Two Cities

Chapter 19 The adults are in the city (2)
Clothes are various talismans and spells that keep everything in its existing order.Everyone gets dressed up for a fancy dress party that never stops.From the Tuileries, the Majesty, the court, the Privy Council, the courts, the whole world was a masquerade (except for the rags) and even the most ordinary executioner attended.Before the execution, the executioner must "curly hair, powder, wear a gold-rimmed cloak, white stockings and light non-tie shoes" according to the requirements of the talisman. In this fine attire "Monsieur Paris" presided over the gallows and gallows (axes were seldom used in those days).His brothers in different places, even Mr. Orléans, called him "Mr. Paris" according to the Catholic custom.And who in this reception of my lord in the year 780 [-] could have foreseen that a system whose most basic form is an executioner with curly hair, powdered powder, gold-rimmed cloak, slip-on sandals, and white silk stockings will one day see My own star disappears with time!

The lord ate his chocolate, settled the burden of the four subordinates, ordered the most sacred gate to be opened, and then strode out.What a scene of lowered eyebrows, flattery, sneering, and groveling!The bowing from body to spirit to the ground is not so respectful and obedient to God-this is probably one of the reasons why adults' admirers never bother God!

The lord made a promise on the left, smiled on the right, whispered something to this servant, waved to that servant, and walked through several rooms with a gentle attitude to the remote area of ​​"the edge of truth", and turned around again. Turned around, and a moment later had his chocolate fairies shut him up in the cella.

After the audience ceremony was over, the vibration of the air turned into a small storm, and the precious little bell went downstairs.In an instant, there was only one person left in the audience, and this person, with his hat under his arm and a snuffbox in his hand, walked out in front of a row of mirrors.

"I dedicate you to—" The man stopped at the last door, and turned toward the cella. "The Devil!"

After saying this, he shook the snuff off his fingers, and went downstairs without a sound. This is a man in his 60s.The clothes are gorgeous, the attitude is haughty, and the face is like a delicate and delicate mask.His complexion is transparent and pale, and the outline of his facial features is very obvious, always rigid.If the nose was not slightly concave on the two nostrils, it could be called beautiful.But the rare changes on his face are appearing in the hollow (or called the nostril dimple).The place was constantly changing color, sometimes expanding and shrinking with tiny pulses, and sometimes giving the whole face a sly, cruel expression.But if you look closely, you will find that the root of this expression is in the wrinkles around the mouth and the corners of the eyes.Those wrinkles are too light, too thin.As far as the impression of that face is concerned, it is still beautiful and attracts people's attention.

The owner of the face went down the stairs, into the yard, and drove away in his carriage.Not many people talked to him at the reception, he stood in a place where there were fewer people, and the attitude of adults towards him was not very enthusiastic.At this time, he was quite proud, because he saw ordinary people running around in front of his carriage, and they were often almost knocked down by the carriage.His subordinates drove the car as if they were charging the enemy, but this reckless approach did not attract the slightest restraint from the brows and corners of the master's mouth.Even in that deaf city and dumb age, people's complaints were sometimes audible, saying that the fierce habit of driving horses in the ancient Roman aristocratic style threatened fiercely in the street without sidewalks. killing or crippling civilians.But very few people think about such events and think about them.So in this as in other things, the ordinary poor people have to rely on their own efforts to overcome their difficulties.

The sound of cars clanging, the sound of hooves, and the carriage galloping fast, the appearance of indulgence and arrogance, disregarding the life and death of others is very incomprehensible nowadays.It galloped down the street at high speed, sweeping across the street corner, women screamed in front of it, men dragged each other, and pulled children to the side of the road.At last, as it turned sharply on a street corner by a spring, one of the wheels gave a nasty shake, and then a great deal of yelling was heard, and several horses came down on their fore-legs, and then came to a stop on their hindquarters. up.

If it weren't for the obstacle just now, the carriage might not stop.At that time, the carriage often left the injured person behind and left in a big way.why not?But the frightened squires had hurried out of the carriage—the bridles of several horses were seized by twenty arms.

"What's the matter?" The adult still looked out calmly and said.

A tall man in a nightcap had grabbed a package-like thing from under the horse's feet, placed it on the stone foundation by the spring, and crawled through the muddy water, howling at it like a beast.

"Excuse me, my lord!" said a tattered, submissive man. "It's a child."

"Why does he howl so obnoxiously? Is it his child?" "Excuse me, my lord, it is a pity, yes." The spring was some distance away, for the street spread out in a block of ten yards or so Twelve yards square.The tall man suddenly jumped up from the ground and ran towards the carriage.Lord Marquis is holding the hilt of the sword in his hand at this time.

"It's crushed to death!" The man screamed desperately, his arms stretched high above his head, and his eyes stared at him. "Dead!" The crowd surrounded him, looking at Lord Marquis.The eyes staring at him had no expression other than wariness and urgency, no visible threat or anger.People didn't say anything either.They had been silent since the first exclamation, and have remained so since.The submissive voice of the speaker was flat and docile, expressing extreme obedience.Mr. Marquis glanced over each of them as if they were a group of rats that had just emerged from their holes.

He took out his wallet. "It seems odd to me," he said, "you people can't take care of yourselves and your own children. There's always one or two in the way. I don't know what you've done to my horse. There it is! Look! Give him this."

He threw out a gold coin for his squire to pick up.Everyone's heads stretched forward like white cranes, and their eyes wanted to see the gold coin fall.The tall man shouted again in a non-human voice, "Dead!"

Another man hurried over to hold him back, and everyone else stepped aside.The poor man threw himself on his shoulder when he saw the approaching man, sobbing and wailing.There were a few women bowed and standing motionless in front of the package, doing something slowly, but they were as silent as the men.

"I know it all, I know it all," said the newcomer. "Be strong, Gaspard. It's good that the poor little thing is dead like this. It's gone in a second, and there's no pain. Can he be happy for an hour like this alive?"

"You are a philosopher, you," said the Marquis, smiling. "What do people call you?"

"Call me Defarge." "What do you do?" "Liquor seller, Monsieur the Marquis."

"Pick up this coin, philosopher who sells wine," said the Marquis, throwing him another coin. "Go and spend whatever you want. How about the horse, is it all right?"

Lord Marquis didn't want to take another look at the crowd.He leaned back, and was about to leave with the air of a lord who accidentally broke an ordinary thing and had already lost money and could afford it, when a gold coin flew into the car and fell with a clang. On the board, his sense of relief was suddenly shattered.

"Stop!" said Monsieur the Marquis. "Take hold of the horse! Who threw it?" He looked at the place where Defarge, the wine seller, had just stood.But the miserable father was crawling on the pavement there, and beside him stood a strong black woman knitting a sweater.

"You bastards," said the Marquis, very calmly, without changing expression except for two spots on the wing of the nose, "I would gladly run over any of you, and wipe you out of the world. I If I know which bastard is throwing things at the wagon, if the robber is not far from my wagon, I'll let my wheels grind him to a pulp!"

The crowd is used to being bullied and intimidated, and has had a long and painful experience.They knew how much suffering such a man could cause them, legally and illegally, and they made no reply.Not a hand moved, not even an eye was raised—none of the men, but the woman knitting was still staring up at the Marquis's face without moving her eyes.It was unworthy of the Marquis to notice this, and his contemptuous eyes flicked over her head, and over the others, and leaning back in his chair again, he gave the order, "Walk!"

He left in a carriage.Other cars followed: stewards, counsellors, tax-contractors, doctors, lawyers, priests, opera singers, comedians, and a whole masquerade party, forming a motley stream of people.The mice crawled out of their holes and watched on the sly for hours.Soldiers and police often passed between them and the massed procession, forming a barrier behind which they could only linger and peep.The father had long since disappeared with his package.The women who had just tended the bundles lying by the spring sat down by the spring and watched the water gurgling by and the masquerade ball rumbling by.The woman who stood knitting so conspicuously just now was still knitting, standing still like a goddess of fate.The water in the well spring is rushing, the torrential river is rushing, daytime turns into dusk, and many lives in the city flow towards death according to the law, and the times and trends will not stop because of anyone.The mice were sleeping huddled together in their dark holes again, the masquerade was having dinner under bright lights, and everything was on track.

(End of this chapter)