Book III - Chapter II. The Grindstone

by Charles Dickens

　　Tellson's Bank, established in the Saint Germain Quarter of Paris,was in a wing of a large house, approached by a courtyard and shutoff from the street by a high wall and a strong gate. The housebelonged to a great nobleman who had lived in it until he made aflight from the troubles, in his own cook's dress, and got across theborders. A mere beast of the chase flying from hunters, he was stillin his metempsychosis no other than the same Monseigneur, thepreparation of whose chocolate for whose lips had once occupied threestrong men besides the cook in question.

　　Monseigneur gone, and the three strong men absolving themselves fromthe sin of having drawn his high wages, by being more than ready andwilling to cut his throat on the altar of the dawning Republic one andindivisible of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, Monseigneur'shouse had been first sequestrated, and then confiscated. For, allthings moved so fast, and decree followed decree with that fierceprecipitation, that now upon the third night of the autumn month ofSeptember, patriot emissaries of the law were in possession ofMonseigneur's house, and had marked it with the tri-colour, and weredrinking brandy in its state apartments.

　　A place of business in London like Tellson's place of business inParis, would soon have driven the House out of its mind and into theGazette. For, what would staid British responsibility andrespectability have said to orange-trees in boxes in a Bank courtyard,and even to a Cupid over the counter? Yet such things were.Tellson's had whitewashed the Cupid, but he was still to be seen onthe ceiling, in the coolest linen, aiming (as he very often does) atmoney from morning to night. Bankruptcy must inevitably have come ofthis young Pagan, in Lombard-street, London, and also of a curtainedalcove in the rear of the immortal boy, and also of a looking-glasslet into the wall, and also of clerks not at all old, who danced inpublic on the slightest provocation. Yet, a French Tellson's couldget on with these things exceedingly well, and, as long as the timesheld together, no man had taken fright at them, and drawn out his money.

　　What money would be drawn out of Tellson's henceforth, and what wouldlie there, lost and forgotten; what plate and jewels would tarnish inTellson's hiding-places, while the depositors rusted in prisons, andwhen they should have violently perished; how many accounts withTellson's never to be balanced in this world, must be carried overinto the next; no man could have said, that night, any more thanMr. Jarvis Lorry could, though he thought heavily of these questions.He sat by a newly-lighted wood fire (the blighted and unfruitful yearwas prematurely cold), and on his honest and courageous face therewas a deeper shade than the pendent lamp could throw, or any objectin the room distortedly reflect--a shade of horror.

　　He occupied rooms in the Bank, in his fidelity to the House of whichhe had grown to be a part, lie strong root-ivy. it chanced that theyderived a kind of security from the patriotic occupation of the mainbuilding, but the true-hearted old gentleman never calculated aboutthat. All such circumstances were indifferent to him, so that he didhis duty. On the opposite side of the courtyard, under a colonnade,was extensive standing--for carriages--where, indeed, some carriagesof Monseigneur yet stood. Against two of the pillars were fastenedtwo great flaring flambeaux, and in the light of these, standing outin the open air, was a large grindstone: a roughly mounted thingwhich appeared to have hurriedly been brought there from someneighbouring smithy, or other workshop. Rising and looking out ofwindow at these harmless objects, Mr. Lorry shivered, and retired tohis seat by the fire. He had opened, not only the glass window, butthe lattice blind outside it, and he had closed both again, and heshivered through his frame.

　　From the streets beyond the high wall and the strong gate, there camethe usual night hum of the city, with now and then an indescribablering in it, weird and unearthly, as if some unwonted sounds of aterrible nature were going up to Heaven.

　　"Thank God," said Mr. Lorry, clasping his hands, "that no one nearand dear to me is in this dreadful town to-night. May He have mercyon all who are in danger!"

　　Soon afterwards, the bell at the great gate sounded, and he thought,"They have come back!" and sat listening. But, there was no loudirruption into the courtyard, as he had expected, and he heard thegate clash again, and all was quiet.

　　The nervousness and dread that were upon him inspired that vagueuneasiness respecting the Bank, which a great change would naturallyawaken, with such feelings roused. It was well guarded, and he gotup to go among the trusty people who were watching it, when his doorsuddenly opened, and two figures rushed in, at sight of which he fellback in amazement.

　　Lucie and her father! Lucie with her arms stretched out to him, andwith that old look of earnestness so concentrated and intensified,that it seemed as though it had been stamped upon her face expresslyto give force and power to it in this one passage of her life.

　　"What is this?" cried Mr. Lorry, breathless and confused."What is the matter? Lucie! Manette! What has happened? What hasbrought you here? What is it?"

　　With the look fixed upon him, in her paleness and wildness,she panted out in his arms, imploringly, "O my dear friend!My husband!"

　　"Your husband, Lucie?"

　　"Charles."

　　"What of Charles?"

　　"Here.

　　"Here, in Paris?"

　　"Has been here some days--three or four--I don't know how many--I can't collect my thoughts. An errand of generosity brought himhere unknown to us; he was stopped at the barrier, and sent to prison."

　　The old man uttered an irrepressible cry. Almost at the same moment,the beg of the great gate rang again, and a loud noise of feet andvoices came pouring into the courtyard.

　　"What is that noise?" said the Doctor, turning towards the window.

　　"Don't look!" cried Mr. Lorry. "Don't look out! Manette,for your life, don't touch the blind!"

　　The Doctor turned, with his hand upon the fastening of the window,and said, with a cool, bold smile:

　　"My dear friend, I have a charmed life in this city. I have been aBastille prisoner. There is no patriot in Paris--in Paris? InFrance--who, knowing me to have been a prisoner in the Bastille,would touch me, except to overwhelm me with embraces, or carry me intriumph. My old pain has given me a power that has brought usthrough the barrier, and gained us news of Charles there, and broughtus here. I knew it would be so; I knew I could help Charles out ofall danger; I told Lucie so.--What is that noise?" His hand was againupon the window.

　　"Don't look!" cried Mr. Lorry, absolutely desperate. "No, Lucie, mydear, nor you!" He got his arm round her, and held her. "Don't be soterrified, my love. I solemnly swear to you that I know of no harmhaving happened to Charles; that I had no suspicion even of his beingin this fatal place. What prison is he in?"

　　"La Force!"

　　"La Force! Lucie, my child, if ever you were brave and serviceable inyour life--and you were always both--you will compose yourself now,to do exactly as I bid you; for more depends upon it than you can think,or I can say. There is no help for you in any action on your partto-night; you cannot possibly stir out. I say this, because what Imust bid you to do for Charles's sake, is the hardest thing to do of all.You must instantly be obedient, still, and quiet. You must let meput you in a room at the back here. You must leave your father andme alone for two minutes, and as there are Life and Death in theworld you must not delay."

　　"I will be submissive to you. I see in your face that you know I cando nothing else than this. I know you are true."

　　The old man kissed her, and hurried her into his room, and turned thekey; then, came hurrying back to the Doctor, and opened the windowand partly opened the blind, and put his hand upon the Doctor's arm,and looked out with him into the courtyard.

　　Looked out upon a throng of men and women: not enough in number, ornear enough, to fill the courtyard: not more than forty or fifty inall. The people in possession of the house had let them in at thegate, and they had rushed in to work at the grindstone; it hadevidently been set up there for their purpose, as in a convenient andretired spot.

　　But, such awful workers, and such awful work!

　　The grindstone had a double handle, and, turning at it madly were twomen, whose faces, as their long hair Rapped back when the whirlingsof the grindstone brought their faces up, were more horrible andcruel than the visages of the wildest savages in their most barbarousdisguise. False eyebrows and false moustaches were stuck upon them,and their hideous countenances were all bloody and sweaty, and allawry with howling, and all staring and glaring with beastlyexcitement and want of sleep. As these ruffians turned and turned,their matted locks now flung forward over their eyes, now flungbackward over their necks, some women held wine to their mouths thatthey might drink; and what with dropping blood, and what withdropping wine, and what with the stream of sparks struck out of thestone, all their wicked atmosphere seemed gore and fire. The eyecould not detect one creature in the group free from the smear of blood.Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone, were menstripped to the waist, with the stain all over their limbs andbodies; men in all sorts of rags, with the stain upon those rags; mendevilishly set off with spoils of women's lace and silk and ribbon,with the stain dyeing those trifles through and through. Hatchets,knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be sharpened, were all redwith it. Some of the hacked swords were tied to the wrists of thosewho carried them, with strips of linen and fragments of dress:ligatures various in kind, but all deep of the one colour. And asthe frantic wielders of these weapons snatched them from the streamof sparks and tore away into the streets, the same red hue was red intheir frenzied eyes;--eyes which any unbrutalised beholder would havegiven twenty years of life, to petrify with a well-directed gun.

　　All this was seen in a moment, as the vision of a drowning man, or ofany human creature at any very great pass, could see a world if itwere there. They drew back from the window, and the Doctor lookedfor explanation in his friend's ashy face.

　　"They are," Mr. Lorry whispered the words, glancing fearfully roundat the locked room, "murdering the prisoners. If you are sure ofwhat you say; if you really have the power you think you have--as Ibelieve you have--make yourself known to these devils, and get takento La Force. It may be too late, I don't know, but let it not be aminute later!"

　　Doctor Manette pressed his hand, hastened bareheaded out of the room,and was in the courtyard when Mr. Lorry regained the blind.

　　His streaming white hair, his remarkable face, and the impetuousconfidence of his manner, as he put the weapons aside like water,carried him in an instant to the heart of the concourse at the stone.For a few moments there was a pause, and a hurry, and a murmur, andthe unintelligible sound of his voice; and then Mr. Lorry saw him,surrounded by all, and in the midst of a line of twenty men long, alllinked shoulder to shoulder, and hand to shoulder, hurried out withcries of--"Live the Bastille prisoner! Help for the Bastilleprisoner's kindred in La Force! Room for the Bastille prisoner infront there! Save the prisoner Evremonde at La Force!" and a thousandanswering shouts.

　　He closed the lattice again with a fluttering heart, closed thewindow and the curtain, hastened to Lucie, and told her that herfather was assisted by the people, and gone in search of her husband.He found her child and Miss Pross with her; but, it never occurred tohim to be surprised by their appearance until a long time afterwards,when he sat watching them in such quiet as the night knew.

　　Lucie had, by that time, fallen into a stupor on the floor at his feet,clinging to his hand. Miss Pross had laid the child down on his own bed,and her head had gradually fallen on the pillow beside her pretty charge.O the long, long night, with the moans of the poor wife! And O the long,long night, with no return of her father and no tidings!

　　Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded,and the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled andspluttered. "What is it?" cried Lucie, affrighted. "Hush! Thesoldiers' swords are sharpened there," said Mr. Lorry. "The placeis national property now, and used as a kind of armoury, my love."

　　Twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and fitful.Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly detached himselffrom the clasping hand, and cautiously looked out again. A man, sobesmeared that he might have been a sorely wounded soldier creepingback to consciousness on a field of slain, was rising from thepavement by the side of the grindstone, and looking about him with avacant air. Shortly, this worn-out murderer descried in the imperfectlight one of the carriages of Monseigneur, and, staggering to thatgorgeous vehicle, climbed in at the door, and shut himself up to takehis rest on its dainty cushions.

　　The great grindstone, Earth, had turned when Mr. Lorry looked out again,and the sun was red on the courtyard. But, the lesser grindstonestood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it thatthe sun had never given, and would never take away.