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双城记|A Tale of Two Cities

Book 2 Chapter 22 The Sea still Rises

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 查尔斯-狄更斯] 阅读：[37220]
Book 2 Chapter 22 The Sea still Rises
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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形容憔悴的圣安托万只欢喜了一个礼拜。他用美味的友谊拥抱和庆祝使他那又硬又苦的面包尽可能地松软了些。德伐日太太又照常坐到她的柜台后接待着顾客，只是头上不戴玫瑰花了，因为密探们深厚的兄弟之情已在短短的一周之间转化为异常的警惕，不敢把自己送上门去让圣安托万发落。那儿路面的街灯正带着一种不祥的弹性摇晃着呢！

1
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德伐日太太双手抄在胸前坐在清晨的光与热里，研究着酒店和街道，酒店里和街道上都有几拨又肮脏又痛苦的闲汉，但在他们的苦难之上现在却高踞着一种明显的权力感。歪放在最倒霉的脑袋上的最破烂的睡帽都带着这样一种桀骜不驯的意思：“戴破帽的我知道过日子有多困难，但是你可知道戴破帽的我要你的命又有多容易？”以前没有工作的瘦骨伶仃的光胳膊现在随时准备好干活，因为它可以出击。干编织活的妇女手指很毒辣，她们已有过抓拉撕扯的经验。丝安托万换了副模样；几百年的锤打把他敲成了一种模样，可最后这几锤的作用却最为巨大，把他锤出了另一副表情。

2
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德伐日太太带着圣安托万的妇女领袖那种含而不露的赞赏之意坐在那儿观察。她那女界同胞之一在她身边编织着。这个妇女很矮而颇胖，是一个饥饿的杂货小贩的妻子和两个孩子的母亲。这位副手已经赢得了“复仇女神”的美誉。

3
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“听！”复仇女神说，“注意！有谁来了？”

4
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一阵迅速传递的嘟哝声飞快传了过来，有如从圣安托万区边缘直牵到酒店门口的一连串鞭炮突然爆炸。

5
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“是德伐日，”老板娘说，“安静，爱国者们！”

6
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德伐日气喘吁吁地跑进屋子，拉下了头上的红便帽，四面看了看。“各处人员注意！”老板娘又说，“听他说话！，德伐日站在那儿喘着气，背对着门外急切的眼睛和张开的嘴；酒店里的人全都跳起身来。

7
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“说吧，当家的，什么事？”

8
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“从另外一个世界来的消息！”

9
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“怎么回事？”老板娘轻蔑地叫道，“另外一个世界？”

10
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“这儿的人还想得起老家伙富伦吗？他曾说过挨饿的人可以吃草。他不是已经死了，进地狱了么？”

11
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“想得起！”所有的嗓子都说。

12
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“是关于他的消息。他还跟我们在一起呢。”

13
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“跟我们在一起！”所有的喉咙都吼叫了起来。“死了还跟我们在一起么？”，

14
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“没有死！他非常害怕——他有理由害怕——于是设法装作已经死了，搞了个假出殡。但是有人发现他还活着，躲在乡下，便把他抓了起来。我刚才还看见他往市政厅去，已经作了俘虏。我说过，他有理由害怕我们。你们大家说！他有理由害怕不？”

15
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那七十多岁的不幸的罪人若是听见了这众口一声的回答，即使不明白自己有什么理由害怕也会从内心深处害怕了。

16
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随之而来是一阵深沉的静默。德伐日和他的妻子彼此凝视了一会儿。复仇女神弯下了身子，有大鼓的响动传出，那是她从柜台后自己脚边把它搬了出来。

17
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“爱国者们！”德伐日以坚定的声音说，“准备好了没有？”

18
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德伐日太太的刀立即插进了腰带；大鼓在街上响起，仿佛有魔法让大鼓和鼓手一起飞了出去；复仇女神发出可怕的尖叫，双臂在头顶上挥舞，仿佛有四十个复仇女神集于她一身，冲进了一间间的屋子，去鼓动妇女们上街。

19
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男人们很可怕，他们怀着要想流血的愤怒，从窗口上瞧了一下便抓起自己所能到手的武器，潮水一样上了街。妇女们的样子能让最勇敢的人也心里发冷。她们丢开了赤贫生活带来的家务，丢开了孩子，丢开了趴在光秃秃的地板上的饥饿、赤裸的老人和病人，披头散发地跑了出来，此呼彼应，以最野性的呼喊和行为投入了疯狂的活动“姐姐，坏蛋富伦给抓住了！”“妈妈，恶棍富伦给抓住了！”“女儿呀，无赖富伦给抓住了！”然后，又有二十来个妇女加入了她们的行列。她们敲着胸脯，扯着头发，尖声地叫道，“富伦还活着。”“富伦，三家伙告诉饿肚子的人说他们可以吃草。”“富伦，在我没有面包给我爸爸吃的时候，那家伙却说他可以吃草。”“富伦，我这奶里因为穷，没有了奶水，他却说我的娃娃可以吃草。”“啊，圣母呀，这个富伦。”“啊，天呐，我们的苦难呀。”“听着，我死去的孩子和我病弱的爸爸：我跪在地上，跪在石头上起誓，我要为你们向富伦报仇！丈夫们，弟兄们，小伙子们，给我们富伦的血。”“给我们富伦的头，给我们富伦的心。”“给我们富伦的身子和灵魂。”“把富伦碎尸万段，埋到泥土里去，让青草从他身上长出来！”这样叫着，许多妇女便发起狂来，忘记了一切，打着旋儿，跟朋友们殴打撕扯，直闹得晕了过去，全靠家里的男人救助，才没有被人踩在脚下。

20
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可是，她们却一点时间也没有浪费，一点也没有！这富伦此时正在市政厅，有可能被释放。只要圣安托万还没有忘记他们所受过的苦难、羞辱和冤屈，就绝不能释放他。拿起武器的男人和妇女从圣安托万区一哄而出，跑得飞快，并以极大的吸引力把最后的人都带了去。不到一刻钟，圣安托万的心脏除了皱巴巴的老太婆和哭闹着的儿童之外就再也没有人了。

21
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再也没有人了。他们此时已挤满了那个丑陋、邪恶的老头儿所在的审判厅，并往外面漫溢，进入了附近的场地和街道。德伐日夫妇、复仇女神和雅克三号第一批到达，站在大厅里距离那老头儿不远处。

22
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“看呀：”老板娘用刀指着叫道，“看那老流氓捆在那几。对，在他背上捆上一捆草。哈！哈！捆得好。现在就让他吃草！”老板娘把刀夹在腋下好像看戏似地鼓起掌来。

23
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德伐日太太背后的人把她满意的理由告诉了自己背后的人，他们背后的人又向别人解释，别人又再向别人解释，于是附近的街道便也响起了掌声。同样，在两三个钟头的吵闹中筛了不知道几大箩的话里，德伐日太太常有些不耐烦的意见曾以惊人的速度在远处得到响应，因为有几个身手矫捷得惊人的人爬到了建筑物外面，从窗上往里瞧。他们很熟悉德伐日太太，便充当了她跟外面的人群之间的活电报。

24
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最后，太阳升高了，把一道慈祥的希望或保护的光直射到那老囚徒的头上。这样的恩宠太过分了，不能容忍。那些留在他身边碍手碍脚为时太久的废物全都给轰走了，圣安托万抓住了他！

25
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这事立即直接传到了最辽远地区的人群里。德伐日刚刚跳过一道栏杆和一张桌子把那倒霉的可怜虫死死抱住、德伐日太太刚跟上去一把抓住捆紧他的一根绳子、复仇女神和雅克三号还没来得及跟上、窗户上的人还没来得及像猛禽扑下栖木一样窜下、一片呐喊便已掀起，似乎吼遍了全城，“把他抓出来！抓他到街灯下去！”

26
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跌倒了，爬起来，头冲下摔在大厅外的台阶上；一时跪下，一时站起；一时刻在地上，一时被拖了走；挨揍，被几百只手塞到脸上的一把把的干草、青草噎个半死；被扯，被揪，伤痕累累，喘气，流血，总在哀告，总在乞怜；有时奋力抗拒，满是痛苦。人们便你拉我扯让出一小片地方，看他表演；有时成了一块死木头从森林股的腿丛里拖出。他就像这样被抓到了最近的街角，那儿挂着一盏要命的灯。德伐日太太在那儿对他撒了手——猫对耗子可以撒手——然后一声不响平平静静地望着他，等着别人作准备；而他却向她哀求。妇女们一直对他尖声乱叫，男人们则凶狠地叫着要在他嘴里塞进青草再杀死他。第一次，把他吊了上去，绳子断了，他尖号着被抓住。第二次，把他吊了上去，绳子断了，他尖号着被抓住。然后绳子发了慈悲，把他吊住了。他的头立即插在了一枝矛尖上，嘴里塞了足够的青草，可以让整个圣安托万的人看得手舞足蹈。

27
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可这还不是这一天坏事的结束。圣安托万已经因呐喊与舞蹈而血脉怒张，所以在黄昏时又再次热血沸腾，愤怒起来。那是因为听说被处置了的那人的女婿，另一个欺压百姓的人民公敌，已带了一支由五百名骑兵组成的卫队进入了巴黎市。圣安托万用大幅的纸张公布了他的罪恶，然后抓住了他一—哪怕他有一支庞大军队保护他也会把他抓去跟富伦作伴的——并把他的头和心脏插在矛尖上。圣安托万带了这一天的三个战利品形成了一支豺狼的队伍在街上游行。

28
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男人和女人直到深夜才回到哭喊着的、没有面包的孩子们身边。然后可怜的面包店就受到一长串人的包围，他们耐心地等着买蹩脚的面包。在他们空着有气无力的肚子排着班时便互相拥抱，庆祝当天的胜利，用以消磨时间，并在闲聊中堂温胜利的喜悦。几个褴褛的长串逐渐缩短，终于消失。高高的窗户上透出了微弱的灯光，街头生起了小火，几个邻居一起在火上烹调着，然后在门口吃起了晚饭。

29
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晚饭不多，量不足，没有肉，也没有别的佐料，只有劣质的面包。然而人和人的友谊却给这硬邦邦的食物加上了营养，从人和人之间碰撞出了几星快乐的火花。参与了那天最凶狠的活动的父母跟他们的瘦弱的孩子们温情地说着话；情人们在周围和眼前这样的世界里爱恋着，怀着希望。

30
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德伐日酒店跟最后一批客人分手时已经快天亮了。德伐日先生一边关着门，一边哑着嗓子对妻子说：

31
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“这一天终于到来了，亲爱的！”

32
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“呃，不错！”老板娘回答。“差不多到了。”

33
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圣安托万睡着了，德伐日夫妇睡着了，就连复仇女神也跟她的杂货小贩睡着了，大鼓也休息了。大鼓的声音是唯一不曾为流血与忙乱而改变的声音。作为大鼓保管人的复仇女神还可以把鼓叫醒，让它发出跟巴士底狱陷落或老富伦被抓之前相同的声音，可圣安托万怀里的男男女女的嗓子都哑了。

34
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形容憔悴的圣安托万只欢喜了一个礼拜。他用美味的友谊拥抱和庆祝使他那又硬又苦的面包尽可能地松软了些。德伐日太太又照常坐到她的柜台后接待着顾客，只是头上不戴玫瑰花了，因为密探们深厚的兄弟之情已在短短的一周之间转化为异常的警惕，不敢把自己送上门去让圣安托万发落。那儿路面的街灯正带着一种不祥的弹性摇晃着呢！

35
-

德伐日太太双手抄在胸前坐在清晨的光与热里，研究着酒店和街道，酒店里和街道上都有几拨又肮脏又痛苦的闲汉，但在他们的苦难之上现在却高踞着一种明显的权力感。歪放在最倒霉的脑袋上的最破烂的睡帽都带着这样一种桀骜不驯的意思：“戴破帽的我知道过日子有多困难，但是你可知道戴破帽的我要你的命又有多容易？”以前没有工作的瘦骨伶仃的光胳膊现在随时准备好干活，因为它可以出击。干编织活的妇女手指很毒辣，她们已有过抓拉撕扯的经验。丝安托万换了副模样；几百年的锤打把他敲成了一种模样，可最后这几锤的作用却最为巨大，把他锤出了另一副表情。

36
-

德伐日太太带着圣安托万的妇女领袖那种含而不露的赞赏之意坐在那儿观察。她那女界同胞之一在她身边编织着。这个妇女很矮而颇胖，是一个饥饿的杂货小贩的妻子和两个孩子的母亲。这位副手已经赢得了“复仇女神”的美誉。

37
-

“听！”复仇女神说，“注意！有谁来了？”

38
-

一阵迅速传递的嘟哝声飞快传了过来，有如从圣安托万区边缘直牵到酒店门口的一连串鞭炮突然爆炸。

39
-

“是德伐日，”老板娘说，“安静，爱国者们！”

40
-

德伐日气喘吁吁地跑进屋子，拉下了头上的红便帽，四面看了看。“各处人员注意！”老板娘又说，“听他说话！，德伐日站在那儿喘着气，背对着门外急切的眼睛和张开的嘴；酒店里的人全都跳起身来。

41
-

“说吧，当家的，什么事？”

42
-

“从另外一个世界来的消息！”

43
-

“怎么回事？”老板娘轻蔑地叫道，“另外一个世界？”

44
-

“这儿的人还想得起老家伙富伦吗？他曾说过挨饿的人可以吃草。他不是已经死了，进地狱了么？”

45
-

“想得起！”所有的嗓子都说。

46
-

“是关于他的消息。他还跟我们在一起呢。”

47
-

“跟我们在一起！”所有的喉咙都吼叫了起来。“死了还跟我们在一起么？”，

48
-

“没有死！他非常害怕——他有理由害怕——于是设法装作已经死了，搞了个假出殡。但是有人发现他还活着，躲在乡下，便把他抓了起来。我刚才还看见他往市政厅去，已经作了俘虏。我说过，他有理由害怕我们。你们大家说！他有理由害怕不？”

49
-

那七十多岁的不幸的罪人若是听见了这众口一声的回答，即使不明白自己有什么理由害怕也会从内心深处害怕了。

50
-

随之而来是一阵深沉的静默。德伐日和他的妻子彼此凝视了一会儿。复仇女神弯下了身子，有大鼓的响动传出，那是她从柜台后自己脚边把它搬了出来。

51
-

“爱国者们！”德伐日以坚定的声音说，“准备好了没有？”

52
-

德伐日太太的刀立即插进了腰带；大鼓在街上响起，仿佛有魔法让大鼓和鼓手一起飞了出去；复仇女神发出可怕的尖叫，双臂在头顶上挥舞，仿佛有四十个复仇女神集于她一身，冲进了一间间的屋子，去鼓动妇女们上街。

53
-

男人们很可怕，他们怀着要想流血的愤怒，从窗口上瞧了一下便抓起自己所能到手的武器，潮水一样上了街。妇女们的样子能让最勇敢的人也心里发冷。她们丢开了赤贫生活带来的家务，丢开了孩子，丢开了趴在光秃秃的地板上的饥饿、赤裸的老人和病人，披头散发地跑了出来，此呼彼应，以最野性的呼喊和行为投入了疯狂的活动“姐姐，坏蛋富伦给抓住了！”“妈妈，恶棍富伦给抓住了！”“女儿呀，无赖富伦给抓住了！”然后，又有二十来个妇女加入了她们的行列。她们敲着胸脯，扯着头发，尖声地叫道，“富伦还活着。”“富伦，三家伙告诉饿肚子的人说他们可以吃草。”“富伦，在我没有面包给我爸爸吃的时候，那家伙却说他可以吃草。”“富伦，我这奶里因为穷，没有了奶水，他却说我的娃娃可以吃草。”“啊，圣母呀，这个富伦。”“啊，天呐，我们的苦难呀。”“听着，我死去的孩子和我病弱的爸爸：我跪在地上，跪在石头上起誓，我要为你们向富伦报仇！丈夫们，弟兄们，小伙子们，给我们富伦的血。”“给我们富伦的头，给我们富伦的心。”“给我们富伦的身子和灵魂。”“把富伦碎尸万段，埋到泥土里去，让青草从他身上长出来！”这样叫着，许多妇女便发起狂来，忘记了一切，打着旋儿，跟朋友们殴打撕扯，直闹得晕了过去，全靠家里的男人救助，才没有被人踩在脚下。

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可是，她们却一点时间也没有浪费，一点也没有！这富伦此时正在市政厅，有可能被释放。只要圣安托万还没有忘记他们所受过的苦难、羞辱和冤屈，就绝不能释放他。拿起武器的男人和妇女从圣安托万区一哄而出，跑得飞快，并以极大的吸引力把最后的人都带了去。不到一刻钟，圣安托万的心脏除了皱巴巴的老太婆和哭闹着的儿童之外就再也没有人了。

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再也没有人了。他们此时已挤满了那个丑陋、邪恶的老头儿所在的审判厅，并往外面漫溢，进入了附近的场地和街道。德伐日夫妇、复仇女神和雅克三号第一批到达，站在大厅里距离那老头儿不远处。

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“看呀：”老板娘用刀指着叫道，“看那老流氓捆在那几。对，在他背上捆上一捆草。哈！哈！捆得好。现在就让他吃草！”老板娘把刀夹在腋下好像看戏似地鼓起掌来。

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德伐日太太背后的人把她满意的理由告诉了自己背后的人，他们背后的人又向别人解释，别人又再向别人解释，于是附近的街道便也响起了掌声。同样，在两三个钟头的吵闹中筛了不知道几大箩的话里，德伐日太太常有些不耐烦的意见曾以惊人的速度在远处得到响应，因为有几个身手矫捷得惊人的人爬到了建筑物外面，从窗上往里瞧。他们很熟悉德伐日太太，便充当了她跟外面的人群之间的活电报。

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最后，太阳升高了，把一道慈祥的希望或保护的光直射到那老囚徒的头上。这样的恩宠太过分了，不能容忍。那些留在他身边碍手碍脚为时太久的废物全都给轰走了，圣安托万抓住了他！

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这事立即直接传到了最辽远地区的人群里。德伐日刚刚跳过一道栏杆和一张桌子把那倒霉的可怜虫死死抱住、德伐日太太刚跟上去一把抓住捆紧他的一根绳子、复仇女神和雅克三号还没来得及跟上、窗户上的人还没来得及像猛禽扑下栖木一样窜下、一片呐喊便已掀起，似乎吼遍了全城，“把他抓出来！抓他到街灯下去！”

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跌倒了，爬起来，头冲下摔在大厅外的台阶上；一时跪下，一时站起；一时刻在地上，一时被拖了走；挨揍，被几百只手塞到脸上的一把把的干草、青草噎个半死；被扯，被揪，伤痕累累，喘气，流血，总在哀告，总在乞怜；有时奋力抗拒，满是痛苦。人们便你拉我扯让出一小片地方，看他表演；有时成了一块死木头从森林股的腿丛里拖出。他就像这样被抓到了最近的街角，那儿挂着一盏要命的灯。德伐日太太在那儿对他撒了手——猫对耗子可以撒手——然后一声不响平平静静地望着他，等着别人作准备；而他却向她哀求。妇女们一直对他尖声乱叫，男人们则凶狠地叫着要在他嘴里塞进青草再杀死他。第一次，把他吊了上去，绳子断了，他尖号着被抓住。第二次，把他吊了上去，绳子断了，他尖号着被抓住。然后绳子发了慈悲，把他吊住了。他的头立即插在了一枝矛尖上，嘴里塞了足够的青草，可以让整个圣安托万的人看得手舞足蹈。

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可这还不是这一天坏事的结束。圣安托万已经因呐喊与舞蹈而血脉怒张，所以在黄昏时又再次热血沸腾，愤怒起来。那是因为听说被处置了的那人的女婿，另一个欺压百姓的人民公敌，已带了一支由五百名骑兵组成的卫队进入了巴黎市。圣安托万用大幅的纸张公布了他的罪恶，然后抓住了他一—哪怕他有一支庞大军队保护他也会把他抓去跟富伦作伴的——并把他的头和心脏插在矛尖上。圣安托万带了这一天的三个战利品形成了一支豺狼的队伍在街上游行。

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男人和女人直到深夜才回到哭喊着的、没有面包的孩子们身边。然后可怜的面包店就受到一长串人的包围，他们耐心地等着买蹩脚的面包。在他们空着有气无力的肚子排着班时便互相拥抱，庆祝当天的胜利，用以消磨时间，并在闲聊中堂温胜利的喜悦。几个褴褛的长串逐渐缩短，终于消失。高高的窗户上透出了微弱的灯光，街头生起了小火，几个邻居一起在火上烹调着，然后在门口吃起了晚饭。

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晚饭不多，量不足，没有肉，也没有别的佐料，只有劣质的面包。然而人和人的友谊却给这硬邦邦的食物加上了营养，从人和人之间碰撞出了几星快乐的火花。参与了那天最凶狠的活动的父母跟他们的瘦弱的孩子们温情地说着话；情人们在周围和眼前这样的世界里爱恋着，怀着希望。

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德伐日酒店跟最后一批客人分手时已经快天亮了。德伐日先生一边关着门，一边哑着嗓子对妻子说：

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“这一天终于到来了，亲爱的！”

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“呃，不错！”老板娘回答。“差不多到了。”

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圣安托万睡着了，德伐日夫妇睡着了，就连复仇女神也跟她的杂货小贩睡着了，大鼓也休息了。大鼓的声音是唯一不曾为流血与忙乱而改变的声音。作为大鼓保管人的复仇女神还可以把鼓叫醒，让它发出跟巴士底狱陷落或老富伦被抓之前相同的声音，可圣安托万怀里的男男女女的嗓子都哑了。

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HAGGARD Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with the relish of fraternal embraces an congratulations, when Madame Defarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers. Madame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of Spies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting themselves to the saint’s mercies. The lamps had a portentously elastic swing with them.

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Madame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense of power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: `I know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy life in you?’ Every lean bare arm, that had been without work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike. The fingers of the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that they could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine; the hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the last finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.

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Madame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was to be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her sisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had already earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.

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`Hark!’ said The Vengeance. `Listen, then! Who comes?’

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As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of the Saint Antoine Quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading murmur came rushing along.

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`It is Defarge,’ said madame. `Silence, patriots!’

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Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked around him! `Listen, everywhere!’ said madame again. `Listen to him!’ Defarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open mouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had sprung to their feet.

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`Say then, my husband. What is it?’

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`News from the other world!’

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`How, then?’ cried madame, contemptuously. `The other world?’

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`Does everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?’

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`Everybody!’ from all throats.

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`The news is of him. He is among us!’

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`Among us!’ from the universal throat again. `And dead?’

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`Not dead! He feared us so much--and with reason--that he caused himself to be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they have found him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. I have seen him but now, on his way to the H?tel de Ville, a prisoner. I have said that he had reason to fear us. Say all! Had he reason?’

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Wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he had never known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if he could have heard the answering cry.

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A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife looked steadfastly at one another. The Vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drum was heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter.

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`Patriots!’ said Defarge, in a determined voice, `are we ready?’

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Instantly Madame Defarge’s knife was in her girdle; the drum was beating in the streets, as if it and a drummer had flown together by magic; and The Vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks, and flinging her arms about her head like all the forty Furies at once, was tearing from house to house, rousing the women.

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The men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with which they looked from windows, caught up what arms they had, and came pouring down into the streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the boldest. From such household occupations as their bare poverty yielded, from their children, from their aged and their sick crouching on the bare ground famished and naked, they ran out with streaming hair, urging one another, and themselves, to madness with the wildest cries and actions. Villain Foulon taken, my sister! Old Foulon taken, my mother! Miscreant Foulon taken, my daughter! Then, a score of others ran into the midst of these, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and screaming, Foulon alive! Foulon who told the starving people they might eat grass! Foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when I had no bread to give him! Foulon who told my

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baby it might suck grass, when these breasts were dry with want! O mother of God, this Foulon! O Heaven, our suffering! Hear me, my dead baby and my withered father: I swear on my knees, on these stones, to avenge you on Foulon! Husbands, and brothers, and young men, Give us the blood of Foulon, Give us the head of Foulon, Give us the heart of Foulon, Give us the body and soul of Foulon, Rend Foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that grass may grow from him! With these cries, numbers of the women, lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking and tearing at their own friends until they dropped

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into a passionate swoon, and were only saved by the men belonging to them from being trampled under foot.

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Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! This Foulon was at the H?tel de Ville, and might be loosed. Never, if Saint Antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs! Armed men and women flocked out of the Quarter so fast, and drew even these last dregs after them with such a force of suction, that within a quarter of an hour there was not a human creature in Saint Antoine’s bosom but a few old crones and the wailing children.

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No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of Examination where this old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into the adjacent open space and streets. The Defarges, husband and wife, The Vengeance, and Jacques Three, were in the first press, and at no great distance from him in the Hall.

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`See!’ cried madame, pointing with her knife. `See the old villain bound with ropes. That was well done to tie a bunch of grass upon his back. Ha, ha! That was well done. Let him eat it now!’ Madame put her knife under her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play.

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The people immediately behind Madame Defarge, explaining the cause of her satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explaining to others, and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded with the clapping of hands. Similarly, during two or three hours of brawl, and the winnowing of many bushels of words, Madame Defarge’s frequent expressions of impatience were taken up, with marvellous quickness, at a distance: the more readily, because certain men who had by some wonderful exercise of agility climbed up the external architecture to look in from the windows, knew Madame Defarge well, and acted as a telegraph between her and the crowd outside the building.

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At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope or protection, directly down upon the old prisoner’s head. The favour was too much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had stood surprisingly long, went to the winds, and Saint Antoine had got him!

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It was known directly, to the furthest confines of the crowd. Defarge had but sprung over a railing and a table, and folded the miserable wretch in a deadly embrace--Madame Defarge had but followed and turned her hand in one of the ropes with which he was tied--The Vengeance and Jacques Three were not yet up with them, and the men at the windows had not yet swooped into the Hall, like birds of prey from their high perches--when the cry seemed to go up, all over the city, `Bring him out! Bring him to the lamp!’

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Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the building; now, on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back; dragged, and struck at, and stifled by the bunches of grass and straw that were thrust into his face by hundreds of hands; torn, bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of vehement agony of action, with a small clear space about him as the people drew one another back that they might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a forest of legs; he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the fatal lamps swung, and there Madame Defarge let him go--as a cat might have done to a mouse--and silently and composedly looked at him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the women passionately screeching at him all the time, and the men sternly calling out to have him killed with grass in his mouth. Once, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, and held him, and his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in the mouth for all Saint Antoine to dance at the sight of. Nor was this the end of the day’s bad work, for Saint Antoine so shouted and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on hearing when the day closed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the people’s enemies and insulters, was coming into Paris under guard five hundred strong, in cavalry alone. Saint Antoine wrote his crimes on flaring sheets of paper, seized him--would have torn him out of the breast of an army to bear Foulon company--set his head and heart on pikes, and carried the three spoils of the day, in Wolf-procession, through the streets.

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Not before dark night did the men and women come back to the children, wailing and breadless. Then, the miserable bakers’ shops were beset by long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad bread; and while they waited with stomachs faint and empty, they beguiled the time by embracing one another on the triumphs of the day, and achieving them again in gossip. Gradually, these strings of ragged people shortened and frayed away; and then poor lights began to shine in high windows, and slender fires were made in the streets, at which neighbours cooked in common, afterwards supping at their doors.

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Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of most other sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused some nourishment into the flinty viands, and struck some sparks of cheerfulness out of them. Fathers and mothers who had had their full share in the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children; and lovers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and hoped.

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It was almost morning, when Defarge’s wine-shop parted with its last knot of customers, and Monsieur Defarge said to madame his wife, in husky tones, while fastening the door:

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`At last it is come, my dear!’

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`Eh well!’ returned madame. `Almost.’

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Saint Antoine slept, the Defarges slept: even The Vengeance slept with her starved grocer, and the drum was at rest. The drum’s was the only voice in Saint Antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. The Vengeance, as custodian of the drum, could have wakened him up and had the same speech out of him as before the Bastille fell, or old Foulon was seized; not so with the hoarse tones of the men and women in Saint Antoine’s bosom.

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HAGGARD Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with the relish of fraternal embraces an congratulations, when Madame Defarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers. Madame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of Spies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting themselves to the saint’s mercies. The lamps had a portentously elastic swing with them.

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Madame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense of power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: `I know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy life in you?’ Every lean bare arm, that had been without work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike. The fingers of the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that they could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine; the hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the last finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.

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Madame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was to be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her sisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had already earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.

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`Hark!’ said The Vengeance. `Listen, then! Who comes?’

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As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of the Saint Antoine Quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading murmur came rushing along.

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`News from the other world!’

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`How, then?’ cried madame, contemptuously. `The other world?’

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