Section 7

"Treason!"
"That's death by torture, sir. Oooh! That's awful!"
"It's the law," said the old man, turning his surprised glasses in Jerry's direction. "It's the law."
"It's hard of the law to cut a man up, I think. It's hard enough to kill him, but it's very hard to cut him up, sir."
"Not at all," returned the old man. "Speak well of the law. Take care of your chest and voice, my good friend, and leave the law to take care of itself. Those are my words to you."
"It's the wet, sir, what gets into my chest and voice," said Jerry. "I leave you to judge what a wet way of making a living mine is."
"Well," said the old man, "we all have our different ways to make a living. Some of us have wet ways and some of us have dry ways. Here's the letter. Now go along."
Jerry took the letter, and, secretly feeling less humble than his words showed, he said, "I can see that you too have had a hard life." He bowed his head, told his son in passing where he was going, and then went on his way.
In those days they hanged people at Tyburn, so the street outside Newgate Prison was not known in the same way that it is today. But the prison was still an evil place, with every kind of bad action and deadly sickness free to move around in it. The sicknesses came into the court with the prisoners, and often they would jump from the prisoner to the judge himself. More than once the judge had marked his own death in marking the prisoner's death, and even died before the prisoner did. For most, the Old Bailey was like a deadly hotel yard, where sick travellers would ride off in wagons and coaches on a rough trip to the other world, covering some two and a half miles of open road. Few, if any, of the people watching along the way would see anything wrong in what was happening. That is how it is when people become used to a thing; and when they become used to it, they make it good in their minds even if it is not. The Bailey was also remembered for the special timbers that were used to hold prisoners by the head and hands while others shouted hateful words at them. It was a smart piece of furniture, because the pain it brought left no marks. Then there was the whipping post, a much loved instrument for making people part of a good and kind world when it was used well. Topping it all off was the blood-money. The Old
Bailey was a place where, for a price, one could have another killed. This led to some of the most awful things that could happen under heaven.
On the whole, the Old Bailey was, at that time, a perfect picture of the teaching that "Whatever is, is right," a saying that would be as free from change as it is lazy, if it were not that it would also say of those who came there that none of them had ever been wrong.
Making his way through the crowd at this awful scene of action, with the ability of a man who often moved about secretly, Tellson's small job man found the door he was looking for, and handed in his letter through an opening in it. In those days, one paid for entertainment at the Old Bailey just as they paid to see the crazy people at Bedlam (but the price was higher at the Bailey). Because of this, there were guards at all of the doors — all, that is, but the door where the criminals were brought in. Those were always wide open.
After some waiting and arguing, the door turned slowly just enough to let Mr. Jerry Cruncher squeeze himself into the court.
"What's up?" he whispered to the man next to him.
"Nothing yet."
"What's coming on?"
"The treason."
"Oh, the torturing one, eh?"
"Ah!" returned the man with enthusiasm. "He'll be pulled through the streets to be half-hanged, and then they'll take him down to be cut before his own face. His intestines will be taken out and burned while he looks on. Then his head will be cut off, and his body cut into four pieces. That's what they'll do."
"You mean, if they think he's guilty?" Jerry added to be sure.
"Oh, they'll find him guilty," said the other. "Don't you fear that."
At this point Mr. Cruncher turned to see the doorman make his way to Mr. Lorry with the letter. Mr. Lorry was at a table close to where the wig-wearing men were. He was not far from the one who was to argue for the prisoner. This man had many papers with him. Almost opposite that man was another with a wig. He had his hands in his pockets, and whenever Mr. Cruncher looked at him, then or later, he was always looking at the roof of the court. After Jerry did some loud coughing and rubbing his chin and lifting his hands, Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look for him, saw him, moved his head to show that he saw him, and then sat down again.
"What's he got to do with the case?" asked the man Jerry had been whispering to.
"Blessed if I know," said Jerry.
"So what have you got to do with it, then, if one may ask?" "Blessed if I know that either," said Jerry.
Just then the judge came in, and the talking stopped. From then on, all eyes were on the place where the prisoner would stand. Two policemen, who had been standing there, went out and returned with him.
Apart from the wig-wearing man who was looking at the roof, everyone looked at the prisoner with interest. Together they breathed a storm in his direction. Enthusiastic faces looked around posts and corners to see him better. People in the back stood up, so as not to miss one hair of him. People standing on the court floor stood up on their toes, putting their hands on the shoulders of others, to see every inch of him. Standing out in this group of people, like part of a living wall, was Jerry, breathing the smell of beer toward the prisoner (for he had had just a small drink on the way), and this joined with the beer and spirits and tea and coffee in the breathing of all who looked toward the prisoner, so that it was already turning to water on the big windows behind the prisoner.
What they were looking at was a young man, about 25, good-looking, with white skin, made darker by much time in the sun, and dark eyes. He was well dressed in black or dark grey. His long black hair was tied with a bow at the back of his neck. He was well controlled, bowed to the judge, and stood there quietly.
The kind of interest that the people had in this man was not the kind of interest that said much for people as animals. If he had not been in danger of being tortured to death, if even one part of his torture was to be passed over, by just that much the people would have lost interest in him. The body that was to be destroyed in such an awful way was the thing to see. Whatever reason each person gave for being there, to hide the truth from themselves, their real interest was that of cruel devils.
Quiet in the court! Charles Darnay had yesterday said that he was not guilty of what the court said of him (with no end of confusing talk), namely that he had helped in a war against our wonderful, beautiful, peace-loving, and so on leader, our Lord the King, by reason of him having, at different times and in different ways, helped Louis, the French King in his war against our wonderful, beautiful, peace-loving, and so on; that was to say, by coming and going between the country of our said wonderful, beautiful, peace-loving and so on, and the country of the said French Louis, and falsely, cruelly, badly (and many other evil adverbs) telling the said French Louis what forces our said wonderful, beautiful, peace-loving, and so on, King had prepared to send to Canada and North America.
This much Jerry proudly understood, after much thought, to be saying that the one said (and over and over said) Charles Darnay, was standing there to be judged; that the jury was being brought in, and that Mr. Attorney- General was preparing to speak.
The man himself, who was (and who knew he was), in the minds of all the people looking at him, to be tortured, have his head cut off, and be cut into four pieces, did not show fear or any other emotion. He was quietly and seriously listening to all that was being said as he stood there with his hands resting on the horizontal timber bar in front of him.
Over his head was a mirror to throw the light down on him. The faces of many evil people had been seen in that mirror in the past, and they had moved away from the earth and from that mirror at the same time. It may be that the prisoner had a passing thought about others who had been there before him. Be that as it may, a movement of his body made a bar of light land on his face, and he looked up at the mirror. On seeing it, his face turned red.
He then turned his face away, toward the side of the court that was on his left, and his eyes landed on two people. The change in his look was so strong that all those people who had been looking at him turned to look at the same two people.
They could see a young woman who was little more than twenty, and an older man, who seemed to be her father. He was an interesting man, with very white hair, and a look on his face that was hard to put into words. It was the look of one who is thinking deeply, and talking to himself about what he is thinking. When doing this, he looked quite old. But when he pulled himself away from this, as happened now as he said something to his daughter, he became a good-looking man in the best years of his life.
His daughter had one hand through his arm as she sat by him, and her other hand was holding the same arm. She was holding him closely both because of her fear of the scene and because of her sadness for the prisoner. Her forehead had fear and love written all over it, as she could see nothing but the worst of danger for the prisoner. Her feelings were so easy to see that people in the court who had no feeling for Charles Darnay, were touched by her. The whispers went about: "Who are they?"
Jerry, who had seen what he could see, and who was chewing the rust off his fingers in his deep thoughts, pushed his neck out to see if he could hear who they were. The crowd around him whispered questions to each other until they reached a court worker, who whispered the answers back. At last it reached Jerry.
"Witnesses."
"For which side?"
"Against."
The judge, who had been looking around, brought his eyes back, leaned back in his seat, and looked seriously at the man whose life was in his hand, while Mr. Attorney- General stood up to make the rope, sharpen the axe, and nail together the pieces of the stage on which the prisoner would be hanged.
3. A Sad Ending
Mr. Attorney- General had to tell the jury that the man in front of them, who was young in years, was old in the evil work for which he would die. That his sins had not happened only over a day or two or even over a year, but he had for longer than that, been travelling to and from France on secret business for which he could give no honest reason. That with luck (and people who do that kind of business do not have much luck), he would have been doing it still. But that God had put it into the heart of a brave and honest man to learn the secrets of the prisoner's plans; and when he saw how awful they were, he knew he had no choice but to tell the government about it. That this one who had such love for his country would be coming soon to tell his story in person. That he was a man with a strong and holy spirit. That he had been the prisoner's friend, but when he learned the truth about the man, he chose to give his friend's life over to the courts as proof of his great love for his country. That if statues were put up by the government in Britain today as they were in Greece and Rome in the past, then most surely one would have been made of this wonderful man. That all good qualities, as the jury would know from their understanding of some of the greatest poets (at which the jury dropped their heads, because they did not know of such poets), quickly move from one person to another, and that this was truest of one's love for his country. That the bright light from the Crown witness' good spirit had passed to a servant who worked for the prisoner, and this servant secretly went through his master's papers to find the proof that was needed for this court. That he
(Mr. Attorney- General) was prepared to hear the man's lawyer try to find a wrong in the servant who took the papers, but that in a general way, he thought more highly of that servant than he did of his own (Mr. Attorney- General's) brothers and sisters, and looked up to him more than he did to his (Mr. Attorney- General's) father and mother. That he was confident that the jury would feel the same. That the word of these two men, and the papers they would bring with them would show that the prisoner had lists of where the king's men and weapons were to be sent, both over water and over land, and that he had been for some time, giving these lists to a country that was at war with Britain. That the writing in these lists would be quite different from the writing of the prisoner, but that this would only show that the prisoner was very smart about hiding the truth, so much so that he was able to change his writing when making them. That these criminal actions had gone back some five years, so that the prisoner was already doing his evil work as early as a few weeks before the first fighting between Britain and America. That, for these reasons, the jury, being people who love their country (as he knew they were), and being people who would always do what they knew to be right (as, surely, they knew themselves) must surely find the prisoner guilty, and have him killed, even if they did not like the thought of doing it. That they could never put their heads on their pillows; that they could never be at peace with their wives putting their heads on their pillows; that they could never be at peace with their children putting their heads on their pillows; in short, that there could never be any peace for any of them to put their heads on pillows if the prisoner's head was not first taken off. That head, Mr. Attorney- General told them, must, in the name of everything he could think of that was good, be given by them because of his own religious belief that the prisoner was already as good as dead.
When the Attorney- General stopped, a buzz moved around the court like there was a cloud of flies in there waiting for the prisoner to die. When this died down, the man who had perfect love for his country stepped into the witness box.
The Attorney-General's top lawyer, following in the steps of his leader, asked questions of the witness, whose name was Barsad. Mr. Barsad told the court that the story of his good spirit was perfectly the same as Mr. Attorney-General had said. If there was anything wrong with it, it was only that it was too perfectly the same. Having told the court how good he was, Mr. Barsad would have humbly stepped down, but the man with a wig sitting closest to Mr. Lorry asked to speak to him. The man with a wig who was sitting opposite to him was still looking at the roof of the court.
Had he ever given secrets to another country himself? No, he was hurt that anyone would think such a thing. What did he live on? His wealth. Where was his wealth? He didn't remember where it was. What was his wealth made up of? It was not anyone's business what it was made up of. Had he been given it by a relative? Yes, he had. By whom? A little known relative. Little known? Yes, very little known. Had he ever been in prison? Surely not! Never been in a prison for not paying money? He didn't see what that had to do with it. Never in a prison for not paying money, never at any time? Okay, yes. How many times? Two or three times. Not five or six? Maybe. What is his job? A man of wealth. Ever been kicked? Maybe. Often? No. Ever kicked down steps? No way; but did once receive a kick at the top of some steps, and fell down them without any help. Kicked at that time for tricking a man at dice? The man who kicked him said something like that at the time, but he was lying and had been drinking. Sure that the man who did the kicking was not speaking the truth? Yes, very sure. Ever make a living by tricking people at such