Book II - Chapter XV. Knitting

by Charles Dickens

　　There had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine-shop ofMonsieur Defarge. As early as six o'clock in the morning, sallowfaces peeping through its barred windows had descried other faces within,bending over measures of wine. Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wineat the best of times, but it would seem to have been an unusually thinwine 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 themgloomy. No vivacious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grapeof 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 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.These were to the full as interested in the place, however, as ifthey could have commanded whole barrels of wine; and they glided fromseat to seat, and from corner to corner, swallowing talk in lieuof drink, with greedy looks.

　　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 tosee only Madame Defarge in her seat, presiding over the distributionof wine, with a bowl of battered small coins before her, as much defacedand beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage of humanityfrom 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 kings 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. Itwas high noontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets andunder his swinging lamps: of whom, one was Monsieur Defarge: the othera mender 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 onehad 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 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 ofParis. 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 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 drinkingnear Madame 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 wasno 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 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-hairedman sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making shoes.

　　No white-haired man was there now; but, the three men were therewho had gone out of the wine-shop singly. And between them and thewhite-haired man afar off, was the one small link, that they had oncelooked 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 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 agothis running summer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging bythe chain. Behold the manner of it. I leaving my work on the road,the sun going to bed, the carriage of the Marquis slowly ascendingthe hill, he hanging 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 didhe confide 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 tallman is 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 inthe village below, where it is already dark, when I raise my eyes,and see coming over the hill six soldiers. In the midst of themis 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 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,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 thesun going to bed, where they have a red edge, messieurs. Also, I seethat their long shadows are on the hollow ridge on the opposite sideof the road, and are on the hill above it, and are like the shadows ofgiants. Also, I see that they are covered with dust, and that the dustmoves with them as they come, tramp, tramp! But when they advancequite near to me, I recognise the tall man, and he recognises me.Ah, but he would be well content to precipitate himself over thehill-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 sawit vividly; perhaps he had not seen much in his life.

　　"I do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he doesnot 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 tothe village, `bring him fast to his tomb!' and they bring him faster.I follow. His arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, hiswooden 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 thebutt-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 withdust, but he cannot touch it; thereupon they laugh again. They bringhim into the village; all the village runs to look; they take him pastthe mill, and up to the prison; all the village sees the prison gateopen 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 soundingsnap of his teeth. Observant of his unwillingness to mar the effectby opening it again, Defarge said, "Go on, Jacques."

　　"All the village," pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in alow 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 comeout of it, except to perish. In the morning, with my tools upon myshoulder, eating my morsel of black bread as I go, I make a circuitby 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 callto him; he regards me like a dead man."

　　Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The looks ofall of them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened tothe countryman's story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret,was authoritative too. They had the air of a rough tribunal; JacquesOne and Two sitting on the old pallet-bed, each with his chin restingon his hand, and his eyes intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three,equally intent, on one knee behind them, with his agitated hand alwaysgliding over the network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose;Defarge standing between them and the narrator, whom he had stationedin the light of the window, by turns looking from him to them, andfrom them to him.

　　"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, froma distance, at the prison on the crag; and in the evening, when thework of the day is achieved and it assembles to gossip at the fountain,all faces are turned towards the prison. Formerly, they were turnedtowards the posting-house; now, they are turned towards the prison.They whisper at the fountain, that although condemned to death he willnot be executed; they say that petitions have been presented in Paris,showing that he was 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,sitting beside the Queen. It is Defarge whom you see here, who,at the hazard of his life, darted out before the horses, with thepetition in his 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 wasneither food nor drink; "the guard, horse and foot, surroundedthe 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 executedon the spot, and that he will very certainly be executed. They evenwhisper that because he has slain Monseigneur, and because Monseigneurwas the father of his tenants--serfs--what you will--he will beexecuted as a parricide. One old man says at the fountain, that hisright 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 fourstrong horses. That old man says, all this was actually done to aprisoner 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 handand the craving air. "The name of that prisoner was Damiens, and itwas 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 eagerattention to the last--to the last, Jacques, prolonged until nightfall,when he had lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed! And itwas 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 mighthave 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 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,by the fountain, there is raised a gallows forty feet high, poisoningthe 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 themidst of many soldiers. He is bound as before, and in his mouth thereis a 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 gallowsis fixed the knife, blade upwards, with its point in the air. He ishanged 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 drawwater! Who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow! Under it,have I said? When I left the village, Monday evening as the sun wasgoing to bed, and looked back from the hill, the shadow struck acrossthe church, across the mill, across the prison--seemed to strike acrossthe 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 andnow 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 haveacted and recounted faithfully. Will you wait for us a little,outside the door?"

　　"Very willingly," said the mender of roads. Whom Defarge escortedto the top of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned.

　　The three had risen, and their heads were together when he cameback 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 begangnawing another finger.

　　"Are you sure," asked Jacques Two, of Defarge, "that no embarrassmentcan arise from our manner of keeping the register? Without doubt itis safe, for no one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall wealways be 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 notlose a word of it--not a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitchesand 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 poltroonthat lives, to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letterof his name or crimes 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 is very 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, thathe wishes to see Royalty and Nobility?"

　　"Jacques," said Defarge; "judiciously show a cat milk, if you wishher 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 alreadydozing on the topmost stair, was advised to lay himself down on thepallet-bed and take some rest. He needed no persuasion,and was soon asleep.

　　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,that he shook in his wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her.For, he contended with himself that it was impossible to foresee whatthat lady might pretend next; and he felt assured that if she shouldtake it into her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seenhim do a murder and afterwards flay the victim, she would infalliblygo through with 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 waitedto 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 themender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightilyclose 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-facedKing and the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, attended bythe shining Bull's Eye of their Court, a glittering multitude oflaughing ladies and fine lords; and in jewels and silks and powder andsplendour and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful facesof both sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so much to histemporary intoxication, that he cried Long live the King, Long livethe Queen, Long live everybody and everything! as if he had neverheard 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! untilhe absolutely wept with sentiment. During the whole of this scene,which lasted some three hours, he had plenty of shouting and weepingand sentimental company, and throughout Defarge held him by the collar,as if to restrain him from flying at the objects of his brief devotionand 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 ofhaving made a mistake in his late demonstrations; but no.

　　"You are the fellow we want," said Defarge, in his ear; "you make thesefools 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,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 topluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, youwould 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 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,with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last beenapparent; "now, go home!"