out of the main avenue, and presently stopped at a +solitary house, We all three alighted, and walked, by a damp soft foot- +path in a garden where a neglected fountain had overflowed, to the door +of the house. It was not opened immediately, in answer to the ringing of +the bell, and one of my two conductors struck the man who opened it, +with his heavy riding glove, across the face. + +"There was nothing in this action to attract my particular attention, for +I had seen common people struck more commonly than dogs. But, the +other of the two, being angry likewise, struck the man in like manner +with his arm; the look and bearing of the brothers were then so exactly +alike, that I then first perceived them to be twin brothers. + +"From the time of our alighting at the outer gate (which we found +locked, and which one of the brothers had opened to admit us, and had +relocked), I had heard cries proceeding from an upper chamber. I was +conducted to this chamber straight, the cries growing louder as we as- +cended the stairs, and I found a patient in a high fever of the brain, lying +on a bed. + +"The patient was a woman of great beauty, and young; assuredly not +much past twenty. Her hair was torn and ragged, and her arms were +bound to her sides with sashes and handkerchiefs. I noticed that these +bonds were all portions of a gentleman's dress. On one of them, which +was a fringed scarf for a dress of ceremony, I saw the armorial bearings +of a Noble, and the letter E. + +"I saw this, within the first minute of my contemplation of the patient; +for, in her restless strivings she had turned over on her face on the edge +of the bed, had drawn the end of the scarf into her mouth, and was in +danger of suffocation. My first act was to put out my hand to relieve her +breathing; and in moving the scarf aside, the embroidery in the corner +caught my sight. + +"I turned her gently over, placed my hands upon her breast to calm +her and keep her down, and looked into her face. Her eyes were dilated +and wild, and she constantly uttered piercing shrieks, and repeated the +words, 'My husband, my father, and my brother!' and then counted up +to twelve, and said, 'Hush!' For an instant, and no more, she would +pause to listen, and then the piercing shrieks would begin again, and she +would repeat the cry, 'My husband, my father, and my brother!' and + + + +319 + + + +would count up to twelve, and say, 'Hush!' There was no variation in the +order, or the manner. There was no cessation, but the regular moment's +pause, in the utterance of these sounds. + +'"How long,' I asked, 'has this lasted?' + +"To distinguish the brothers, I will call them the elder and the young- +er; by the elder, I mean him who exercised the most authority. It was the +elder who replied, 'Since about this hour last night.' + +"'She has a husband, a father, and a brother?' + +"'A brother.' + +"T do not address her brother?' + +"He answered with great contempt, 'No.' + +"'She has some recent association with the number twelve?' + +"The younger brother impatiently rejoined, 'With twelve o'clock?' + +"'See, gentlemen,' said I, still keeping my hands upon her breast, 'how +useless I am, as you have brought me! If I had known what I was coming +to see, I could have come provided. As it is, time must be lost. There are +no medicines to be obtained in this lonely place.' + +"The elder brother looked to the younger, who said haughtily, 'There +is a case of medicines here;' and brought it from a closet, and put it on +the table. + + + +* * * * + + + +"I opened some of the bottles, smelt them, and put the stoppers to my +lips. If I had wanted to use anything save narcotic medicines that were +poisons in themselves, I would not have administered any of those. + +"'Do you doubt them?' asked the younger brother. + +'"You see, monsieur, I am going to use them,' I replied, and said no +more. + +"I made the patient swallow, with great difficulty, and after many ef- +forts, the dose that I desired to give. As I intended to repeat it after a +while, and as it was necessary to watch its influence, I then sat down by +the side of the bed. There was a timid and suppressed woman in attend- +ance (wife of the man down-stairs), who had retreated into a corner. The +house was damp and decayed, indifferently furnished - evidently, re- +cently occupied and temporarily used. Some thick old hangings had +been nailed up before the windows, to deaden the sound of the shrieks. +They continued to be uttered in their regular succession, with the cry, +'My husband, my father, and my brother!' the counting up to twelve, + + + +320 + + + +and 'Hush!' The frenzy was so violent, that I had not unfastened the +bandages restraining the arms; but, I had looked to them, to see that they +were not painful. The only spark of encouragement in the case, was, that +my hand upon the sufferer's breast had this much soothing influence, +that for minutes at a time it tranquillised the figure. It had no effect upon +the cries; no pendulum could be more regular. + +"For the reason that my hand had this effect (I assume), I had sat by +the side of the bed for half an hour, with the two brothers looking on, be- +fore the elder said: + +"There is another patient.' + +"I was startled, and asked, Ts it a pressing case?' + +"'You had better see,' he carelessly answered; and took up a light. +* * * * + +"The other patient lay in a back room across a second staircase, which +was a species of loft over a stable. There was a low plastered ceiling to a +part of it; the rest was open, to the ridge of the tiled roof, and there were +beams across. Hay and straw were stored in that portion of the place, +fagots for firing, and a heap of apples in sand. I had to pass through that +part, to get at the other. My memory is circumstantial and unshaken. I +try it with these details, and I see them all, in this my cell in the Bastille, +near the close of the tenth year of my captivity, as I saw them all that +night. + +"On some hay on the ground, with a cushion thrown under his head, +lay a handsome peasant boy - a boy of not more than seventeen at the +most. He lay on his back, with his teeth set, his right hand clenched on +his breast, and his glaring eyes looking straight upward. I could not see +where his wound was, as I kneeled on one knee over him; but, I could +see that he was dying of a wound from a sharp point. + +"T am a doctor, my poor fellow,' said I. 'Let me examine it.' + +"T do not want it examined,' he answered; 'let it be.' + +"It was under his hand, and I soothed him to let me move his hand +away. The wound was a sword-thrust, received from twenty to twenty- +four hours before, but no skill could have saved him if it had been +looked to without delay. He was then dying fast. As I turned my eyes to +the elder brother, I saw him looking down at this handsome boy whose +life was ebbing out, as if he were a wounded bird, or hare, or rabbit; not +at all as if he were a fellow-creature. + +"'How has this been done, monsieur?' said I. + + + +321 + + + +"' 'A crazed young common dog! A serf! Forced my brother to draw +upon him, and has fallen by my brother's sword - like a gentleman.' + +"There was no touch of pity, sorrow, or kindred humanity, in this an- +swer. The speaker seemed to acknowledge that it was inconvenient to +have that different order of creature dying there, and that it would have +been better if he had died in the usual obscure routine of his vermin +kind. He was quite incapable of any compassionate feeling about the +boy, or about his fate. + +"The boy's eyes had slowly moved to him as he had spoken, and they +now slowly moved to me. + +"'Doctor, they are very proud, these Nobles; but we common dogs are +proud too, sometimes. They plunder us, outrage us, beat us, kill us; but +we have a little pride left, sometimes. She - have you seen her, Doctor?' + +"The shrieks and the cries were audible there, though subdued by the +distance. He referred to them, as if she were lying in our presence. + +"I said, T have seen her.' + +"'She is my sister, Doctor. They have had their shameful rights, these +Nobles, in the modesty and virtue of our sisters, many years, but we +have had good girls among us. I know it, and have heard my father say +so. She was a good girl. She was betrothed to a good young man, too: a +tenant of his. We were all tenants of his - that man's who stands there. +The other is his brother, the worst of a bad race.' + +"It was with the greatest difficulty that the boy gathered bodily force +to speak; but, his spirit spoke with a dreadful emphasis. + +"'We were so robbed by that man who stands there, as all we common +dogs are by those superior Beings - taxed by him without mercy, obliged +to work for him without pay, obliged to grind our corn at his mill, ob- +liged to feed scores of his tame birds on our wretched crops, and forbid- +den for our lives to keep a single tame bird of our own, pillaged and +plundered to that degree that when we chanced to have a bit of meat, we +ate it in fear, with the door barred and the shutters closed, that his +people should not see it and take it from us - I say, we were so robbed, +and hunted, and were made so poor, that our father told us it was a +dreadful thing to bring a child into the world, and that what we should +most pray for, was, that our women might be barren and our miserable +race die out!' + +"I had never before seen the sense of being oppressed, bursting forth +like a fire. I had supposed that it must be latent in the people + + + +322 + + + +somewhere; but, I had never seen it break out, until I saw it in the dying +boy. + +"'Nevertheless, Doctor, my sister married. He was ailing at that time, +poor fellow, and she married her lover, that she might tend and comfort +him in our cottage - our dog-hut, as that man would call it. She had not +been married many weeks, when that man's brother saw her and ad- +mired her, and asked that man to lend her to him - for what are hus- +bands among us! He was willing enough, but my sister was good and +virtuous, and hated his brother with a hatred as strong as mine. What +did the two then, to persuade her husband to use his influence with her, +to make her willing?' + +"The boy's eyes, which had been fixed on mine, slowly turned to the +looker-on, and I saw in the two faces that all he said was true. The two +opposing kinds of pride confronting one another, I can see, even in this +Bastille; the gentleman's, all negligent indifference; the peasants, all +trodden-down sentiment, and passionate revenge. + +"'You know, Doctor, that it is among the Rights of these Nobles to har- +ness us common dogs to carts, and drive us. They so harnessed him and +drove him. You know that it is among their Rights to keep us in their +grounds all night, quieting the frogs, in order that their noble sleep may +not be disturbed. They kept him out in the unwholesome mists at night, +and ordered him back into his harness in the day. But he was not per- +suaded. No! Taken out of harness one day at noon, to feed - if he could +find food - he sobbed twelve times, once for every stroke of the bell, and +died on her bosom.' + +"Nothing human could have held life in the boy but his determination +to tell all his wrong. He forced back the gathering shadows of death, as +he forced his clenched right hand to remain clenched, and to cover his +wound. + +"Then, with that man's permission and even with his aid, his brother +took her away; in spite of what I know she must have told his broth- +er - and what that is, will not be long unknown to you, Doctor, if it is +now - his brother took her away - for his pleasure and diversion, for a +little while. I saw her pass me on the road. When I took the tidings home, +our father's heart burst; he never spoke one of the words that filled it. I +took my young sister (for I have another) to a place beyond the reach of +this man, and where, at least, she will never be his vassal. Then, I tracked +the brother here, and last night climbed in - a common dog, but sword in +hand. - Where is the loft window? It was somewhere here?' + + + +323 + + + +"The room was darkening to his sight; the world was narrowing +around him. I glanced about me, and saw that the hay and straw were +trampled over the floor, as if there had been a struggle. + +"'She heard me, and ran in. I told her not to come near us till he was +dead. He came in and first tossed me some pieces of money; then struck +at me with a whip. But I, though a common dog, so struck at him as to +make him draw. Let him break into as many pieces as he will, the sword +that he stained with my common blood; he drew to defend him- +self - thrust at me with all his skill for his life.' + +"My glance had fallen, but a few moments before, on the fragments of +a broken sword, lying among the hay. That weapon was a gentleman's. +In another place, lay an old sword that seemed to have been a soldier's. + +"'Now, lift me up, Doctor; lift me up. Where is he?' + +"'He is not here,' I said, supporting the boy, and thinking that he re- +ferred to the brother. + +"'He! Proud as these nobles are, he is afraid to see me. Where is the +man who was here? turn my face to him.' + +"I did so, raising the boy's head against my knee. But, invested for the +moment with extraordinary power, he raised himself completely: obli- +ging me to rise too, or I could not have still supported him. + +"'Marquis,' said the boy, turned to him with his eyes opened wide, +and his right hand raised, 'in the days when all these things are to be +answered for, I summon you and yours, to the last of your bad race, to +answer for them. I mark this cross of blood upon you, as a sign that I do +it. In the days when all these things are to be answered for, I summon +your brother, the worst of the bad race, to answer for them separately. I +mark this cross of blood upon him, as a sign that I do it.' + +"Twice, he put his hand to the wound in his breast, and with his fore- +finger drew a cross in the air. He stood for an instant with the finger yet +raised, and as it dropped, he dropped with it, and I laid him down dead. + +* * * * + +"When I returned to the bedside of the young woman, I found her rav- +ing in precisely the same order of continuity. I knew that this might last +for many hours, and that it would probably end in the silence of the +grave. + +"I repeated the medicines I had given her, and I sat at the side of the +bed until the night was far advanced. She never abated the piercing qual- +ity of her shrieks, never stumbled in the distinctness or the order of her + + + +324 + + + +words. They were always 'My husband, my father, and my brother! One, +two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Hush!' + +"This lasted twenty-six hours from the time when I first saw her. I had +come and gone twice, and was again sitting by her, when she began to +falter. I did what little could be done to assist that opportunity, and by- +and-bye she sank into a lethargy, and lay like the dead. + +"It was as if the wind and rain had lulled at last, after a long and fear- +ful storm. I released her arms, and called the woman to assist me to com- +pose her figure and the dress she had to. It was then that I knew her con- +dition to be that of one in whom the first expectations of being a mother +have arisen; and it was then that I lost the little hope I had had of her. + +"Ts she dead?' asked the Marquis, whom I will still describe as the eld- +er brother, coming booted into the room from his horse. + +"'Not dead/ said I; 'but like to die.' + +"'What strength there is in these common bodies!' he said, looking +down at her with some curiosity. + +"'There is prodigious strength/ I answered him, 'in sorrow and +despair.' + +"He first laughed at my words, and then frowned at them. He moved +a chair with his foot near to mine, ordered the woman away, and said in +a subdued voice, + +"'Doctor, finding my brother in this difficulty with these hinds, I re- +commended that your aid should be invited. Your reputation is high, +and, as a young man with your fortune to make, you are probably mind- +ful of your interest. The things that you see here, are things to be seen, +and not spoken of.' + +"I listened to the patient's breathing, and avoided answering. + +"'Do you honour me with your attention, Doctor?' + +"'Monsieur,' said I, 'in my profession, the communications of patients +are always received in confidence.' I was guarded in my answer, for I +was troubled in my mind with what I had heard and seen. + +"Her breathing was so difficult to trace, that I carefully tried the pulse +and the heart. There was life, and no more. Looking round as I resumed +my seat, I found both the brothers intent upon me. + + + +* * * * + + + +"I write with so much difficulty, the cold is so severe, I am so fearful of +being detected and consigned to an underground cell and total darkness, + + + +325 + + + +that I must abridge this narrative. There is no confusion or failure in my +memory; it can recall, and could detail, every word that was ever spoken +between me and those brothers. + +"She lingered for a week. Towards the last, I could understand some +few syllables that she said to me, by placing my ear close to her lips. She +asked me where she was, and I told her; who I was, and I told her. It was +in vain that I asked her for her family name. She faintly shook her head +upon the pillow, and kept her secret, as the boy had done. + +"I had no opportunity of asking her any question, until I had told the +brothers she was sinking fast, and could not live another day. Until then, +though no one was ever presented to her consciousness save the woman +and myself, one or other of them had always jealously sat behind the +curtain at the head of the bed when I was there. But when it came to that, +they seemed careless what communication I might hold with her; as +if - the thought passed through my mind - I were dying too. + +"I always observed that their pride bitterly resented the younger +brother's (as I call him) having crossed swords with a peasant, and that +peasant a boy. The only consideration that appeared to affect the mind of +either of them was the consideration that this was highly degrading to +the family, and was ridiculous. As often as I caught the younger broth- +er's eyes, their expression reminded me that he disliked me deeply, for +knowing what I knew from the boy. He was smoother and more polite to +me than the elder; but I saw this. I also saw that I was an incumbrance in +the mind of the elder, too. + +"My patient died, two hours before midnight - at a time, by my watch, +answering almost to the minute when I had first seen her. I was alone +with her, when her forlorn young head drooped gently on one side, and +all her earthly wrongs and sorrows ended. + +"The brothers were waiting in a room down-stairs, impatient to ride +away. I had heard them, alone at the bedside, striking their boots with +their riding- whips, and loitering up and down. + +"'At last she is dead?' said the elder, when I went in. + +"'She is dead,' said I. + +"T congratulate you, my brother/were his words as he turned round. + +"He had before offered me money, which I had postponed taking. He +now gave me a rouleau of gold. I took it from his hand, but laid it on the +table. I had considered the question, and had resolved to accept nothing. + +"Tray excuse me,' said I. 'Under the circumstances, no.' + + + +326 + + + +"They exchanged looks, but bent their heads to me as I bent mine to +them, and we parted without another word on either side. + + + +* * * * + + + +"I am weary, weary, weary-worn down by misery. I cannot read what +I have written with this gaunt hand. + +"Early in the morning, the rouleau of gold was left at my door in a +little box, with my name on the outside. From the first, I had anxiously +considered what I ought to do. I decided, that day, to write privately to +the Minister, stating the nature of the two cases to which I had been +summoned, and the place to which I had gone: in effect, stating all the +circumstances. I knew what Court influence was, and what the immunit- +ies of the Nobles were, and I expected that the matter would never be +heard of; but, I wished to relieve my own mind. I had kept the matter a +profound secret, even from my wife; and this, too, I resolved to state in +my letter. I had no apprehension whatever of my real danger; but I was +conscious that there might be danger for others, if others were comprom- +ised by possessing the knowledge that I possessed. + +"I was much engaged that day, and could not complete my letter that +night. I rose long before my usual time next morning to finish it. It was +the last day of the year. The letter was lying before me just completed, +when I was told that a lady waited, who wished to see me. + + + +* * * * + + + +"I am growing more and more unequal to the task I have set myself. It +is so cold, so dark, my senses are so benumbed, and the gloom upon me +is so dreadful. + +"The lady was young, engaging, and handsome, but not marked for +long life. She was in great agitation. She presented herself to me as the +wife of the Marquis St. Evremonde. I connected the title by which the +boy had addressed the elder brother, with the initial letter embroidered +on the scarf, and had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that I had +seen that nobleman very lately. + +"My memory is still accurate, but I cannot write the words of our con- +versation. I suspect that I am watched more closely than I was, and I +know not at what times I may be watched. She had in part suspected, +and in part discovered, the main facts of the cruel story, of her husband's +share in it, and my being resorted to. She did not know that the girl was +dead. Her hope had been, she said in great distress, to show her, in + + + +327 + + + +secret, a woman's sympathy. Her hope had been to avert the wrath of +Heaven from a House that had long been hateful to the suffering many. + +"She had reasons for believing that there was a young sister living, +and her greatest desire was, to help that sister. I could tell her nothing +but that there was such a sister; beyond that, I knew nothing. Her in- +ducement to come to me, relying on my confidence, had been the hope +that I could tell her the name and place of abode. Whereas, to this +wretched hour I am ignorant of both. + + + +* * * * + + + +"These scraps of paper fail me. One was taken from me, with a warn- +ing, yesterday. I must finish my record to-day. + +"She was a good, compassionate lady, and not happy in her marriage. +How could she be! The brother distrusted and disliked her, and his influ- +ence was all opposed to her; she stood in dread of him, and in dread of +her husband too. When I handed her down to the door, there was a +child, a pretty boy from two to three years old, in her carriage. + +"'For his sake, Doctor/ she said, pointing to him in tears, T would do +all I can to make what poor amends I can. He will never prosper in his +inheritance otherwise. I have a presentiment that if no other innocent +atonement is made for this, it will one day be required of him. What I +have left to call my own - it is little beyond the worth of a few jewels - I +will make it the first charge of his life to bestow, with the compassion +and lamenting of his dead mother, on this injured family, if the sister can +be discovered.' + +"She kissed the boy, and said, caressing him, Tt is for thine own dear +sake. Thou wilt be faithful, little Charles?' The child answered her +bravely, 'Yes!' I kissed her hand, and she took him in her arms, and went +away caressing him. I never saw her more. + +"As she had mentioned her husband's name in the faith that I knew it, +I added no mention of it to my letter. I sealed my letter, and, not trusting +it out of my own hands, delivered it myself that day. + +"That night, the last night of the year, towards nine o'clock, a man in a +black dress rang at my gate, demanded to see me, and softly followed +my servant, Ernest Defarge, a youth, up-stairs. When my servant came +into the room where I sat with my wife - O my wife, beloved of my +heart! My fair young English wife! - we saw the man, who was sup- +posed to be at the gate, standing silent behind him. + + + +328 + + + +"An urgent case in the Rue St. Honore, he said. It would not detain +me, he had a coach in waiting. + +"It brought me here, it brought me to my grave. When I was clear of +the house, a black muffler was drawn tightly over my mouth from be- +hind, and my arms were pinioned. The two brothers crossed the road +from a dark corner, and identified me with a single gesture. The Marquis +took from his pocket the letter I had written, showed it me, burnt it in the +light of a lantern that was held, and extinguished the ashes with his foot. +Not a word was spoken. I was brought here, I was brought to my living +grave. + +"If it had pleased God to put it in the hard heart of either of the broth- +ers, in all these frightful years, to grant me any tidings of my dearest +wife - so much as to let me know by a word whether alive or dead - I +might have thought that He had not quite abandoned them. But, now I +believe that the mark of the red cross is fatal to them, and that they have +no part in His mercies. And them and their descendants, to the last of +their race, I, Alexandre Manette, unhappy prisoner, do this last night of +the year 1767, in my unbearable agony, denounce to the times when all +these things shall be answered for. I denounce them to Heaven and to +earth." + +A terrible sound arose when the reading of this document was done. A +sound of craving and eagerness that had nothing articulate in it but +blood. The narrative called up the most revengeful passions of the time, +and there was not a head in the nation but must have dropped before it. + +Little need, in presence of that tribunal and that auditory, to show how +the Defarges had not made the paper public, with the other captured +Bastille memorials borne in procession, and had kept it, biding their +time. Little need to show that this detested family name had long been +anathematised by Saint Antoine, and was wrought into the fatal register. +The man never trod ground whose virtues and services would have sus- +tained him in that place that day, against such denunciation. + +And all the worse for the doomed man, that the denouncer was a well- +known citizen, his own attached friend, the father of his wife. One of the +frenzied aspirations of the populace was, for imitations of the question- +able public virtues of antiquity, and for sacrifices and self-immolations +on the people's altar. Therefore when the President said (else had his +own head quivered on his shoulders), that the good physician of the Re- +public would deserve better still of the Republic by rooting out an ob- +noxious family of Aristocrats, and would doubtless feel a sacred glow + + + +329 + + + +and joy in making his daughter a widow and her child an orphan, there +was wild excitement, patriotic fervour, not a touch of human sympathy. + +"Much influence around him, has that Doctor?" murmured Madame +Defarge, smiling to The Vengeance. "Save him now, my Doctor, save +him!" + +At every juryman's vote, there was a roar. Another and another. Roar +and roar. + +Unanimously voted. At heart and by descent an Aristocrat, an enemy +of the Republic, a notorious oppressor of the People. Back to the Concier- +gerie, and Death within four-and- twenty hours! + + + +330 + + + +Chapter + + + +Dusk + + + +11 + + + +The wretched wife of the innocent man thus doomed to die, fell under +the sentence, as if she had been mortally stricken. But, she uttered no +sound; and so strong was the voice within her, representing that it was +she of all the world who must uphold him in his misery and not aug- +ment it, that it quickly raised her, even from that shock. + +The Judges having to take part in a public demonstration out of doors, +the Tribunal adjourned. The quick noise and movement of the court's +emptying itself by many passages had not ceased, when Lucie stood +stretching out her arms towards her husband, with nothing in her face +but love and consolation. + +"If I might touch him! If I might embrace him once! O, good citizens, if +you would have so much compassion for us!" + +There was but a gaoler left, along with two of the four men who had +taken him last night, and Barsad. The people had all poured out to the +show in the streets. Barsad proposed to the rest, "Let her embrace him +then; it is but a moment." It was silently acquiesced in, and they passed +her over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, by leaning over +the dock, could fold her in his arms. + +"Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. +We shall meet again, where the weary are at rest!" + +They were her husband's words, as he held her to his bosom. + +"I can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from above: don't suffer +for me. A parting blessing for our child." + +"I send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say farewell to her by you." + +"My husband. No! A moment!" He was tearing himself apart from +her. "We shall not be separated long. I feel that this will break my heart +by-and-bye; but I will do my duty while I can, and when I leave her, God +will raise up friends for her, as He did for me." + + + +331 + + + +Her father had followed her, and would have fallen on his knees to +both of them, but that Darnay put out a hand and seized him, crying: + +"No, no! What have you done, what have you done, that you should +kneel to us! We know now, what a struggle you made of old. We know, +now what you underwent when you suspected my descent, and when +you knew it. We know now, the natural antipathy you strove against, +and conquered, for her dear sake. We thank you with all our hearts, and +all our love and duty. Heaven be with you!" + +Her father's only answer was to draw his hands through his white +hair, and wring them with a shriek of anguish. + +"It could not be otherwise," said the prisoner. "All things have worked +together as they have fallen out. it was the always-vain endeavour to dis- +charge my poor mother's trust that first brought my fatal presence near +you. Good could never come of such evil, a happier end was not in +nature to so unhappy a beginning. Be comforted, and forgive me. +Heaven bless you!" + +As he was drawn away, his wife released him, and stood looking after +him with her hands touching one another in the attitude of prayer, and +with a radiant look upon her face, in which there was even a comforting +smile. As he went out at the prisoners' door, she turned, laid her head +lovingly on her father's breast, tried to speak to him, and fell at his feet. + +Then, issuing from the obscure corner from which he had never +moved, Sydney Carton came and took her up. Only her father and Mr. +Lorry were with her. His arm trembled as it raised her, and supported +her head. Yet, there was an air about him that was not all of pity - that +had a flush of pride in it. + +"Shall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her weight." + +He carried her lightly to the door, and laid her tenderly down in a +coach. Her father and their old friend got into it, and he took his seat be- +side the driver. + +When they arrived at the gateway where he had paused in the dark +not many hours before, to picture to himself on which of the rough +stones of the street her feet had trodden, he lifted her again, and carried +her up the staircase to their rooms. There, he laid her down on a couch, +where her child and Miss Pross wept over her. + +"Don't recall her to herself," he said, softly, to the latter, "she is better +so. Don't revive her to consciousness, while she only faints." + + + +332 + + + +"Oh, Carton, Carton, dear Carton!" cried little Lucie, springing up and +throwing her arms passionately round him, in a burst of grief. "Now that +you have come, I think you will do something to help mamma, +something to save papa! O, look at her, dear Carton! Can you, of all the +people who love her, bear to see her so?" + +He bent over the child, and laid her blooming cheek against his face. +He put her gently from him, and looked at her unconscious mother. + +"Before I go," he said, and paused - "I may kiss her?" + +It was remembered afterwards that when he bent down and touched +her face with his lips, he murmured some words. The child, who was +nearest to him, told them afterwards, and told her grandchildren when +she was a handsome old lady, that she heard him say, "A life you love." + +When he had gone out into the next room, he turned suddenly on Mr. +Lorry and her father, who were following, and said to the latter: + +"You had great influence but yesterday, Doctor Manette; let it at least +be tried. These judges, and all the men in power, are very friendly to +you, and very recognisant of your services; are they not?" + +"Nothing connected with Charles was concealed from me. I had the +strongest assurances that I should save him; and I did." He returned the +answer in great trouble, and very slowly. + +"Try them again. The hours between this and to-morrow afternoon are +few and short, but try." + +"\ intend to try. I will not rest a moment." + +"That's well. I have known such energy as yours do great things be- +fore now - though never," he added, with a smile and a sigh together, +"such great things as this. But try! Of little worth as life is when we mis- +use it, it is worth that effort. It would cost nothing to lay down if it were +not." + +"I will go," said Doctor Manette, "to the Prosecutor and the President +straight, and I will go to others whom it is better not to name. I will write +too, and - But stay! There is a Celebration in the streets, and no one will +be accessible until dark." + +"That's true. Well! It is a forlorn hope at the best, and not much the +forlorner for being delayed till dark. I should like to know how you +speed; though, mind! I expect nothing! When are you likely to have seen +these dread powers, Doctor Manette?" + + + +333 + + + +"Immediately after dark, I should hope. Within an hour or two from +this." + +"It will be dark soon after four. Let us stretch the hour or two. If I go to +Mr. Lorry's at nine, shall I hear what you have done, either from our +friend or from yourself?" + +"Yes." + +"May you prosper!" + +Mr. Lorry followed Sydney to the outer door, and, touching him on +the shoulder as he was going away, caused him to turn. + +"I have no hope," said Mr. Lorry, in a low and sorrowful whisper. + +"Nor have I." + +"If any one of these men, or all of these men, were disposed to spare +him - which is a large supposition; for what is his life, or any man's to +them! - I doubt if they durst spare him after the demonstration in the +court." + +"And so do 1. 1 heard the fall of the axe in that sound." + +Mr. Lorry leaned his arm upon the door-post, and bowed his face +upon it. + +"Don't despond," said Carton, very gently; "don't grieve. I encour- +aged Doctor Manette in this idea, because I felt that it might one day be +consolatory to her. Otherwise, she might think 'his life was want only +thrown away or wasted,' and that might trouble her." + +"Yes, yes, yes," returned Mr. Lorry, drying his eyes, "you are right. +But he will perish; there is no real hope." + +"Yes. He will perish: there is no real hope," echoed Carton. + +And walked with a settled step, down-stairs. + + + +334 + + + +Chapter + + + +12 + + + +Darkness + +Sydney Carton paused in the street, not quite decided where to go. "At +Tellson's banking-house at nine," he said, with a musing face. "Shall I do +well, in the mean time, to show myself? I think so. It is best that these +people should know there is such a man as I here; it is a sound precau- +tion, and may be a necessary preparation. But care, care, care! Let me +think it out!" + +Checking his steps which had begun to tend towards an object, he +took a turn or two in the already darkening street, and traced the +thought in his mind to its possible consequences. His first impression +was confirmed. "It is best," he said, finally resolved, "that these people +should know there is such a man as I here." And he turned his face to- +wards Saint Antoine. + +Defarge had described himself, that day, as the keeper of a wine-shop +in the Saint Antoine suburb. It was not difficult for one who knew the +city well, to find his house without asking any question. Having ascer- +tained its situation, Carton came out of those closer streets again, and +dined at a place of refreshment and fell sound asleep after dinner. For +the first time in many years, he had no strong drink. Since last night he +had taken nothing but a little light thin wine, and last night he had +dropped the brandy slowly down on Mr. Lorry's hearth like a man who +had done with it. + +It was as late as seven o'clock when he awoke refreshed, and went out +into the streets again. As he passed along towards Saint Antoine, he +stopped at a shop-window where there was a mirror, and slightly altered +the disordered arrangement of his loose cravat, and his coat-collar, and +his wild hair. This done, he went on direct to Defarge's, and went in. + +There happened to be no customer in the shop but Jacques Three, of +the restless fingers and the croaking voice. This man, whom he had seen +upon the Jury, stood drinking at the little counter, in conversation with + + + +335 + + + +the Defarges, man and wife. The Vengeance assisted in the conversation, +like a regular member of the establishment. + +As Carton walked in, took his seat and asked (in very indifferent +French) for a small measure of wine, Madame Defarge cast a careless +glance at him, and then a keener, and then a keener, and then advanced +to him herself, and asked him what it was he had ordered. + +He repeated what he had already said. + +"English?" asked Madame Defarge, inquisitively raising her dark +eyebrows. + +After looking at her, as if the sound of even a single French word were +slow to express itself to him, he answered, in his former strong foreign +accent. "Yes, madame, yes. I am English!" + +Madame Defarge returned to her counter to get the wine, and, as he +took up a Jacobin journal and feigned to pore over it puzzling out its +meaning, he heard her say, "I swear to you, like Evremonde!" + +Defarge brought him the wine, and gave him Good Evening. + +"How?" + +"Good evening." + +"Oh! Good evening, citizen," filling his glass. "Ah! and good wine. I +drink to the Republic." + +Defarge went back to the counter, and said, "Certainly, a little like." +Madame sternly retorted, "I tell you a good deal like." Jacques Three pa- +cifically remarked, "He is so much in your mind, see you, madame." The +amiable Vengeance added, with a laugh, "Yes, my faith! And you are +looking forward with so much pleasure to seeing him once more to- +morrow!" + +Carton followed the lines and words of his paper, with a slow fore- +finger, and with a studious and absorbed face. They were all leaning +their arms on the counter close together, speaking low. After a silence of +a few moments, during which they all looked towards him without dis- +turbing his outward attention from the Jacobin editor, they resumed +their conversation. + +"It is true what madame says," observed Jacques Three. "Why stop? +There is great force in that. Why stop?" + +"Well, well," reasoned Defarge, "but one must stop somewhere. After +all, the question is still where?" + +"At extermination," said madame. + + + +336 + + + +"Magnificent!" croaked Jacques Three. The Vengeance, also, highly +approved. + +"Extermination is good doctrine, my wife," said Defarge, rather +troubled; "in general, I say nothing against it. But this Doctor has +suffered much; you have seen him to-day; you have observed his face +when the paper was read." + +"I have observed his face!" repeated madame, contemptuously and an- +grily. "Yes. I have observed his face. I have observed his face to be not +the face of a true friend of the Republic. Let him take care of his face!" + +"And you have observed, my wife," said Defarge, in a deprecatory +manner, "the anguish of his daughter, which must be a dreadful anguish +to him!" + +"I have observed his daughter," repeated madame; "yes, I have ob- +served his daughter, more times than one. I have observed her to-day, +and I have observed her other days. I have observed her in the court, and +I have observed her in the street by the prison. Let me but lift my fin- +ger - !" She seemed to raise it (the listener's eyes were always on his pa- +per), and to let it fall with a rattle on the ledge before her, as if the axe +had dropped. + +"The citizeness is superb!" croaked the Juryman. + +"She is an Angel!" said The Vengeance, and embraced her. + +"As to thee," pursued madame, implacably, addressing her husband, +"if it depended on thee - which, happily, it does not - thou wouldst res- +cue this man even now." + +"No!" protested Defarge. "Not if to lift this glass would do it! But I +would leave the matter there. I say, stop there." + +"See you then, Jacques," said Madame Defarge, wrathfully; "and see +you, too, my little Vengeance; see you both! Listen! For other crimes as +tyrants and oppressors, I have this race a long time on my register, +doomed to destruction and extermination. Ask my husband, is that so." + +"It is so," assented Defarge, without being asked. + +"In the beginning of the great days, when the Bastille falls, he finds +this paper of to-day, and he brings it home, and in the middle of the +night when this place is clear and shut, we read it, here on this spot, by +the light of this lamp. Ask him, is that so." + +"It is so," assented Defarge. + + + +337 + + + +"That night, I tell him, when the paper is read through, and the lamp is +burnt out, and the day is gleaming in above those shutters and between +those iron bars, that I have now a secret to communicate. Ask him, is that + +so." + +"It is so," assented Defarge again. + +"I communicate to him that secret. I smite this bosom with these two +hands as I smite it now, and I tell him, 'Defarge, I was brought up among +the fishermen of the sea-shore, and that peasant family so injured by the +two Evremonde brothers, as that Bastille paper describes, is my family. +Defarge, that sister of the mortally wounded boy upon the ground was +my sister, that husband was my sister's husband, that unborn child was +their child, that brother was my brother, that father was my father, those +dead are my dead, and that summons to answer for those things des- +cends to me!' Ask him, is that so." + +"It is so," assented Defarge once more. + +"Then tell Wind and Fire where to stop," returned madame; "but don't +tell me." + +Both her hearers derived a horrible enjoyment from the deadly nature +of her wrath - the listener could feel how white she was, without seeing +her - and both highly commended it. Defarge, a weak minority, inter- +posed a few words for the memory of the compassionate wife of the +Marquis; but only elicited from his own wife a repetition of her last +reply. "Tell the Wind and the Fire where to stop; not me!" + +Customers entered, and the group was broken up. The English cus- +tomer paid for what he had had, perplexedly counted his change, and +asked, as a stranger, to be directed towards the National Palace. Madame +Defarge took him to the door, and put her arm on his, in pointing out the +road. The English customer was not without his reflexions then, that it +might be a good deed to seize that arm, lift it, and strike under it sharp +and deep. + +But, he went his way, and was soon swallowed up in the shadow of +the prison wall. At the appointed hour, he emerged from it to present +himself in Mr. Lorry's room again, where he found the old gentleman +walking to and fro in restless anxiety. He said he had been with Lucie +until just now, and had only left her for a few minutes, to come and keep +his appointment. Her father had not been seen, since he quitted the +banking-house towards four o'clock. She had some faint hopes that his +mediation might save Charles, but they were very slight. He had been +more than five hours gone: where could he be? + + + +338 + + + +Mr. Lorry waited until ten; but, Doctor Manette not returning, and he +being unwilling to leave Lucie any longer, it was arranged that he should +go back to her, and come to the banking-house again at midnight. In the +meanwhile, Carton would wait alone by the fire for the Doctor. + +He waited and waited, and the clock struck twelve; but Doctor +Manette did not come back. Mr. Lorry returned, and found no tidings of +him, and brought none. Where could he be? + +They were discussing this question, and were almost building up +some weak structure of hope on his prolonged absence, when they heard +him on the stairs. The instant he entered the room, it was plain that all +was lost. + +Whether he had really been to any one, or whether he had been all that +time traversing the streets, was never known. As he stood staring at +them, they asked him no question, for his face told them everything. + +"I cannot find it," said he, "and I must have it. Where is it?" + +His head and throat were bare, and, as he spoke with a helpless look +straying all around, he took his coat off, and let it drop on the floor. + +"Where is my bench? I have been looking everywhere for my bench, +and I can't find it. What have they done with my work? Time presses: I +must finish those shoes." + +They looked at one another, and their hearts died within them. + +"Come, come!" said he, in a whimpering miserable way; "let me get to +work. Give me my work." + +Receiving no answer, he tore his hair, and beat his feet upon the +ground, like a distracted child. + +"Don't torture a poor forlorn wretch," he implored them, with a +dreadful cry; "but give me my work! What is to become of us, if those +shoes are not done to-night?" + +Lost, utterly lost! + +It was so clearly beyond hope to reason with him, or try to restore him, +that - as if by agreement - they each put a hand upon his shoulder, and +soothed him to sit down before the fire, with a promise that he should +have his work presently. He sank into the chair, and brooded over the +embers, and shed tears. As if all that had happened since the garret time +were a momentary fancy, or a dream, Mr. Lorry saw him shrink into the +exact figure that Defarge had had in keeping. + + + +339 + + + +Affected, and impressed with terror as they both were, by this spec- +tacle of ruin, it was not a time to yield to such emotions. His lonely +daughter, bereft of her final hope and reliance, appealed to them both +too strongly. Again, as if by agreement, they looked at one another with +one meaning in their faces. Carton was the first to speak: + +"The last chance is gone: it was not much. Yes; he had better be taken +to her. But, before you go, will you, for a moment, steadily attend to me? +Don't ask me why I make the stipulations I am going to make, and exact +the promise I am going to exact; I have a reason - a good one." + +"I do not doubt it," answered Mr. Lorry. "Say on." + +The figure in the chair between them, was all the time monotonously +rocking itself to and fro, and moaning. They spoke in such a tone as they +would have used if they had been watching by a sick-bed in the night. + +Carton stooped to pick up the coat, which lay almost entangling his +feet. As he did so, a small case in which the Doctor was accustomed to +carry the lists of his day's duties, fell lightly on the floor. Carton took it +up, and there was a folded paper in it. "We should look at this!" he said. +Mr. Lorry nodded his consent. He opened it, and exclaimed, "Thank +God!" + +"What is it?" asked Mr. Lorry, eagerly. + +"A moment! Let me speak of it in its place. First," he put his hand in +his coat, and took another paper from it, "that is the certificate which en- +ables me to pass out of this city. Look at it. You see - Sydney Carton, an +Englishman?" + +Mr. Lorry held it open in his hand, gazing in his earnest face. + +"Keep it for me until to-morrow. I shall see him to-morrow, you re- +member, and I had better not take it into the prison." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know; I prefer not to do so. Now, take this paper that Doctor +Manette has carried about him. It is a similar certificate, enabling him +and his daughter and her child, at any time, to pass the barrier and the +frontier! You see?" + +"Yes!" + +"Perhaps he obtained it as his last and utmost precaution against evil, +yesterday. When is it dated? But no matter; don't stay to look; put it up +carefully with mine and your own. Now, observe! I never doubted until +within this hour or two, that he had, or could have such a paper. It is + + + +340 + + + +good, until recalled. But it may be soon recalled, and, I have reason to +think, will be." + +"They are not in danger?" + +"They are in great danger. They are in danger of denunciation by Ma- +dame Defarge. I know it from her own lips. I have overheard words of +that woman's, to-night, which have presented their danger to me in +strong colours. I have lost no time, and since then, I have seen the spy. +He confirms me. He knows that a wood-sawyer, living by the prison +wall, is under the control of the Defarges, and has been rehearsed by Ma- +dame Defarge as to his having seen Her" - he never mentioned Lucie's +name - "making signs and signals to prisoners. It is easy to foresee that +the pretence will be the common one, a prison plot, and that it will in- +volve her life - and perhaps her child's - and perhaps her father's - for +both have been seen with her at that place. Don't look so horrified. You +will save them all." + +"Heaven grant I may, Carton! But how?" + +"I am going to tell you how. It will depend on you, and it could de- +pend on no better man. This new denunciation will certainly not take +place until after to-morrow; probably not until two or three days after- +wards; more probably a week afterwards. You know it is a capital crime, +to mourn for, or sympathise with, a victim of the Guillotine. She and her +father would unquestionably be guilty of this crime, and this woman +(the inveteracy of whose pursuit cannot be described) would wait to add +that strength to her case, and make herself doubly sure. You follow me?" + +"So attentively, and with so much confidence in what you say, that for +the moment I lose sight," touching the back of the Doctor's chair, even of +this distress." + +"You have money, and can buy the means of travelling to the seacoast +as quickly as the journey can be made. Your preparations have been +completed for some days, to return to England. Early to-morrow have +your horses ready, so that they may be in starting trim at two o'clock in +the afternoon." + +"It shall be done!" + +His manner was so fervent and inspiring, that Mr. Lorry caught the +flame, and was as quick as youth. + +"You are a noble heart. Did I say we could depend upon no better +man? Tell her, to-night, what you know of her danger as involving her +child and her father. Dwell upon that, for she would lay her own fair + + + +341 + + + +head beside her husband's cheerfully." He faltered for an instant; then +went on as before. "For the sake of her child and her father, press upon +her the necessity of leaving Paris, with them and you, at that hour. Tell +her that it was her husband's last arrangement. Tell her that more de- +pends upon it than she dare believe, or hope. You think that her father, +even in this sad state, will submit himself to her; do you not?" + +"I am sure of it." + +"I thought so. Quietly and steadily have all these arrangements made +in the courtyard here, even to the taking of your own seat in the carriage. +The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away." + +"I understand that I wait for you under all circumstances?" + +"You have my certificate in your hand with the rest, you know, and +will reserve my place. Wait for nothing but to have my place occupied, +and then for England!" + +"Why, then," said Mr. Lorry, grasping his eager but so firm and steady +hand, "it does not all depend on one old man, but I shall have a young +and ardent man at my side." + +"By the help of Heaven you shall! Promise me solemnly that nothing +will influence you to alter the course on which we now stand pledged to +one another." + +"Nothing, Carton." + +"Remember these words to-morrow: change the course, or delay in +it - for any reason - and no life can possibly be saved, and many lives +must inevitably be sacrificed." + +"I will remember them. I hope to do my part faithfully." + +"And I hope to do mine. Now, good bye!" + +Though he said it with a grave smile of earnestness, and though he +even put the old man's hand to his lips, he did not part from him then. +He helped him so far to arouse the rocking figure before the dying em- +bers, as to get a cloak and hat put upon it, and to tempt it forth to find +where the bench and work were hidden that it still moaningly besought +to have. He walked on the other side of it and protected it to the court- +yard of the house where the afflicted heart - so happy in the memorable +time when he had revealed his own desolate heart to it - outwatched the +awful night. He entered the courtyard and remained there for a few mo- +ments alone, looking up at the light in the window of her room. Before +he went away, he breathed a blessing towards it, and a Farewell. + + + +342 + + + +Chapter + + + +13 + + + +Fifty-two + +In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited +their fate. They were in number as the weeks of the year. Fifty-two were +to roll that afternoon on the life-tide of the city to the boundless everlast- +ing sea. Before their cells were quit of them, new occupants were appoin- +ted; before their blood ran into the blood spilled yesterday, the blood +that was to mingle with theirs to-morrow was already set apart. + +Two score and twelve were told off. From the farmer-general of sev- +enty, whose riches could not buy his life, to the seamstress of twenty, +whose poverty and obscurity could not save her. Physical diseases, en- +gendered in the vices and neglects of men, will seize on victims of all de- +grees; and the frightful moral disorder, born of unspeakable suffering, +intolerable oppression, and heartless indifference, smote equally without +distinction. + +Charles Darnay, alone in a cell, had sustained himself with no flatter- +ing delusion since he came to it from the Tribunal. In every line of the +narrative he had heard, he had heard his condemnation. He had fully +comprehended that no personal influence could possibly save him, that +he was virtually sentenced by the millions, and that units could avail +him nothing. + +Nevertheless, it was not easy, with the face of his beloved wife fresh +before him, to compose his mind to what it must bear. His hold on life +was strong, and it was very, very hard, to loosen; by gradual efforts and +degrees unclosed a little here, it clenched the tighter there; and when he +brought his strength to bear on that hand and it yielded, this was closed +again. There was a hurry, too, in all his thoughts, a turbulent and heated +working of his heart, that contended against resignation. If, for a mo- +ment, he did feel resigned, then his wife and child who had to live after +him, seemed to protest and to make it a selfish thing. + + + +343 + + + +But, all this was at first. Before long, the consideration that there was +no disgrace in the fate he must meet, and that numbers went the same +road wrongfully, and trod it firmly every day, sprang up to stimulate +him. Next followed the thought that much of the future peace of mind +enjoyable by the dear ones, depended on his quiet fortitude. So, by de- +grees he calmed into the better state, when he could raise his thoughts +much higher, and draw comfort down. + +Before it had set in dark on the night of his condemnation, he had trav- +elled thus far on his last way. Being allowed to purchase the means of +writing, and a light, he sat down to write until such time as the prison +lamps should be extinguished. + +He wrote a long letter to Lucie, showing her that he had known noth- +ing of her father's imprisonment, until he had heard of it from herself, +and that he had been as ignorant as she of his father's and uncle's re- +sponsibility for that misery, until the paper had been read. He had +already explained to her that his concealment from herself of the name +he had relinquished, was the one condition - fully intelligible now - that +her father had attached to their betrothal, and was the one promise he +had still exacted on the morning of their marriage. He entreated her, for +her father's sake, never to seek to know whether her father had become +oblivious of the existence of the paper, or had had it recalled to him (for +the moment, or for good), by the story of the Tower, on that old Sunday +under the dear old plane-tree in the garden. If he had preserved any def- +inite remembrance of it, there could be no doubt that he had supposed it +destroyed with the Bastille, when he had found no mention of it among +the relics of prisoners which the populace had discovered there, and +which had been described to all the world. He besought her - though he +added that he knew it was needless - to console her father, by impress- +ing him through every tender means she could think of, with the truth +that he had done nothing for which he could justly reproach himself, but +had uniformly forgotten himself for their joint sakes. Next to her preser- +vation of his own last grateful love and blessing, and her overcoming of +her sorrow, to devote herself to their dear child, he adjured her, as they +would meet in Heaven, to comfort her father. + +To her father himself, he wrote in the same strain; but, he told her fath- +er that he expressly confided his wife and child to his care. And he told +him this, very strongly, with the hope of rousing him from any despond- +ency or dangerous retrospect towards which he foresaw he might be +tending. + + + +344 + + + +To Mr. Lorry, he commended them all, and explained his worldly af- +fairs. That done, with many added sentences of grateful friendship and +warm attachment, all was done. He never thought of Carton. His mind +was so full of the others, that he never once thought of him. + +He had time to finish these letters before the lights were put out. When +he lay down on his straw bed, he thought he had done with this world. + +But, it beckoned him back in his sleep, and showed itself in shining +forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in Soho (though it had +nothing in it like the real house), unaccountably released and light of +heart, he was with Lucie again, and she told him it was all a dream, and +he had never gone away. A pause of forgetfulness, and then he had even +suffered, and had come back to her, dead and at peace, and yet there was +no difference in him. Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the +sombre morning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, un- +til it flashed upon his mind, "this is the day of my death!" + +Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the fifty-two +heads were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and hoped that he +could meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action began in his waking +thoughts, which was very difficult to master. + +He had never seen the instrument that was to terminate his life. How +high it was from the ground, how many steps it had, where he would be +stood, how he would be touched, whether the touching hands would be +dyed red, which way his face would be turned, whether he would be the +first, or might be the last: these and many similar questions, in nowise +directed by his will, obtruded themselves over and over again, countless +times. Neither were they connected with fear: he was conscious of no +fear. Rather, they originated in a strange besetting desire to know what +to do when the time came; a desire gigantically disproportionate to the +few swift moments to which it referred; a wondering that was more like +the wondering of some other spirit within his, than his own. + +The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the +numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten gone for +ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away. After a hard +contest with that eccentric action of thought which had last perplexed +him, he had got the better of it. He walked up and down, softly repeating +their names to himself. The worst of the strife was over. He could walk +up and down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for +them. + +Twelve gone for ever. + + + +345 + + + +He had been apprised that the final hour was Three, and he knew he +would be summoned some time earlier, inasmuch as the tumbrils jolted +heavily and slowly through the streets. Therefore, he resolved to keep +Two before his mind, as the hour, and so to strengthen himself in the in- +terval that he might be able, after that time, to strengthen others. + +Walking regularly to and fro with his arms folded on his breast, a very +different man from the prisoner, who had walked to and fro at La Force, +he heard One struck away from him, without surprise. The hour had +measured like most other hours. Devoutly thankful to Heaven for his +recovered self-possession, he thought, "There is but another now," and +turned to walk again. + +Footsteps in the stone passage outside the door. He stopped. + +The key was put in the lock, and turned. Before the door was opened, +or as it opened, a man said in a low voice, in English: "He has never seen +me here; I have kept out of his way. Go you in alone; I wait near. Lose no +time!" + +The door was quickly opened and closed, and there stood before him +face to face, quiet, intent upon him, with the light of a smile on his fea- +tures, and a cautionary finger on his lip, Sydney Carton. + +There was something so bright and remarkable in his look, that, for the +first moment, the prisoner misdoubted him to be an apparition of his +own imagining. But, he spoke, and it was his voice; he took the prison- +er's hand, and it was his real grasp. + +"Of all the people upon earth, you least expected to see me?" he said. + +"I could not believe it to be you. I can scarcely believe it now. You are +not" - the apprehension came suddenly into his mind - "a prisoner?" + +"No. I am accidentally possessed of a power over one of the keepers +here, and in virtue of it I stand before you. I come from her - your wife, +dear Darnay." + +The prisoner wrung his hand. + +"I bring you a request from her." + +"What is it?" + +"A most earnest, pressing, and emphatic entreaty, addressed to you in +the most pathetic tones of the voice so dear to you, that you well +remember." + +The prisoner turned his face partly aside. + + + +346 + + + +"You have no time to ask me why I bring it, or what it means; I have +no time to tell you. You must comply with it - take off those boots you +wear, and draw on these of mine." + +There was a chair against the wall of the cell, behind the prisoner. Car- +ton, pressing forward, had already, with the speed of lightning, got him +down into it, and stood over him, barefoot. + +"Draw on these boots of mine. Put your hands to them; put your will +to them. Quick!" + +"Carton, there is no escaping from this place; it never can be done. You +will only die with me. It is madness." + +"It would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? When I ask +you to pass out at that door, tell me it is madness and remain here. +Change that cravat for this of mine, that coat for this of mine. While you +do it, let me take this ribbon from your hair, and shake out your hair like +this of mine!" + +With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and action, +that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him. +The prisoner was like a young child in his hands. + +"Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be accomplished, it nev- +er can be done, it has been attempted, and has always failed. I implore +you not to add your death to the bitterness of mine." + +"Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask that, re- +fuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your hand steady +enough to write?" + +"It was when you came in." + +"Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend, quick!" + +Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at the +table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close beside him. + +"Write exactly as I speak." + +"To whom do I address it?" + +"To no one." Carton still had his hand in his breast. + +"Do I date it?" + +"No." + +The prisoner looked up, at each question. Carton, standing over him +with his hand in his breast, looked down. + + + +347 + + + +"'If you remember/" said Carton, dictating, '"the words that passed +between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this when you see it. +You do remember them, I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.'" + +He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner chancing to +look up in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing +upon something. + +"Have you written 'forget them'?" Carton asked. + +"I have. Is that a weapon in your hand?" + +"No; I am not armed." + +"What is it in your hand?" + +"You shall know directly. Write on; there are but a few words more." +He dictated again. '"I am thankful that the time has come, when I can +prove them. That I do so is no subject for regret or grief.'" As he said +these words with his eyes fixed on the writer, his hand slowly and softly +moved down close to the writer's face. + +The pen dropped from Darnay's fingers on the table, and he looked +about him vacantly. + +"What vapour is that?" he asked. + +"Vapour?" + +"Something that crossed me?" + +"I am conscious of nothing; there can be nothing here. Take up the pen +and finish. Hurry, hurry!" + +As if his memory were impaired, or his faculties disordered, the pris- +oner made an effort to rally his attention. As he looked at Carton with +clouded eyes and with an altered manner of breathing, Carton - his hand +again in his breast - looked steadily at him. + +"Hurry, hurry!" + +The prisoner bent over the paper, once more. + +"Tf it had been otherwise;'" Carton's hand was again watchfully and +softly stealing down; "T never should have used the longer opportunity. +If it had been otherwise;'" the hand was at the prisoner's face; "T should +but have had so much the more to answer for. If it had been other- +wise - '" Carton looked at the pen and saw it was trailing off into unin- +telligible signs. + +Carton's hand moved back to his breast no more. The prisoner sprang +up with a reproachful look, but Carton's hand was close and firm at his + + + +348 + + + +nostrils, and Carton's left arm caught him round the waist. For a few +seconds he faintly struggled with the man who had come to lay down +his life for him; but, within a minute or so, he was stretched insensible on +the ground. + +Quickly, but with hands as true to the purpose as his heart was, Car- +ton dressed himself in the clothes the prisoner had laid aside, combed +back his hair, and tied it with the ribbon the prisoner had worn. Then, he +softly called, "Enter there! Come in!" and the Spy presented himself. + +"You see?" said Carton, looking up, as he kneeled on one knee beside +the insensible figure, putting the paper in the breast: "is your hazard +very great?" + +"Mr. Carton," the Spy answered, with a timid snap of his fingers, "my +hazard is not that, in the thick of business here, if you are true to the +whole of your bargain." + +"Don't fear me. I will be true to the death." + +"You must be, Mr. Carton, if the tale of fifty-two is to be right. Being +made right by you in that dress, I shall have no fear." + +"Have no fear! I shall soon be out of the way of harming you, and the +rest will soon be far from here, please God! Now, get assistance and take +me to the coach." + +"You?" said the Spy nervously. + +"Him, man, with whom I have exchanged. You go out at the gate by +which you brought me in?" + +"Of course." + +"I was weak and faint when you brought me in, and I am fainter now +you take me out. The parting interview has overpowered me. Such a +thing has happened here, often, and too often. Your life is in your own +hands. Quick! Call assistance!" + +"You swear not to betray me?" said the trembling Spy, as he paused +for a last moment. + +"Man, man!" returned Carton, stamping his foot; "have I sworn by no +solemn vow already, to go through with this, that you waste the precious +moments now? Take him yourself to the courtyard you know of, place +him yourself in the carriage, show him yourself to Mr. Lorry, tell him +yourself to give him no restorative but air, and to remember my words +of last night, and his promise of last night, and drive away!" + + + +349 + + + +The Spy withdrew, and Carton seated himself at the table, resting his +forehead on his hands. The Spy returned immediately, with two men. + +"How, then?" said one of them, contemplating the fallen figure. "So af- +flicted to find that his friend has drawn a prize in the lottery of Sainte +Guillotine?" + +"A good patriot," said the other, "could hardly have been more afflic- +ted if the Aristocrat had drawn a blank." + +They raised the unconscious figure, placed it on a litter they had +brought to the door, and bent to carry it away. + +"The time is short, Evremonde," said the Spy, in a warning voice. + +"I know it well," answered Carton. "Be careful of my friend, I entreat +you, and leave me." + +"Come, then, my children," said Barsad. "Lift him, and come away!" + +The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of +listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote sus- +picion or alarm. There was none. Keys turned, doors clashed, footsteps +passed along distant passages: no cry was raised, or hurry made, that +seemed unusual. Breathing more freely in a little while, he sat down at +the table, and listened again until the clock struck Two. + +Sounds that he was not afraid of, for he divined their meaning, then +began to be audible. Several doors were opened in succession, and fi- +nally his own. A gaoler, with a list in his hand, looked in, merely saying, +"Follow me, Evremonde!" and he followed into a large dark room, at a +distance. It was a dark winter day, and what with the shadows within, +and what with the shadows without, he could but dimly discern the oth- +ers who were brought there to have their arms bound. Some were stand- +ing; some seated. Some were lamenting, and in restless motion; but, +these were few. The great majority were silent and still, looking fixedly +at the ground. + +As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, while some of the fifty-two +were brought in after him, one man stopped in passing, to embrace him, +as having a knowledge of him. It thrilled him with a great dread of dis- +covery; but the man went on. A very few moments after that, a young +woman, with a slight girlish form, a sweet spare face in which there was +no vestige of colour, and large widely opened patient eyes, rose from the +seat where he had observed her sitting, and came to speak to him. + +"Citizen Evremonde," she said, touching him with her cold hand. "I +am a poor little seamstress, who was with you in La Force." + + + +350 + + + +He murmured for answer: "True. I forget what you were accused of?" + +"Plots. Though the just Heaven knows that I am innocent of any. Is it +likely? Who would think of plotting with a poor little weak creature like +me?" + +The forlorn smile with which she said it, so touched him, that tears +started from his eyes. + +"I am not afraid to die, Citizen Evremonde, but I have done nothing. I +am not unwilling to die, if the Republic which is to do so much good to +us poor, will profit by my death; but I do not know how that can be, Cit- +izen Evremonde. Such a poor weak little creature!" + +As the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, it +warmed and softened to this pitiable girl. + +"I heard you were released, Citizen Evremonde. I hoped it was true?" + +"It was. But, I was again taken and condemned." + +"If I may ride with you, Citizen Evremonde, will you let me hold your +hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more +courage." + +As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in +them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn +young fingers, and touched his lips. + +"Are you dying for him?" she whispered. + +"And his wife and child. Hush! Yes." + +"O you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?" + +"Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last." + +The same shadows that are falling on the prison, are falling, in that +same hour of the early afternoon, on the Barrier with the crowd about it, +when a coach going out of Paris drives up to be examined. + +"Who goes here? Whom have we within? Papers!" + +The papers are handed out, and read. + +"Alexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is he?" + +This is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old man +pointed out. + +"Apparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his right mind? The +Revolution-fever will have been too much for him?" + +Greatly too much for him. + + + +351 + + + +"Hah! Many suffer with it. Lucie. His daughter. French. Which is she?" + +This is she. + +"Apparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evremonde; is it not?" + +It is. + +"Hah! Evremonde has an assignation elsewhere. Lucie, her child. Eng- +lish. This is she?" + +She and no other. + +"Kiss me, child of Evremonde. Now, thou hast kissed a good Republic- +an; something new in thy family; remember it! Sydney Carton. Advocate. +English. Which is he?" + +He lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out. + +"Apparently the English advocate is in a swoon?" + +It is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is represented that he is +not in strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is under +the displeasure of the Republic. + +"Is that all? It is not a great deal, that! Many are under the displeasure +of the Republic, and must look out at the little window. Jarvis Lorry. +Banker. English. Which is he?" + +"I am he. Necessarily, being the last." + +It is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions. It is Jar- +vis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the coach door, +replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage +and leisurely mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on +the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach +doors and greedily stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has its +short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an aristocrat who +has gone to the Guillotine. + +"Behold your papers, Jarvis Lorry, countersigned." + +"One can depart, citizen?" + +"One can depart. Forward, my postilions! A good journey!" + +"I salute you, citizens. - And the first danger passed!" + +These are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps his hands, and +looks upward. There is terror in the carriage, there is weeping, there is +the heavy breathing of the insensible traveller. + +"Are we not going too slowly? Can they not be induced to go faster?" +asks Lucie, clinging to the old man. + + + +352 + + + +"It would seem like flight, my darling. I must not urge them too much; +it would rouse suspicion." + +"Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued!" + +"The road is clear, my dearest. So far, we are not pursued." + +Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, ruinous +buildings, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, open country, avenues of +leafless trees. The hard uneven pavement is under us, the soft deep mud +is on either side. Sometimes, we strike into the skirting mud, to avoid the +stones that clatter us and shake us; sometimes, we stick in ruts and +sloughs there. The agony of our impatience is then so great, that in our +wild alarm and hurry we are for getting out and run- +ning - hiding - doing anything but stopping. + +Out of the open country, in again among ruinous buildings, solitary +farms, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, cottages in twos and threes, +avenues of leafless trees. Have these men deceived us, and taken us back +by another road? Is not this the same place twice over? Thank Heaven, +no. A village. Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued! Hush! the +posting-house. + +Leisurely, our four horses are taken out; leisurely, the coach stands in +the little street, bereft of horses, and with no likelihood upon it of ever +moving again; leisurely, the new horses come into visible existence, one +by one; leisurely, the new postilions follow, sucking and plaiting the +lashes of their whips; leisurely, the old postilions count their money, +make wrong additions, and arrive at dissatisfied results. All the time, our +overfraught hearts are beating at a rate that would far outstrip the fastest +gallop of the fastest horses ever foaled. + +At length the new postilions are in their saddles, and the old are left +behind. We are through the village, up the hill, and down the hill, and on +the low watery grounds. Suddenly, the postilions exchange speech with +animated gesticulation, and the horses are pulled up, almost on their +haunches. We are pursued? + +"Ho! Within the carriage there. Speak then!" + +"What is it?" asks Mr. Lorry, looking out at window. + +"How many did they say?" + +"I do not understand you." + +" - At the last post. How many to the Guillotine to-day?" + +"Fifty-two." + + + +353 + + + +"I said so! A brave number! My fellow-citizen here would have it +forty-two; ten more heads are worth having. The Guillotine goes hand- +somely. I love it. Hi forward. Whoop!" + +The night comes on dark. He moves more; he is beginning to revive, +and to speak intelligibly; he thinks they are still together; he asks him, by +his name, what he has in his hand. O pity us, kind Heaven, and help us! +Look out, look out, and see if we are pursued. + +The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the +moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; +but, so far, we are pursued by nothing else. + + + +354 + + + +Chapter + + + +14 + + + +The Knitting Done + +In that same juncture of time when the Fifty-Two awaited their fate +Madame Defarge held darkly ominous council with The Vengeance and +Jacques Three of the Revolutionary Jury. Not in the wine-shop did Ma- +dame Defarge confer with these ministers, but in the shed of the wood- +sawyer, erst a mender of roads. The sawyer himself did not participate in +the conference, but abided at a little distance, like an outer satellite who +was not to speak until required, or to offer an opinion until invited. + +"But our Defarge," said Jacques Three, "is undoubtedly a good Repub- +lican? Eh?" + +"There is no better," the voluble Vengeance protested in her shrill +notes, "in France." + +"Peace, little Vengeance," said Madame Defarge, laying her hand with +a slight frown on her lieutenant's lips, "hear me speak. My husband, +fellow-citizen, is a good Republican and a bold man; he has deserved +well of the Republic, and possesses its confidence. But my husband has +his weaknesses, and he is so weak as to relent towards this Doctor." + +"It is a great pity," croaked Jacques Three, dubiously shaking his head, +with his cruel fingers at his hungry mouth; "it is not quite like a good cit- +izen; it is a thing to regret." + +"See you," said madame, "I care nothing for this Doctor, I. He may +wear his head or lose it, for any interest I have in him; it is all one to me. +But, the Evremonde people are to be exterminated, and the wife and +child must follow the husband and father." + +"She has a fine head for it," croaked Jacques Three. "I have seen blue +eyes and golden hair there, and they looked charming when Samson +held them up." Ogre that he was, he spoke like an epicure. + +Madame Defarge cast down her eyes, and reflected a little. + + + +355 + + + +"The child also," observed Jacques Three, with a meditative enjoyment +of his words, "has golden hair and blue eyes. And we seldom have a +child there. It is a pretty sight!" + +"In a word," said Madame Defarge, coming out of her short abstrac- +tion, "I cannot trust my husband in this matter. Not only do I feel, since +last night, that I dare not confide to him the details of my projects; but +also I feel that if I delay, there is danger of his giving warning, and then +they might escape." + +"That must never be," croaked Jacques Three; "no one must escape. +We have not half enough as it is. We ought to have six score a day." + +"In a word," Madame Defarge went on, "my husband has not my +reason for pursuing this family to annihilation, and I have not his reason +for regarding this Doctor with any sensibility. I must act for myself, +therefore. Come hither, little citizen." + +The wood-sawyer, who held her in the respect, and himself in the sub- +mission, of mortal fear, advanced with his hand to his red cap. + +"Touching those signals, little citizen," said Madame Defarge, sternly, +"that she made to the prisoners; you are ready to bear witness to them +this very day?" + +"Ay, ay, why not!" cried the sawyer. "Every day, in all weathers, from +two to four, always signalling, sometimes with the little one, sometimes +without. I know what I know. I have seen with my eyes." + +He made all manner of gestures while he spoke, as if in incidental im- +itation of some few of the great diversity of signals that he had never +seen. + +"Clearly plots," said Jacques Three. "Transparently!" + +"There is no doubt of the Jury?" inquired Madame Defarge, letting her +eyes turn to him with a gloomy smile. + +"Rely upon the patriotic Jury, dear citizeness. I answer for my fellow- +Jurymen." + +"Now, let me see," said Madame Defarge, pondering again. "Yet once +more! Can I spare this Doctor to my husband? I have no feeling either +way. Can I spare him?" + +"He would count as one head," observed Jacques Three, in a low +voice. "We really have not heads enough; it would be a pity, I think." + +"He was signalling with her when I saw her," argued Madame De- +farge; "I cannot speak of one without the other; and I must not be silent, + + + +356 + + + +and trust the case wholly to him, this little citizen here. For, I am not a +bad witness." + +The Vengeance and Jacques Three vied with each other in their fervent +protestations that she was the most admirable and marvellous of wit- +nesses. The little citizen, not to be outdone, declared her to be a celestial +witness. + +"He must take his chance," said Madame Defarge. "No, I cannot spare +him! You are engaged at three o'clock; you are going to see the batch of +to-day executed. - You?" + +The question was addressed to the wood-sawyer, who hurriedly +replied in the affirmative: seizing the occasion to add that he was the +most ardent of Republicans, and that he would be in effect the most des- +olate of Republicans, if anything prevented him from enjoying the pleas- +ure of smoking his afternoon pipe in the contemplation of the droll na- +tional barber. He was so very demonstrative herein, that he might have +been suspected (perhaps was, by the dark eyes that looked contemptu- +ously at him out of Madame Defarge's head) of having his small indi- +vidual fears for his own personal safety, every hour in the day. + +"I," said madame, "am equally engaged at the same place. After it is +over-say at eight to-night - come you to me, in Saint Antoine, and we +will give information against these people at my Section." + +The wood-sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to attend the +citizeness. The citizeness looking at him, he became embarrassed, evaded +her glance as a small dog would have done, retreated among his wood, +and hid his confusion over the handle of his saw. + +Madame Defarge beckoned the Juryman and The Vengeance a little +nearer to the door, and there expounded her further views to them thus: + +"She will now be at home, awaiting the moment of his death. She will +be mourning and grieving. She will be in a state of mind to impeach the +justice of the Republic. She will be full of sympathy with its enemies. I +will go to her." + +"What an admirable woman; what an adorable woman!" exclaimed +Jacques Three, rapturously. "Ah, my cherished!" cried The Vengeance; +and embraced her. + +"Take you my knitting," said Madame Defarge, placing it in her lieu- +tenant's hands, "and have it ready for me in my usual seat. Keep me my +usual chair. Go you there, straight, for there will probably be a greater +concourse than usual, to-day." + + + +357 + + + +"I willingly obey the orders of my Chief," said The Vengeance with +alacrity, and kissing her cheek. "You will not be late?" + +"I shall be there before the commencement." + +"And before the tumbrils arrive. Be sure you are there, my soul," said +The Vengeance, calling after her, for she had already turned into the +street, "before the tumbrils arrive!" + +Madame Defarge slightly waved her hand, to imply that she heard, +and might be relied upon to arrive in good time, and so went through +the mud, and round the corner of the prison wall. The Vengeance and +the Juryman, looking after her as she walked away, were highly appreci- +ative of her fine figure, and her superb moral endowments. + +There were many women at that time, upon whom the time laid a +dreadfully disfiguring hand; but, there was not one among them more to +be dreaded than this ruthless woman, now taking her way along the +streets. Of a strong and fearless character, of shrewd sense and readiness, +of great determination, of that kind of beauty which not only seems to +impart to its possessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into others +an instinctive recognition of those qualities; the troubled time would +have heaved her up, under any circumstances. But, imbued from her +childhood with a brooding sense of wrong, and an inveterate hatred of a +class, opportunity had developed her into a tigress. She was absolutely +without pity. If she had ever had the virtue in her, it had quite gone out +of her. + +It was nothing to her, that an innocent man was to die for the sins of +his forefathers; she saw, not him, but them. It was nothing to her, that his +wife was to be made a widow and his daughter an orphan; that was in- +sufficient punishment, because they were her natural enemies and her +prey, and as such had no right to live. To appeal to her, was made hope- +less by her having no sense of pity, even for herself. If she had been laid +low in the streets, in any of the many encounters in which she had been +engaged, she would not have pitied herself; nor, if she had been ordered +to the axe to-morrow, would she have gone to it with any softer feeling +than a fierce desire to change places with the man who sent here there. + +Such a heart Madame Defarge carried under her rough robe. Care- +lessly worn, it was a becoming robe enough, in a certain weird way, and +her dark hair looked rich under her coarse red cap. Lying hidden in her +bosom, was a loaded pistol. Lying hidden at her waist, was a sharpened +dagger. Thus accoutred, and walking with the confident tread of such a +character, and with the supple freedom of a woman who had habitually + + + +358 + + + +walked in her girlhood, bare-foot and bare-legged, on the brown sea- +sand, Madame Defarge took her way along the streets. + +Now, when the journey of the travelling coach, at that very moment +waiting for the completion of its load, had been planned out last night, +the difficulty of taking Miss Pross in it had much engaged Mr. Lorry's at- +tention. It was not merely desirable to avoid overloading the coach, but it +was of the highest importance that the time occupied in examining it and +its passengers, should be reduced to the utmost; since their escape might +depend on the saving of only a few seconds here and there. Finally, he +had proposed, after anxious + +consideration, that Miss Pross and Jerry, who were at liberty to leave +the city, should leave it at three o'clock in the lightest-wheeled convey- +ance known to that period. Unencumbered with luggage, they would +soon overtake the coach, and, passing it and preceding it on the road, +would order its horses in advance, and greatly facilitate its progress dur- +ing the precious hours of the night, when delay was the most to be +dreaded. + +Seeing in this arrangement the hope of rendering real service in that +pressing emergency, Miss Pross hailed it with joy. She and Jerry had be- +held the coach start, had known who it was that Solomon brought, had +passed some ten minutes in tortures of suspense, and were now conclud- +ing their arrangements to follow the coach, even as Madame Defarge, +taking her way through the streets, now drew nearer and nearer to the +else-deserted lodging in which they held their consultation. + +"Now what do you think, Mr. Cruncher," said Miss Pross, whose agit- +ation was so great that she could hardly speak, or stand, or move, or live: +"what do you think of our not starting from this courtyard? Another car- +riage having already gone from here to-day, it might awaken suspicion." + +"My opinion, miss," returned Mr. Cruncher, "is as you're right. Like- +wise wot I'll stand by you, right or wrong." + +"I am so distracted with fear and hope for our precious creatures," +said Miss Pross, wildly crying, "that I am incapable of forming any plan. +Are you capable of forming any plan, my dear good Mr. Cruncher?" + +"Respectin' a future spear o' life, miss," returned Mr. Cruncher, "I +hope so. Respectin' any present use o' this here blessed old head o' mind, +I think not. Would you do me the favour, miss, to take notice o' two +promises and wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis?" + + + +359 + + + +"Oh, for gracious sake!" cried Miss Pross, still wildly crying, "record +them at once, and get them out of the way, like an excellent man." + +"First," said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble, and who spoke +with an ashy and solemn visage, "them poor things well out o' this, nev- +er no more will I do it, never no more!" + +"I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher," returned Miss Pross, "that you never +will do it again, whatever it is, and I beg you not to think it necessary to +mention more particularly what it is." + +"No, miss," returned Jerry, "it shall not be named to you. Second: +them poor things well out o' this, and never no more will I interfere with +Mrs. Cruncher's flopping, never no more!" + +"Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be," said Miss Pross, +striving to dry her eyes and compose herself, "I have no doubt it is best +that Mrs. Cruncher should have it entirely under her own superintend- +ence. - O my poor darlings!" + +"I go so far as to say, miss, moreover," proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with +a most alarming tendency to hold forth as from a pulpit - "and let my +words be took down and took to Mrs. Cruncher through yourself - that +wot my opinions respectin' flopping has undergone a change, and that +wot I only hope with all my heart as Mrs. Cruncher may be a flopping at +the present time." + +"There, there, there! I hope she is, my dear man," cried the distracted +Miss Pross, "and I hope she finds it answering her expectations." + +"Forbid it," proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with additional solemnity, addi- +tional slowness, and additional tendency to hold forth and hold out, "as +anything wot I have ever said or done should be wisited on my earnest +wishes for them poor creeturs now! Forbid it as we shouldn't all flop (if +it was anyways conwenient) to get 'em out o' this here dismal risk! For- +bid it, miss! Wot I say, for-bid it!" This was Mr. Cruncher's conclusion +after a protracted but vain endeavour to find a better one. + +And still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came +nearer and nearer. + +"If we ever get back to our native land," said Miss Pross, "you may +rely upon my telling Mrs. Cruncher as much as I may be able to remem- +ber and understand of what you have so impressively said; and at all +events you may be sure that I shall bear witness to your being thor- +oughly in earnest at this dreadful time. Now, pray let us think! My es- +teemed Mr. Cruncher, let us think!" + + + +360 + + + +Still, Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came near- +er and nearer. + +"If you were to go before," said Miss Pross, "and stop the vehicle and +horses from coming here, and were to wait somewhere for me; wouldn't +that be best?" + +Mr. Cruncher thought it might be best. + +"Where could you wait for me?" asked Miss Pross. + +Mr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he could think of no locality but +Temple Bar. Alas! Temple Bar was hundreds of miles away, and Ma- +dame Defarge was drawing very near indeed. + +"By the cathedral door," said Miss Pross. "Would it be much out of the +way, to take me in, near the great cathedral door between the two +towers?" + +"No, miss," answered Mr. Cruncher. + +"Then, like the best of men," said Miss Pross, "go to the posting-house +straight, and make that change." + +"I am doubtful," said Mr. Cruncher, hesitating and shaking his head, +"about leaving of you, you see. We don't know what may happen." + +"Heaven knows we don't," returned Miss Pross, "but have no fear for +me. Take me in at the cathedral, at Three o'clock, or as near it as you +can, and I am sure it will be better than our going from here. I feel certain +of it. There! Bless you, Mr. Cruncher! Think-not of me, but of the lives +that may depend on both of us!" + +This exordium, and Miss Pross's two hands in quite agonised entreaty +clasping his, decided Mr. Cruncher. With an encouraging nod or two, he +immediately went out to alter the arrangements, and left her by herself +to follow as she had proposed. + +The having originated a precaution which was already in course of ex- +ecution, was a great relief to Miss Pross. The necessity of composing her +appearance so that it should attract no special notice in the streets, was +another relief. She looked at her watch, and it was twenty minutes past +two. She had no time to lose, but must get ready at once. + +Afraid, in her extreme perturbation, of the loneliness of the deserted +rooms, and of half -imagined faces peeping from behind every open door +in them, Miss Pross got a basin of cold water and began laving her eyes, +which were swollen and red. Haunted by her feverish apprehensions, +she could not bear to have her sight obscured for a minute at a time by + + + +361 + + + +the dripping water, but constantly paused and looked round to see that +there was no one watching her. In one of those pauses she recoiled and +cried out, for she saw a figure standing in the room. + +The basin fell to the ground broken, and the water flowed to the feet of +Madame Defarge. By strange stern ways, and through much staining +blood, those feet had come to meet that water. + +Madame Defarge looked coldly at her, and said, "The wife of Evre- +monde; where is she?" + +It flashed upon Miss Pross's mind that the doors were all standing +open, and would suggest the flight. Her first act was to shut them. There +were four in the room, and she shut them all. She then placed herself be- +fore the door of the chamber which Lucie had occupied. + +Madame Defarge's dark eyes followed her through this rapid move- +ment, and rested on her when it was finished. Miss Pross had nothing +beautiful about her; years had not tamed the wildness, or softened the +grimness, of her appearance; but, she too was a determined woman in +her different way, and she measured Madame Defarge with her eyes, +every inch. + +"You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer," said Miss +Pross, in her breathing. "Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. +I am an Englishwoman." + +Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully, but still with something of +Miss Pross's own perception that they two were at bay. She saw a tight, +hard, wiry woman before her, as Mr. Lorry had seen in the same figure a +woman with a strong hand, in the years gone by. She knew full well that +Miss Pross was the family's devoted friend; Miss Pross knew full well +that Madame Defarge was the family's malevolent enemy. + +"On my way yonder," said Madame Defarge, with a slight movement +of her hand towards the fatal spot, "where they reserve my chair and my +knitting for me, I am come to make my compliments to her in passing. I +wish to see her." + +"I know that your intentions are evil," said Miss Pross, "and you may +depend upon it, I'll hold my own against them." + +Each spoke in her own language; neither understood the other's +words; both were very watchful, and intent to deduce from look and +manner, what the unintelligible words meant. + + + +362 + + + +"It will do her no good to keep herself concealed from me at this mo- +ment," said Madame Defarge. "Good patriots will know what that +means. Let me see her. Go tell her that I wish to see her. Do you hear?" + +"If those eyes of yours were bed-winches," returned Miss Pross, "and I +was an English four-poster, they shouldn't loose a splinter of me. No, +you wicked foreign woman; I am your match." + +Madame Defarge was not likely to follow these idiomatic remarks in +detail; but, she so far understood them as to perceive that she was set at +naught. + +"Woman imbecile and pig-like!" said Madame Defarge, frowning. "I +take no answer from you. I demand to see her. Either tell her that I de- +mand to see her, or stand out of the way of the door and let me go to +her!" This, with an angry explanatory wave of her right arm. + +"I little thought," said Miss Pross, "that I should ever want to under- +stand your nonsensical language; but I would give all I have, except the +clothes I wear, to know whether you suspect the truth, or any part of it." + +Neither of them for a single moment released the other's eyes. Ma- +dame Defarge had not moved from the spot where she stood when Miss +Pross first became aware of her; but, she now advanced one step. + +"I am a Briton," said Miss Pross, "I am desperate. I don't care an Eng- +lish Twopence for myself. I know that the longer I keep you here, the +greater hope there is for my Ladybird. I'll not leave a handful of that +dark hair upon your head, if you lay a finger on me!" + +Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head and a flash of her eyes +between every rapid sentence, and every rapid sentence a whole breath. +Thus Miss Pross, who had never struck a blow in her life. + +But, her courage was of that emotional nature that it brought the irre- +pressible tears into her eyes. This was a courage that Madame Defarge so +little comprehended as to mistake for weakness. "Ha, ha!" she laughed, +"you poor wretch! What are you worth! I address myself to that Doctor." +Then she raised her voice and called out, "Citizen Doctor! Wife of Evre- +monde! Child of Evremonde! Any person but this miserable fool, answer +the Citizeness Defarge!" + +Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some latent disclosure in the +expression of Miss Pross's face, perhaps a sudden misgiving apart from +either suggestion, whispered to Madame Defarge that they were gone. +Three of the doors she opened swiftly, and looked in. + + + +363 + + + +"Those rooms are all in disorder, there has been hurried packing, there +are odds and ends upon the ground. There is no one in that room behind +you! Let me look." + +"Never!" said Miss Pross, who understood the request as perfectly as +Madame Defarge understood the answer. + +"If they are not in that room, they are gone, and can be pursued and +brought back," said Madame Defarge to herself. + +"As long as you don't know whether they are in that room or not, you +are uncertain what to do," said Miss Pross to herself; "and you shall not +know that, if I can prevent your knowing it; and know that, or not know +that, you shall not leave here while I can hold you." + +"I have been in the streets from the first, nothing has stopped me, I +will tear you to pieces, but I will have you from that door," said Madame +Defarge. + +"We are alone at the top of a high house in a solitary courtyard, we are +not likely to be heard, and I pray for bodily strength to keep you here, +while every minute you are here is worth a hundred thousand guineas to +my darling," said Miss Pross. + +Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the instinct of the +moment, seized her round the waist in both her arms, and held her tight. +It was in vain for Madame Defarge to struggle and to strike; Miss Pross, +with the vigorous tenacity of love, always so much stronger than hate, +clasped her tight, and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle that +they had. The two hands of Madame Defarge buffeted and tore her face; +but, Miss Pross, with her head down, held her round the waist, and +clung to her with more than the hold of a drowning woman. + +Soon, Madame Defarge's hands ceased to strike, and felt at her en- +circled waist. "It is under my arm," said Miss Pross, in smothered tones, +"you shall not draw it. I am stronger than you, I bless Heaven for it. I +hold you till one or other of us faints or dies!" + +Madame Defarge's hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross looked up, +saw what it was, struck at it, struck out a flash and a crash, and stood +alone - blinded with smoke. + +All this was in a second. As the smoke cleared, leaving an awful still- +ness, it passed out on the air, like the soul of the furious woman whose +body lay lifeless on the ground. + +In the first fright and horror of her situation, Miss Pross passed the +body as far from it as she could, and ran down the stairs to call for + + + +364 + + + +fruitless help. Happily, she bethought herself of the consequences of +what she did, in time to check herself and go back. It was dreadful to go +in at the door again; but, she did go in, and even went near it, to get the +bonnet and other things that she must wear. These she put on, out on the +staircase, first shutting and locking the door and taking away the key. +She then sat down on the stairs a few moments to breathe and to cry, and +then got up and hurried away. + +By good fortune she had a veil on her bonnet, or she could hardly have +gone along the streets without being stopped. By good fortune, too, she +was naturally so peculiar in appearance as not to show disfigurement +like any other woman. She needed both advantages, for the marks of +gripping fingers were deep in her face, and her hair was torn, and her +dress (hastily composed with unsteady hands) was clutched and +dragged a hundred ways. + +In crossing the bridge, she dropped the door key in the river. Arriving +at the cathedral some few minutes before her escort, and waiting there, +she thought, what if the key were already taken in a net, what if it were +identified, what if the door were opened and the remains discovered, +what if she were stopped at the gate, sent to prison, and charged with +murder! In the midst of these fluttering thoughts, the escort appeared, +took her in, and took her away. + +"Is there any noise in the streets?" she asked him. + +"The usual noises," Mr. Cruncher replied; and looked surprised by the +question and by her aspect. + +"I don't hear you," said Miss Pross. "What do you say?" + +It was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat what he said; Miss Pross +could not hear him. "So I'll nod my head," thought Mr. Cruncher, +amazed, "at all events she'll see that." And she did. + +"Is there any noise in the streets now?" asked Miss Pross again, +presently. + +Again Mr. Cruncher nodded his head. + +"I don't hear it." + +"Gone deaf in an hour?" said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, with his mind +much disturbed; "wot's come to her?" + +"I feel," said Miss Pross, "as if there had been a flash and a crash, and +that crash was the last thing I should ever hear in this life." + + + +365 + + + +"Blest if she ain't in a queer condition!" said Mr. Cruncher, more and +more disturbed. "Wot can she have been a takin', to keep her courage +up? Hark! There's the roll of them dreadful carts! You can hear that, +miss?" + +"I can hear," said Miss Pross, seeing that he spoke to her, "nothing. O, +my good man, there was first a great crash, and then a great stillness, +and that stillness seems to be fixed and unchangeable, never to be broken +any more as long as my life lasts." + +"If she don't hear the roll of those dreadful carts, now very nigh their +journey's end," said Mr. Cruncher, glancing over his shoulder, "it's my +opinion that indeed she never will hear anything else in this world." + +And indeed she never did. + + + +366 + + + +Chapter + + + +15 + + + +The Footsteps Die Out For Ever + +Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six +tumbrils carry the day's wine to La Guillotine. All the devouring and in- +satiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself, are +fused in the one realisation, Guillotine. And yet there is not in France, +with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a sprig, a +peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more certain +than those that have produced this horror. Crush humanity out of shape +once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same +tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression +over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind. + +Six tumbrils roll along the streets. Change these back again to what +they were, thou powerful enchanter, Time, and they shall be seen to be +the carriages of absolute monarchs, the equipages of feudal nobles, the +toilettes of flaring Jezebels, the churches that are not my father's house +but dens of thieves, the huts of millions of starving peasants! No; the +great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the +Creator, never reverses his transformations. "If thou be changed into this +shape by the will of God," say the seers to the enchanted, in the wise Ar- +abian stories, "then remain so! But, if thou wear this form through mere +passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!" Changeless and +hopeless, the tumbrils roll along. + +As the sombre wheels of the six carts go round, they seem to plough +up a long crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Ridges of +faces are thrown to this side and to that, and the ploughs go steadily on- +ward. So used are the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, +that in many windows there are no people, and in some the occupation +of the hands is not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the +faces in the tumbrils. Here and there, the inmate has visitors to see the +sight; then he points his finger, with something of the complacency of a + + + +367 + + + +curator or authorised exponent, to this cart and to this, and seems to tell +who sat here yesterday, and who there the day before. + +Of the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all things +on their last roadside, with an impassive stare; others, with a lingering +interest in the ways of life and men. Some, seated with drooping heads, +are sunk in silent despair; again, there are some so heedful of their looks +that they cast upon the multitude such glances as they have seen in +theatres, and in pictures. Several close their eyes, and think, or try to get +their straying thoughts together. Only one, and he a miserable creature, +of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by horror, that he +sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole number appeals by look +or gesture, to the pity of the people. + +There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, +and faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some +question. It would seem to be always the same question, for, it is always +followed by a press of people towards the third cart. The horsemen +abreast of that cart, frequently point out one man in it with their swords. +The leading curiosity is, to know which is he; he stands at the back of the +tumbril with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl who sits +on the side of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity or care for +the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and there in the +long street of St. Honore, cries are raised against him. If they move him +at all, it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely +about his face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms being bound. + +On the steps of a church, awaiting the coming-up of the tumbrils, +stands the Spy and prison-sheep. He looks into the first of them: not +there. He looks into the second: not there. He already asks himself, "Has +he sacrificed me?" when his face clears, as he looks into the third. + +"Which is Evremonde?" says a man behind him. + +"That. At the back there." + +"With his hand in the girl's?" + +"Yes." + +The man cries, "Down, Evremonde! To the Guillotine all aristocrats! +Down, Evremonde!" + +"Hush, hush!" the Spy entreats him, timidly. + +"And why not, citizen?" + +"He is going to pay the forfeit: it will be paid in five minutes more. Let +him be at peace." + + + +368 + + + +But the man continuing to exclaim, "Down, Evremonde!" the face of +Evremonde is for a moment turned towards him. Evremonde then sees +the Spy, and looks attentively at him, and goes his way. + +The clocks are on the stroke of three, and the furrow ploughed among +the populace is turning round, to come on into the place of execution, +and end. The ridges thrown to this side and to that, now crumble in and +close behind the last plough as it passes on, for all are following to the +Guillotine. In front of it, seated in chairs, as in a garden of public diver- +sion, are a number of women, busily knitting. On one of the fore-most +chairs, stands The Vengeance, looking about for her friend. + +"Therese!" she cries, in her shrill tones. "Who has seen her? Therese +Defarge!" + +"She never missed before," says a knitting-woman of the sisterhood. + +"No; nor will she miss now," cries The Vengeance, petulantly. +"Therese." + +"Louder," the woman recommends. + +Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will scarcely hear +thee. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it will +hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her, lingering +somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done dread deeds, it +is questionable whether of their own wills they will go far enough to find +her! + +"Bad Fortune!" cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair, +"and here are the tumbrils! And Evremonde will be despatched in a +wink, and she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her empty chair +ready for her. I cry with vexation and disappointment!" + +As The Vengeance descends from her elevation to do it, the tumbrils +begin to discharge their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are +robed and ready. Crash! - A head is held up, and the knitting-women +who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could +think and speak, count One. + +The second tumbril empties and moves on; the third comes up. Crash! +- And the knitting-women, never faltering or pausing in their Work, +count Two. + +The supposed Evremonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out +next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, +but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to + + + +369 + + + +the crashing engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks in- +to his face and thanks him. + +"But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am nat- +urally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to +raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have +hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven." + +"Or you to me," says Sydney Carton. "Keep your eyes upon me, dear +child, and mind no other object." + +"I mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I +let it go, if they are rapid." + +"They will be rapid. Fear not!" + +The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, but they speak as +if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to +heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and +differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home to- +gether, and to rest in her bosom. + +"Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last question? +I am very ignorant, and it troubles me - just a little." + +"Tell me what it is." + +"I have a cousin, an only relative and an orphan, like myself, whom I +love very dearly. She is five years younger than I, and she lives in a farm- +er's house in the south country. Poverty parted us, and she knows noth- +ing of my fate - for I cannot write - and if I could, how should I tell her! +It is better as it is." + +"Yes, yes: better as it is." + +"What I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still +thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so +much support, is this: - If the Republic really does good to the poor, and +they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a +long time: she may even live to be old." + +"What then, my gentle sister?" + +"Do you think:" the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much en- +durance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and tremble: "that +it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the better land where I +trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?" + +"It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there." + + + +370 + + + +"You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to kiss you now? Is +the moment come?" + +"Yes." + +She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The +spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a +sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before +him - is gone; the knitting- women count Twenty-Two. + +"I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in +me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and be- +lieveth in me shall never die." + +The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the +pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it +swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. +Twenty-Three. + +They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the peacefulest +man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and +prophetic. + +One of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axe - a woman-had +asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not long before, to be allowed to +write down the thoughts that were inspiring her. If he had given any ut- +terance to his, and they were prophetic, they would have been these: + +"I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the +Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruc- +tion of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall +cease out of its present use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people +rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their tri- +umphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time +and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually +making expiation for itself and wearing out. + +"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosper- +ous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see Her with +a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and +bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, +and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their friend, in ten years' +time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his +reward. + +"I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their +descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for + + + +371 + + + +me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their +course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that +each was not more honoured and held sacred in the other's soul, than I +was in the souls of both. + +"I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a +man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see +him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the +light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, fore- +most of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with +a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place - then fair to look +upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement - and I hear him tell +the child my story, with a tender and a faltering voice. + +"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, +far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." + + + +372 + +