Two Cities

Chapter 43 Secret Number (1)
In the autumn of 790, the traveler from England to France continued on his way.Even in the heyday of the now defunct King of France, travelers would encounter too many troubles to hinder their itinerary: bad roads, bad equipment, bad horses, not to mention the changing times, not only In this way, new difficulties are constantly added: at the gates of every town and village tax office there is a group of patriotic citizens, in whose hands the Mausers of the National Army are always ready to be fired at any time.They block passers-by for interrogation, check documents, look for their names on their own list, and then either let them pass, or block them, or detain them, all depending on their baseless judgments or imaginations, all for the sake of the dawn the best interests of the republic—the republic of liberty, equality, fraternity, or death, united and indivisible.

No sooner had Charles Darnay traveled a short distance in France than he began to understand that unless he was declared a good citizen in Paris, there was no hope of returning home by these country roads.In the current situation, he must do everything possible to get to Paris.He knew that every gate of an obscure village that closed behind him, every common barricade that fell was an iron gate between him and England.The extraordinary surveillance he received from all sides made him feel that his lost liberty could not have been more tragic than if he had been sent to Paris in nets or cages.

This ubiquitous surveillance not only stopped him twenty times during a journey, but also delayed him twenty times in one day.Sometimes they came on horseback and chased him back, sometimes they rushed to the front to block his way, and sometimes they came on horseback to guard him.When he lay down exhausted in a small town on the road that day, although he had spent some days alone in France, he was still far away from Paris.

It was because he always thought of the letter sent by the suffering Gabor from the monastery prison, so he must continue to go deep into the important place no matter what.The serious troubles he had encountered in the guardhouse here made him feel that his life in France was already difficult.Therefore, when he woke up in the middle of the night from the small inn where he was appointed to stay overnight, he was not frightened out of his wits.

He was awakened by a cowering magistrate and three armed patriots in rough red caps and pipes.They sat down along the edge of the bed.

"A fugitive," said the official, "I will send you to Paris with a special escort."

"Citizen, I have only one idea. I just want to go to Paris. I don't need an escort."

"Shut up!" shouted a red hat, beating the quilt with the butt of his musket. "Be quiet, nobleman."

"As the good patriot said," said the timid official, "you are a nobleman, so if you are escorted—of course, you must pay for the escort."

"Can't I choose something else," said Charles Darnay. "Choose! Listen to what he has to say!" said the fierce red hat just now. "Isn't it a good thing to escort you so that you are not in danger?"

"This good patriot is always right," said the official. "Come on, get dressed, fugitive."

Darnay did as they were told, and was taken back to the guardhouse.There were some patriots in rough red caps.They were smoking, drinking, and sleeping by the campfire.After paying a large amount of protection fees, I set foot on the road full of mud and anxiety with my escort at three o'clock in the morning.

The escorts were two patriots on horseback, wearing red caps with tricolor badges, carrying National Army muskets and sabers, he was in the middle, and the others were on both sides of him.The escort holds his own horse, but another rope is loosely tied to his bridle, and that end is looped around a patriot's wrist.Regardless of the weather, they set off in the rain.The horseshoe walked slowly step by step on the uneven streets of the town and in the deep mud outside the city with the heavy steps of dragoons.In this way, the muddy road leading to the capital was finished, and nothing happened except that the horses had to be changed and the speed was different.They marched at night, rested and slept an hour or two after dawn, and set out again at dusk.The escort was dressed in rags, wrapping hay around his legs and draping it over his ragged shoulders to keep out the rain.It made him feel very uncomfortable to be held in such a way.There is a patriot who often drinks a little wine and carries a gun carelessly, which makes him feel dangerous at any time.Besides, Charles Darnay had not allowed the inconvenience to arouse any serious fear in his breast.After thinking it over, he decided that the situation had nothing to do with the merits of a case which had not yet been tried.When it came time for him to plead, the prisoner of the monastery prison could attest.

When they came to Powai City and found that the streets were full of people, he realized that the situation was already quite dangerous.A group of gloomy people surrounded him, watching him get off his horse in the courtyard of the post station, many voices shouted, "Down with the fugitives!"

He was about to get up and dismount, but he stopped immediately, and sat on the horse's back motionless, taking the horse's back as the safest place, and said:
"What fugitives, my friends! Didn't you see with your own eyes that I came back to France by myself?"

"You're a damned fugitive," said a horseshoeer, running furiously through the crowd with a hammer in his hand, "and you're a damned aristocrat!"

The postmaster intervened between the man and the rider's bridle (the man evidently wanted to pull the rein) and said, "Let him go, he will be judged in Paris."

"Judgment!" said the horseshoe, shaking the hammer in his hand, "good! Convict him of treason and beheaded." Immediately the crowd joined in and expressed their approval.

The postmaster was about to lead the horse into the yard, but Darnay stopped him (while the drunken patriot sat still in the saddle with his hand on the end of Darnay's bridle), and waited until the people could hear him. When he had spoken, he said:
"Friends, you have misunderstood. I don't know what lies you have heard. I am not a traitor."

"He is lying!" cried the blacksmith. "He has been a traitor since the decree. His life is no longer his own. His cursed life is no longer his!"

At this moment Darnay saw something flash in the eyes of the crowd, which seemed to rush at him at once.The postmaster hastily led his horse into the yard, and the escort's two horses pressed close to him, sandwiching him.The postmaster shut the flimsy double doors and mounted the bars.The horseshoe hit the door with a hammer, and the people whispered something, but nothing happened.

"What decree did the blacksmith say?" Darnay thanked the postmaster and asked while standing in the yard with him.

"There is a decree on the sale of the property of fugitives." "Do you know when it was passed?"

"The fourteenth." "The day I left England."

"Everyone said that this is only a small part of the decree, and there will be other decrees - although it has not yet been promulgated - that all fugitives will be exiled, and those who return to the country will be beheaded. The man said that your life is not Your own, you understand what's going on."

"But there are no such laws yet?" "How would I know!" said the postmaster with a shrug. "It might be now, it might be later, it doesn't make any difference. What can you hope for?" They rested on the hay in the attic until midnight, waiting until the whole town was asleep before riding on.During this absurd ride he found a number of peculiarly absurd changes in everyday things, changes which were not very noticeable in the absence of sleep.Often, after a long march on a deserted road, they came to a few poor cottages.The surroundings of the cottage are not dark, but are shining with fire. The villagers hold hands like ghosts and circle freely around a withered tree in the middle of the night, or huddle together and sing songs praising freedom.Fortunately the people went to sleep that night in Powai, otherwise it would have been very difficult for them to leave.They went on, toward solitude and loneliness, clanging through the cold and damp that came early, through the land that was barren because there was no harvest.But there was a change: the black ruins of burnt houses and Patriot patrols suddenly appeared - they were on duty on all the roads, suddenly came out of nowhere, reined in and stood still.

The morning sun finally reached them before the walls of Paris.The barricades were closed as they approached, and a large number of soldiers remained behind.

"Where's the prisoner's ID?" asked a resolute-looking officer in charge called by the guards.Charles Darnay felt very uncomfortable when he heard the ugly word "prisoner". He communicated with the other party that he was a French citizen and a free traveler. Because of the turmoil in the current situation, he was forced to assign guards and paid escort fees.

"This prisoner's ID," the man ignored him, still asking, "where is it?"

The ID was in the drunken Patriot hat and he took it out.The man glanced at Gabor's letter, a little surprised, and then looked at Darnay seriously for a while.

The man left the escort and the escorted people without a word, and walked into the guard room. The three men were waiting outside the city on horseback. Charles Darnay looked around in a daze, and found that the city gate was opened The guard guarded with the patriots, and the patriots were much more numerous.He also found that although it was easy for farmers' carts and such vehicles and traders to transport supplies into the city, getting out of the city was quite troublesome, even for the most insignificant people.There are all kinds of people waiting to leave the city, and of course there are livestock and vehicles.The inspection of people is very strict, so the queues are moving at the speed of a turtle.Some people know that it will be a long time before they are checked, so they simply fall to the ground to sleep or smoke.Others talked and walked back and forth.Regardless of whether they are male or female, they are uniformly dressed, wearing red caps with tricolor badges.

Darnay observed all this on horseback, and after waiting for about half an hour, he had already stood in front of the person in charge.The man instructed the guards to clear the roadblock, gave the drunk and sober escort a receipt certifying receipt of the escort, and asked him to dismount.He dismounted, and the two patriots led his weary horse, and turned away without entering the city.

He followed the guide to a guard room.There was a smell of bad wine and tobacco, and soldiers and patriots were asleep or awake.Some are drunk, some are not, and some are in various postures between sleeping and waking, between drunk and not drunk, standing or lying down.The light in the guardhouse was very dark, half from the dimming oil lamp, half from the gloomy sky, and it was also in a corresponding ambiguous state.There is a roster on the desk, and a rough-looking, dark-skinned officer is in charge of everything here.

"Citizen of Defarge," said the officer to Darnay's leader, taking his pen to write something on the paper. "Is this fugitive Evremonde?"

"That's right." "Your age, Evermond?" "Thirty-seven." "Are you married, Evermond?" "Married." "Where did you get married?" "In England. "

"Oh yes, Evremonde, where is your wife now?"

"In England." "Of course, Evermond, you're going to La Force Prison soon."

"My God!" Darnay exclaimed. "Under which law am I convicted, and what crime have I committed?"

The officer looked up.

(End of this chapter)