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1The Wine-shop A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken, in the street. The accident had happened in getting it
2out of a cart; the cask had tumbled out with a run, the hoops had burst, and it lay on the stones just outside the door
3of the wine-shop, shattered like a walnut-shell. All the people within reach had suspended their business, or their
4idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough, irregular stones of the street, pointing every way, and
5designed, one might have thought, expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little
6pools; these were surrounded, each by its own jostling group or crowd, according to its size. Some men kneeled down,
7made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, or tried to help women, who bent over their shoulders, to sip, before
8the wine had all run out between their fingers. Others, men and women, dipped in the puddles with little mugs of
9mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads, which were squeezed dry into infants' mouths;
10others made small mud-embankments, to stem the wine as it ran; others, directed by lookers-on up at high windows, darted
11here and there, to cut off little streams of wine that started away in new directions; others devoted themselves to the
12sodden and lee-dyed pieces of the cask, licking, and even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager relish.
13There was no drainage to carry off the wine, and not only did it all get taken up, but so much mud got taken up along
14with it, that there might have been a scavenger in the street, if anybody acquainted with it could have believed in such
15a miraculous presence. A shrill sound of laughter and of amused voices--voices of men, women, and children--resounded in
16the street while this wine game lasted. There was little roughness in the sport, and much playfulness. There was a
17special companionship in it, an observable inclination on the part of every one to join some other one, which led,
18especially among the luckier or lighter-hearted, to frolicsome embraces, drinking of healths, shaking of hands, and even
19joining of hands and dancing, a dozen together. When the wine was gone, and the places where it had been most abundant
20were raked into a gridiron-pattern by fingers, these demonstrations ceased, as suddenly as they had broken out. The man
21who had left his saw sticking in the firewood he was cutting, set it in motion again; the women who had left on a
22door-step the little pot of hot ashes, at which she had been trying to soften the pain in her own starved fingers and
23toes, or in those of her child, returned to it; men with bare arms, matted locks, and cadaverous faces, who had emerged
24into the winter light from cellars, moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on the scene that appeared more
25natural to it than sunshine. The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street in the suburb of
26Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and
27many wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left red marks on the billets; and the forehead of the woman
28who nursed her baby, was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her head again. Those who had been greedy
29with the staves of the cask, had acquired a tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so besmirched, his head
30more out of a long squalid bag of a nightcap than in it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy
31wine-lees--BLOOD. The time was to come, when that wine too would be spilled on the street-stones, and when the stain of
32it would be red upon many there. And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam had driven
33from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavy--cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want, were the lords in
34waiting on the saintly presence--nobles of great power all of them; but, most especially the last. Samples of a people
35that had undergone a terrible grinding and regrinding in the mill, and certainly not in the fabulous mill which ground
36old people young, shivered at every corner, passed in and out at every doorway, looked from every window, fluttered in
37every vestige of a garment that the wind shook. The mill which had worked them down, was the mill that grinds young
38people old; the children had ancient faces and grave voices; and upon them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into
39every furrow of age and coming up afresh, was the sigh, Hunger. It was prevalent everywhere. Hunger was pushed out of
40the tall houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and lines; Hunger was patched into them with straw and
41rag and wood and paper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum of firewood that the man sawed off;
42Hunger stared down from the smokeless chimneys, and started up from the filthy street that had no offal, among its
43refuse, of anything to eat. Hunger was the inscription on the baker's shelves, written in every small loaf of his scanty
44stock of bad bread; at the sausage-shop, in every dead-dog preparation that was offered for sale. Hunger rattled its dry
45bones among the roasting chestnuts in the turned cylinder; Hunger was shred into atomics in every farthing porringer of
46husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil. Its abiding place was in all things fitted to it. A
47narrow winding street, full of offence and stench, with other narrow winding streets diverging, all peopled by rags and
48nightcaps, and all smelling of rags and nightcaps, and all visible things with a brooding look upon them that looked
49ill. In the hunted air of the people there was yet some wild-beast thought of the possibility of turning at bay.
50Depressed and slinking though they were, eyes of fire were not wanting among them; nor compressed lips, white with what
51they suppressed; nor foreheads knitted into the likeness of the gallows-rope they mused about enduring, or inflicting.
52The trade signs (and they were almost as many as the shops) were, all, grim illustrations of Want. The butcher and the
53porkman painted up, only the leanest scrags of meat; the baker, the coarsest of meagre loaves. The people rudely
54pictured as drinking in the wine-shops, croaked over their scanty measures of thin wine and beer, and were gloweringly
55confidential together. Nothing was represented in a flourishing condition, save tools and weapons; but, the cutler's
56knives and axes were sharp and bright, the smith's hammers were heavy, and the gunmaker's stock was murderous. The
57crippling stones of the pavement, with their many little reservoirs of mud and water, had no footways, but broke off
58abruptly at the doors. The kennel, to make amends, ran down the middle of the street--when it ran at all: which was only
59after heavy rains, and then it ran, by many eccentric fits, into the houses. Across the streets, at wide intervals, one
60clumsy lamp was slung by a rope and pulley; at night, when the lamplighter had let these down, and lighted, and hoisted
61them again, a feeble grove of dim wicks swung in a sickly manner overhead, as if they were at sea. Indeed they were at
62sea, and the ship and crew were in peril of tempest. For, the time was to come, when the gaunt scarecrows of that region
63should have watched the lamplighter, in their idleness and hunger, so long, as to conceive the idea of improving on his
64method, and hauling up men by those ropes and pulleys, to flare upon the darkness of their condition. But, the time was
65not come yet; and every wind that blew over France shook the rags of the scarecrows in vain, for the birds, fine of song
66and feather, took no warning. The wine-shop was a corner shop, better than most others in its appearance and degree, and
67the master of the wine-shop had stood outside it, in a yellow waistcoat and green breeches, looking on at the struggle
68for the lost wine. "It's not my affair," said he, with a final shrug of the shoulders. "The people from the market did
69it. Let them bring another." There, his eyes happening to catch the tall joker writing up his joke, he called to him
70across the way: "Say, then, my Gaspard, what do you do there?" The fellow pointed to his joke with immense significance,
71as is often the way with his tribe. It missed its mark, and completely failed, as is often the way with his tribe too.
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