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The dread tribunal of five Judges, Public Prosecutor, and determined Jury, sat
every day. Their lists went forth every evening, and were read out by the
gaolers of the various prisons to their prisoners. The standard gaoler-joke was,
“Come out and listen to the Evening Paper, you inside there!”
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The dreaded tribunal was made up of five judges, a public prosecutor, and a
selected jury. The court was in session every day, and their lists were sent out
every night. The jailers in the various prisons read the lists out loud to their
prisoners. They would often make a joke of it and say, “Come out and listen to
the evening paper, you prisoners!”
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“Charles Evremonde, called Darnay!”
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“Charles Evremonde, also known as Darnay!”
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So at last began the Evening Paper at La Force.
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This is how the “evening paper” began at La Force Prison.
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When a name was called, its owner stepped apart into a spot reserved for those
who were announced as being thus fatally recorded. Charles Evremonde, called
Darnay, had reason to know the usage; he had seen hundreds pass away so.
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When someone’s name was called, the person would step forward into an area
reserved for him. Charles Evremonde, also known as Darnay, already knew this. He
had seen hundred of people go to their deaths this way.
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His bloated gaoler, who wore spectacles to read with, glanced over them to
assure himself that he had taken his place, and went through the list, making a
similar short pause at each name. There were twenty-three names, but only twenty
were responded to; for one of the prisoners so summoned had died in gaol and
been forgotten, and two had already been guillotined and forgotten. The list was
read, in the vaulted chamber where Darnay had seen the associated prisoners on
the night of his arrival. Every one of those had perished in the massacre; every
human creature he had since cared for and parted with, had died on the
scaffold.
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The swollen jailer, who wore reading glasses, glanced over them to make sure
Darnay had stepped forward, and then went through the rest of the list. He would
pause briefly after each name to make sure the person stepped forward. There
were twenty-three names, but only twenty people answered. One of the prisoners
whose names was called had already died in jail and been forgotten. Two had
already been sent to the guillotine and also forgotten. The jailer read the list
in the hall with the vaulted ceilings where Darnay had seen the group of
prisoners the night he arrived in prison. Every one of those prisoners had died
in the massacre. Every person he had since cared about in prison had died at the
guillotine.
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There were hurried words of farewell and kindness, but the parting was soon
over. It was the incident of every day, and the society of La Force were engaged
in the preparation of some games of forfeits and a little concert, for that
evening. They crowded to the grates and shed tears there; but, twenty places in
the projected entertainments had to be refilled, and the time was, at best,
short to the lock-up hour, when the common rooms and corridors would be
delivered over to the great dogs who kept watch there through the night. The
prisoners were far from insensible or unfeeling; their ways arose out of the
condition of the time. Similarly, though with a subtle difference, a species of
fervour or intoxication, known, without doubt, to have led some persons to brave
the guillotine unnecessarily, and to die by it, was not mere boastfulness, but a
wild infection of the wildly shaken public mind. In seasons of pestilence, some
of us will have a secret attraction to the disease—a terrible passing
inclination to die of it. And all of us have like wonders hidden in our breasts,
only needing circumstances to evoke them.
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People quickly said goodbyes and kind words to those whose names were called,
but this was over soon. This happened every day, and the prisoners of La Force
Prison were busy preparing for some games and a concert that night. They crowded
toward the prison grates and cried there, but twenty people in the games and
concert now had to be replaced. Soon they would be locked up and guard dogs
would be patrolling the common rooms and hallways during the night. The
prisoners weren’t unsympathetic or heartless. Their behavior came from the
conditions in which they lived. In a similar way, though with a subtle
difference, a type of excitement or intoxication was known to have led some
people to die at the guillotine unnecessarily. It wasn’t simply boastfulness. It
was as if the public were all infected and had gone mad. When there is a plague
some people will be secretly attracted to the disease and will want to die of
it. All of us have similar strange desires in our hearts that are only waiting
for the right circumstances to reveal themselves.
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The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark; the night in its
vermin-haunted cells was long and cold. Next day, fifteen prisoners were put to
the bar before Charles Darnay’s name was called. All the fifteen were condemned,
and the trials of the whole occupied an hour and a half.
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The passageway to the Conciergerie was short and dark. The night was cold and
passed slowly in the rat-infested cells. The next day, fifteen prisoners were
brought in front of the tribunal before Charles Darnay’s name was called. All
fifteen were sentenced to death. The trials of all of them together only took an
hour and a half.
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“Charles Evremonde, called Darnay,” was at length arraigned.
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“Charles Evremonde, also known as Darnay,” was finally brought before the
court.
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His judges sat upon the Bench in feathered hats; but the rough red cap and
tricoloured cockade was the head-dress otherwise prevailing. Looking at the Jury
and the turbulent audience, he might have thought that the usual order of things
was reversed, and that the felons were trying the honest men. The lowest,
cruelest, and worst populace of a city, never without its quantity of low,
cruel, and bad, were the directing spirits of the scene: noisily commenting,
applauding, disapproving, anticipating, and precipitating the result, without a
check. Of the men, the greater part were armed in various ways; of the women,
some wore knives, some daggers, some ate and drank as they looked on, many
knitted. Among these last, was one, with a spare piece of knitting under her arm
as she worked. She was in a front row, by the side of a man whom he had never
seen since his arrival at the Barrier, but whom he directly remembered as
Defarge. He noticed that she once or twice whispered in his ear, and that she
seemed to be his wife; but, what he most noticed in the two figures was, that
although they were posted as close to himself as they could be, they never
looked towards him. They seemed to be waiting for something with a dogged
determination, and they looked at the Jury, but at nothing else. Under the
President sat Doctor Manette, in his usual quiet dress. As well as the prisoner
could see, he and Mr. Lorry were the only men there, unconnected with the
Tribunal, who wore their usual clothes, and had not assumed the coarse garb of
the Carmagnole.
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The presiding judges wore feathered hats, but the rough red cap and
three-colored cockade of the Revolution was what most other people wore. Looking
at the jury and the rowdy audience, it seemed that the usual order of things had
been reversed. It looked like the criminals were trying the honest men. The
lowest, meanest, worst people—of a city filled with low, mean, bad people—were
in charge. The crowd was commenting loudly, applauding, talking amongst
themselves, and influencing the outcome of the trial nonstop. Most of the men
were armed in one way or another, and some of the women had knives or daggers on
them. Some of them ate and drank as they watched, and many of them knitted.
Among the women knitting, there was one woman who had a spare piece of knitting
under her arm as she worked. She was in the front row next to a man whom Darnay
hadn’t seen since he first arrived at the barrier into Paris. He remembered that
the man was Defarge. Darnay noticed that the woman had whispered in his ear once
or twice and that she seemed to be his wife. But what he noticed most about the
two of them was that, although they were as close to him as someone could get,
they never looked at him. They seemed to be waiting for something intently. They
looked at the jury, but they didn’t look anywhere else. Dr. Manette sat next to
the president of the tribunal, dressed modestly as usual. As far as Darnay could
tell, Dr. Manette and Mr. Lorry were the only men there who weren’t part of the
tribunal. They wore their usual clothes and were not wearing the Revolutionary
costume of the red cap and three colors.
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