Vision de Hugo
Quatre Saisons de la Kultur
From: A Tale of Two Cities
"Come, then ! " cried Defarge, in a resounding voice. " Patriots and
friends, we are ready ! The Bastille ! "
With a roar that sounded as if all the breath in France had been shaped
into the detested word, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on depth,
and overflowed the city to that point. Alarm-bells ringing, drums besting,
the sea raging and thundering on its new beach, the attack begun.
Deep ditches, double drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers,
cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. Through the fire and through the smoke—
in the fire and in the smoke, for the sea cast him up against a cannon,
and on the instant he became a cannonier—Defarge of the wine-shop worked
like a manful soldier, Two fierce hours.
Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers,
cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. One drawbridge down! " Work, comrades
all, work ! Work, Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques One Thousand, Jacques
Two Thousand, Jacques Five-and-Twenty Thousand; in the name of all the
Angels or the Devils—which you prefer— work" Thus Defarge of the wine-shop,
still at his gun, which had long grown hot.
" To me, women ! !" cried madame his wife. "What ! We can kill as well
as the men when the place is taken ! And to her, with a shrill thirsty
cry, trooping women variously armed, but all armed alike in hunger and
Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, still the deep ditch, the single
drawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers. Slight
displacements of the raging sea, made by the falling wounded. Flashing
weapons, blazing torches, smoking waggon-loads of wet straw, hard work
at neighbouring barricades in all directions, shrieks, volleys, execrations,
bravery without stint, boom smash and rattle, and the furious sounding
of the living sea; but, still the deep ditch, and the single drawbridge,
and the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers, and still Defarge
of the wineshop at his gun, grown doubly hot by the service of Four fierce
A white flag from within the fortress, and a parley —this dimly
perceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible in it—suddenly the
sea rose immeasurably wider and higher, and swept Defarge of the wine-shop
over the lowered drawbridge, past the massive stone outer walls, in among
the eight great towers surrendered !
So resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on, that even
to draw his breath or turn his head was as impracticable as if he had been
struggling in the surf at the South Sea, until he was landed in the outer
court-yard of the Bastille. There, against an angle of a wall, he made
a struggle to look about him. Jacques Three was nearly at his side; Madame
Defarge, still heading some of her women, was visible in the inner distance,
and her knife was in her hand. Everywhere was tumult, exultation, deafening
and maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet furious dumb-show.
"The Prisoners ! "
" The Records ! "
" The secret cells ! "
" The instruments of torture ! "
" The Prisoners ! "
Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherencies, " The Prisoners
! " were the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if there were
an eternity of people, as well as of time and space.