English
HaggardSaintAntoinehadhadonlyoneexultantweek,inwhichtosoftenhismodicumofhardandbitterbreadtosuchextentashecould,withtherelishoffraternalembracesandcongratulations,whenMadameDefargesatathercounter,asusual,presidingoverthecustomers.
MadameDefargeworenoroseinherhead,forthegreatbrotherhoodofSpieshadbecome,eveninoneshortweek,extremelycharyoftrustingthemselvestothesaint’smercies.
Thelampsacrosshisstreetshadaportentouslyelasticswingwiththem.
MadameDefarge,withherarmsfolded,satinthemorninglightandheat,contemplatingthewine-shopandthestreet.
Inboth,therewereseveralknotsofloungers,squalidandmiserable,butnowwithamanifestsenseofpowerenthronedontheirdistress.
Theraggedestnightcap,awryonthewretchedesthead,hadthiscrookedsignificanceinit:“Iknowhowhardithasgrownforme,thewearerofthis,tosupportlifeinmyself;butdoyouknowhoweasyithasgrownforme,thewearerofthis,todestroylifeinyou?”
Everyleanbarearm,thatbadbeenwithoutworkbefore,hadthisworkalwaysreadyforitnow,thatitcouldstrike.
Thefingersoftheknittingwomenwerevicious,withtheexperiencethattheycouldtear.
TherewasachangeintheappearanceofSaintAntoine;theimagehadbeenhammeringintothisforhundredsofyears,andthelastfinishingblowshadtoldmightilyontheexpression.
MadameDefargesatobservingit,withsuchsuppressedapprovalaswastobedesiredintheleaderoftheSaintAntoinewomen.
Oneofhersisterhoodknittedbesideher.
Theshort,ratherplumpwifeofastarvedgrocer,andthemotheroftwochildrenwithal,thislieutenanthadalreadyearnedthecomplimentarynameofTheVengeance.
“Hark!”saidTheVengeance.“Listen,then!Whocomes?”
AsifatrainofpowderlaidfromtheoutermostboundofSaintAntoineQuartertothewine-shopdoor,hadbeensuddenlyfired,afast-spreadingmurmurcamerushingalong.
“ItisDefarge,”saidmadame.“Silence,patriots!”
Defargecameinbreathless,pulledoffaredcaphewore,andlookedaroundhim!“Listen,everywhere!”saidmadameagain.“Listentohim!”
Defargestood,panting,againstabackgroundofeagereyesandopenmouths,formedoutsidethedoor;allthosewithinthewine-shophadsprungtotheirfeet.
“Saythen,myhusband.Whatisit?”
“Newsfromtheotherworld!”
“How,then?”criedmadame,contemptuously.“Theotherworld?”
“DoeseverybodyhererecalloldFoulon,whotoldthefamishedpeoplethattheymighteatgrass,andwhodied,andwenttoHell?”
“Everybody!”fromallthroats.
“Thenewsisofhim.Heisamongus!”
“Amongus!”fromtheuniversalthroatagain.“Anddead?”
“Notdead!Hefearedussomuch—andwithreason—thathecausedhimselftoberepresentedasdead,andhadagrandmock-funeral.
Buttheyhavefoundhimalive,hidinginthecountry,andhavebroughthimin.
Ihaveseenhimbutnow,onhiswaytotheHoteldeVille,aprisoner.
Ihavesaidthathehadreasontofearus.Sayall!HADhereason?”
Wretchedoldsinnerofmorethanthreescoreyearsandten,ifhehadneverknownityet,hewouldhaveknownitinhisheartofheartsifhecouldhaveheardtheansweringcry.
Amomentofprofoundsilencefollowed.Defargeandhiswifelookedsteadfastlyatoneanother.TheVengeancestooped,andthejarofadrumwasheardasshemoveditatherfeetbehindthecounter.
“Patriots!”saidDefarge,inadeterminedvoice,“areweready?”
InstantlyMadameDefarge’sknifewasinhergirdle;thedrumwasbeatinginthestreets,asifitandadrummerhadflowntogetherbymagic;andTheVengeance,utteringterrificshrieks,andflingingherarmsaboutherheadlikeallthefortyFuriesatonce,wastearingfromhousetohouse,rousingthewomen.
Themenwereterrible,inthebloody-mindedangerwithwhichtheylookedfromwindows,caughtupwhatarmstheyhad,andcamepouringdownintothestreets;but,thewomenwereasighttochilltheboldest.
Fromsuchhouseholdoccupationsastheirbarepovertyyielded,fromtheirchildren,fromtheiragedandtheirsickcrouchingonthebaregroundfamishedandnaked,theyranoutwithstreaminghair,urgingoneanother,andthemselves,tomadnesswiththewildestcriesandactions.VillainFoulontaken,mysister!OldFoulontaken,mymother!MiscreantFoulontaken,mydaughter!
Then,ascoreofothersranintothemidstofthese,beatingtheirbreasts,tearingtheirhair,andscreaming,Foulonalive!
Foulonwhotoldthestarvingpeopletheymighteatgrass!
Foulonwhotoldmyoldfatherthathemighteatgrass,whenIhadnobreadtogivehim!
Foulonwhotoldmybabyitmightsuckgrass,whenthesebreastswheredrywithwant!OmotherofGod,thisFoulon!OHeavenoursuffering!
Hearme,mydeadbabyandmywitheredfather:Iswearonmyknees,onthesestones,toavengeyouonFoulon!
Husbands,andbrothers,andyoungmen,GiveusthebloodofFoulon,GiveustheheadofFoulon,GiveustheheartofFoulon,GiveusthebodyandsoulofFoulon,RendFoulontopieces,anddighimintotheground,thatgrassmaygrowfromhim!
Withthesecries,numbersofthewomen,lashedintoblindfrenzy,whirledabout,strikingandtearingattheirownfriendsuntiltheydroppedintoapassionateswoon,andwereonlysavedbythemenbelongingtothemfrombeingtrampledunderfoot.
Nevertheless,notamomentwaslost;notamoment!
ThisFoulonwasattheHoteldeVille,andmightbeloosed.
Never,ifSaintAntoineknewhisownsufferings,insults,andwrongs!
ArmedmenandwomenflockedoutoftheQuartersofast,anddreweventheselastdregsafterthemwithsuchaforceofsuction,thatwithinaquarterofanhourtherewasnotahumancreatureinSaintAntoine’sbosombutafewoldcronesandthewailingchildren.
No.TheywereallbythattimechokingtheHallofExaminationwherethisoldman,uglyandwicked,was,andoverflowingintotheadjacentopenspaceandstreets.
TheDefarges,husbandandwife,TheVengeance,andJacquesThree,wereinthefirstpress,andatnogreatdistancefromhimintheHall.
“See!”criedmadame,pointingwithherknife.“Seetheoldvillainboundwithropes.
Thatwaswelldonetotieabunchofgrassuponhisback.Ha,ha!Thatwaswelldone.Lethimeatitnow!”
Madameputherknifeunderherarm,andclappedherhandsasataplay.
ThepeopleimmediatelybehindMadameDefarge,explainingthecauseofhersatisfactiontothosebehindthem,andthoseagainexplainingtoothers,andthosetoothers,theneighbouringstreetsresoundedwiththeclappingofhands.
Similarly,duringtwoorthreehoursofdrawl,andthewinnowingofmanybushelsofwords,MadameDefarge’sfrequentexpressionsofimpatienceweretakenup,withmarvellousquickness,atadistance:themorereadily,becausecertainmenwhohadbysomewonderfulexerciseofagilityclimbeduptheexternalarchitecturetolookinfromthewindows,knewMadameDefargewell,andactedasatelegraphbetweenherandthecrowdoutsidethebuilding.
Atlengththesunrosesohighthatitstruckakindlyrayasofhopeorprotection,directlydownupontheoldprisoner’shead.
Thefavourwastoomuchtobear;inaninstantthebarrierofdustandchaffthathadstoodsurprisinglylong,wenttothewinds,andSaintAntoinehadgothim!
Itwasknowndirectly,tothefurthestconfinesofthecrowd.
Defargehadbutsprungoverarailingandatable,andfoldedthemiserablewretchinadeadlyembrace—MadameDefargehadbutfollowedandturnedherhandinoneoftheropeswithwhichhewastied—TheVengeanceandJacquesThreewerenotyetupwiththem,andthemenatthewindowshadnotyetswoopedintotheHall,likebirdsofpreyfromtheirhighperches—whenthecryseemedtogoup,alloverthecity,“Bringhimout!
Bringhimtothelamp!”
Down,andup,andheadforemostonthestepsofthebuilding;now,onhisknees;now,onhisfeet;now,onhisback;dragged,andstruckat,andstifledbythebunchesofgrassandstrawthatwerethrustintohisfacebyhundredsofhands;torn,bruised,panting,bleeding,yetalwaysentreatingandbeseechingformercy;nowfullofvehementagonyofaction,withasmallclearspaceabouthimasthepeopledrewoneanotherbackthattheymightsee;now,alogofdeadwooddrawnthroughaforestoflegs;hewashauledtotheneareststreetcornerwhereoneofthefatallampsswung,andthereMadameDefargelethimgo—asacatmighthavedonetoamouse—andsilentlyandcomposedlylookedathimwhiletheymadeready,andwhilehebesoughther:thewomenpassionatelyscreechingathimallthetime,andthemensternlycallingouttohavehimkilledwithgrassinhismouth.
Once,hewentaloft,andtheropebroke,andtheycaughthimshrieking;twice,hewentaloft,andtheropebroke,andtheycaughthimshrieking;then,theropewasmerciful,andheldhim,andhisheadwassoonuponapike,withgrassenoughinthemouthforallSaintAntoinetodanceatthesightof.
Norwasthistheendoftheday’sbadwork,forSaintAntoinesoshoutedanddancedhisangrybloodup,thatitboiledagain,onhearingwhenthedayclosedinthattheson-in-lawofthedespatched,anotherofthepeople’senemiesandinsulters,wascomingintoParisunderaguardfivehundredstrong,incavalryalone.
SaintAntoinewrotehiscrimesonflaringsheetsofpaper,seizedhim—wouldhavetornhimoutofthebreastofanarmytobearFouloncompany—sethisheadandheartonpikes,andcarriedthethreespoilsoftheday,inWolf-processionthroughthestreets.
Notbeforedarknightdidthemenandwomencomebacktothechildren,wailingandbreadless.
Then,themiserablebakers’shopswerebesetbylongfilesofthem,patientlywaitingtobuybadbread;andwhiletheywaitedwithstomachsfaintandempty,theybeguiledthetimebyembracingoneanotheronthetriumphsoftheday,andachievingthemagainingossip.
Gradually,thesestringsofraggedpeopleshortenedandfrayedaway;andthenpoorlightsbegantoshineinhighwindows,andslenderfiresweremadeinthestreets,atwhichneighbourscookedincommon,afterwardssuppingattheirdoors.
Scantyandinsufficientsuppersthose,andinnocentofmeat,asofmostothersaucetowretchedbread.
Yet,humanfellowshipinfusedsomenourishmentintotheflintyviands,andstrucksomesparksofcheerfulnessoutofthem.
Fathersandmotherswhohadhadtheirfullshareintheworstoftheday,playedgentlywiththeirmeagrechildren;andlovers,withsuchaworldaroundthemandbeforethem,lovedandhoped.
Itwasalmostmorning,whenDefarge’swine-shoppartedwithitslastknotofcustomers,andMonsieurDefargesaidtomadamehiswife,inhuskytones,whilefasteningthedoor:
“Atlastitiscome,mydear!”
“Ehwell!”returnedmadame.“Almost.”
SaintAntoineslept,theDefargesslept:evenTheVengeancesleptwithherstarvedgrocer,andthedrumwasatrest.
Thedrum’swastheonlyvoiceinSaintAntoinethatbloodandhurryhadnotchanged.
TheVengeance,ascustodianofthedrum,couldhavewakenedhimupandhadthesamespeechoutofhimasbeforetheBastillefell,oroldFoulonwasseized;notsowiththehoarsetonesofthemenandwomeninSaintAntoine’sbosom.
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