‘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 fearful storm. I released her arms, and called the
woman to assist me to compose her figure and the dress
she had to. It was then that I knew her condition 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.
‘‘Is she dead?’ asked the Marquis, whom I will still
describe as the elder 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.’
A Tale of Two Cities
583 of 670
‘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 recommended that your aid should be
invited. Your reputation is high, and, as a young man with
your fortune to make, you are probably mindful 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.
* * * *
A Tale of Two Cities
584 of 670
‘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, 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
A Tale of Two Cities
585 of 670
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 brother’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.
‘‘I 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
A Tale of Two Cities
586 of 670
took it from his hand, but laid it on the table. I had
considered the question, and had resolved to accept
nothing.
‘‘Pray excuse me,’ said I. ‘Under the circumstances,
no.’
‘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 immunities 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
A Tale of Two Cities
587 of 670
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 compromised
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.
A Tale of Two Cities
588 of 670
‘My memory is still accurate, but I cannot write the
words of our conversation. 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 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 inducement 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 warning, yesterday. I must finish my record to-day.
A Tale of Two Cities
589 of 670
‘She was a good, compassionate lady, and not happy in
her marriage. How could she be! The brother distrusted
and disliked her, and his influence 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, ‘I 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, ‘It 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
A Tale of Two Cities
590 of 670
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 supposed to be at the gate, standing silent behind him.
‘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 behind, 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 brothers, in all these frightful years, to grant
me any tidings of my dearest wife—so much as to let me
A Tale of Two Cities
591 of 670
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 sustained
him in that place that day, against such denunciation.
eBook brought to you by
Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version.
A Tale of Two Cities
592 of 670
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
questionable 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 Republic
would deserve better still of the Republic by rooting out
an obnoxious family of Aristocrats, and would doubtless
feel a sacred glow 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 Conciergerie, and
Death within four-and-twenty hours!
A Tale of Two Cities
593 of 670
XI
Dusk
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
augment 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
A Tale of Two Cities
594 of 670
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.’
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
A Tale of Two Cities
595 of 670
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 discharge 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
A Tale of Two Cities
596 of 670
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 beside 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.’
‘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?’
A Tale of Two Cities
597 of 670
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 tomorrow
afternoon are few and short, but try.’
‘I intend to try. I will not rest a moment.’
A Tale of Two Cities
598 of 670
‘That’s well. I have known such energy as yours do
great things before 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 misuse 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?’
‘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!’
A Tale of Two Cities
599 of 670
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 I. I 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 encouraged 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.
A Tale of Two Cities
600 of 670
XII
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
precaution, 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 towards 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 ascertained its
situation, Carton came out of those closer streets again,
and dined at a place of refreshment and fell sound asleep
A Tale of Two Cities
601 of 670
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 shopwindow
where there was a mirror, and slightly altered the
disordered arrangement of his loose cravat, and his coatcollar,
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 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.
A Tale of Two Cities
602 of 670
‘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 pacifically 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!’
A Tale of Two Cities
603 of 670
Carton followed the lines and words of his paper, with
a slow forefinger, 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
disturbing 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.
‘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 angrily. ‘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!’
eBook brought to you by
Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version.
A Tale of Two Cities
604 of 670
‘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 observed 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 finger—!’ She
seemed to raise it (the listener’s eyes were always on his
paper), 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 rescue 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
A Tale of Two Cities
605 of 670
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.
‘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
A Tale of Two Cities
606 of 670
dead are my dead, and that summons to answer for those
things descends 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, interposed 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 customer 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
reflections 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
A Tale of Two Cities
607 of 670
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?
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
A Tale of Two Cities
608 of 670
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
A Tale of Two Cities
609 of 670
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.
Affected, and impressed with terror as they both were,
by this spectacle 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
A Tale of Two Cities
610 of 670
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 enables 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 tomorrow,
you remember, 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;
A Tale of Two Cities
611 of 670
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
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 Madame Defarge. I know it from her
own lips. I have overheard words of that woman’s, tonight,
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 Madame 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 involve 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 depend on no better man. This new denunciation
A Tale of Two Cities
612 of 670
will certainly not take place until after to-morrow;
probably not until two or three days afterwards; 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
A Tale of Two Cities
613 of 670
upon that, for she would lay her own fair 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 depends 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.’
A Tale of Two Cities
614 of 670
‘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 embers, 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 courtyard 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 moments 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.
A Tale of Two Cities
615 of 670
XIII
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 everlasting sea.
Before their cells were quit of them, new occupants were
appointed; before their blood ran into the blood spilled
yesterday, the blood that was to mingle with theirs tomorrow
was already set apart.
Two score and twelve were told off. From the farmergeneral
of seventy, whose riches could not buy his life, to
the seamstress of twenty, whose poverty and obscurity
could not save her. Physical diseases, engendered in the
vices and neglects of men, will seize on victims of all
degrees; 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 flattering 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
eBook brought to you by
Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version.
A Tale of Two Cities
616 of 670
No comments:
Post a Comment