English
“Goodday!”saidMonsieurDefarge,lookingdownatthewhiteheadthatbentlowovertheshoemaking.
Itwasraisedforamoment,andaveryfaintvoicerespondedtothesalutation,asifitwereatadistance:
“Goodday!”
“Youarestillhardatwork,Isee?”
Afteralongsilence,theheadwasliftedforanothermoment,andthevoicereplied,“Yes—Iamworking.”
Thistime,apairofhaggardeyeshadlookedatthequestioner,beforethefacehaddroppedagain.
Thefaintnessofthevoicewaspitiableanddreadful.
Itwasnotthefaintnessofphysicalweakness,thoughconfinementandhardfarenodoubthadtheirpartinit.
Itsdeplorablepeculiaritywas,thatitwasthefaintnessofsolitudeanddisuse.
Itwaslikethelastfeebleechoofasoundmadelongandlongago.
Soentirelyhaditlostthelifeandresonanceofthehumanvoice,thatitaffectedthesenseslikeaoncebeautifulcolourfadedawayintoapoorweakstain.
Sosunkenandsuppresseditwas,thatitwaslikeavoiceunderground.
Soexpressiveitwas,ofahopelessandlostcreature,thatafamishedtraveller,weariedoutbylonelywanderinginawilderness,wouldhaverememberedhomeandfriendsinsuchatonebeforelyingdowntodie.
Someminutesofsilentworkhadpassed:andthehaggardeyeshadlookedupagain:notwithanyinterestorcuriosity,butwithadullmechanicalperception,beforehand,thatthespotwheretheonlyvisitortheywereawareofhadstood,wasnotyetempty.
“Iwant,”saidDefarge,whohadnotremovedhisgazefromtheshoemaker,“toletinalittlemorelighthere.Youcanbearalittlemore?”
Theshoemakerstoppedhiswork;lookedwithavacantairoflistening,atthefloorononesideofhim;thensimilarly,atthefloorontheothersideofhim;then,upwardatthespeaker.
“Whatdidyousay?”
“Youcanbearalittlemorelight?”
“Imustbearit,ifyouletitin.”(Layingthepalestshadowofastressuponthesecondword.)
Theopenedhalf-doorwasopenedalittlefurther,andsecuredatthatangleforthetime.
Abroadrayoflightfellintothegarret,andshowedtheworkmanwithanunfinishedshoeuponhislap,pausinginhislabour.
Hisfewcommontoolsandvariousscrapsofleatherwereathisfeetandonhisbench.
Hehadawhitebeard,raggedlycut,butnotverylong,ahollowface,andexceedinglybrighteyes.
Thehollownessandthinnessofhisfacewouldhavecausedthemtolooklarge,underhisyetdarkeyebrowsandhisconfusedwhitehair,thoughtheyhadbeenreallyotherwise;but,theywerenaturallylarge,andlookedunnaturallyso.
Hisyellowragsofshirtlayopenatthethroat,andshowedhisbodytobewitheredandworn.
He,andhisoldcanvasfrock,andhisloosestockings,andallhispoortattersofclothes,had,inalongseclusionfromdirectlightandair,fadeddowntosuchadulluniformityofparchment-yellow,thatitwouldhavebeenhardtosaywhichwaswhich.
Hehadputupahandbetweenhiseyesandthelight,andtheverybonesofitseemedtransparent.
Sohesat,withasteadfastlyvacantgaze,pausinginhiswork.
Heneverlookedatthefigurebeforehim,withoutfirstlookingdownonthissideofhimself,thenonthat,asifhehadlostthehabitofassociatingplacewithsound;heneverspoke,withoutfirstwanderinginthismanner,andforgettingtospeak.
“Areyougoingtofinishthatpairofshoesto-day?”askedDefarge,motioningtoMr.Lorrytocomeforward.
“Whatdidyousay?”
“Doyoumeantofinishthatpairofshoesto-day?”
“Ican’tsaythatImeanto.Isupposeso.Idon’tknow.”
But,thequestionremindedhimofhiswork,andhebentoveritagain.
Mr.Lorrycamesilentlyforward,leavingthedaughterbythedoor.
Whenhehadstood,foraminuteortwo,bythesideofDefarge,theshoemakerlookedup.
Heshowednosurpriseatseeinganotherfigure,buttheunsteadyfingersofoneofhishandsstrayedtohislipsashelookedatit(hislipsandhisnailswereofthesamepalelead-colour),andthenthehanddroppedtohiswork,andheoncemorebentovertheshoe.
Thelookandtheactionhadoccupiedbutaninstant.
“Youhaveavisitor,yousee,”saidMonsieurDefarge.
“Whatdidyousay?”
“Hereisavisitor.”
Theshoemakerlookedupasbefore,butwithoutremovingahandfromhiswork.
“Come!”saidDefarge.“Hereismonsieur,whoknowsawell-madeshoewhenheseesone.Showhimthatshoeyouareworkingat.Takeit,monsieur.”
Mr.Lorrytookitinhishand.
“Tellmonsieurwhatkindofshoeitis,andthemaker’sname.”
Therewasalongerpausethanusual,beforetheshoemakerreplied:
“Iforgetwhatitwasyouaskedme.Whatdidyousay?”
“Isaid,couldn’tyoudescribethekindofshoe,formonsieur’sinformation?”
“Itisalady’sshoe.Itisayounglady’swalking-shoe.Itisinthepresentmode.Ineversawthemode.Ihavehadapatterninmyhand.”
Heglancedattheshoewithsomelittlepassingtouchofpride.
“Andthemaker’sname?”saidDefarge.
Nowthathehadnoworktohold,helaidtheknucklesoftherighthandinthehollowoftheleft,andthentheknucklesofthelefthandinthehollowoftheright,andthenpassedahandacrosshisbeardedchin,andsooninregularchanges,withoutamoment’sintermission.
Thetaskofrecallinghimfromthevagrancyintowhichhealwayssankwhenhehadspoken,waslikerecallingsomeveryweakpersonfromaswoon,orendeavouring,inthehopeofsomedisclosure,tostaythespiritofafast-dyingman.
“Didyouaskmeformyname?”
“AssuredlyIdid.”
“OneHundredandFive,NorthTower.”
“Isthatall?”
“OneHundredandFive,NorthTower.”
Withawearysoundthatwasnotasigh,noragroan,hebenttoworkagain,untilthesilencewasagainbroken.
“Youarenotashoemakerbytrade?”saidMr.Lorry,lookingsteadfastlyathim.
HishaggardeyesturnedtoDefargeasifhewouldhavetransferredthequestiontohim:butasnohelpcamefromthatquarter,theyturnedbackonthequestionerwhentheyhadsoughttheground.
“Iamnotashoemakerbytrade?No,Iwasnotashoemakerbytrade.I-Ilearntithere.Itaughtmyself.Iaskedleaveto—”
Helapsedaway,evenforminutes,ringingthosemeasuredchangesonhishandsthewholetime.
Hiseyescameslowlyback,atlast,tothefacefromwhichtheyhadwandered;whentheyrestedonit,hestarted,andresumed,inthemannerofasleeperthatmomentawake,revertingtoasubjectoflastnight.
“Iaskedleavetoteachmyself,andIgotitwithmuchdifficultyafteralongwhile,andIhavemadeshoeseversince.”
Asheheldouthishandfortheshoethathadbeentakenfromhim,Mr.Lorrysaid,stilllookingsteadfastlyinhisface:
“MonsieurManette,doyouremembernothingofme?”
Theshoedroppedtotheground,andhesatlookingfixedlyatthequestioner.
“MonsieurManette”;Mr.LorrylaidhishanduponDefarge’sarm;“doyouremembernothingofthisman?Lookathim.Lookatme.
Istherenooldbanker,nooldbusiness,nooldservant,nooldtime,risinginyourmind,MonsieurManette?”
Asthecaptiveofmanyyearssatlookingfixedly,byturns,atMr.LorryandatDefarge,somelongobliteratedmarksofanactivelyintentintelligenceinthemiddleoftheforehead,graduallyforcedthemselvesthroughtheblackmistthathadfallenonhim.
Theywereovercloudedagain,theywerefainter,theyweregone;buttheyhadbeenthere.
Andsoexactlywastheexpressionrepeatedonthefairyoungfaceofherwhohadcreptalongthewalltoapointwhereshecouldseehim,andwhereshenowstoodlookingathim,withhandswhichatfirsthadbeenonlyraisedinfrightenedcompassion,ifnoteventokeephimoffandshutoutthesightofhim,butwhichwerenowextendingtowardshim,tremblingwitheagernesstolaythespectralfaceuponherwarmyoungbreast,andloveitbacktolifeandhope—soexactlywastheexpressionrepeated(thoughinstrongercharacters)onherfairyoungface,thatitlookedasthoughithadpassedlikeamovinglight,fromhimtoher.
Darknesshadfattenonhiminitsplace.
Helookedatthetwo,lessandlessattentively,andhiseyesingloomyabstractionsoughtthegroundandlookedabouthimintheoldway.
Finally,withadeeplongsigh,hetooktheshoeup,andresumedhiswork.
“Haveyourecognisedhim,monsieur?”askedDefargeinawhisper.
“Yes;foramoment.AtfirstIthoughtitquitehopeless,butIhaveunquestionablyseen,forasinglemoment,thefacethatIonceknewsowell.Hush!Letusdrawfurtherback.Hush!”
Shehadmovedfromthewallofthegarret,veryneartothebenchonwhichhesat.
Therewassomethingawfulinhisunconsciousnessofthefigurethatcouldhaveputoutitshandandtouchedhimashestoopedoverhislabour.
Notawordwasspoken,notasoundwasmade.Shestood,likeaspirit,besidehim,andhebentoverhiswork.
Ithappened,atlength,thathehadoccasiontochangetheinstrumentinhishand,forhisshoemaker’sknife.
Itlayonthatsideofhimwhichwasnotthesideonwhichshestood.
Hehadtakenitup,andwasstoopingtoworkagain,whenhiseyescaughttheskirtofherdress.Heraisedthem,andsawherface.
Thetwospectatorsstartedforward,butshestayedthemwithamotionofherhand.
Shehadnofearofhisstrikingatherwiththeknife,thoughtheyhad.
Hestaredatherwithafearfullook,andafterawhilehislipsbegantoformsomewords,thoughnosoundproceededfromthem.
Bydegrees,inthepausesofhisquickandlabouredbreathing,hewasheardtosay:
“Whatisthis?”
Withthetearsstreamingdownherface,sheputhertwohandstoherlips,andkissedthemtohim;thenclaspedthemonherbreast,asifshelaidhisruinedheadthere.
“Youarenotthegaoler’sdaughter?”
Shesighed“No.”
“Whoareyou?”
Notyettrustingthetonesofhervoice,shesatdownonthebenchbesidehim.
Herecoiled,butshelaidherhanduponhisarm.
Astrangethrillstruckhimwhenshedidso,andvisiblypassedoverhisframe;helaidtheknifedown’softly,ashesatstaringather.
Hergoldenhair,whichsheworeinlongcurls,hadbeenhurriedlypushedaside,andfelldownoverherneck.
Advancinghishandbylittleandlittle,hetookitupandlookedatit.
Inthemidstoftheactionhewentastray,and,withanotherdeepsigh,felltoworkathisshoemaking.
Butnotforlong.Releasinghisarm,shelaidherhanduponhisshoulder.
Afterlookingdoubtfullyatit,twoorthreetimes,asiftobesurethatitwasreallythere,helaiddownhiswork,puthishandtohisneck,andtookoffablackenedstringwithascrapoffoldedragattachedtoit.
Heopenedthis,carefully,onhisknee,anditcontainedaverylittlequantityofhair:notmorethanoneortwolonggoldenhairs,whichhehad,insomeoldday,woundoffuponhisfinger.
Hetookherhairintohishandagain,andlookedcloselyatit.“Itisthesame.Howcanitbe!Whenwasit!Howwasit!”
Astheconcentratedexpressionreturnedtohisforehead,heseemedtobecomeconsciousthatitwasinherstoo.Heturnedherfulltothelight,andlookedather.
“Shehadlaidherheaduponmyshoulder,thatnightwhenIwassummonedout—shehadafearofmygoing,thoughIhadnone—andwhenIwasbroughttotheNorthTowertheyfoundtheseuponmysleeve.‘Youwillleavemethem?
Theycanneverhelpmetoescapeinthebody,thoughtheymayinthespirit.’ThosewerethewordsIsaid.Irememberthemverywell.”
Heformedthisspeechwithhislipsmanytimesbeforehecouldutterit.Butwhenhedidfindspokenwordsforit,theycametohimcoherently,thoughslowly.
“Howwasthis?—WASITYOU?”
Oncemore,thetwospectatorsstarted,asheturneduponherwithafrightfulsuddenness.
Butshesatperfectlystillinhisgrasp,andonlysaid,inalowvoice,“Ientreatyou,goodgentlemen,donotcomenearus,donotspeak,donotmove!”
“Hark!”heexclaimed.“Whosevoicewasthat?”
Hishandsreleasedherasheutteredthiscry,andwentuptohiswhitehair,whichtheytoreinafrenzy.
Itdiedout,aseverythingbuthisshoemakingdiddieoutofhim,andherefoldedhislittlepacketandtriedtosecureitinhisbreast;buthestilllookedather,andgloomilyshookhishead.
“No,no,no;youaretooyoung,tooblooming.Itcan’tbe.Seewhattheprisoneris.
Thesearenotthehandssheknew,thisisnotthefacesheknew,thisisnotavoicesheeverheard.No,no.
Shewas—andHewas—beforetheslowyearsoftheNorthTower—agesago.Whatisyourname,mygentleangel?”
Hailinghissoftenedtoneandmanner,hisdaughterfelluponherkneesbeforehim,withherappealinghandsuponhisbreast.
“O,sir,atanothertimeyoushallknowmyname,andwhomymotherwas,andwhomyfather,andhowIneverknewtheirhard,hardhistory.
ButIcannottellyouatthistime,andIcannottellyouhere.
AllthatImaytellyou,hereandnow,is,thatIpraytoyoutotouchmeandtoblessme.Kissme,kissme!Omydear,mydear!”
Hiscoldwhiteheadmingledwithherradianthair,whichwarmedandlighteditasthoughitwerethelightofFreedomshiningonhim.
“Ifyouhearinmyvoice—Idon’tknowthatitisso,butIhopeitis—ifyouhearinmyvoiceanyresemblancetoavoicethatoncewassweetmusicinyourears,weepforit,weepforit!
Ifyoutouch,intouchingmyhair,anythingthatrecallsabelovedheadthatlayonyourbreastwhenyouwereyoungandfree,weepforit,weepforit!
If,whenIhinttoyouofaHomethatisbeforeus,whereIwillbetruetoyouwithallmydutyandwithallmyfaithfulservice,IbringbacktheremembranceofaHomelongdesolate,whileyourpoorheartpinedaway,weepforit,weepforit!”
Sheheldhimcloserroundtheneck,androckedhimonherbreastlikeachild.
“If,whenItellyou,dearestdear,thatyouragonyisover,andthatIhavecomeheretotakeyoufromit,andthatwegotoEnglandtobeatpeaceandatrest,Icauseyoutothinkofyourusefullifelaidwaste,andofournativeFrancesowickedtoyou,weepforit,weepforit!
Andif,whenIshalltellyouofmyname,andofmyfatherwhoisliving,andofmymotherwhoisdead,youlearnthatIhavetokneeltomyhonouredfather,andimplorehispardonforhavingneverforhissakestrivenalldayandlainawakeandweptallnight,becausetheloveofmypoormotherhidhistorturefromme,weepforit,weepforit!Weepforher,then,andforme!Goodgentlemen,thankGod!
Ifeelhissacredtearsuponmyface,andhissobsstrikeagainstmyheart.O,see!ThankGodforus,thankGod!”
Hehadsunkinherarms,andhisfacedroppedonherbreast:asightsotouching,yetsoterribleinthetremendouswrongandsufferingwhichhadgonebeforeit,thatthetwobeholderscoveredtheirfaces.
Whenthequietofthegarrethadbeenlongundisturbed,andhisheavingbreastandshakenformhadlongyieldedtothecalmthatmustfollowallstorms—emblemtohumanity,oftherestandsilenceintowhichthestormcalledLifemusthushatlast—theycameforwardtoraisethefatheranddaughterfromtheground.
Hehadgraduallydroppedtothefloor,andlaythereinalethargy,wornout.
Shehadnestleddownwithhim,thathisheadmightlieuponherarm;andherhairdroopingoverhimcurtainedhimfromthelight.
“If,withoutdisturbinghim,”shesaid,raisingherhandtoMr.Lorryashestoopedoverthem,afterrepeatedblowingsofhisnose,“allcouldbearrangedforourleavingParisatonce,sothat,fromthe,verydoor,hecouldbetakenaway—”
“But,consider.Ishefitforthejourney?”askedMr.Lorry.
“Morefitforthat,Ithink,thantoremaininthiscity,sodreadfultohim.”
“Itistrue,”saidDefarge,whowaskneelingtolookonandhear.“Morethanthat;MonsieurManetteis,forallreasons,bestoutofFrance.Say,shallIhireacarriageandpost-horses?”
“That’sbusiness,”saidMr.Lorry,resumingontheshortestnoticehismethodicalmanners;“andifbusinessistobedone,Ihadbetterdoit.”
“Thenbesokind,”urgedMissManette,“astoleaveushere.
Youseehowcomposedhehasbecome,andyoucannotbeafraidtoleavehimwithmenow.Whyshouldyoube?
Ifyouwilllockthedoortosecureusfrominterruption,Idonotdoubtthatyouwillfindhim,whenyoucomeback,asquietasyouleavehim.
Inanycase,Iwilltakecareofhimuntilyoureturn,andthenwewillremovehimstraight.”
BothMr.LorryandDefargewereratherdisinclinedtothiscourse,andinfavourofoneofthemremaining.
But,astherewerenotonlycarriageandhorsestobeseento,buttravellingpapers;andastimepressed,forthedaywasdrawingtoanend,itcameatlasttotheirhastilydividingthebusinessthatwasnecessarytobedone,andhurryingawaytodoit.
Then,asthedarknessclosedin,thedaughterlaidherheaddownonthehardgroundcloseatthefather’sside,andwatchedhim.
Thedarknessdeepenedanddeepened,andtheybothlayquiet,untilalightgleamedthroughthechinksinthewall.
Mr.LorryandMonsieurDefargehadmadeallreadyforthejourney,andhadbroughtwiththem,besidestravellingcloaksandwrappers,breadandmeat,wine,andhotcoffee.
MonsieurDefargeputthisprovender,andthelamphecarried,ontheshoemaker’sbench(therewasnothingelseinthegarretbutapalletbed),andheandMr.Lorryrousedthecaptive,andassistedhimtohisfeet.
Nohumanintelligencecouldhavereadthemysteriesofhismind,inthescaredblankwonderofhisface.
Whetherheknewwhathadhappened,whetherherecollectedwhattheyhadsaidtohim,whetherheknewthathewasfree,werequestionswhichnosagacitycouldhavesolved.
Theytriedspeakingtohim;but,hewassoconfused,andsoveryslowtoanswer,thattheytookfrightathisbewilderment,andagreedforthetimetotamperwithhimnomore.
Hehadawild,lostmannerofoccasionallyclaspinghisheadinhishands,thathadnotbeenseeninhimbefore;yet,hehadsomepleasureinthemeresoundofhisdaughter’svoice,andinvariablyturnedtoitwhenshespoke.
Inthesubmissivewayofonelongaccustomedtoobeyundercoercion,heateanddrankwhattheygavehimtoeatanddrink,andputonthecloakandotherwrappings,thattheygavehimtowear.
Hereadilyrespondedtohisdaughter’sdrawingherarmthroughhis,andtook—andkept—herhandinbothhisown.
Theybegantodescend;MonsieurDefargegoingfirstwiththelamp,Mr.Lorryclosingthelittleprocession.
Theyhadnottraversedmanystepsofthelongmainstaircasewhenhestopped,andstaredattheroofandroundatthewails.
“Youremembertheplace,myfather?Youremembercominguphere?”
“Whatdidyousay?”
But,beforeshecouldrepeatthequestion,hemurmuredananswerasifshehadrepeatedit.
“Remember?No,Idon’tremember.Itwassoverylongago.”
Thathehadnorecollectionwhateverofhishavingbeenbroughtfromhisprisontothathouse,wasapparenttothem.
Theyheardhimmutter,“OneHundredandFive,NorthTower;”andwhenhelookedabouthim,itevidentlywasforthestrongfortress-wallswhichhadlongencompassedhim.
Ontheirreachingthecourtyardheinstinctivelyalteredhistread,asbeinginexpectationofadrawbridge;andwhentherewasnodrawbridge,andhesawthecarriagewaitingintheopenstreet,hedroppedhisdaughter’shandandclaspedhisheadagain.
Nocrowdwasaboutthedoor;nopeoplewerediscernibleatanyofthemanywindows;notevenachancepasserbywasinthestreet.
Anunnaturalsilenceanddesertionreignedthere.
Onlyonesoulwastobeseen,andthatwasMadameDefarge—wholeanedagainstthedoor-post,knitting,andsawnothing.
Theprisonerhadgotintoacoach,andhisdaughterhadfollowedhim,whenMr.Lorry’sfeetwerearrestedonthestepbyhisasking,miserably,forhisshoemakingtoolsandtheunfinishedshoes.
MadameDefargeimmediatelycalledtoherhusbandthatshewouldgetthem,andwent,knitting,outofthelamplight,throughthecourtyard.
Shequicklybroughtthemdownandhandedthemin;—andimmediatelyafterwardsleanedagainstthedoor-post,knitting,andsawnothing.
Defargegotuponthebox,andgavetheword“TotheBarrier!”Thepostilioncrackedhiswhip,andtheyclatteredawayunderthefeebleover-swinginglamps.
Undertheover-swinginglamps—swingingeverbrighterinthebetterstreets,andeverdimmerintheworse—andbylightedshops,gaycrowds,illuminatedcoffee-houses,andtheatre-doors,tooneofthecitygates.
Soldierswithlanterns,attheguard-housethere.“Yourpapers,travellers!”
“Seeherethen,MonsieurtheOfficer,”saidDefarge,gettingdown,andtakinghimgravelyapart,“thesearethepapersofmonsieurinside,withthewhitehead.
Theywereconsignedtome,withhim,atthe—”Hedroppedhisvoice,therewasaflutteramongthemilitarylanterns,andoneofthembeinghandedintothecoachbyanarminuniform,theeyesconnectedwiththearmlooked,notaneverydayoraneverynightlook,atmonsieurwiththewhitehead.“Itiswell.Forward!”fromtheuniform.“Adieu!”fromDefarge.
Andso,underashortgroveoffeeblerandfeeblerover-swinginglamps,outunderthegreatgroveofstars.
Beneaththatarchofunmovedandeternallights;some,soremotefromthislittleearththatthelearnedtellusitisdoubtfulwhethertheirrayshaveevenyetdiscoveredit,asapointinspacewhereanythingissufferedordone:theshadowsofthenightwerebroadandblack.
Allthroughthecoldandrestlessinterval,untildawn,theyoncemorewhisperedintheearsofMr.JarvisLorry—sittingoppositetheburiedmanwhohadbeendugout,andwonderingwhatsubtlepowerswereforeverlosttohim,andwhatwerecapableofrestoration—theoldinquiry:
“Ihopeyoucaretoberecalledtolife?”
Andtheoldanswer:
“Ican’tsay.”
Theendofthefirstbook.
Share this article to
FINISH