XV. Knitting
There had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine-shop of MonsieurDefarge. As early as six o'clock in the morning, sallow faces peepingthrough its barred windows had descried other faces within, bending overmeasures of wine. Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wine at the bestof times, but it would seem to have been an unusually thin wine thathe sold at this time. A sour wine, moreover, or a souring, for itsinfluence on the mood of those who drank it was to make them gloomy. Novivacious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grape of MonsieurDefarge: but, a smouldering fire that burnt in the dark, lay hidden inthe dregs of it.
This had been the third morning in succession, on which there had beenearly drinking at the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. It had begunon Monday, and here was Wednesday come. There had been more of earlybrooding than drinking; for, many men had listened and whispered andslunk about there from the time of the opening of the door, who couldnot have laid a piece of money on the counter to save their souls. Thesewere to the full as interested in the place, however, as if they couldhave commanded whole barrels of wine; and they glided from seat to seat,and from corner to corner, swallowing talk in lieu of drink, with greedylooks.
Notwithstanding an unusual flow of company, the master of the wine-shopwas not visible. He was not missed; for, nobody who crossed thethreshold looked for him, nobody asked for him, nobody wondered to seeonly Madame Defarge in her seat, presiding over the distribution ofwine, with a bowl of battered small coins before her, as much defacedand beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage ofhumanity from whose ragged pockets they had come.
A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind, were perhapsobserved by the spies who looked in at the wine-shop, as they looked inat every place, high and low, from the king's palace to the criminal'sgaol. Games at cards languished, players at dominoes musingly builttowers with them, drinkers drew figures on the tables with spilt dropsof wine, Madame Defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleevewith her toothpick, and saw and heard something inaudible and invisiblea long way off.
Thus, Saint Antoine in this vinous feature of his, until midday. It washigh noontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets and underhis swinging lamps: of whom, one was Monsieur Defarge: the other amender of roads in a blue cap. All adust and athirst, the two enteredthe wine-shop. Their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breastof Saint Antoine, fast spreading as they came along, which stirred andflickered in flames of faces at most doors and windows. Yet, no one hadfollowed them, and no man spoke when they entered the wine-shop, thoughthe 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 elicitedan 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 downtheir eyes and sat silent. Except one man, who got up and went out.
”My wife,” said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame Defarge: ”I havetravelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads, calledJacques. 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 todrink, my wife!”
A second man got up and went out. Madame Defarge set wine before themender of roads called Jacques, who doffed his blue cap to the company,and drank. In the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse darkbread; he ate of this between whiles, and sat munching and drinking nearMadame Defarge's counter. A third man got up and went out.
Defarge refreshed himself with a draught of wine--but, he took lessthan was given to the stranger, as being himself a man to whom it was norarity--and stood waiting until the countryman had made his breakfast.He looked at no one present, and no one now looked at him; not evenMadame 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 couldoccupy. It will suit you to a marvel.”
Out of the wine-shop into the street, out of the street into acourtyard, out of the courtyard up a steep staircase, out of thestaircase into a garret--formerly the garret where a white-haired mansat 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 hadgone out of the wine-shop singly. And between them and the white-hairedman afar off, was the one small link, that they had once looked in athim 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 witnessencountered 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 withit, and said, ”Where shall I commence, monsieur?”
”Commence,” was Monsieur Defarge's not unreasonable reply, ”at thecommencement.”
”I saw him then, messieurs,” began the mender of roads, ”a year ago thisrunning summer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging by thechain. Behold the manner of it. I leaving my work on the road, the sungoing to bed, the carriage of the Marquis slowly ascending the hill, hehanging by the chain--like this.”
Again the mender of roads went through the whole performance; in whichhe ought to have been perfect by that time, seeing that it had beenthe infallible resource and indispensable entertainment of his villageduring 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 hisfinger 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 heconfide in me. Observe! Under those circumstances even, I do notoffer 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 hadinterrupted. ”Go on!”
”Good!” said the mender of roads, with an air of mystery. ”The tall manis lost, and he is sought--how many months? Nine, ten, eleven?”
”No matter, the number,” said Defarge. ”He is well hidden, but at lasthe is unluckily found. Go on!”
”I am again at work upon the hill-side, and the sun is again about togo to bed. I am collecting my tools to descend to my cottage down in thevillage below, where it is already dark, when I raise my eyes, and seecoming over the hill six soldiers. In the midst of them is a tall manwith his arms bound--tied to his sides--like this!”
With the aid of his indispensable cap, he represented a man with hiselbows bound fast at his hips, with cords that were knotted behind him.
”I stand aside, messieurs, by my heap of stones, to see the soldiersand their prisoner pass (for it is a solitary road, that, where anyspectacle is well worth looking at), and at first, as they approach, Isee no more than that they are six soldiers with a tall man bound, andthat they are almost black to my sight--except on the side of the sungoing to bed, where they have a red edge, messieurs. Also, I see thattheir long shadows are on the hollow ridge on the opposite side of theroad, 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 moveswith them as they come, tramp, tramp! But when they advance quite nearto me, I recognise the tall man, and he recognises me. Ah, but he wouldbe well content to precipitate himself over the hill-side once again, ason 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 itvividly; perhaps he had not seen much in his life.
”I do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he does notshow the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know it, withour eyes. 'Come on!' says the chief of that company, pointing to thevillage, 'bring him fast to his tomb!' and they bring him faster. Ifollow. His arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, his woodenshoes are large and clumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame, andconsequently slow, they drive him with their guns--like this!”
He imitated the action of a man's being impelled forward by thebutt-ends of muskets.
”As they descend the hill like madmen running a race, he falls. Theylaugh 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 intothe 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 thedarkness of the night, and swallow him--like this!”
He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and shut it with a soundingsnap of his teeth. Observant of his unwillingness to mar the effect byopening it again, Defarge said, ”Go on, Jacques.”
”All the village,” pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a lowvoice, ”withdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all thevillage sleeps; all the village dreams of that unhappy one, within thelocks 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, eatingmy morsel of black bread as I go, I make a circuit by the prison, onmy way to my work. There I see him, high up, behind the bars of a loftyiron cage, bloody and dusty as last night, looking through. He has nohand free, to wave to me; I dare not call to him; he regards me like adead man.”
Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The looks of allof them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened to thecountryman's story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret, wasauthoritative too. They had the air of a rough tribunal; Jacques Oneand Two sitting on the old pallet-bed, each with his chin resting onhis hand, and his eyes intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three, equallyintent, on one knee behind them, with his agitated hand always glidingover the network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose; Defargestanding between them and the narrator, whom he had stationed in thelight of the window, by turns looking from him to them, and from them tohim.
”Go on, Jacques,” said Defarge.
”He remains up there in his iron cage some days. The village looksat him by stealth, for it is afraid. But it always looks up, from adistance, at the prison on the crag; and in the evening, when the workof the day is achieved and it assembles to gossip at the fountain, allfaces are turned towards the prison. Formerly, they were turned towardsthe posting-house; now, they are turned towards the prison. Theywhisper at the fountain, that although condemned to death he will not beexecuted; they say that petitions have been presented in Paris, showingthat he was enraged and made mad by the death of his child; they saythat 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,sitting beside the Queen. It is Defarge whom you see here, who, at thehazard of his life, darted out before the horses, with the petition inhis hand.”
”And once again listen, Jacques!” said the kneeling Number Three:his fingers ever wandering over and over those fine nerves, with astrikingly greedy air, as if he hungered for something--that was neitherfood 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 thecountryman, ”that he is brought down into our country to be executed onthe spot, and that he will very certainly be executed. They even whisperthat because he has slain Monseigneur, and because Monseigneur was thefather of his tenants--serfs--what you will--he will be executed as aparricide. One old man says at the fountain, that his right hand, armedwith the knife, will be burnt off before his face; that, into woundswhich will be made in his arms, his breast, and his legs, there will bepoured boiling oil, melted lead, hot resin, wax, and sulphur; finally,that he will be torn limb from limb by four strong horses. That old mansays, all this was actually done to a prisoner who made an attempt onthe 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 handand the craving air. ”The name of that prisoner was Damiens, and it wasall done in open day, in the open streets of this city of Paris; andnothing was more noticed in the vast concourse that saw it done, thanthe crowd of ladies of quality and fashion, who were full of eagerattention to the last--to the last, Jacques, prolonged until nightfall,when he had lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed! And it wasdone--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 seenit.”
”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 Sundaynight when all the village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down fromthe prison, and their guns ring on the stones of the little street.Workmen dig, workmen hammer, soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, bythe fountain, there is raised a gallows forty feet high, poisoning thewater.”
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. Soldiershave marched into the prison in the night, and he is in the midstof many soldiers. He is bound as before, and in his mouth there isa gag--tied so, with a tight string, making him look almost as if helaughed.” 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 isfixed the knife, blade upwards, with its point in the air. He is hangedthere 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 thespectacle.
”It is frightful, messieurs. How can the women and the children drawwater! Who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow! Under it, haveI said? When I left the village, Monday evening as the sun was going tobed, 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 otherthree, 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 waswarned I should) this comrade. With him, I came on, now riding and nowwalking, through the rest of yesterday and through last night. And hereyou see me!”
After a gloomy silence, the first Jacques said, ”Good! You have actedand recounted faithfully. Will you wait for us a little, outside thedoor?”
”Very willingly,” said the mender of roads. Whom Defarge escorted to thetop of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned.
The three had risen, and their heads were together when he came back tothe 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 begangnawing another finger.
”Are you sure,” asked Jacques Two, of Defarge, ”that no embarrassmentcan arise from our manner of keeping the register? Without doubt it issafe, for no one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall we alwaysbe able to decipher it--or, I ought to say, will she?”
”Jacques,” returned Defarge, drawing himself up, ”if madame my wifeundertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not losea word of it--not a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches and herown symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. Confide inMadame Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives,to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name orcrimes from the knitted register of Madame Defarge.”
There was a murmur of confidence and approval, and then the man whohungered, asked: ”Is this rustic to be sent back soon? I hope so. He isvery simple; is he not a little dangerous?”
”He knows nothing,” said Defarge; ”at least nothing more than wouldeasily elevate himself to a gallows of the same height. I charge myselfwith him; let him remain with me; I will take care of him, and set himon his road. He wishes to see the fine world--the King, the Queen, andCourt; let him see them on Sunday.”
”What?” exclaimed the hungry man, staring. ”Is it a good sign, that hewishes to see Royalty and Nobility?”
”Jacques,” said Defarge; ”judiciously show a cat milk, if you wish herto thirst for it. Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wishhim to bring it down one day.”
Nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being found alreadydozing on the topmost stair, was advised to lay himself down on thepallet-bed and take some rest. He needed no persuasion, and was soonasleep.
Worse quarters than Defarge's wine-shop, could easily have been foundin Paris for a provincial slave of that degree. Saving for a mysteriousdread of madame by which he was constantly haunted, his life was verynew and agreeable. But, madame sat all day at her counter, so expresslyunconscious of him, and so particularly determined not to perceive thathis being there had any connection with anything below the surface, thathe shook in his wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her. For, hecontended with himself that it was impossible to foresee what that ladymight pretend next; and he felt assured that if she should take itinto her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seen him do amurder and afterwards flay the victim, she would infallibly go throughwith it until the play was played out.
Therefore, when Sunday came, the mender of roads was not enchanted(though he said he was) to find that madame was to accompany monsieurand himself to Versailles. It was additionally disconcerting to havemadame knitting all the way there, in a public conveyance; it wasadditionally disconcerting yet, to have madame in the crowd in theafternoon, still with her knitting in her hands as the crowd waited tosee 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 menderof roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightily closeand oppressive. If he needed a King and Queen to restore him, he wasfortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the large-faced Kingand the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, attended by theshining Bull's Eye of their Court, a glittering multitude of laughingladies and fine lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendourand elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful faces of bothsexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so much to his temporaryintoxication, that he cried Long live the King, Long live the Queen,Long live everybody and everything! as if he had never heard ofubiquitous 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 weptwith sentiment. During the whole of this scene, which lasted some threehours, he had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental company,and throughout Defarge held him by the collar, as if to restrain himfrom flying at the objects of his brief devotion and tearing them topieces.
”Bravo!” said Defarge, clapping him on the back when it was over, like apatron; ”you are a good boy!”
The mender of roads was now coming to himself, and was mistrustful ofhaving made a mistake in his late demonstrations; but no.
”You are the fellow we want,” said Defarge, in his ear; ”you makethese fools believe that it will last for ever. Then, they are the moreinsolent, 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 wouldstop it for ever and ever, in you or in a hundred like you rather thanin one of their own horses or dogs, they only know what your breathtells them. Let it deceive them, then, a little longer; it cannotdeceive them too much.”
Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded inconfirmation.
”As to you,” said she, ”you would shout and shed tears for anything, ifit 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 topluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you wouldpick 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 wereset 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, witha wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been apparent;”now, go home!”