Chapter 11
A Companion Picture
Carton and Stryver have been working and drinking through the night, as is their custom. They maintain this untenable habit by covering their heads in wet towels to keep their hangover heads from throbbing too much while they work.
Stryver: I need to tell you something: I’m getting married, and you’ll never guess to whom.
Carton: Okay, then tell me.
S: No, guess.
C: You literally just told me I never would.
S: Oh, right. Well in that case let me preface by going on a page long diatribe about how you are an incorrigible slob.
C: Yeah, that is a given. I tell anyone who listens how miserable I am.
S: Oh, right. Well in that case let me further preface this by saying your opinion doesn’t matter to me at all since I know you are cynical about literally everything. I am marrying Miss Manette.
C: Okay.
S: Wait, but you’re not shocked. So…you approve?
C: Should I not?
S: Look, I expected you to be shocked and to object so I prepared a whole speech about why this is a good match.
C: Good to be prepared, but I don’t object.
S: Well, you’re gonna get a speech anyway. [Insert speech]. Also you should get married too. Your lifestyle is terrible and you need a nurse for when you inevitably wreck yourself.
C: Okay.
S: Okay then.
C: Okay.
Chapter 12
The Fellow of Delicacy
Stryver is off to deliver the good news to Miss Manaette that he has chosen to marry her. It does not even occur to him that she might say no, because he can provide for her, and that is the whole point of marriage, right? He decides to stop by Tellson’s Bank on the way to tell Mr. Lorry the good news.
Lorry: Oh, dear me.
Stryver: What? Am I not eligible.
L: If you say so, then yeah, you’re eligible.
S: Am I not prosperous?
L: Again, If you say so.
S: Am I not up and coming?
L: …Yes?
S: So what’s the problem?
L: Well, you gotta think about what she wants in a man.
S: I did. She wants a man who can provide, as that is the sole concern of a spouse. Well, that and making me happy.
L: Look, I’m just saying she might say no, or Doctor Manette might say no, and then it would be all around painful for everyone involved. What if I go up there this evening and scout it out and let you know before you go barging in there to what might definitely possibly be a big platter of rejection with a side of definitely not?
S: Okay, that’s fair. Well, go do that then check with me afterwards.
Stryver leaves and mutters under his breath “Turn me down will you. Well, I’ll fix your wagon. You’ll see. You’ll all see.”
As promised, Lorry pops by his apartment in the Temple:
L: Yeah. I was right, you would have been disappointed.
S: Oh no matter. My mistake. Silly empty headed girls are silly. No harm done.
L: Oh, well, uh, glad you took that well.
Lorry leaves and the camera pans to show Stryver pursing his fingers ominously.
Chapter 13
The Fellow of No Delicacy
Carton wanders over to see Miss Lucie Manette.
Lucie: You don’t look well.
Carton: “[T]he life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive to health.”
L: Have you considered not leading such a life?
C: It’s too late for that. [Breaks down crying] Sorry, I am just overwhelmed by what I came here to say to you.
L: Okay, well, out with it then.
C: You see, before I met you, I was a miserable wretch, but now, I am still a miserable wretch, but one that wishes he was better.
L: Okay, so, be better then?
C: Oh no, I have no intention of doing that because I have convinced myself it is impossible, but I just want you to know that you make me wish I lived a better life, and that makes me hate myself even more.
L: Well, you could try improving.
C: Oh no, not gonna happen. I am a degenerate pile of garbage and gonna stay that way till I die, which is soon. Just please keep it a secret?
L: Okay, will do. Wish you weren’t so determined to stay miserable though.
C: Me too. Bye.
That was a weird and depressing chapter.
Chapter 14
The Honest Tradesman
Jerry Cruncher and his son, also Jerry Cruncher, are once again waving flashy signs in front of the bank. We need a better way to differentiate them. Maybe Cruncher Jr? Chrunchette? Chrunchito? I like Crunchito. Anyway Jerry and Crunchito are doing their Jay and Silent Bob style loitering when a funeral procession drives by.
The procession consists of a hearse and a single carriage in the funeral procession. The carriage has a single shabby mourner in it. Following this sad, small procession is an angry mob all decrying the deceased as a spy. Jerry asks a member of the mob as they pass if the deceased is actually a spy, and no one has any idea, but are all joining in on the fun regardless. Gotta have a hobby I guess. The mob stops the procession and yanks the mourner from the carriage. He scurries off to safety before they can lynch him, and the procession is commandeered by the mob. They decide to continue to drive to the cemetery and bury the spy themselves, which seems like an odd decision for people who were just protesting his burial, but whatever. Jerry has no real idea if dude was a spy or not, or really what is going on, but mobs are great fun for the dimwitted, and aside from being a leapfrog champion, Jerry is nothing if not a spikey headed dimwit. We learn that the deceased is none other than Roger Cly. As you may recall from Darnay’s trial, Mr. Cly was the servant who accused Darnay of being a spy. Just desserts I guess.
The crowd grows in size as it makes its way and is joined by a pie vendor and a circus bear (not making this up). After interring the body, the crowd decides it needs new sport so one of the mob groupies accuses random pedestrians of espionage and the mob assaults them. After that they throw in some looting and vandalism for funsies, and call it a night. This happens a lot around this time period actually.
Jerry ruminates on the mob, returns to the bank to collect Crunchito, and goes home. He hatches a yet unknown “business venture,” which is totally legit since he is an honest tradesman and all, and warns his wife that if the nights ventures go awry, he will be convinced that his wife has been praying against him again and will deal with her accordingly. Nothing that goes wrong in Jerry’s life is his fault, you see, it is due to his wife praying that things go wrong. Oh what marital bliss those two have. Poor Mrs. Cruncher.
He proceeds to spend the evening engaging his wife in non stop conversation so she doesn’t have a chance to pray against him, and by conversation I mean criticizing her on every point he can think of. Around 1 AM he leaves with the pretense of “going fishing” and gathers up his “fishing supplies”: a crowbar, rope, chain, sack, and other implements that are clearly designed for catching fish. Crunchito pretends to be asleep but as soon as his dad leaves he sneaks out to follow.
Jerry walks out of town and is joined by two other “fisherman.” Eventually they arrive at a gated church yard where Roger Cly was buried earlier that day. The three hop the fence and begin digging in the graveyard while we hang back with Crunchito and watch from a distance. At this point Crunchito and I are both starting to suspect that the three are not actually trying to catch fish, and the reference is actually some sort of euphemism for graverobbing. This is confirmed a moment later when they pull up a coffin. Both of us are so scared we run away without seeing what is inside, though I suspect it might be Roger Cly. Whoever it was, a totally real and spooky coffin person chases us all the way home.
The next morning we are awakened by the sounds of Jerry beating his wife and complaining that she is the cause for the night’s endeavors failing. What those endeavors were and how they failed are not entirely clear. After a short nap we get ready for the daily loitering routine. As we walk to the bank, Crunchito asks his dad what a resurrection man is and Jerry sort of just mumbles and deflects.
Historical bonus!
For context, from the 14th to the early 19th century, the use of cadavers for research was limited to executed prisoners, and then only in limited quantities. Demand was high for barbers, who were originally also surgeons and dentists, in order to teach students. Resurrectionists, or resurrection men were, as Jerry puts it, “respectable tradesman” who stole freshly dead corpses and sold them to barbers. Coincidentally the spinning blue, white, and red pole of barbers originally signaled their proficiency in the three crafts, and a small version was used for patients to grip during surgery before anesthetic.
Chapter 15
Knitting
We leave Crunchito and his coffin friend and venture to the other of our two cities. A bunch of people are sitting around inside Defarge’s wine shop. Too broke to actually buy wine, they whisper among themselves until Monsieur Defarge steps in with the dusty road mender from earlier – the one who told the now deceased Marquis about the dude clinging to the underside of his carriage. Defarge leads the road mender up to the garret where Mr. Manette once resided, and there they meet the three men named Jacques from earlier. The road mender is also named Jacques by an amazing coincidence and now the five Jacques plot.
Jacques the Road Mender tells the tale of how the man clinging to the underside of the carriage was suspected to be the murderer. After the murder there was a manhunt but no one in the village ever saw him until a year later when he was delivered to the nearby prison by six guards. Remember the child the Marquis ran over and killed while driving out of town? Well, the guy who clung under the carriage was Gaspard, his father, who rode all the way for revenge. A forty-foot high gallows is built over the fountain and Gaspard is hanged.
Defarge: Thank you for telling us your story. Would you wait outside a moment.
Jacques One through Three (AKA the Jacquerie): Well, for our petition to spare Gaspard’s life didn’t work. What should we do with this country yokel you brought here to tell us this story? He might tell all our secrets.
Defarge: Pfft, he doesn’t know anything. All our secrets are kept in a crochet knot code that Mrs. Defarge records and cannot be read by anyone but us. She keeps a list of all the people we plan to murder to death when the time comes. That’s right, not just murder, but murder to death, which is the worst kind of murder. As to the yokel, he wants to see the royalty, so I will show him.
J: That sounds like a terrible idea. They have apple bottom jeans and the boots with the fur. He will fall in love with them.
D: It’s a perfect idea, when he sees the baggy sweatpants and the Reeboks with the strap he will cheer them on. This will help them to continue to think the common folk adore them. They won’t suspect their death murders until it is too late.
Mrs. Defarge takes Road Mender Jacques to see the royal motorcade and he is so overwhelmed by how fancy they are he cheers them on as expected.
Yokel: Sorry, it was just mesmerizing the way they shone bright like a diamond.
Mrs. Defarge: No, no, all good. You made them think they are amazingtastical and that their glory will never fade.
Y: Yeah I guess that’s true.
D: You would get excitable by literally anything shiny, wouldn’t you?
Y: Yeah I guess that’s true.
D: And if you saw a pile of fancy dolls and were told to rip them to pieces for something shiny, you would, wouldn’t you?
Y: Oh definitely.
D: And the same if you saw some flightless birds, right?
A: Right-o!
D: Well, remember that, cuz you saw dolls and flightless birds today. Now run along.
Birds seem like an odd choice of analogy, but oh well. Point is, the yokel is basically the personification of mob mentality: mindlessly destructive and easily manipulated.
Chapter 16
Still Knitting
Jacques the Road Mender begins the long walk home. All the stone gargoyles at the château where the Marquis lives now have angry looks of vengeance, or so the village folk believe, and the one over the bedroom where he was killed now has a Guy Fawkes mask on it.
The Defarges also head home and learn from another Jacques, who is a city guardsmen, that John Barsad (accomplice to Roger Cly in framing Charles Darnay) is now a spy in their part of town. Madame Defarge requires a physical description to record in her knitting ledger, and Barsad is described as having a “nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek; expression, therefore, sinister.”
Apparently “sinister” is a bit of a pun as it means slanted to the left as well as malevolent. I wasn’t aware that a crooked nose equated to being sinister, but I will be sure to file that away in my “potentially useful in a very unlikely set of circumstances” folder.
They get back to the wineshop and Monsieur Defarge mopes about how long vengeance takes to plan and how he wishes it was instant like an earthquake or bolt of lightning. Madame Defarge points out that an earthquake takes a lot of prep time even if no one sees, but the preparation is inexorable and when it finally comes it crushes all in its path. Whether they live to see it or not, its coming is inevitable.
The next morning Madame Defarge is tending the shop while recording Barsad’s name in her secret crochet code when in walks Mr. Sinister himself. She pins a rose in her hair and the customers discreetly leave.
Sinister: Good day! Could I get some cognac?
Madame Defarge: Of course harmless gentleperson.
Sinister: This cognac is marvelous!
Madame Defarge: Well we both know it is terrible but this will be a conversation of cleverly disguised word sparring, so I will play along.
Sinister: Wonderful pattern in your knitting there. What is it for?
Madame Defarge: Oh just a hobby. Might have a use for it later, we’ll see.
I see what you did there Defarge. Giggle.
Sinister: I am totally oblivious to the fact that the shop was full of patrons before I came in but is now empty. Everyone who has come in has promptly left so I assume this has nothing to do with me and business is just bad?
Madame Defarge: People are poor, so yeah, business is bad.
Sinister: Poor and oppressed, wouldn’t you say?
Madame Defarge: I never said anything about oppressed.
Sinister: But you think they are, right?
Madame Defarge: Too busy being bad at business to think much.
Sinister: Hmm…well played. I will try a new and not at all subtle tactic to get you to confess to being a traitor. So….poor Gaspard. Such a shame.
Madame Defarge: Well, that’s what happens when you stab someone.
Sinister: But people around here sure seem to have sympathy for him.
Madame Defarge: Do they? Hadn’t noticed. Oh look! My husband is here!
Monsieur Defarge: Good day Jacques!
Sinister: Um…good day?
Monsieur Defarge: Ah, so I see you are not one of the Jacquerie. Good to know.
Sinister: Right, well then, I was just saying yo your wife how everyone is sad about Gaspard.
Monsieur Defarge: I’ve heard no such thing. Guess you know a lot about these parts.
Sinister: Not much but I hope to know more. I do know that you have some interesting acquaintances though. For instance I know you took care of Dr. Manette when he was released, and helped his daughter bring him to England.
Monsieur Defarge: Congrats for knowing a thing.
Sinister: Heard from his daughter lately?
Madame Defarge: Nope
Sinister: Did you hear she is getting married?
Madame Defarge: Surprised she isn’t already, but you English are all pretty terrible at romance.
Sinister: True dat, but she is going to marry another Frenchman, the nephew of the late Marquis. No one in England knows he is now a marquis, as he goes by the name Charles Darnay, but his mother’s family go by the name D’Aulnais.
Monsieur Defarge: Oh Mylanta! I have visible shock but will attempt to hide it.
Sinister: I might be inept, but not so inept I do not notice your shock. Good to know, and I take my leave of you. I will be back to spy later though.
Monsieur Defarge: Sounds good! Tootles!
Dickens closes the chapter with brooding ruminations of troubled times to come.
One response to “A Tale of Two Cities: Part the Fourth”
I see you referenced my theme song “J: That sounds like a terrible idea. They have apple bottom jeans and the boots with the fur. He will fall in love with them.
D: It’s a perfect idea, when he sees the baggy sweatpants and the Reeboks with the strap he will cheer them on. This will help them to continue to think the common folk adore them. They won’t suspect their death murders until it is too late.”
That was the ring tone on my phone. Every time my phone would ring the whole office would get up and dance. It was a hoot.