《A Tale of Two Cities》 Book3 CHAPTER
XIV The Knitting Done
by Charles Dickens
IN that same juncture of
time when the Fifty-Two awaited their fate, Madame Defarge held darkly ominous council
with The Vengeance and Jacques Three of the Revolutionary Jury. Not in the wine-shop did
Madame Defarge confer with these ministers, but in the shed of the wood-sawyer, erst a
mender of roads. The sawyer himself did not participate in the conference, but abided at a
little distance, like an outer satellite who was not to speak until required, or to offer
an opinion until invited.
`But our Defarge,' said Jacques Three, `is undoubtedly a good Republican? Eh?'
`There is no better,' the voluble Vengeance protested in her shrill notes, `in France.
`Peace, little Vengeance,' said Madame Defarge, laying her hand with a slight frown on her
lieutenant's lips, `hear me speak. My husband, fellow-citizen, is a good Republican and a
bold man; he has deserved well of the Republic, and possesses its confidence. But my
husband has his weaknesses, and he is so weak as to relent towards this Doctor.'
`It is a great pity,' croaked Jacques Three, dubiously shaking his head, with his cruel
fingers at his hungry mouth; `it is not quite like a good citizen; it is a thing to
regret.
`See you,' said madame, `I care nothing for this Doctor, I. He may wear his head or lose
it, for any interest I have in him; it is all one to me. But, the Evrémonde people are to be exterminated, and the wife and child
must follow the husband and father.'
`She has a fine head for it,' croaked Jacques Three. `I have seen blue eyes and golden
hair there, and they looked charming when Samson held them up.' Ogre that he was, he spoke
like an epicure.
Madame Defarge cast down her eyes, and reflected a little. `The child also,' observed
Jacques Three, with a meditative enjoyment of his words, `has golden hair and blue eyes.
And we seldom have a child there. It is a pretty sight!'
`In a word,' said Madame Defarge, coming out of her short abstraction, `I cannot trust my
husband in this matter.
Not only do I feel, since last night, that I dare not confide to him the details of my
projects; but also I feel that if I delay, there is danger of his giving warning, and then
they might escape.
`That must never be,' croaked Jacques Three; `no one must escape. We have not half enough
as it is. We ought to have six score a day.'
`In a word,' Madame Defarge went on, `my husband has not my reason for pursuing this
family to annihilation, and I have not his reason for regarding this Doctor with any
sensibility. I must act for myself, therefore. Come hither, little citizen.
The wood-sawyer, who held her in the respect, and himself in the submission, of mortal
fear, advanced with his hand to his red cap.
`Touching those signals, little citizen,' said Madame Defarge, sternly, `that she made to
the prisoners; you are ready to bear witness to them this very day?'
`Ay, ay, why not!' cried the sawyer. `Every day, in all weathers, from two to four, always
signalling, sometimes with the little one, sometimes without. I know what I know. I have
seen with my eyes.'
He made all manner of gestures while he spoke, as if in incidental imitation of some few
of the great diversity of signals that he had never seen.
`Clearly plots,' said Jacques Three. `Transparently!'
`There is no doubt of the Jury?' inquired Madame Defarge, letting her eyes turn to him
with a gloomy smile.
`Rely upon the patriotic Jury, dear citizeness. I answer for my fellow-Jurymen.'
`Now, let me see,' said Madame Defarge, pondering again. `Yet once more! Can I spare this
Doctor to my husband? I have no feeling either way. Can I spare him?'
`He would count as one head,' observed Jacques Three, in a low voice. `We really have not
heads enough; it would be a pity, I think.'
`He was signalling with her when I saw her,' argued Madame Defarge; `I cannot speak of one
without the other; and I must not be silent, and trust the case wholly to him, this little
citizen here. For, I am not a bad witness.
The Vengeance and Jacques Three vied with each other in their fervent protestations that
she was the most admirable and marvellous of witnesses. The little citizen, not to be
outdone, declared her to be a celestial witness.
He must take his chance,' said Madame Defarge. `No, I cannot spare him! You are engaged at
three o'clock; you are going to see the batch of to-day executed.--You?'
The question was addressed to the wood-sawyer, who hurriedly replied in the affirmative:
seizing the occasion to add that he was the most ardent of Republicans, and that he would
be in effect the most desolate of Republicans, if anything prevented him from enjoying the
pleasure of smoking his afternoon pipe in the contemplation of the droll national barber.
He was so very demonstrative herein, that he might have been suspected (perhaps was, by
the dark eyes that looked Contemptuously at him out of Madame Defarge's head) of having
his small individual fears for his own personal safety, every hour in the day.
`I,' said madame, `am equally engaged at the same place. After it is over-say at eight
to-night--come you to me, in Saint Antoine, and we will give information against these'
people at my section.'
The wood-sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to attend the citizeness. The
citizeness looking at him, he became embarrassed, evaded her glance as a small dog would
have done, retreated among his wood, and hid his confusion over the handle of his saw.
Madame Defarge beckoned the Juryman and The Vengeance a little nearer to the door, and
there expounded her further views to them thus:
`She will now be at home, awaiting the moment of his death. She will be mourning and
grieving. She will be in a state of mind to impeach the justice of the Republic. She will
be full of sympathy with its enemies. I will go to her.'
`What an admirable woman; what an adorable woman!' exclaimed Jacques Three, rapturously.
`Ah, my cherished!' cried The Vengeance; and embraced her.
`Take you my knitting,' said Madame Defarge, placing it in her lieutenant's hands, `and
have it ready for me in my usual seat. Keep me my usual chair. Go you there, straight, for
there will probably be a greater concourse than usual, to-day.'
`I willingly obey the orders of my Chief' said The Vengeance with alacrity, and kissing
her cheek. `You will not be late?'
`I shall be there before the commencement.'
`And before the tumbrils arrive. Be sure you are there, my soul,' said The Vengeance,
calling after her, for she had already turned into the street, `before the tumbrils
arrive!'
Madame Defarge slightly waved her hand, to imply that she heard, and might be relied upon
to arrive in good time, and so went through tile mud, and round the corner of the prison
wall. The Vengeance and the Juryman, looking alter her as she walked
away, were highly appreciative of her fine figure, and her superb moral endowments.
There were many women at that time, upon whom the time laid a dreadfully disfiguring hand;
but, there was not one among them more to be dreaded than this ruthless woman, now taking
her way along the streets. Of a strong and fearless character, of shrewd sense and
readiness, of great determination, of that kind of beauty which not only seems to impart
to its possessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into others an instinctive
recognition of those qualities; the troubled time would have heaved her up, under any
circumstances. But, imbued from her childhood with a brooding sense of, wrong, and an
inveterate hatred of a class, opportunity had developed her into a tigress. She was
absolutely without pity. If she had ever had the virtue in her, it had quite gone out of
her.
It was nothing to her, that an innocent man was to die for the sins of his forefathers;
she saw, not him, but them. It was nothing to her, that his wife was to be made a widow
and his daughter an orphan; that was insufficient punishment, because they were her
natural enemies and her prey, and as such had no right to live. To appeal to her, was made
hopeless by her having no sense of pity, even for herself. If she had been laid low in the
streets, in any of the many encounters in which she had been engaged, she would not have
pitied herself; nor, if she had been ordered to the axe to-morrow, would she have gone to
it with any softer feeling than a fierce desire to change places with the man who sent her
there.
Such a heart Madame Defarge carried under her rough robe. Carelessly worn, it was a
becoming robe enough, in a certain weird way, and her dark hair looked rich under her
coarse red cap. Lying hidden in her bosom, was a loaded pistol. Lying hidden at her waist,
was a sharpened dagger. Thus accoutred, and walking with the confident tread of such a
character, and with the supple freedom of a woman who had habitually walked in her
girlhood, bare-foot and bare-legged, on the brown sea-sand, Madame Defarge took her way
along the streets.
Now, when the journey of the travelling coach, at that very moment waiting for the
completion of its load, had been planned out last night, the difficulty of taking Miss
Pross in it had much engaged Mr. Lorry's attention. It was not merely desirable to avoid
overloading the coach, but it was of the highest importance that the time occupied in
examining it and its passengers, should be reduced to the utmost; since their escape might
depend on the saving of only a few seconds here and there. Finally, he had
proposed, after anxious consideration, that Miss Pross and Jerry, who were at liberty to
leave the city, should leave it at three o'clock in the lightest-wheeled conveyance known
to that period. Unencumbered with luggage, they would soon overtake the coach, and,
passing it and preceding it on the road, would order its horses in advance, and greatly
facilitate its progress during the precious hours of the night, when delay was the most to
be dreaded.
Seeing in this arrangement the hope of rendering real service in that pressing emergency,
Miss Pross hailed it with joy. She and Jerry had beheld the coach start, had known who it
was that Solomon brought, had passed some ten minutes in tortures of suspense, and were
now concluding their arrangements to follow the coach, even as Madame Defarge, taking her
way through the streets, now drew nearer and nearer to the else-deserted lodging in which
they held their consultation.
`Now what do you think, Mr. Cruncher,' said Miss Pross, whose agitation was so great that
she could hardly speak, or stand, or move, or live: `what do you think of our not starting
from this court-yard? Another carriage having already gone from here to-day, it might
awaken suspicion.
`My opinion, miss,' returned Mr. Cruncher, `is as, you're right. Likewise wot I'll stand
by you, right or wrong.
`I am so distracted with fear and hope for our precious creatures,' said Miss Pross,
wildly crying, `that I am incapable of forming any plan. Are you capable of forming any
plan, my dear good Mr. Cruncher?'
`Respectin' a future spear o' life, miss,' returned Mr. Cruncher, `I hope so. Respectin'
any present use o' this here blessed old head o' mine, I think not. Would you do me the
favour, miss, to take notice o' two promises and wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in
this here crisis?'
`Oh, for gracious sake!' cried Miss Pross, still wildly crying, `record them at once, and
get them out of the way, like an excellent man.
`First,' said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble, and who spoke with an ashy and
solemn visage, `them poor things well out o' this, never no more will I do it, never no
more!'
`I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher,' returned Miss Pross, `that you never will do it again,
whatever it is, and I beg you not to think it necessary to mention more particularly what
it is.'
`No, miss,' returned Jerry, `it shall not be named to you. Second: them poor things well
out o' this, and never no more will I interfere with Mrs. Cruncher's flopping, never no
more!'
`Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be,' said Miss Pross, striving to dry her eyes
and compose herself, `I have no doubt it is best that Mrs. Cruncher should have it
entirely under her own superintendence.--O my poor darlings!'
`I go so far as to say, miss, morehover,' proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with a most alarming
tendency to hold forth as from a pulpit--`and let my words be took down and took to Mrs.
Cruncher through yourself--that wot my opinions respectin' flopping has undergone a
change, and that wot I only hope with all my heart as Mrs. Cruncher may be a flopping at
the present time.'
There, there, there! I hope she is, my dear man,' cried the distracted Miss Pross, `and I
hope she finds it answering her expectations.'
`Forbid it,' proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with additional solemnity, additional slowness, and
additional tendency to hold forth and hold out, `as anything wot I have ever said or done
should be wisited on my earnest wishes for them poor creeturs now! Forbid it as we
shouldn't all flop (if it was anyways conwenient) to get `em out o' this here dismal risk!
Forbid it, miss! Wot I say, for--BID it!' This was Mr. Cruncher's conclusion after a
protracted but vain endeavour to find a better one.
And still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer and nearer.
`If we ever get back to our native land,' said Miss Pross, `you may rely upon my telling
Mrs. Cruncher as much as I may be able to remember and understand of what you have so
impressively said; and at all events you may be sure that I shall bear witness to your
being thoroughly in earnest at this dreadful time. Now, pray let us think! My esteemed Mr.
Cruncher, let us think!'
Still, Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer and nearer.
`If you were to go before,' said Miss Pross, `and stop the vehicle and horses from coming
here, and were to wait somewhere for me; wouldn't that be best?'
Mr. Cruncher thought it might be best.
`Where could you wait for me?' asked Miss Pross.
Mr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he could think of no locality but Temple Bar. Alas!
Temple Bar was hundreds of miles away, and Madame Defarge was drawing very near indeed.
`By the cathedral door,' said Miss Pross. `Would it be much out of the way, to take me in,
near the great cathedral door between the two towers?'
`No, miss,' answered Mr. Cruncher.
`Then, like the best of men,' said Miss Pross, `go to the posting-house straight, and make
that change.'
`I am doubtful,' said Mr. Cruncher, hesitating and shaking his head, `about leaving of
you, you see. We don't know what may happen.'
`Heaven knows we don't,' returned Miss Pross, `but have no fear for me. Take me in at the
cathedral, at Three o'clock, or as near it as you can, and I am sure it will be better
than our going from here. I feel certain of it. There! Bless you, Mr. Cruncher! Think--not
of me, but of the lives that may depend on both of us !'
This exordium, and Miss Pross's two hands in quite agonised entreaty clasping his, decided
Mr. Cruncher. With an encouraging nod or two, he immediately went out to alter the
arrangements, and left her by herself to follow as she had proposed.
The having originated a precaution which was already in course of execution, was a great
relief to Miss Pross. The necessity of Composing her appearance so that it should attract
no special notice in the streets, was another relief She looked at her watch, and it was
twenty minutes past two. She had no time to lose, but must get ready at once.
Afraid, in her extreme perturbation, of the loneliness of the deserted rooms, and of
half-imagined faces peeping from behind every open door in them, Miss Pross got a basin of
cold water and began laving her eyes, which were swollen and red. Haunted by her feverish
apprehensions, she could not bear to have her sight obscured for a minute at a time by the
dripping water, but constantly paused and looked round to see that there was no one
watching her. In one of those pauses she recoiled and cried out, for she saw a figure
standing in the room.
The basin fell to the ground broken, and the water flowed to the feet of Madame Defarge.
By strange stern ways, and through much staining blood, those feet had come to meet that
water.
Madame Defarge looked coldly at her, and said, `The wife of Evrémonde; where is she?'
It flashed upon Miss Pross's mind that the doors were all standing open, and would suggest
the flight. Her first act was to shut them. There were four in the room, and she shut them
all. She then placed herself before the door of the chamber which Lucie had occupied.
Madame Defarge's dark eyes followed her through this rapid movement, and rested on her
when it was finished. Miss Pross had nothing beautiful about her; years had not tamed the
wildness, or softened the grimness, of her appearance; but, she too was a determined woman
in her different way, and she measured Madame Defarge with her eyes, every inch.
`You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer,' said Miss Pross, in her
breathing. `Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman.
Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully, but still with something of Miss Pross's own
perception that they two were at bay. She saw a tight, hard, wiry woman before her, as Mr.
Lorry had seen in the same figure a woman with a strong hand, in the years gone by. She
knew full well that Miss Pross was the family's devoted friend; Miss Pross knew full well
that Madame Defarge was the family's malevolent enemy.
`On my way yonder,' said Madame Defarge, with a slight movement of her hand towards the
fatal spot, `where they reserve my chair and my knitting for me, I am come, to make my
compliments to her in passing. I wish to see her.
`I know that your intentions are evil,' said Miss Pross, `and you may depend upon it, I'll
hold my own against them.'
Each spoke in her own language; neither understood the other's words; both were very
watchful, and intent to deduce from look and manner, what the unintelligible words meant.
`It will do her no good to keep herself concealed from me at this moment,' said Madame
Defarge. `Good patriots will know what that means. Let me see her. Go tell her that I wish
to see her. Do you hear?'
`If those eyes of yours were bed-winches,' returned Miss Pross, `and I was an English
four-poster, they shouldn't loose a splinter of me. No, you wicked foreign woman; I am
your match.'
Madame Defarge was not likely to follow these idiomatic remarks in detail; but, she so far
understood them as to perceive that she was set at naught.
`Woman imbecile and pig-like!' said Madame Defarge, frowning. `I take no answer from you.
I demand to see her. Either tell her that I demand to see her, or stand out of the way of
the door and let me go to her!' This, with an angry explanatory wave of her right arm.
`I little thought,' said bliss Pross, `that I should ever want to understand your
nonsensical language; but I would give all I have, except the clothes I wear, to know
whether you suspect the truth, or any part of it.'
Neither of them for a single moment released the other's eyes. Madame Defarge had not
moved from the spot where she stood when Miss Pross first became aware of her; but she now
advanced one step.
`I am a Briton,' said Miss Pross, `I am desperate. I don't care an English Two-pence for
myself. I know that the longer I keep you here, the greater hope there is for my Ladybird.
I'll not leave a handful of that dark hair upon your head, if you lay a finger on me!'
Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head and a flash of her eyes between every rapid
sentence, and every rapid sentence a whole breath. Thus Miss Pross, who had never struck a
blow in her life.
But, her courage was of that emotional nature that it brought the irrepressible tears into
her eyes. This was a courage that Madame Defarge so little comprehended as to mistake for
weakness. `Ha, ha!' she laughed, `you poor wretch! What are you worth! I address myself to
that Doctor.' Then she raised her voice and called out, `Citizen Doctor! Wife of Evrémonde! Child of Evrémonde! Any person but this
miserable fool, answer the Citizeness Defarge!'
Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some latent disclosure in the expression of Miss
Pross's face, perhaps a sudden misgiving apart from either suggestion, whispered to Madame
Defarge that they were gone. Three of the doors she opened swiftly, and looked in.
`Those rooms are all in disorder, there has been hurried packing, there are odds and ends
upon the ground. There is no one in that room behind you! Let me look.'
`Never!' said Miss Pross, who understood the request as perfectly as Madame Defarge
understood the answer.
`If they are not in that room, they are gone, and can be pursued and brought back,' said
Madame Defarge to herself.
`As long as you don't know whether they are in that room or not, you are uncertain what to
do,' said Miss Pross to herself; `and you shall not know that, if I can prevent your
knowing it; and know that, or not know that, you shall not leave here while I can hold
you.'
`I have been in the streets from the first, nothing has stopped me, I will tear you to
pieces, but I will have you from that door,' said Madame Defarge.
`We are alone at the top of a high house in a solitary courtyard, we are not likely to be
heard, and I pray for bodily strength to keep you here, while every minute you are here is
worth a hundred thousand guineas to my darling,' said Miss Pross.
Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the instinct of the moment, seized her
round tile waist in both her arms, and held her tight. It was in vain for Madame Defarge
to struggle and to strike; Miss Pross, with the vigorous tenacity of love, always so much
stronger than hate, clasped her tight, and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle
that they had. The two hands of Madame Defarge buffeted and tore her face; but, Miss
Pross, with her head down, held her round the waist, and clung to her with more than the
hold of a drowning woman.
Soon, Madame Defarge's hands ceased to strike, and felt at her encircled waist. `It is
under my arm,' said Miss Pross, in smothered tones, `you shall not draw it. I am stronger
than you, I bless Heaven for it. I'll hold you till one or other of us faints or dies!'
Madame Defarge's hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross looked up, saw what it was, struck at
it, struck out a flash and a crash, and stood alone--blinded with smoke.
All this was in a second. As the smoke cleared, leaving an awful stillness, it passed out
on the air, like the soul of the furious woman whose body lay lifeless on the ground.
In the first fright and horror of her situation, Miss Pross passed the body as far from it
as she could, and ran down the stairs to call for fruitless help. Happily, she bethought
herself of the consequences of what she did, in time to check herself and go back. It was
dreadful to go in at the door again; but, she did go in, and even went near it, to get the
bonnet and other things that she must wear. These she put on, out on the staircase, first
shutting and locking the door and taking away the key. She then sat down on the stairs a
few moments to breathe and to cry, and then got up and hurried away.
By good fortune she had a veil on her bonnet, or she could hardly have gone along the
streets without being stopped. By good fortune, too, she was naturally so peculiar in
appearance as not to show disfigurement like any other woman. She needed both
advantages, for the marks of griping fingers were deep in her face, and her hair was torn,
and her dress (hastily composed with unsteady hands) was clutched and dragged a hundred
ways
In crossing the bridge, she dropped the door key in the river. Arriving at the cathedral
some few minutes before her escort, and waiting there, she thought, what if the key were
already taken in a net, what if it were identified, what if the door were opened and the
remains discovered, what if she were stopped at the gate, sent to prison, and charged with
murder! In the midst of these fluttering thoughts, the escort appeared, took her in, and
took her away.
`Is there any noise in the streets?' she asked him.
`The usual noises,' Mr. Cruncher replied; and looked surprised by the question and by her
aspect.
`I don't hear you,' said Miss Pross. `What do you say?'
It was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat what he said; Miss Pross could not hear him. `So
I'll nod my head,' thought Mr. Cruncher, amazed, `at all events she'll see that.' And she
did.
`Is there any noise in the streets now?' asked Miss Pross again, presently.
Again Mr. Cruncher nodded his head.
`I don't hear it.'
`Gone deaf in a hour?' said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, with his mind much disturbed; `wot's
come to her?'
`I feel,' said Miss Pross, `as if there had been a flash and a crash, and that crash was
the last thing I should ever hear in this life.'
`Blest if she ain't in a queer condition!' said Mr. Cruncher, more and more disturbed.
`Wot can she have been a takin', to keep her courage up? Hark! There's the roll of them
dreadful carts! You can hear that, miss?'
`I can hear,' said Miss Pross, seeing that he spoke to her, `nothing. O, my good man,
there was first a great crash, and then a great stillness, and that stillness seems to be
fixed and unchangeable, never to be broken any more as long as my life lasts.'
`If she don't hear the roll of those dreadful carts, now very nigh their journey's end,'
said Mr. Cruncher, glancing over his shoulder, `it's my opinion that indeed she never will
hear anything else in this world.'
And indeed she never did. |
