while these things were happening in london, the one city of this tale, other very different events were occurring in the other city of the story—paris, the french capital.
the indifference and harsh oppression of the court and the nobles toward the poor had gone on increasing day by day, and day by day the latter had grown more sullen and resentful. all the while the downtrodden people of paris were plotting secretly to rise in rebellion, kill the king and queen and all the nobles, seize their riches and govern france themselves.
the center of this plotting was defarge, the keeper of the wine shop, who had cared for doctor manette when he had first been released from prison. defarge and those he trusted met and planned often in the very room where mr. lorry and lucie had found her father making shoes. they kept a record of all acts of cruelty toward the poor committed by the nobility, determining that, when they themselves should be strong enough, those thus guilty should be killed, their fine houses burned, and all their descendants put to death, so that not even their names should remain in france. this was a wicked and awful determination, but these poor, wretched people had been[pg 368] made to suffer all their lives, and their parents before them, and centuries of oppression had killed all their pity and made them as fierce as wild beasts that only wait for their cages to be opened to destroy all in their path.
they were afraid, of course, to keep any written list of persons whom they had thus condemned, so madame defarge, the wife of the wine seller, used to knit the names in fine stitches into a long piece of knitting that she seemed always at work on.
madame defarge was a stout woman with big coarse hands and eyes that never seemed to look at any one, yet saw everything that happened. she was as strong as a man and every one was somewhat afraid of her. she was even crueler and more resolute than her husband. she would sit knitting all day long in the dirty wine shop, watching and listening, and knitting in the names of people whom she hoped soon to see killed.
one of the hated names that she knitted over and over again was "evrémonde." the laborer who, in the madness of his grief for his dead child, had murdered the marquis de st. evrémonde, darnay's hard-hearted uncle, had been caught and hanged; and, because of this, defarge and his wife and the other plotters had condemned all of the name of evrémonde to death.
meanwhile the king and queen of france and all their gay and careless court of nobles feasted and danced as heedlessly as ever. they did not see[pg 369] the storm rising. the bitter taxes still went on. the wine shop of defarge looked as peaceful as ever, but the men who drank there now were dreaming of murder and revenge. and the half-starved women, who sat and looked on as the gilded coaches of the rich rolled through the streets, were sullenly waiting—watching madame defarge as she silently knitted, knitted into her work names of those whom the people had condemned to death without mercy.
one day this frightful human storm, which for so many years had been gathering in france, burst over paris. the poor people rose by thousands, seized whatever weapons they could get—guns, axes, or even stones of the street—and, led by defarge and his tigerish wife, set out to avenge their wrongs. their rage turned first of all against the bastille, the old stone prison in which so many of their kind had died, where doctor manette for eighteen years had made shoes. they beat down the thick walls and butchered the soldiers who defended it, and released the prisoners. and wherever they saw one of the king's uniforms they hanged the wearer to the nearest lamp post. it was the beginning of the terrible revolution in france that was to end in the murder of thousands of innocent lives. it was the beginning of a time when paris's streets were to run with blood, when all the worst passions of the people were loosed, and when they went mad with the joy of revenge.[pg 370]
the storm spread over france—to the village where stood the great chateau of the evrémonde family, and the peasants set fire to it and burned it to the ground. and gabelle (the servant who had been left in charge by darnay, the new marquis de st. evrémonde, whom they had never seen, but yet hated) they seized and put in prison. they stormed the royal palace and arrested the king and queen, threw all who bore noble names or titles into dungeons, and, as they had planned, set up a government of their own.
darnay, safe in london with lucie, knew little and thought less of all this, till he received a pitiful letter from gabelle, who expected each morning to be dragged out to be killed, telling of the plight into which his faithfulness had brought him, and beseeching his master's aid.
this letter made darnay most uneasy. he blamed himself, because he knew it was his fault that gabelle had been left so long in such a dangerous post. he did not forget that his own family, the evrémondes, had been greatly hated. but he thought the fact that he himself had refused to be one of them, and had given his sympathy rather to the people they oppressed, would make it possible for him to obtain gabelle's release. and with this idea he determined to go himself to paris.
he knew the very thought of his going, now that france was mad with violence, would frighten lucie, so he determined not to tell her. he packed[pg 371] some clothing hurriedly and left secretly, sending a letter back telling her where and why he was going. and by the time she read this he was well on his way from england.
darnay had expected to find no trouble in his errand and little personal risk in his journey, but as soon as he landed on the shores of france he discovered his mistake. he had only to give his real name, "the marquis de st. evrémonde," which he was obliged to do if he would help gabelle, and the title was the signal for rude threats and ill treatment. once in, he could not go back, and he felt as if a monstrous net were closing around him (as indeed, it was) from which there was no escape.
he was sent on to paris under a guard of soldiers, and there he was at once put into prison to be tried—and in all probability condemned to death—as one of the hated noble class whom the people were now killing as fast as they could.
the great room of the prison to which he was taken darnay found full of ladies and gentlemen, most of them rich and titled, the men chatting, the women reading or doing embroidery, all courteous and polite, as if they sat in their own splendid homes, instead of in a prison from which most of them could issue only to a dreadful death. he was allowed to remain here only a few moments; then he was taken to an empty cell and left alone.
it happened that the bank of which mr. lorry[pg 372] was agent had an office also in paris, and the old gentleman had come there on business the day before darnay arrived. mr. lorry was an englishman born, and for him there was no danger. he knew nothing of the arrest of darnay until a day or two later, when, as he sat in his room, doctor manette and lucie entered, just arrived from london, deeply agitated and in great fear for darnay's safety.
as soon as lucie had read her husband's letter she had followed at once with her father and miss pross. doctor manette, knowing darnay's real name and title (for, before he married lucie, he had told her father everything concerning himself), feared danger for him. but he had reasoned that his own long imprisonment in the bastille—the building the people had first destroyed—would make him a favorite, and render him able to aid darnay if danger came. on the way, they had heard the sad news of his arrest, and had come at once to mr. lorry to consider what might best be done.
while they talked, through the window they saw a great crowd of people come rushing into the courtyard of the building to sharpen weapons at a huge grindstone that stood there. they were going to murder the prisoners with which the jails were by this time full!
fearful that he would be too late to save darnay, doctor manette rushed to the yard, his white[pg 373] hair streaming in the wind, and told the leaders of the mob who he was—how he had been imprisoned for eighteen years in the bastille, and that now one of his kindred, by some unknown error, had been seized. they cheered him, lifted him on their shoulders and rushed away to demand for him the release of darnay, while lucie, in tears, with mr. lorry and miss pross, waited all night for tidings.
but none came that night. the rescue had not proved easy. next day defarge, the wine shop keeper, brought a short note to lucie from darnay at the prison, but it was four days before doctor manette returned to the house. he had, indeed, by the story of his own sufferings, saved darnay's life for the time being, but the prisoner, he had been told, could not be released without trial.
for this trial they waited, day after day. the time passed slowly and terribly. prisoners were no longer murdered without trial, but few escaped the death penalty. the king and queen were beheaded. thousands were put to death merely on suspicion, and thousands more were thrown into prison to await their turn. this was that dreadful period which has always since been called "the reign of terror," when no one felt sure of his safety.
there was a certain window in the prison through which darnay sometimes found a chance to look, and from which he could see one dingy[pg 374] street corner. on this corner, every afternoon, lucie took her station for hours, rain or shine. she never missed a day, and thus at long intervals her husband got a view of her.
so months passed till a year had gone. all the while doctor manette, now become a well-known figure in paris, worked hard for darnay's release. and at length his turn came to be tried and he was brought before the drunken, ignorant men who called themselves judge and jury.
he told how he had years before renounced his family and title, left france, and supported himself rather than be a burden on the peasantry. he told how he had married a woman of french birth, the only daughter of the good doctor manette, whom all paris knew, and had come to paris now of his own accord to help a poor servant who was in danger through his fault.
the story caught the fancy of the changeable crowd in the room. they cheered and applauded it. when he was acquitted they were quite as pleased as if he had been condemned to be beheaded, and put him in a great chair and carried him home in triumph to lucie.
there was only one there, perhaps, who did not rejoice at the result, and that was the cold, cruel wife of the wine seller, madame defarge, who had knitted the name "evrémonde" so many times into her knitting.
