Two Cities

Chapter 48

One year and three months have passed.At any moment during this time Lucy worried about what would happen to her husband tomorrow.Prison vans filled with condemned prisoners plod across the streets every day.Whether it's a cute girl, a pretty woman.No matter what color your hair is.Young people, strong people, old people.Aristocrats, peasants, Mademoiselle Guillotine's cups of red wine, which are taken out every day from the dark cellars of the abominable prison, come into the sun, and are sent to the lady through the streets to quench her thirst.Liberty Equality Fraternity or Death--so simple is the last: Ah, the guillotine!

If the sudden catastrophe and the flywheel of time had stunned the doctor's daughter and left her to wait with disappointment for the outcome, she was no different from anyone else.But ever since she folded her white-haired head to her youthful bosom in the attic of the St. Antoine, she has always stood firm in what she was supposed to do, especially in times of trial, as all silent, loyal, and good the same people.

After they moved into their new home and her father resumed his regular job, she organized her small household so well that she felt he had never left.Everything is going on in an orderly manner.She taught little Lucy on the same schedule as she did when the family was reunited at home in England.She kept reassuring herself with little tricks, pretending to believe the family reunion was imminent—she was preparing for her husband's return, getting him his own chair, putting it aside with his books.Besides this, she solemnly prayed for a dear prisoner who, among many unfortunates, lived under the shadow of death in prison.This was the only way she could express and vent her heavy heart in words.

Her appearance has remained largely unchanged.She and the children were dressed in plain, dark clothes that resembled mourning, but were as well-groomed as colorful ones on happy days.The freshness of her face was gone, and now the concentrated expression that used to appear so often now appeared only occasionally.Other than that, she's still beautiful and charming.Sometimes she would cry when she kissed her father at night, overflowing with the pent-up sadness of the day, and say that he was the only one she could rely on under heaven.He always said firmly: "I know his situation very well, and I know very well that I can save him, Lucy."

Their lives changed, and one night some time later, as soon as her father came home, he told her:

"My dear, there is an upper window in the prison, and Charles is sometimes there at three o'clock in the afternoon. If you are there and he goes to the window, he thinks he might see you—but he doesn't go to the window every day. , but depends on many accidental factors. But you can't see him, poor boy, and even if you see him, you can't express it, and you will be very dangerous."

"Ah, where is the address, father, I go every day."

From then on, no matter it was thunder, rain, or clear sky, she always went there and waited for two hours.When the clock struck two o'clock she was standing there, and at four o'clock she gave up the idea of ​​leaving.If the weather is not too humid or too bad, she will take the children with her.She usually goes alone, and has been insisting.

It was in a very dark corner of a crooked side street.The only dwelling there was a hut of a worker who sawed wood into short pieces for the fireplace, with nothing but walls.On the third day she went, someone began to pay attention to her.

"Good day, citizen." "Good day, citizen."

This was the legal way of meeting and greeting at that time.The pattern, so widespread among patriots not so long ago, is now the law to be obeyed by all.

"Are you walking, Citizen?" "You see, Citizen!"

The sawman was short and had a lot of gestures (he had worked as a road mender before).He looked at the prison, pointed there with his hand, put ten fingers apart in front of his face, representing the iron railings, and showed a funny look of peeking inside.

"It has nothing to do with me," he said.He went to saw wood again.The next day, he poked his head out to look for her, and greeted her as soon as she appeared.

"What, are you walking again, citizen?" "Yes, citizen."

"Ah! There's a baby! Are you her daughter, little citizen?" "Shall I say yes, mother?" whispered little Lucy, approaching her. "Answer yes, dear."

"Yes, citizen." "Ah! But I have nothing to do with it. My business is to saw wood. Do you see my saw? I call it my guillotine. La, la, la. La, la, la! His head fell off!"

As he spoke he held on to the log, which fell, and he picked it up and threw it into the basket.

"I call myself Samson of the wood guillotine. Look! Lu, lu, lu. Lu, lu, lu! This woman's head fell off! Then there was a child. Chirp, chirp, peep. , Beep! The child’s head also fell off. The whole family was chopped off!”

He threw two more logs into the basket, and Lucy couldn't help being frightened.It was impossible to get there while the sawman was at work without being seen by him.From then on, in order to gain his favor, she always talked to him first, and would also give him some money for drinks in private, which he immediately accepted.

He cares about everyone's business, and sometimes when she stares at the prison roof and bars, her heart flies to her husband and forgets about that person, she will immediately come back to her senses, only to see that person kneeling on a bench Looking up at her, he was not sawing wood. "But it's none of my business!"

Throughout the year—in the frost and snow in winter, in the cold wind in spring, in the hot sunshine in summer, in the drizzle of autumn, and then in the frost and snow of winter again, Lucy spends two days here every day. Hours, every day when I leave, I go to kiss the walls of the prison.She goes six times, and her husband is supposed to see her once (her father told her so), sometimes for two days in a row, or maybe not for a week or two.She would stand there all day, seven days a week, if only he could actually see her, and happened to see the possibility.

And so it came to December again, and her father was still walking with his head held high amidst the terror without the slightest fear.On a slightly snowy afternoon, she came to the corner she always went to.It was a happy day.When she came, she saw that the house was dotted with bayonets, the top of the bayonets was dotted with red caps, and there were three colored ribbons hanging on the house, and there was a standard slogan (the letters are also often written in three colors): united and indivisible republic, liberty, equality and fraternity or die!

The sawmill's place is not big, and the slogan can't fit in the entire facade.But he still found someone to paint him crookedly, writing that "death" finally squeezed in.He stuck a gun and a cap on the roof, which is the duty of a good citizen.He also put the saw in a window and marked it "Guillotine of Little Saints", when great women were respected.The wood shop was closed and the owner was away, and Lucy was alone.She can finally relax.

But the man was still very near, so at once she heard a commotion and a cry, and began to be frightened again.In an instant a great crowd turned out from the corner of the prison wall, and among them was the Sawyer, who was holding hands with the Furies.There are at least 500 of them, but they dance like thousands of demons and ghosts.There is no other music except my own singing, I can only dance to the beat of popular revolutionary songs, the beat is very fierce, as if something is unifying the pace.Men dance with women, women dance with women, men dance with men, and dance together whenever they meet.At first they were no more than storms in rough red caps and rags, but when they filled the place, and stopped dancing at the sight of Lucy, it became a raving, frantic mass. Buildings of ghosts.Sometimes they moved forward, sometimes back, clapping each other's hands, grabbing each other's heads, spinning alone, spinning in pairs until some of them fell to the ground.At this time, those who did not fall held hands and rotated in a circle. When the circle was broken, they pulled up together and continued to rotate until they stopped suddenly.So I started again, clapping hands again, pulling my head again, pulling hands again, pulling back and forth, there is no so-called fixed direction, and then pulled into a big circle and rotated in the opposite direction.They stopped suddenly, paused for a while, stepped on the beat again, lined up in a long row as wide as the street, lowered their heads, raised their hands, and flew forward screaming.It's frightening.It's a game that's unbelievably depraved.The initial idea was subverted by this ghost.A wholesome pastime turned into a means of making the blood run wild, the mindless, and the wicked.The semblance of grace makes the dance even uglier, showing how much everything that is essentially good has been twisted and corrupted.The girl's breasts were exposed during the dance, and the beautiful but crazy head and delicate feet of a minor seemed to be moving slowly in the blood-stained mud.It's all emblematic of a disjointed era.

This is the Carmagnola dance.The dance was over, leaving Lucy standing in front of the sawmill's house, frightened and thoughtless.The snowflakes fluttered quietly, piled up white and soft, as if no ghostly scene had happened at all.

"Ah, father!" She put down her hands covering her eyes and found him standing in front of her. "What a cruel and ugly sight."

"Yes, dear, I know. It's not the first time I've seen it. Don't be afraid! No one can hurt you."

"I'm not afraid of myself, father, but when I think of my husband, who's still at the mercy of these people-"

"This life is coming to an end. He was climbing for the window when I left him, and I've come to tell you about it. No one sees it here. You can blow a kiss to the tallest pitched roof. "

"I'll blow kisses, Father, and I'll fly my soul to him too." "Can't you stand there and see him, poor boy?" "Can't see him," said Lucy, making her cry, kissing His hand, "I can't see it."

There was a sound of footsteps in the snow. It was Madame Defarge. "Salute to you, lady citizen," said the doctor. "My salute, citizen," she said casually.No more words.Madame Defarge was gone, like a shadow across the white road.

"Give me your arm, darling. For his sake, pass this way cheerfully and bravely. Well gone." They had passed the place. "It will be useful. Charles will be interrogated tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" "Time can't be lost. I've made preparations, and there are some precautions that can only be taken when he is in court. He hasn't been notified yet, but he will know in a while. Tomorrow's trial, and at the same time put him in court." Transferred to the prison of the Paris Inquisition. My information was timely. Are you afraid?"

She could barely answer, "I believe in you."

"Trust me absolutely! It's about to start a new life, dear. He'll be back with you in a few hours after the trial. I've done everything I can to keep him. I've got to see Rory."

He stopped going.They heard the heavy sound of wheels, and they all knew what it meant.One, two, three.Three death row vehicles drove away slowly on the silent snow with their terrible cargo.

"I've got to see Rory," repeated the doctor, leading her the other way.

The trusty old man kept his duty and never strayed a step.When many properties are confiscated or returned to the country, he is often asked about related matters and his account books.He tried to keep everything that could be kept for the original owner.No one in the world knew better than him how much property the Tellson Bank had managed, but he never mentioned it to anyone.

The dark red and yellow clouds and the mist rising over the Seine were enough proof that night had come.It was late when he reached the bank.The stately mansions of the court dignitaries have been completely decayed, and few people live there.Over a pile of dust and ashes in the courtyard was covered in large letters: NATIONAL PROPERTY.Unity and indivisible republic, liberty, equality, fraternity or death.

Who is next to Mr. Lorry?Whose riding suit is that on the chair? ——He hid himself very deeply.From whom has Mr. Lorry just run out, excited and pleasantly surprised, and take his darling in his arms?He turned around and raised his voice to the room he came out of just now, "Transfer to the prison attached to the Paris Inquisition for interrogation tomorrow." Those were the words she stammered just now, who was he talking to?
(End of this chapter)