Two Cities
Chapter 20 The adults are in the country
Chapter 20 The adults are in the country
Beautiful scenery.The wheat is shining, but not many grains.Where there should be wheat, there are patches of poor barley.Slices of poor peas and beans, and slices of the coarsest vegetables took the place of the wheat.Nature, incapable of action, has the same general tendency as the man who cultivates it: to grow unwillingly, to droop, to be listless, and to wither rather.
His Excellency the Marquis climbed with difficulty up a steep hill in his four-horse station wagon (he could actually use a lighter carriage) driven by two drivers.The face of the Marquis was flushed, but this did not affect his noble blood at all, because the red did not come from his body, but from an external condition beyond his control - the setting sun.
The wagon came to the top of the mountain, and the setting sun shone brilliantly, soaking the people on board in a pool of scarlet. "The sun is about to—" His Excellency the Marquis glanced at his hand and said, "Death."
In fact, the sun was already very low, and then it suddenly went down.Heavy brakes worked on the wheels, and the wagon slid downhill smelling of dust and kicking up a cloud of dust.The red glow disappeared quickly, and the sun and the Marquis went downhill together. When the brakes were removed, the sky was already getting dark.
However, at the foot of the mountain, there remained a broken field, rough and naked.At the foot of the hill was a small village, and beyond the village there was an open space on a gentle slope, with a church steeple, a windmill, a hunting forest, and a cliff topped by a blockhouse that served as a prison.As the night grew darker, the Marquis looked around at the gradually dimming scenery with the look of coming home.
There is only one street in the village, on which there are poor wineries, poor tanning workshops, poor inns, poor stagecoach stations, poor springs and poor facilities.Its people are also poor, all very poor.Many people were sitting at the door, chopping onions and the like, preparing dinner.Many people wash vegetables, grass, and all edible small products that can grow on the ground by the spring water.It is not hard to see things that mark their poverty.The stately proclamation of the hamlet calls for taxes to the state, taxes to the church, taxes to the lord, taxes to the district, and general taxes.Pay here, pay there, it is surprising that the small village has not been eaten up.
There are not many children in sight.As for men and women, their paths in the world have been explained by the scenery—either they survived on the minimum conditions in the village under the wind and the wind, or they were locked in the prison on the top of the cliff and died. there.
With meteors and the cracking of the driver's whip, which swirled like snakes in the night above their heads, the Marquis's carriage arrived at the gate of the inn, and seemed to be attended by Furies.The post station was not far from the spring, and the farmers stopped their work and looked at him.He looked at them too, seeing but not feeling their faces and figures worn away by the pain of the stream.Such images have created a superstition in the mind of the British: the French are always thin and weak.And this superstition persisted almost 100 years after that reality had disappeared.His Excellency the Marquis' eyes fell on the docile faces that hung down before him. Those faces were very similar to his own appearance when he bowed his head and eyebrows before the lords of the court-only slightly different, and these faces were lowered in anticipation Suffer not for redemption.At this time, a gray-haired road mender came to the crowd.
"Bring me that fellow!" said the Marquis to Meteor.The man was brought up, hat in his hand.Others gathered around to watch, as they had done at the fountain in Paris. "Have I ever passed you on the road?" "Yes, my lord. I have had the honor of having you walk beside me." "On the way up and on the top of the hill?" "My lord , That's right." "What were you staring at at that time?" "My lord, I was looking at that person." He bowed slightly, pointed to the car under the car with his broken blue hat. .
His companions also bent down to look under the car. "Who is it, pig? Why do you look there?" "To offend you, my lord, he hangs on the chain of the brake hoop." "Who?" asked the traveler.
"My lord, that man." "I hope the devil catches these idiots! What's the man's name? You know everybody around here. Who is he?"
"Forgive me, my lord! He is not from around here. I have never seen him in all my life."
"Hanging on a chain? Won't you choke him?" "That's the queerest thing about it, my lord. His head hangs like that--like that!" He turned to the carriage, and fell over. , leaning his face to the sky, his head hanging upside down.Then he resumed his original position, touched his hat, and bowed.
"What does that man look like?" "My lord, he is whiter than the miller. He is covered with dust, white as a ghost, and tall as a ghost!" The little crowd was petrified. , but they didn't exchange glances, they just looked at Lord Marquis, probably to see if there was a ghost haunting his conscience!
"Well, you're right," said the Marquis, pleasing him with the foolishness of these country bumpkins, "you saw a thief in my car, and you kept your mouth shut. Phew! Let him go, and Mr Burr!"
Mr. Garber is the head of the Post Office and also does some tax work.He put on the appearance of a public servant and tore the interrogated person away to curry favor with the Marquis.
"Pooh! Go away!" said Mr. Garber. "If that foreigner dares to stay in this village tonight, arrest him and find out who he is, Garber." "My lord, it is a great honor to be of your service."
"Did he run off, man?—where's the wretch?" The wretch had got under the wagon with half a dozen pals, and pointed his blue cap at the chain.The other five or six good friends immediately dragged and dragged him to the Marquis.
"Did the man run away when we stopped to brake, fool?" "My lord, he jumped headfirst down the hill, like he jumped into a river."
"Go and check, Garber, hurry up!" The five or six people staring at the chain with wide eyes were still crowded between the wheels like a flock of sheep.The car jerked, but fortunately they didn't break any bones.Fortunately, they are only skinny, otherwise they would not be so lucky.
The momentum of the carriage driving out of the village and up the slope was immediately stopped by the steepness of the hill.The carriage gradually changed to a slow pace, rumbled and swayed, and climbed up the slope amidst the fragrance of the summer night.There is no Nemesis around the driver, but there are countless mosquitoes and flies flying around.He just stood repairing the end of the whip.Squires walk beside the horses.The hooves of the Meteor Plate horse can be heard faintly in the distance.
At the steepest point of the hill was a small cemetery, where there was a cross, and on its stand a large statue of Jesus, still new, clumsily carved, by an inexperienced brute, who from life— Maybe it was his own life—studied the human body, because the statue was terribly thin.
A woman knelt before this wretched statue of great pain--a pain that was increasing, but not yet utterly climaxed.She turned her head when the carriage came near her, stood up immediately, and went to the door.
"It's you, my lord! My lord! I want to petition." His lord let out an exclamation of boredom, and his impassive face looked out.
"Oh! What? Always petitions!" "My lord, for the love of the great God! My wood-watching husband."
"What's the matter with your husband who watches the woods? You always do the same thing. Do you owe something?"
"He has paid all his debts. He is dead." "Well, then he will be quiet. Shall I give him back to you?" "Oh! No, my lord! But here he sleeps, in a little Poor under the turf." "How?"
"My lord, there are many such pitiful little pieces of turf." "Here it is again, why?" She was still young, but she looked very old, her attitude was very excited, very sad, and her hands were so thin that only bones remained. They exchanged hands, and then put one hand on the carriage door - tenderly, lovingly, as if it was someone's chest, and could feel the passionate touch.
"My lord, listen to me! My lord, I petition! My husband died in poverty. Many people died in poverty. Many more will die in poverty."
"Again, huh? Can I feed them?"
"My lord, the good God knows. I do not beg you to feed them. I only beg that a stone or a tablet be erected where my husband lies, bearing his name. Otherwise the place will soon be forgotten, When I die like him, it will be completely different. They will bury me in another wasteland. My lord, there are too many graves for the poor. My lord! My lord!"
The servant pulled her away from the door, and the carriage galloped forward quickly.The driver quickened his pace, and the woman was left far behind.His Excellency ran quickly to the manor under the protection of his three Furies.
The fragrance of summer nights rose around him, becoming more alive with the falling rain.The raindrops fell on the group of dusty and torn people by the spring not far away without discrimination.The mender of roads was still whistling about the phantom at them, as if they could keep whistling as long as they would listen.He waved his blue hat as he spoke, without which he probably lost weight.The crowd couldn't stand the rain and gradually dispersed.There was a light flickering in the small window.The small window became darker and darker, and the lights gradually went out, but more lights appeared in the sky, as if the light from the small window had flown into the sky and did not disappear.
At that time, the shadow of a tall building and the shadows of whirling trees had fallen on the Marquis.The carriage stopped.The shadows were replaced by the light of a torch, and the tall front door opened for the Marquis.
"I am expecting Mr. Charles. Has he arrived from England?" "Not yet, sir."
(End of this chapter)
Beautiful scenery.The wheat is shining, but not many grains.Where there should be wheat, there are patches of poor barley.Slices of poor peas and beans, and slices of the coarsest vegetables took the place of the wheat.Nature, incapable of action, has the same general tendency as the man who cultivates it: to grow unwillingly, to droop, to be listless, and to wither rather.
His Excellency the Marquis climbed with difficulty up a steep hill in his four-horse station wagon (he could actually use a lighter carriage) driven by two drivers.The face of the Marquis was flushed, but this did not affect his noble blood at all, because the red did not come from his body, but from an external condition beyond his control - the setting sun.
The wagon came to the top of the mountain, and the setting sun shone brilliantly, soaking the people on board in a pool of scarlet. "The sun is about to—" His Excellency the Marquis glanced at his hand and said, "Death."
In fact, the sun was already very low, and then it suddenly went down.Heavy brakes worked on the wheels, and the wagon slid downhill smelling of dust and kicking up a cloud of dust.The red glow disappeared quickly, and the sun and the Marquis went downhill together. When the brakes were removed, the sky was already getting dark.
However, at the foot of the mountain, there remained a broken field, rough and naked.At the foot of the hill was a small village, and beyond the village there was an open space on a gentle slope, with a church steeple, a windmill, a hunting forest, and a cliff topped by a blockhouse that served as a prison.As the night grew darker, the Marquis looked around at the gradually dimming scenery with the look of coming home.
There is only one street in the village, on which there are poor wineries, poor tanning workshops, poor inns, poor stagecoach stations, poor springs and poor facilities.Its people are also poor, all very poor.Many people were sitting at the door, chopping onions and the like, preparing dinner.Many people wash vegetables, grass, and all edible small products that can grow on the ground by the spring water.It is not hard to see things that mark their poverty.The stately proclamation of the hamlet calls for taxes to the state, taxes to the church, taxes to the lord, taxes to the district, and general taxes.Pay here, pay there, it is surprising that the small village has not been eaten up.
There are not many children in sight.As for men and women, their paths in the world have been explained by the scenery—either they survived on the minimum conditions in the village under the wind and the wind, or they were locked in the prison on the top of the cliff and died. there.
With meteors and the cracking of the driver's whip, which swirled like snakes in the night above their heads, the Marquis's carriage arrived at the gate of the inn, and seemed to be attended by Furies.The post station was not far from the spring, and the farmers stopped their work and looked at him.He looked at them too, seeing but not feeling their faces and figures worn away by the pain of the stream.Such images have created a superstition in the mind of the British: the French are always thin and weak.And this superstition persisted almost 100 years after that reality had disappeared.His Excellency the Marquis' eyes fell on the docile faces that hung down before him. Those faces were very similar to his own appearance when he bowed his head and eyebrows before the lords of the court-only slightly different, and these faces were lowered in anticipation Suffer not for redemption.At this time, a gray-haired road mender came to the crowd.
"Bring me that fellow!" said the Marquis to Meteor.The man was brought up, hat in his hand.Others gathered around to watch, as they had done at the fountain in Paris. "Have I ever passed you on the road?" "Yes, my lord. I have had the honor of having you walk beside me." "On the way up and on the top of the hill?" "My lord , That's right." "What were you staring at at that time?" "My lord, I was looking at that person." He bowed slightly, pointed to the car under the car with his broken blue hat. .
His companions also bent down to look under the car. "Who is it, pig? Why do you look there?" "To offend you, my lord, he hangs on the chain of the brake hoop." "Who?" asked the traveler.
"My lord, that man." "I hope the devil catches these idiots! What's the man's name? You know everybody around here. Who is he?"
"Forgive me, my lord! He is not from around here. I have never seen him in all my life."
"Hanging on a chain? Won't you choke him?" "That's the queerest thing about it, my lord. His head hangs like that--like that!" He turned to the carriage, and fell over. , leaning his face to the sky, his head hanging upside down.Then he resumed his original position, touched his hat, and bowed.
"What does that man look like?" "My lord, he is whiter than the miller. He is covered with dust, white as a ghost, and tall as a ghost!" The little crowd was petrified. , but they didn't exchange glances, they just looked at Lord Marquis, probably to see if there was a ghost haunting his conscience!
"Well, you're right," said the Marquis, pleasing him with the foolishness of these country bumpkins, "you saw a thief in my car, and you kept your mouth shut. Phew! Let him go, and Mr Burr!"
Mr. Garber is the head of the Post Office and also does some tax work.He put on the appearance of a public servant and tore the interrogated person away to curry favor with the Marquis.
"Pooh! Go away!" said Mr. Garber. "If that foreigner dares to stay in this village tonight, arrest him and find out who he is, Garber." "My lord, it is a great honor to be of your service."
"Did he run off, man?—where's the wretch?" The wretch had got under the wagon with half a dozen pals, and pointed his blue cap at the chain.The other five or six good friends immediately dragged and dragged him to the Marquis.
"Did the man run away when we stopped to brake, fool?" "My lord, he jumped headfirst down the hill, like he jumped into a river."
"Go and check, Garber, hurry up!" The five or six people staring at the chain with wide eyes were still crowded between the wheels like a flock of sheep.The car jerked, but fortunately they didn't break any bones.Fortunately, they are only skinny, otherwise they would not be so lucky.
The momentum of the carriage driving out of the village and up the slope was immediately stopped by the steepness of the hill.The carriage gradually changed to a slow pace, rumbled and swayed, and climbed up the slope amidst the fragrance of the summer night.There is no Nemesis around the driver, but there are countless mosquitoes and flies flying around.He just stood repairing the end of the whip.Squires walk beside the horses.The hooves of the Meteor Plate horse can be heard faintly in the distance.
At the steepest point of the hill was a small cemetery, where there was a cross, and on its stand a large statue of Jesus, still new, clumsily carved, by an inexperienced brute, who from life— Maybe it was his own life—studied the human body, because the statue was terribly thin.
A woman knelt before this wretched statue of great pain--a pain that was increasing, but not yet utterly climaxed.She turned her head when the carriage came near her, stood up immediately, and went to the door.
"It's you, my lord! My lord! I want to petition." His lord let out an exclamation of boredom, and his impassive face looked out.
"Oh! What? Always petitions!" "My lord, for the love of the great God! My wood-watching husband."
"What's the matter with your husband who watches the woods? You always do the same thing. Do you owe something?"
"He has paid all his debts. He is dead." "Well, then he will be quiet. Shall I give him back to you?" "Oh! No, my lord! But here he sleeps, in a little Poor under the turf." "How?"
"My lord, there are many such pitiful little pieces of turf." "Here it is again, why?" She was still young, but she looked very old, her attitude was very excited, very sad, and her hands were so thin that only bones remained. They exchanged hands, and then put one hand on the carriage door - tenderly, lovingly, as if it was someone's chest, and could feel the passionate touch.
"My lord, listen to me! My lord, I petition! My husband died in poverty. Many people died in poverty. Many more will die in poverty."
"Again, huh? Can I feed them?"
"My lord, the good God knows. I do not beg you to feed them. I only beg that a stone or a tablet be erected where my husband lies, bearing his name. Otherwise the place will soon be forgotten, When I die like him, it will be completely different. They will bury me in another wasteland. My lord, there are too many graves for the poor. My lord! My lord!"
The servant pulled her away from the door, and the carriage galloped forward quickly.The driver quickened his pace, and the woman was left far behind.His Excellency ran quickly to the manor under the protection of his three Furies.
The fragrance of summer nights rose around him, becoming more alive with the falling rain.The raindrops fell on the group of dusty and torn people by the spring not far away without discrimination.The mender of roads was still whistling about the phantom at them, as if they could keep whistling as long as they would listen.He waved his blue hat as he spoke, without which he probably lost weight.The crowd couldn't stand the rain and gradually dispersed.There was a light flickering in the small window.The small window became darker and darker, and the lights gradually went out, but more lights appeared in the sky, as if the light from the small window had flown into the sky and did not disappear.
At that time, the shadow of a tall building and the shadows of whirling trees had fallen on the Marquis.The carriage stopped.The shadows were replaced by the light of a torch, and the tall front door opened for the Marquis.
"I am expecting Mr. Charles. Has he arrived from England?" "Not yet, sir."
(End of this chapter)
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