The drinking had started earlier than most days at Mr. Defarge's wine shop. As early as six in the morning sickly yellow faces had looked in through the windows and been able to see other faces inside bending over glasses of wine. Mr. Defarge sold a watered down wine at the best of times, but there was even more water in the glasses at this time. From the look on the faces of the people drinking there, it was a sour wine too, because they were not smiling. An air of laughing and singing was not jumping out of Mr. Defarge's grape juice on this morning; instead, only a slow burning fire could be seen hiding behind the drinks.
This had been the third morning in as many days that the drinkers had come there so early. It had started on Monday, and this was now Wednesday. There was more thinking than drinking happening, and many men had come to listen and whisper who could not have paid one coin for the drinks, not even to save their soul. But they had as much interest in what was happening as they would have had if they could buy whole barrels of wine. They moved from seat to seat and corner to corner, swallowing talk instead of drinks, with greedy looks on their faces.
For all the people there, the owner of the shop was nowhere to be seen. But the people there were not looking for him. No one asked about him, and no one was surprised to see only Madam Defarge in her seat, watching over the wine sales with a bowl of small coins in front of her, which were as rough and knocked about as the people from whose poor pockets they had come.
It may be that spies had visited the wine shop at that time. If they had, they would have seen that other interests had stopped. Such people were always looking for secrets, from the prisons to the home of the king himself. Card games had stopped. The people playing dominoes were now building little houses with them as they talked of other things. Drinkers would draw shapes on the table in the little wine that fell from their glasses. Madam Defarge herself picked at the pattern on her sleeve with a little stick, and saw and heard something far off in the distance that others could not see or hear.
It was like this, in Saint Antoine's wine shop, for the whole morning. It was noon when two men, covered with dust, walked through Saint Antoine's streets, under the saint's hanging lanterns. One was Mr. Defarge, and the other a road worker in a blue hat. Thirsty and dirty, the two men came into the wine shop. Their coming had started a fire inside Saint Antoine, a fire that moved from face to face at most doors and windows. Yet no one followed them, and no one said a word when they came into the shop. But they did all turn to look and listen.
"Good day, friends!" said Mr. Defarge.
Maybe it was a sign for them to talk, because he received many Good days in return.
"The weather's not good at all," said Defarge, shaking his head.
On hearing this, they all looked at one another and then down at the floor, without saying anything. All but one man, who stood up and walked out.
"My wife," said Defarge to Mrs. Defarge, but loudly enough for the others to hear: "I have travelled a few miles with this good road worker, called Jack. I met him, by accident, a day and a half's travel outside of Paris. He is a good boy, this road worker, called Jack. Give him a drink, wife!"
A second man stood up and left. Madam Defarge put wine before the road worker called Jack, who took off his blue hat to the crowd, and had a drink. Inside his shirt, he carried rough dark bread. He ate it between drinks, and sat there chewing and drinking near Madam Defarge's counter. A third man stood and went out.
Mr. Defarge poured himself some wine too, but not as much as he had given to the stranger, for whom the drink was very special. He stood waiting for the man from the village to finish his breakfast.
He looked at no one and no one looked at him, not even Madam Defarge, who was now hard at work knitting.
"Have you finished your meal?” he asked after some time.
"Yes, thank you."
"Come, then! You can see the room that I said you would stay in. You will be very happy with it."
Out of the wine shop, into the street; out of the street into the yard; out of the yard and up some steep steps. Out of the steps and into a little room under the roof -- a room where a white-haired man had sat in the past, on a low bench, leaning forward and busily making shoes.
No white-haired man was there now; but the three men were there, the ones who had left the wine shop one by one. Between them and the white-haired man far off in London, was that hole in the wall through which they had looked in at him in the past.
Defarge closed the door carefully and spoke in a quiet voice.
"Jack One, Jack Two, Jack Three! This is the witness I, Jack Four, went to meet. He'll tell you all you need to know. Speak, Jack Five!"
The road worker, blue hat in hand, rubbed it on his dark forehead and said, "Where should I start, sir?
"Start," was Mr. Defarge's wise answer, "at the start."
"I saw him then, sirs," started the road worker, "a year ago this summer, under the Marquis' coach, hanging by the chain. Here is how he looked. I was finished for the day, with the sun going to bed, and the Marquis' coach was going very slowly up the hill. He was hanging from the chain -- like this."
Again the road worker went through the story, which he should have known perfectly by now from having told it so many times over the past year in his village.
Jack One cut in and asked if he'd ever seen the man before.
"Never," answered the road worker, returning to the vertical.
Jack Three asked how he later knew who the man was.
"By how tall he was," said the road worker softly, and with his finger against his nose. "When Sir the Marquis asked later that night, 'Say, what is he like?' I answered 'Tall as a king'."
"You should have said short as a dwarf," returned Jack Two.
"But what did I know? He had not done anything yet, and he had never told me of his plan. Look! If I had known that, I would not have said anything. Sir the Marquis could point at me, standing near our little fountain, and say, 'To me! Bring that man!' And believe me, sirs, I would have said nothing."
"He's right there, Jack," Mr. Defarge said to the one who had questioned the road worker.
"Good!" said the road worker, looking like he did not know what was happening. "The tall man was gone, and they looked for him -- how many months? Nine, ten, eleven?"
"The number is not important," said Defarge. "He had been hiding well, but in the end it was just his bad luck that he was found. Go on!"
"I was again at work on the side of the hill, and the sun was again about to go to bed. There I was putting my tools together to walk down to my house in the village below, where it is already dark, when I lift my eyes and see coming over the hill six soldiers. In the middle of them is a tall man with his arms tied -- to his sides -- like this!"
With the help of his always ready hat, he acted the part of a man with his elbows tied together behind him.
"So I stand to the side, sirs, by my pile of stones, to watch the soldiers and their prisoner go by (for it is a quiet road, that, where anything of interest is well worth stopping for), and at first, as they were coming toward me, I see no more than that they are six soldiers and a tall man tied up, and that they are almost black to me, with a red border on the side where the sun was going down behind them. Also, I see their shadows going out on the ground and up against the cliff on the opposite side of the road, like giants. And I see that they are covered with dust, and that the dust moves with them as they come, step, step, step! But when they get quite close to me, I see who the tall man is, and he sees me and knows who I am. Ah, but he would have been happy to throw himself over the side of the hill on the down side of the road again, as he had done on the evening when I first saw him, close to that same place!"
The labourer talked like he was there now, and it was clear that he could see it clearly in his mind; maybe he had not seen much in his life.
"I do not let the soldiers know that I know who the tall man is; he does not show the soldiers that he knows me; we do it, and we know it, with our eyes. 'Come on!' says the leader of the group, pointing to the village. 'Bring him quickly to his death!' and they bring him faster. I follow. His arms are sore from being tied so tightly, his timber shoes are big and slow, and he is crippled. Because he is crippled, and slow, they drive him forward with their guns -- like this!"
He acts the part of a man being forced forward by the timber end of their guns.
"As they go down the hill like crazy men running a race, he falls. They laugh and pick him up again. His face is bleeding and covered in dust, but he cannot touch it. And they laugh at that too. They bring him into the village, and all the village run out to look. They take him out past the windmill and up to the prison. All the village see the prison gates open in the darkness of the night -- and swallow him -- like this!"
He opened his mouth wide as he could, and shut it loudly as his teeth hit together. Seeing that he didn't want to destroy the effect by opening it again, Defarge said, "Go on, Jack."
"All the village," the road worker went on, standing up on his toes, and speaking in a low voice, "falls back; all the village whispers by the fountain; all the village sleeps; all the village dreams of that sad one behind the locks and bars of the prison on the steep rocky hill, never to come out of it, but to die. In the morning, with my tools on my shoulder, eating my piece of black bread as I go, I do a walk around the prison on my way back to work. There I see him, high up, behind the bars of his high iron cage, still covered in blood and dust, and looking out. He has no free hand to wave to me. It is too dangerous for me to call out to him. He looks at me like he is a dead man."
Defarge and the other three looked darkly at each other. The looks on all of their faces are dark, controlled, and full of hate as they listened to the story coming from this man from the country. The spirit of all of them, while secret, was one of strength too. They had the air of a rough court; Jack One and Two sitting on the old mattress, each with his chin resting on his hand and his eyes on the road worker; Jack Three, equally interested, on one knee behind them, with his hand always moving across the nerves around his mouth and nose; and Defarge standing between them and the story teller, whom he had put in the light of the window, looking first from him to them and then from them to him.
"Go on, Jack," said Defarge.
"He stays up there in his iron cage for some days. The village looks at him secretly, for it is afraid. But from a distance, it looks up at the prison on the steep rocks; and in the evening, when the work of the day is finished and they come together by the fountain, all faces are turned toward the prison. In the past, they were always looking toward the building where news and mail were received, but now they looked toward the prison. They whisper at the fountain that while it is said that he will die, it is going to wait on someone in Paris who is saying that the man was angry because of the death of his child. They say that someone is asking the King himself. What do I know? It's possible. Maybe yes, maybe no."
"Listen to this, Jack," Number One of that name seriously put in. "A letter was given to the King and to the Queen. All of us here, apart from you, saw the King take it, in his coach, on the street, sitting beside the Queen. It's Defarge, whom you see, who, in danger of losing his life, ran out in front of the horses with the letter in his hand."
"And hear this too, Jack!" said Number Three, who was down on one knee, his fingers still moving over his face like he was hungry for something, but not for food or drink. "The guards, on horse and on foot, circled around Defarge and hit him. You hear?"
"I hear, sirs."
"Go on then," said Defarge.
"On the other hand, they whisper at the fountain," the man from the country went on, "that he was brought to our part of the country to be killed, and that nothing will stop it. They even whisper that because he has killed Sir, and because Sir is the father of his workers, he will be killed as one who has killed his own father. One old man says that his right hand, holding the knife, will be burned off before his face. He says that, into cuts that will be made in his arms, his chest, and his legs, there'll be poured hot oil, melted metal, and other chemicals. And in the end, his body will be pulled into four parts by four strong horses. That old man says all this was done to a prisoner who tried to kill King Louis Fifteen. But how do I know if he is telling the truth? I have no schooling."
"Listen again, Jack!" said the man with a hand moving over his face. "The name of that prisoner was Damiens, and it was all done in open day, in the open streets of this city of Paris, and the worst thing about the crowd of people who came to watch was that rich, well-dressed women who were enthusiastic about staying until the end -- until the end, Jack, after it was dark, when he had lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed! Yes, it happened… years ago. How old are you?"
"Thirty-five," said the road worker, who looked sixty.
"It happened when you were more than ten years old. You could have seen it."
"Enough!" said Defarge seriously. "Long live the Devil. Go on."
"Well, some whisper this, and some whisper that. They speak of nothing else; even the fountain seems to dance to their music. At last, on Sunday night when all the village is asleep, soldiers come down from the prison, hitting the end of their guns on the stones of the little street. Workers dig, workers hammer, soldiers laugh and sing. In the morning, by the fountain there is a hanging stage forty feet high, poisoning the water."
The road worker looked not at the roof, but through it, and pointed like he could see the hanging stage somewhere in the sky.
"All work is stopped. We all come together there. Nobody leads the cows out; the cows are there with us. At noon, the drums sound. Soldiers have walked into the prison during the night and they come with him now, tied as before, and with a ball of cloth in his mouth, tied like this, with a tight string, making him look almost like he was laughing.” He showed them by using his hands to pull the corners of his mouth up toward his ears. "On the top of the stage is the knife he had used to kill the Marquis, standing on its handle. He is hanged there, forty feet high -- and is left hanging there, poisoning the water."
They looked at one another as he rubbed his face with his blue hat. Just telling the story had started him sweating.
"It's awful, sirs. How can the women and children get water? Who can go there to talk in the evening under the shadow of his body hanging up there? When I left the village on Monday evening, as the sun was going down, the shadow of that body reached across the church, the windmill, the prison -- it seemed to go across the whole earth, sirs, to where the sky meets the ground!"
The hungry man chewed one of his fingers as he looked at the other three, and his finger shook with the feeling that was on him.
"That's all, sirs. I left as the sun went down (like I had been warned to do), and I walked on, that night and half of the next day, until I met (as I was warned I would) this friend. With him, I came on, now riding and now walking, through the rest of yesterday and through last night. And here you see me!"
"After a dark, sad minute with no one saying a word, the first Jack said, "Good! Your actions and your story have been good. Will you wait for us for a little while, outside the door?"
"I would be glad to," said the road worker, and Defarge led him to the top of the steps where he sat and waited while Defarge returned to talk with the others.
The three were standing and their heads were close together when Defarge came back into the room.
"What do you say, Jack?” asked Number One. "Do we add this name to the list?"
"Add him, to be destroyed," returned Defarge.
"Wonderful!" said the hungry man.
"The castle and all the family?” asked the first?
"The castle and all the family," said Defarge. "Destroy them."
The hungry man repeated with great happiness, "Wonderful!" and started chewing on another finger.
"Are you sure," asked Jack Two of Defarge, "that no trouble will come from the way we keep the list? I know it's safe, because no one apart from ourselves can read it; but will we always be able to read it... or I should say, will she?"
"Jack," returned Defarge, pulling himself up tall, "If my wife had tried to keep the list in her mind alone she would not lose a word of it, not even part of a word. But knitted in her own language, it will always be as clear as the sun. Trust Madam Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest person that has ever lived to kill himself than to have even one letter of his name or of his evil actions fall from the list that Madam Defarge is knitting."
There were words of agreement, and then the hungry man asked, "Is this country labourer to be sent back soon? I hope so. He is very stupid, and I think that makes him a little dangerous."
"He knows nothing," said Defarge, "at least nothing more than would have him hanged from the same height. Let him stay with me. I will take care of him, and put him back on the road to his home. He wants to see how the rich live -- the King, the Queen, and the Court. Let him see them on Sunday."
"What?” shouted the hungry man with his eyes wide open in surprise. "You think it is a good sign that he wants to see the King's family and other rich people?"
"Jack," said Defarge, "carefully show a cat milk if you want it to thirst for it. And carefully show a dog the animal that it must kill if you want it to bring it down one day."
Nothing more was said, and the road worker, who was already asleep on the top step, was encouraged to lay himself down on the mattress in the room and have a rest. He needed no pushing, and was soon asleep.
For a slave like that poor labourer, there were many worse rooms in Paris that he could have stayed at, and so he was happy with it, apart from a strange fear he had of Mrs. Defarge. Madam Defarge herself sat knitting at her counter all day, showing no interest in the road worker that could mark him as being part of something secret. The way she was able to do that made him shake in his timber shoes each time he looked at her. In himself he was thinking that if she could show no sign of what he knew she knew, she could just as easily say that he killed someone and have him killed in return without any show of emotion.
So when Sunday came, the road worker was not happy (even if he said he was) to have Madam Defarge coming with her husband and himself to Versailles. It was equally troubling to have her knitting in the coach all the way there. And on top of that it was worrying to have Madam Defarge in the crowd, still with her knitting in her hands, in the afternoon when they waited to see the coach that would bring the King and Queen through the streets.
"You work hard, Madam," said a man near her.
"Yes," answered Madam Defarge. "I have much to do."
"What do you make, Madam?"
"Many things."
"Like what?"
"Like," returned Madam Defarge quietly, "cloths to cover dead bodies."
The man quickly moved away from her, and the road worker used his little blue hat to cool his face, feeling that things were too close and too hot there in that crowd. If he needed a King and a Queen to lift his spirits, he soon had them, as the big-faced King and his beautiful Queen came by in their golden coach, followed by the most important people from their court... a crowd of laughing women and beautiful men, in jewelry and expensive cloth, and powder and all of them, male and female, with proudly beautiful looks that showed they had no interest in anyone but themselves. The road worker was so full of all that he was seeing that he could not control himself. He cried Long live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live everybody and everything! like he had never heard of all the Jacks and their beliefs. Then there were gardens, fountains, beautiful open walking places, green grass by a river, more King and Queen, more beautiful men and women, and more Long live them all! until he was moved to tears with all the emotion. Through all this, which lasted a good three hours, there were others around him shouting too, and Defarge kept his hand on his neck, as if holding him back from flying at the people he was worshipping, and hurting them.
"Very good!" said Defarge when it was over. "You're a good boy!"
The road worker was, at this time, starting to think that he had acted in a way that would make the Jacks angry; but this word from Mr. Defarge encouraged him.
"You are the man we want," said Defarge in his ear. "You make these stupid people believe they will be loved forever; and when they do, then they act even more selfishly, not knowing that this is the very thing that will bring them to their end."
"Hey!" cried the road worker, thinking about what Defarge had said. "That's true."
"These stupid people know nothing. While they hate you and would kill you and a hundred like you before they would lose even one of their horses or dogs, they only know what your voice tells them. Let it trick them a little longer. It cannot trick them too much."
Madam Defarge looked without feeling or interest at the man and moved her head to show she agreed.
"As for you," she said, "you would shout and cry for anything if it made a show and a noise, would you not?"
"To be honest, Madam, I think so. At least for now."
"If you were given a big pile of dolls and you were to tear them to pieces for what you could get from them, you would take the ones that were the richest, and the ones with the most beautiful clothes. Tell us! Wouldn't you do that?"
"Yes, truly, Madam."
"Yes, and if you were given many different birds, and you were to tear them to pieces, for what you could get from them, you would take the ones with the most beautiful feathers first, would you not?"
"It's true, Madam."
"You have seen both dolls and birds today," said Madam Defarge with a wave of her hand toward the place where they had earlier been watching the King and Queen. "Now, go home!"