有声名著之双城记Book2 Chapter16

（单词翻译）

　　CHAPTER XVIStill knitting

       MADAME DEFARGE and monsieur her husband returned amicably tothe bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiledthrough the darkness, and through the dust, and down the wearymiles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards thatpoint of the compass where the chateau of Monsieur theMarquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees.
　　Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening tothe trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrowswho, in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of deadstick to burn, strayed within sight of the great stonecourtyard and terrace staircase, had it borne in upon theirstarved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. Arumour just lived in the village--had a faint and bareexistence there, as its people had that when the knife struckhome, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of angerand pain also, that when that dangling figure was hauled upforty fee above the fountain, they changed again, and bore acruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bearfor ever. In the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointedout in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, andwhich nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions whentwo or three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take ahurried peep at Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinnyfinger would not have pointed to it for a minute, before theyall started away among the moss and leaves, like the morefortunate hares who could find a living there.
　　Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the redstain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the villagewell--thousands of acres of land--a whole province of France--all France itself--lay under the night sky, concentrated intoa faint hairbreadth line. So does a whole world, with all itsgreatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And asmere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse themanner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may readin the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought andact, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature onit.
　　The Defarges, husband and wife, came lumbering under thestarlight, in their public vehicle, to that gate of Pariswhereunto their journey naturally tended. There was the usualstoppage at the barrier guardhouse, and the usual lanternscame glancing forth for the usual examination and inquiry.
　　Monsieur Defarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldierythere, and one of the police. The latter he was intimate with,and affectionately embraced.
　　When Saint Antoine had again enfolded the Defarges in hisdusky wings, and they, having finally alighted near theSaint's boundaries, were picking their way on foot through theblack mud and offal of his streets, Madame Defarge spoke toher husband:
　　`Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tellthee?'
　　`Very little tonight, but all he knows. There is another spycommissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for allthat he can say, but he knows of one.'
　　`Eh well!' said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with acool business air. `It is necessary to register him. How dothey call that man?'
　　`He is English.'
　　`So much the better. His name?'
　　`Barsad,' said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation.
　　But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he thenspelt it with perfect correctness.
　　`Barsad,,' repeated madame. `Good. Christian name?'
　　`John.'
　　`John Barsad,' repeated madame, after murmuring it once toherself. `Good. His appearance; is it known?'
　　`Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; blackhair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyesdark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but notstraight, having a peculiar inclination towards the leftcheek; expression, therefore, sinister.'
　　`Eh my faith. It is a portrait!' said madame, laughing. `Heshall be registered tomorrow.'
　　They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it wasmidnight) and where Madame Defarge immediately took her postat her desk, counted the small moneys that had been takenduring her absence, examined the stock, went through theentries in the book, made other entries of her own, checkedthe serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissedhim to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the bowl ofmoney for the second time, and began knotting them up in herhandkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keepingthrough the night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe inhis mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, butnever interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to thebusiness and his domestic affairs, he walked up and downthrough life.
　　The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded byso foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur Defarge'solfactory sense was by no means delicate, but the stock ofwine smelt much stronger than it ever tasted, and so did thestock of rum and brandy and aniseed. He whiffed the compoundof scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe.
　　`You are fatigued,' said madame, raising her glance as sheknotted the money. `There are only the usual odours.'
　　`I am a little tired,' her husband acknowledged.
　　`You are a little depressed, too,' said madame, whose quickeyes had never been so intent on the accounts, but they hadhad a ray or two for him. `Oh, the men, the men!'
　　`But my dear!' began Defarge.
　　`But my dear!' repeated madame, nodding firmly; `but my dear!
　　You are faint of heart tonight, my dear!'
　　`Well, then,' said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung Out ofhis breast, `it is a long time.'
　　`It is a long time,' repeated his wife; `and when is it not along time? Vengeance and retribution require a long time; itis the rule.'
　　`It does not take a long time to strike a man withLightning,' said Defarge.
　　`How long,' demanded madame, composedly, `does it take tomake and store the lightning? Tell me.'
　　Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there weresomething in that too.
　　`It does not take a long time,' said madame, `for anearthquake to swallow a town. Eh well! Tell me how long ittakes to prepare the earthquake?'
　　`A long time, I suppose,' said Defarge.
　　`But when it is ready, it takes place, and grinds to pieceseverything before it. In the meantime, it is always preparing,though it is not seen or heard. That is your consolation. Keepit.'
　　She tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe.
　　`I tell thee,' said madame, extending her right hand, foremphasis, `that although it is a long time on the road, it ison the road and coming. I tell thee it never retreats, andnever stops. I tell thee it is always advancing. Look aroundand consider the lives of all the world that we know, considerthe faces of all the world that we know, consider the rage anddiscontent to which the Jacquerie addresses itself with moreand more of certainty every hour. Can such things last? Bah! Imock you.'
　　`My brave wife,' returned Defarge, standing before her withhis head a little bent, and his hands clasped at his back,like a docile and attentive pupil before his catechist, `I donot question all this. But it has lasted a long time, and itis possible--you know well, my wife, it is possible--that itmay not come, during our lives.'
　　`Eh well! How then?' demanded madame, tying another knot, asif there were another enemy strangled.
　　`Well!' said Defarge, with a half-complaining and halfapologetic shrug. `We shall not see the triumph.'
　　We shall have helped it,' returned madame, with her extendedhand in strong action. `Nothing that we do, is done in vain. Ibelieve, with all my soul, that we shall see the triumph. Buteven if not, even if I knew certainly not, show me the neck ofan aristocrat and tyrant, and still I would--'
　　Then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible knotindeed. #p#副标题#e#Hold!' cried Defarge, reddening a little as if he felt chargedwith cowardice; `I too, my dear, will stop at nothing.'
　　`Yes! But it is your weakness that you sometimes need to seeyour victim and your opportunity, to sustain you. Sustainyourself without that. When the time comes, let loose a tigerand a devil; but wait for the time with the tiger and thedevil chained--not shown--yet always ready.'
　　Madame enforced the conclusion of this piece of advice bystriking her little counter with her chain of money as if sheknocked its brains out, and then gathering the heavyhandkerchief under her arm in a serene manner, and observingthat it was time to go to bed.
　　Next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual place inthe wine-shop, knitting away assiduously. A rose lay besideher, and if she now and then glanced at the flower, it waswith no infraction of her usual preoccupied air. There were afew customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated,sprinkled about. The day was very hot, and heaps of flies, whowere extending their inquisitive and adventurous perquisitionsinto all the glutinous little glasses near madame, fell deadat the bottom. Their decease made no impression on the otherflies out promenading, who looked at them in the coolestmanner (as if they themselves were elephants, or something asfar removed), until they met the same fate. Curious toconsider how heedless flies are!--perhaps they thought as muchat Court that sunny summer day.
　　A figure entering at the door threw a shadow on MadameDefarge which she felt to be a new one. She laid down herknitting, and began to pin her rose in her head-dress, beforeshe looked at the figure.
　　It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose,the customers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop outof the wine-shop.
　　`Good day, madame,' said the new comer.
　　`Good day, monsieur.'
　　She said it aloud, but added to herself as she resumed herknitting: `Hah! Good day, age about forty, height about fivefeet nine, black hair, generally rather handsome visage,complexion dark, eyes dark, thin long and sallow face,aquiline nose but not straight, having a peculiar inclinationtowards the left cheek which imparts a sinister expression!
　　Good day, one and all!'
　　`Have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac,and a mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.'
　　Madame complied with a polite air.
　　`Marvellous cognac this, madame!'
　　It was the first time it had ever been so complimented, andMadame Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better.
　　She said, however, that the cognac was flattered, and took upher knitting. The visitor watched her fingers for a fewmoments, and took the opportunity of observing the place ingeneral.
　　`You knit with great skill, madame.'
　　`I am accustomed to it.'
　　`A pretty pattern too!'
　　`You think so?' said madame, looking at him with a smile.
　　`Decidedly. May one ask what it is for?'
　　`Pastime,' said madame, still looking at him with a smile,while her fingers moved nimbly.
　　`Not for use?'
　　`That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I do--well,' said madame, drawing a breath and nodding her head witha stern kind of coquetry, `I'll use it!'
　　It was remarkable: but the taste of Saint Antoine seemed tobe decidedly opposed to a rose on the headdress of MadameDefarge. Two men had entered separately, and had been about toorder drink, when, catching sight of that novelty, theyfaltered, made a pretence of looking about as if for somefriend who was not there, and went away. Nor, of those who hadbeen there when this visitor entered, was there one left. Theyhad all dropped off. The spy had kept his eyes open, but hadbeen able to detect no sign. They had lounged away in apoverty-stricken, purposeless, accidental manner, quitenatural and unimpeachable.
　　`JOHN,' thought madame, checking off her work as her fingersknitted, and her eyes looked at the stranger., `Stay longenough, and I shall knit ``BARSAD'' before you go.'
　　`You have a husband, madame?'
　　`I have.'
　　`Children?'
　　`No children.'
　　`Business seems bad?'
　　`Business is very bad; the people are so poor.'
　　`Ah, the unfortunate, miserable people! So oppressed, too--asyou say.'
　　`As you say,' madame retorted, correcting him, and deftlyknitting an extra something into his name that boded him nogood.
　　`Pardon me; certainly it was I who said so, but you naturallythink so. Of course.'
　　`I think?' returned madame, in a high voice. `I and myhusband have enough to do to keep this wine-shop open, withoutthinking. All we think, here, is how to live. That is thesubject we think of, and it gives us, from morning to night,enough to think about, without embarrassing our headsconcerning others. I think for others? No, no.'
　　The spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could find ormake, did not allow his baffled state to express itself in hissinister face; but, stood with an air of gossiping gallantry,leaning his elbow on Madame Defarge's little counter, andoccasionally sipping his cognac.
　　`A bad business this, madame, of Gaspard's execution. Ah! thepoor Gaspard!' With a sigh of great compassion.
　　`My faith!' returned madame, coolly and lightly, `if peopleuse knives for such purposes, they have to pay for it. He knewbeforehand what the price of his luxury was; he has paid theprice.'
　　`I believe,' said the spy, dropping his soft voice to a tonethat invited confidence, and expressing an injuredrevolutionary susceptibility in every muscle of his wickedface: `I believe there is much compassion and anger in thisneighbourhood, touching the poor fellow? Between ourselves.'
　　`Is there?' asked madame, vacantly.
　　`Is there not?'
　　`--Here is my husband!' said Madame Defarge.
　　As the keeper of the wine-shop entered at the door, the spysaluted him by touching his hat, and saying, with an engagingsmile, `Good day, Jacques!' Defarge stopped short, and staredat him.
　　`Good day, Jacques!' the spy repeated; with not quite so muchconfidence, or quite so easy a smile under the stare.
　　`You deceive yourself, monsieur,' returned the keeper of thewine-shop. `You mistake me for another. That is not my name. Iam Ernest Defarge.'
　　`It is all the same,' said the spy, airily, but discomfitedtoo: `good day!'
　　`Good day!' answered Defarge, drily.
　　`I was saying to madame, with whom I had the pleasure ofchatting when you entered, that they tell me there is--and nowonder!--much sympathy and anger in Saint Antoine, touchingthe unhappy fate of poor Gaspard.'
　　`No one has told me so,' said Defarge, shaking his head. `Iknow nothing of it.' #p#副标题#e#Having said it, he passed behind the little counter, and stoodwith his hand on the back of his wife's chair, looking overthat barrier at the person to whom they were both opposed, andwhom either of them would have shot with the greatestsatisfaction.
　　The spy, well used to his business, did not change hisunconscious attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac,took a sip of fresh water, and asked for another glass ofcognac. Madame Defarge poured it out for him, took to herknitting again, and hummed a little song over it.
　　`You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, betterthan I do?' observed Defarge.
　　`Not at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so profoundlyinterested in its miserable inhabitants.'
　　`Hah!' muttered Defarge.
　　`The pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur Defarge,recalls to me,' pursued the spy, `that I have the honour ofcherishing some interesting associations with your name.'
　　`Indeed!' said Defarge, with much indifference.
　　`Yes, indeed. When Dr. Manette was released, you, his olddomestic, had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered toyou. You see I am informed of the circumstances?'
　　`Such is the fact, certainly,' said Defarge. He had had itconveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wife's elbow asshe knitted and warbled, that he would do best to answer, butalways with brevity.
　　`It was to you,' said the spy, `that his daughter came; andit was from your care that his daughter took him, accompaniedby a neat brown monsieur; how is he called?--in a little wig--Lorry--of the bank of Tellson and Company--over to England.'
　　`Such is the fact,' repeated Defarge.
　　`Very interesting remembrances' said the spy. `I have knownDr. Manette and his daughter, in England.'
　　`Yes?' said Defarge.
　　`You don't hear much about them now?' said the spy.
　　`No,' said Defarge.
　　`In effect,' madame struck in, looking up from her work andher little song, `we never hear about them. We received thenews of their safe arrival, and perhaps another letter, orperhaps Mo; but, since then, they have gradually taken theirroad in life--we, ours--and we have held no correspondence.'
　　`Perfectly so, madame,' replied the spy. `She is going to bemarried.'
　　`Going?' echoed madame. `She was pretty enough to have beenmarried long ago. You English are cold, it seems to me.'
　　`Oh! You know I am English.'
　　`I perceive your tongue is,' returned madame; `and what thetongue is, I suppose the man is.'
　　He did not take the identification as a compliment; but hemade the best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. Aftersipping his cognac to the end, he added:
　　`Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to anEnglishman; to one who, like herself, is French by birth. Andspeaking of Gaspard (ah, poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!)it is a curious thing that she is going to marry the nephewof' Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was exalted to thatheight of so many feet; in other words, the present Marquis.
　　But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he isMr. Charles Darnay. D'Aulnais is the name of his mother'sfamily.'
　　Madame Defarge knitted steadily, but the intelligence had apalpable effect upon her husband. Do what he would, behind thelittle counter, as to the striking of a light and the lightingof his pipe, he was troubled, and his hand was nottrustworthy. The spy would have been no spy if he had failedto see it, or to record it in his mind.
　　Having made, at least, this one hit, whatever it might proveto be worth, and no customers coming in to help him to anyother, Mr. Barsad paid for what he had drunk, and took hisleave: taking occasion to say, in a genteel manner, before hedeparted, that he looked forward to the pleasure of seeingMonsieur and Madame Defarge again. For some minutes after hehad emerged into the outer presence of Saint Antoine, thehusband and wife remained exactly as he had left them, lest heshould come back.
　　`Can it be true,' said Defarge, in a low voice, looking downat his wife as he stood smoking with his hand on the back ofher chair: `what he has said of Ma'amselle Manette?'
　　`As he has said it,' returned madame, lifting her eyebrows alittle, `it is probably false. But it may be true.'
　　`If it is--'Defarge began, and stopped.
　　`If it is?' repeated his wife.
　　`--And if it does come, while we live to see it triumph--Ihope, for her sake, Destiny will keep her husband out ofFrance.'
　　`Her husband's destiny,' said Madame Defarge, with her usualcomposure, `will take him where he is to go, and will lead himto the end that is to end him. That is all I know.'
　　`But it is very strange--now, at least, is it not verystrange'--said Defarge, rather pleading with his wife toinduce her to admit it, `that, after all our sympathy forMonsieur her father, and herself, her husband's name should beproscribed under your hand at this moment, by the side of thatinfernal dog's who has just left us?'
　　`Stranger things than that will happen when it does come,'
　　answered madame. `I have them both here, of a certainty; andthey are both here for their merits; that is enough.'
　　She rolled up her knitting when she had said those words, andpresently took the rose out of the handkerchief that was woundabout her head. Either Saint Antoine had an instinctive sensethat the objectionable decoration was gone or Saint Antoinewas on the watch for its disappearance; howbeit, the Sainttook courage to lounge in, very shortly afterwards, and thewine-shop recovered its habitual aspect.
　　In the evening, at which season of all others Saint Antoineturned himself inside out, and sat on doorsteps and window-ledges, and came to the corners of vile streets and courts,for a breath of air, Madame Defarge with her work in her handwas accustomed to pass from place to place and from group togroup: a Missionary--there were many like her--such as theworld will do well never to breed again. All the womenknitted. They knitted worthless things; but, the mechanicalwork was a mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; thehands moved for the jaws and the digestive apparatus: if thebony fingers had been still, the stomachs would have been morefamine-pinched.
　　But, as the fingers went, the eyes went, and the thoughts.
　　And as Madame Defarge moved on from group to group, all threewent quicker and fiercer among every little knot of women thatshe had spoken with, and left behind.
　　Her husband smoked at his door, looking after her withadmiration. `A great woman,' said he, `a strong woman, a grandwoman, a frightfully grand woman!'
　　Darkness closed around, and then came the ringing of churchbells and the distant beating of the military drums in thePalace Court-Yard, as the women sat knitting, knitting.
　　Darkness encompassed them. Another darkness was closing in assurely, when the church bells, then ringing pleasantly in manyan airy steeple over France, should be melted into thunderingcannon; when the military drums should be beating to drown awretched voice, that night all-potent as the voice of Powerand Plenty, Freedom and Life. So much was closing in about thewomen who sat knitting, knitting, that they their very selveswere closing in around a structure yet unbuilt, where theywere to sit knitting, knitting, counting dropping heads.