XV
Knitting
There
had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. As
early as six o'clock in the morning, sallow faces peeping 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 vivacious 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. 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 under 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
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 company, 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 breakfast. 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."
"Come,
then! You shall see the apartment that I told you you could occupy. 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
garret,--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 encountered 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 finger 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, 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 interrupted.
"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 village, `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!"
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 perish. 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
"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, sitting beside
the Queen. It is Defarge whom you see here, who, at the hazard 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 whisper 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.
"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! Go on."
"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 suggested 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 upwards, 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 walking, through the rest of
yesterday and through last night. And here you see me!"
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 embarrassment 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 always 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."
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
Therefore,
when Sunday came, the mender of roads was not enchanted (though he said he was)
to find that madame was to accompany monsieur and himself to
"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 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,
fountains, green banks, more King and Queen, more Bull's Eye,more lords and
ladies, more Long live they all! until he absolutely wept with sentiment.
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 flying 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 insolent, 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 deceive 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."
"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 apparent; "now, go
home!"