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WHILE Sydney Carton and the Sheep of the prisons were in the adjoining dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry looked at Jerry in considerable doubt and mistrust. That honest tradesman's manner of receiving the look, did not inspire confidence; he changed the leg on which he rested, as often as if he had fifty of those limbs, and were trying them all; he examined his finger-nails with a very questionable closeness of attention; and whenever Mr. Lorry's eye caught his, he was taken with that peculiar kind of short cough requiring the hollow of a hand before it, which is seldom, if ever, known to be an infirmity attendant on perfect openness of character.
`Jerry,' said Mr. Lorry. `Come here.'
Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders in advance of him.
`What have you been, besides a messenger?'
After some cogitation, accompanied with an intent look at his patron, Mr. Cruncher conceived the luminous idea of replying, `Agricultooral character.'
`My mind misgives me much,' said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking a forefinger at him, `that you have used the respectable and great house of Tellson's as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous description. If you have, don't expect me to befriend you when you get back to England. If you have, don't expect me to keep your secret. Tellson's shall not be imposed upon.'
`I hope, sir,' pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, `that a gentleman like yourself wot I've had the honour of odd jobbing till I'm grey at it, would think twice about harming of me, even if it wos,--so I don't say it is, but even if it wos. And which it is to be took into account that if it wos, it wouldn't, even then, be all o' one side. There'd be two sides to it. There might be medical doctors at the present hour, a picking up their guineas where a honest tradesman don't pick up his fardens--fardens! no, nor yet his half fardens--half fardens! no, nor yet his quarter--a banking away like smoke at Tellson's, and a cocking their medical eyes at that tradesman on the sly, a going in and going out to their own carriages--ah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that 'ud be imposing, too, on Tellson's. For you cannot sarse the goose and not the gander. And here's Mrs. Cruncher, or leastways
wos in the Old England times, and would be to-morrow, if cause given, a floppin' again the business to that degree as is ruinating stark ruinating! Whereas them medical doctors' wives don't flop--catch 'em at it! Or, if they flop, their floppings goes in favour of more patients, and how can you rightly have one without the t'other? Then, wot with undertakers, and wot with parish clerks, and wot with sextons, and wot with private watchmen (all awaricious and all in it), a man wouldn't get much by it, even if it wos so. And wot little a man did get, would never prosper with him, Mr. Lorry. He'd never have no good of it; he'd want all along to be out of the line, if he could see his way out, being once in--even if it wos so.'
`Ugh!' cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless. `I am shocked at the sight of you.'
`Now, what I would humbly offer to you, sir,' pursued Mr. Cruncher, `even if it wos so, which I don't say it is---'
`Don't prevaricate,' said Mr. Lorry.
`No, I will not, sir,' returned Mr. Cruncher, as if nothing were further from his thoughts or practice--`which I don't say it is--wot I would humbly offer to you, sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that there Bar, sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be a man, wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job you, till your heels is where your head is, if such should be your wishes. If it wos so, which I still don't say it is (for I will not prewaricate to you, sir), let that there boy keep his father's place, and take care of his mother; don't blow upon that boy's father--do not do it, sir--and let that father go
into the line of the reg'lar diggin', and make amends for what he would have un-dug--if it wos so--by diggin' of 'em in with a will, and with conwictions respectin' the futur' keepin' of 'em safe. That, Mr. Lorry,' said Mr. Cruncher, wiping his forehead with his arm, as an announcement that he had arrived at the peroration of his discourse, `is wot I would respectfully offer to you, sir. A man don't see all this here a goin' on dreadful round him, in the way of Subjects without heads, dear me, plentiful enough fur to bring the price down to porterage and hardly that, without havin' his serious thoughts of things. And these here
would be mine, if it wos so, entreatin' of you fur to bear in mind that wot I said just now, I up and said in the good cause when I might have kep' it back.'
`That at least is true,' said Mr. Lorry. `Say no more now. It may be that I shall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and, repent in action--not in words. I want no more
Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy returned from the dark room. `Adieu, Mr. Barsad,' said the former; `our arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me.'
He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done?
`Not much. If it should go ill with the prisone I have ensured access to him, Once.'
Mr. Lorry's countenance fell.
`It is all I could do,' said Carton. `To propose too much, would be to put this man's head under the axe, and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness of the position. There is no help for it.'
`But access to him,' said Mr. Lorry, `if it should go ill before the Tribunal, will not save him.'
`I never said it would.'
Mr. Lorry's eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of this second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears fell.
`You are a good man and a true friend,' said Carton, in an altered voice. `Forgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see my father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your sorrow more, if you, were my father. You are free from that misfortune, however.
Though he said the last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there was a true feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that Mr. Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly unprepared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed it.
`To return to poor Darnay,' said Carton. `Don't tell Her of this interview, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see him. She might think it was contrived, in case of the worst, to convey to him the means of anticipating the sentence.'
Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to see if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and evidently understood it.
`She might think a thousand things,' Carton said, `and any of them would only add to her trouble. Don't speak of me to her. As I said to you when I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do any little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, without that. You are going to her, I hope? She must be very desolate to-night.
`I am going now, directly.'
`I am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reliance on you. How does she look?'
`Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.' `Ah!'
It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh--almost like a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry's eyes to Cartons face, which was turned to the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and topboots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of his foot.
`I forgot it,' he said.
Mr. Lorry's eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of the wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and having the expression of prisoners' faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly reminded of that expression.
`And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?' said Carton, turning to him.
`Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped to have left them in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Pass. I have my Leave to Pass. I was ready to go.'
They were both silent.
`Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?' said Carton, wistfully.
`I am in my seventy-eighth year.'
`You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?'
`I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man. Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business when a boy.'
`See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will miss you when you leave it empty!'
`A solitary old bachelor,' answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. `There is nobody to weep for me.'
`How can you say that? Wouldn't She weep for you? Wouldn't her chi!d?'
`Yes, yes, thank God. I didn't quite mean what I said.'
`It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?'
`Surely, surely.'
`If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, "I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in no regard; I have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by!" your seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they not?'
`You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would he.
Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence of a few moments, said:
`I should like to ask you:--Does your childhood seem far off? Do the days when you sat at your mother's knee, seem days of very long ago?'
Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered: `Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.'
`I understand the feeling!' exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. `And you are the better for it?'
`I hope so.
Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with his outer coat; `but you,' said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, `you are young.'
`Yes,' said Carton. `I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age. Enough of me.
`And of me, I am sure,' said Mr. Lorry. `Are you going out?'
`I'll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don't be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?'
Yes, unhappily.'
`I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.'
Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry's destination. Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. `She came out here,' he said, looking about him, `turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps.
It was ten o'clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door.
`Good night, citizen,' said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively.
`Good night, citizen.'
`How goes the Republic?'
`You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!'
`Do you often go to see him---'
`Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?'
`Never.'
`Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honour!'
As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away.
`But you are not English,' said the wood-sawyer, `though you wear English dress?'
`Yes,' said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder.
`You speak like a Frenchman.'
`I am an old student here.'
`Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.'
`Good night, citizen.'
`But go and see that droll dog,' the little man persisted, calling after him. `And take a pipe with you!'
Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets--much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror--he stopped at a chemist's shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfares, by a small, dim, crooked man.
Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. `Whew!' the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. `Hi! hi! hi!'
Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said:
`For you, citizen?'
`For me.
`You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?'
`Perfectly.'
Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. `There is nothing more to do,' said he, glancing upward at the moon, `until to-morrow. I can't sleep.
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father's grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. `I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.'
In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow's victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow's and tomorrow's, the chain
of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship's anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on.
With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.
Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to lie suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss.
`I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.'
Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's dominion.
But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.
The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light arid warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.--`Like me!'
A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the words, `I am the resurrection and the life.'
Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.
The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep--whom many fell away from in dread--pressed him into an obscure corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.
When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney Carton, it would have been seen to be the same influence exactly.
Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could have been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had not first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds.
Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and the day after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The whole jury, as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer.
Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising, murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one another, before bending forward with a strained attention.
Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Re-accused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.
To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor.
The President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly?
`Openly, President.'
`By whom?'
`Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine.'
`Good.'
`Thérèse Defarge, his wife.'
`Good.'
`Alexandre Manette, physician.'
A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been seated.
`President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband of my child!
`Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic.'
Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and with warmth resumed.
`If the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child herself you would have no duty but to sacrifice her Listen to what is to follow. In the meanwhile, be silent!'
Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Manette sat down, with his eyes looking around, and his lips trembling; his daughter drew closer to him. The craving man on the jury rubbed his hands together, and restored the usual hand to his mouth.
Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough to admit of his being heard, and rapidly expounded the story of the imprisonment, and of his having been a mere boy in the Doctor's service, and of the release, and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered to him. This short examination followed, for the court was quick with its work.
`You did good service at the taking of the Bastille, citizen?'
`I believe so.'
Here, an excited woman screeched from the crowd: `You were one of the best patriots there. Why not say so? You were a cannonier that day there, and you were among the first to enter the accursed fortress when it fell. Patriots, I speak the truth!'
It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of the audience, thus assisted the proceedings. The President rang his bell; but, The Vengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, `I defy that bell!' wherein she was likewise much commended.
`Inform the Tribunal of what you did that day within the Bastille, citizen.'
`I knew,' said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who stood at the bottom of the steps on which he was raised, looking steadily up at him; `I knew that this prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from himself. He knew himself by no other name than One Hundred and Five, North Tower, when he made shoes under my care. As I serve my gun that day, I resolve, when the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount to the cell, with a fellow-citizen who is one of the Jury, directed by a gaoler. I examine it, very closely. In a hole in the chimney, where a stone has been worked out and replaced, I find a written paper. This is that written paper. I have made it my business to examine some specimens of the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of Doctor Manette. I confide this paper, in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the President.
`Let it be read.'
In a dead silence and stillness--the prisoner under trial looking lovingly at his wife, his wife only looking from him to look with solicitude at her father, Doctor Manette keeping his eyes fixed on the reader, Madame Defarge never taking hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking his from his feasting wile, and all the other eyes there intent upon the Doctor, who saw none of them--the paper was read, as follows. 西德尼.卡尔顿跟监狱绵羊在隔壁的黑屋里谈话，声音很低，外面完全听不见。罗瑞先生却带着相当的怀疑和不信任打量着杰瑞。那位诚实的生意人承受这眼光的样子更叫人放心不下。他老是把支撑身子的两条腿换来换去，仿佛他长了五十条腿要一条一条地去检查似的。他也检查手指头，那副专心致志的样子也很令人生疑。罗瑞先主的眼光跟他的眼光一接触，他就用乎捂在嘴上咳嗽起来，咳声短促，咳法也特别。据说这种病胸中一尘不染的人是很少得的，即使有，也不多。
“杰瑞，”罗瑞先生说，“过来。”
克朗彻先生一只肩头在前侧着身子走上前来。
“你除了送信还干过什么？”
克朗彻先生思考了一会儿，又仔细地瞧着他的老板，忽然得到一个辉煌的灵感，回答道，“带点农业性质的活儿吧！”
“我心里很担心呢，”罗瑞先生伸出食指指着他，“担心你使用受人尊重的了不起的台尔森银行作幌子去干很丢人的违法活动。你若是干了，回英国之后就别想我还拿你当朋友，也别想我为你保密。台尔森银行是不准人糟踏的。”
“我希望，先生，”克朗彻先生涨红了脸恳求道，“我有幸给您干点零活，直干到头发全白。就算我干过那样的事——我没说干过，只说就算干过——我也希望像你这样的厚道人在打算跟我过不去时多想一想。就算是干过吧，也得考虑到那可不是一方面的事，而是两方面的事。现在医生捞的是金币，老实巴交的生意人却连一个铜板也捞不到——一个铜板！不，连半个钢板也捞不到—一半个钢板，不，半个铜板的一半也捞不到！—一那钱一溜烟存进了台尔森银行，医生却斜着一双能治病的眼睛偷愉地瞅生意人。医生们马车进马车出——啊，跑起来也是一溜烟，若不是更快的话。他这不也是糟踏台尔森么？吃母鹅要加酱，吃公鹅怕也得要加酱才行吧！还有个克朗彻太太，一有理由就跪下来祷告，反对他做生意，弄得他倾家荡产，倒霉透顶，至少原来在英国是这样，以后还会是这样。而医生的老婆却不用祷告——你见过她们祷告么！就算祷告吧，也不过是祷告别人多生几回病。你说这个不对，难道那个就对么？还有，就算有那么回事吧，残仪馆的人要钱，教区办事员要钱，教堂执事要钱，私家守夜人也要钱，全都要钱，全都贪心不足，到末了还能落得几个？就算落下了几个，也发不了财，阔不起来的，罗瑞先生。但凡能不干，早就想不干了，可已经干上了——我是说即使是已经干上了。”
“啊，”罗瑞先生叫道，反倒多少宽容了些。“我现在一看见你就毛骨悚然。”
“我没说有那回事，可就算有吧，”克朗彻先生接下去说，“我恭恭敬敬向你提个建议。”
不要支吾其辞了，”罗瑞先生说。
“不，我不，先生，”克朗彻先生回答，仿佛没有比那话跟他的思想行动更远的了，“我决不支吾其辞，我要恭恭敬敬向你提个建议，先生，如果你愿意，海那边那法学会板凳上坐着我的儿子，以后他长大成人，就给您老跑腿、送信，给您老办杂事，直办到您老归天，只要您老愿意要他。就算是干过了（我仍旧没说真干过，我不会对你支吾其辞的，先生），也让那孩子接替他爸爸的位子，照顾他妈妈吧。别毁了那孩子的爸爸，千万别，先生，就让他爸爸去当个正经的挖坟匠，诚心诚意挖坟，往里面埋人，算作是对当初挖坟往外面抬人这事儿（就算抬过吧）认个错，相信他永远会埋得严严实实的，”克朗彻先生说，一面用手臂擦着脑门上的汗，表示他的发言已近尾声。“我要恭恭敬敬向你建议的就是这个，罗瑞先生。这周围的事吓死人了，天呐，多少人丢了脑袋，多得连帮人下力都跌了价，还有许多别的。见了这阵势谁都得认真想一想呢！就算有那么回事吧，我求你记住我刚才说的话——我原可以不说的，可我说了，为的也就是求个平安。”
“这倒算说了真话，”罗瑞先生说。“现在你就别再说了。你若是悔改了，有行动表现，够资格作朋友，我还认你作朋友。但不是口头上的，口头上的我再也不听了。”
克朗彻先生用指关节敲敲自己的前额，这时西德尼.卡尔顿和密探从黑屋出来了。“再见，巴萨先生，”前者说，“咱俩就这样定了，你用不着怕我什么了。”
他在壁炉前的椅子上坐下，面对着罗瑞先生。两人单独相对时，罗瑞先生问他做了什么？
“没做什么。若是囚犯出了问题，我保证能见到他，一次。”
罗瑞先生脸色一沉。
“我只能做到这一步了，”卡尔顿说。“要求过高会连他的脑袋也放到斧头下面去的。那就正如他所说的，即使叫人揭发了，也不会比这更糟糕了。这显然是我们处境的弱点。无可奈何。”
“但是，如果法庭上出了问题，”罗瑞先生说，“光见面是救不了他的。”
“我并没有说救得了他。”
罗瑞先生的眼睛逐渐转到炉火上。他对他心爱的人的同情和第二次逮捕的沉重失望使他的目光暗淡下来。他难以承受近来的忧伤，不禁深感自己的衰迈，眼泪随之潸然而出。
“你是个善良的人，真诚的朋友，”卡尔顿说，改变了口气。“请原谅我注意到了你的感伤。我不能坐视我的父亲流泪而无动于衷。即使你是我的父亲，我对你的哀伤也只能尊重到这种程度了。其实这场不幸跟你并没有关系。”
尽管他说到最后一句话时又恢复了一向的满不在乎的态度，但他的口气与抚慰都带着真正的感情和尊重。罗瑞先生过去从没见到过他较为善良的一面，此时见了不免觉得意外，便向他伸出手去，卡尔顿轻轻地握了一握。
“还是谈谈可怜的达尔内吧，”卡尔顿说，“请别把这次见面或这种安排告诉露西。这办法并不能帮助她见到达尔内。她可能以为是在不得已时给他送去东西，让他抢在用刑之前自杀呢！”
这想法很出乎罗瑞先生意外，他立即看着卡尔顿，想看出他是否真有那种想法。好像是真的。他回望了他一眼，显然明白了他的想法。
“她可能想得太多，”卡尔顿说，“每一个念头都可能给她带来痛苦。别把我的事告诉她。我刚到时就告诉过你，最好别让我跟她见面。不见她我仍然可以竭尽全力给她一点我力所能及的帮助。我希望，你打算到她那儿去？她今天晚上一定非常痛苦！”
“我现在就去，马上。”
“我很高兴，她离不开你，也很仰仗你。她现在怎么样？”
“很着急，很伤心，但很美丽。”
“啊！”
这一声叫喊又悠长又凄楚，似是长叹，又似是呜咽。这使罗瑞先生的目光落到了卡尔顿脸上，那脸正对着炉火，一道光亮（也许是一道阴影吧，老人弄不清）迅速从他脸上掠过，有如在风暴初起的晴朗日子从山边掠过的乌云。他抬起一只脚要把一块快要崩塌的火光熊熊的小柴块推回炉里。他穿了一身流行的白色骑马装和一双长统靴。浅淡的眼里映着火光，使他的脸看去非常苍白，没有修剪过的棕色长发松松地披在脸旁。他对那火的满不在乎的神态很奇特，罗瑞先生急忙警告他，此刻燃烧的柴块虽已被脚踩碎，靴子却还踏在炽热的炭火上。
“我忘了，”他说。
罗瑞先生的眼睛又被吸引到了他的脸上。他注意到那张天生的漂亮面孔上笼罩了一片憔悴的阴影，这使老人清晰地面忆起法庭上囚徒们的神色，那神色在他的心中记忆犹新。
“你在这儿的公事快办完了么，先生？”卡尔顿对他转过身去说。
“快完了。我终于办完了我在这儿所能办的事。昨晚我正要告诉你，露西却出乎意外地出现了。我希望把一切都处理得万无一失，然后离开巴黎。我有个假期，我准备去度假。”
两人都沉默了。
“你这么长寿总有许多值得回忆的岁月的，是么，先生？”卡尔顿若有所思地说。
“我七十八岁了。”
“你这一辈子做了许多事，总是踏踏实实、坚持不懈地工作着，受人信任、尊敬和器重。”
“我从成年以来就是个办事的人。实际上我可以说从儿童时代起就已是个办事的人了。”
“你看你，七十八岁，处在多么重要的地位，你离开之后会有多少人想念你呀！”
“想念一个孤独的老单身汉么！”罗瑞先生摇头回答，“没有人会为我哭泣的。”
“你怎么能那样讲？她难道不会为你哭么？她的孩子难道不会么？”
“会的，会的，谢谢上帝。我想的跟我说出的并不完全一样。”
“这是一件应该感谢上帝的事，是么？”
“当然，当然。”
“若是今晚你能真心实意对自己孤独的心说，‘我完全不曾赢得任何人的爱和眷恋、感激和尊堂，不曾在任何人心里引起过柔情，没做过任何善事，没做过对人有益、令人怀念的事！’那你那七十八年岂不成了七十八个沉重的诅咒么？”
“你说得对，卡尔顿先生。我想会的。”
西德尼又把目光转向炉火，沉默了好一会几说：
“我想问问你：——你的儿童时代好像很遥远么？你坐在你母亲膝盖上的日子是否已是很久很久以前的事了？”
说时他的表情柔和起来。罗瑞先生回答道：
“二十年前倒觉得很远，可到了这个年龄反倒不远了，因为我是做圆周运动的，越是靠近终点，也就越是靠近起点了。这好像是为踏上最终的路做着善意的安慰和准备。现在我的心常为许多长期沉睡的回忆所感动，是关于我年轻美丽的母亲的。（我现在是多么衰老呀！）我想起许多往事，那时我们称作世道人心的东西对我还显得虚无缥缈，我的缺点也还没有固定。”
“我懂得你的这种感觉！”卡尔顿惊叫，忽然容光焕发，“这样你便感到更幸福了么？”
“但愿如此。”
说到这里，卡尔顿站起身子去帮他穿外衣，停止了谈话。“可是你还年轻。”罗瑞先生又回到这个话题。
“是的，”卡尔顿说。“我年轻。可是我这种年轻的日子是不会长久的。我活够了。”
“我才活够了呢，我相信，”罗瑞先生说。“你要出去么？”
“我跟你一起步行到她家门口。你知道我的这种流浪汉习惯，我是闲不住的。如果我在街上转上很久，你也不用担心。早上我又会出现的。你明天要去法庭么？”
“不幸的是，要去。”
“我也要去，但只是去当听众。我的密探会给我找到地方的。扶住我的胳膊，先生。”
罗瑞先生扶住他，两人下楼走到街上。几分钟之后他们来到了罗瑞的目的地。卡尔顿在那儿跟他分了手，却在附近留连不去。大门关上之后他又走到门前，摸了摸门。他听说过她每天都要去监狱。“她从这儿出来，”他四面望望，“往这边走，一定也常踩在这些石头上。我跟着她的脚步走走吧。”
夜里十点钟他在拉福斯监狱前露西曾数百次站立过的地方站住了。一个小个子锯木工已关上铺子，正坐在店门口抽烟。
“晚安，公民。”卡尔顿经过时停下打招呼，因为那人好奇地看他。
“晚安，公民。”
“共和国情况如何？”
“你是说断头台吧。棒着呢！今天已是六十三个。马上就要满一百了。参孙和他的部下有时抱怨说太累了。哈，哈，哈！参孙真会开玩笑。好一个剃头匠！”
“你常去看那剃头匠——”
“看他剃头？经常去，每天都去。多灵巧的剃头匠！你见过他剃头么？”
“没有。”
“在他活儿多的时候去看看吧。想想看，公民。今天他两袋烟工夫不到就剃掉了六十三个头呢！两袋烟工夫不到，真话。”
这位傻笑着的小个子取下烟斗，解释他是怎样替刽子手计算时间的。卡尔顿心里闪过一个念头，真恨不得一拳揍死他。他转身要走。
“可你不是英国人，”锯木工问，“虽然你一身英国装。”
“是英国人，”卡尔顿再次停步，回头作答。
“你说话像个法国人呢。”
“我在这儿读过书。”
“啊哈！地道的法国人！晚安，英国人。”
“再见，公民。”
“你得去看看那巧妙的玩艺儿，”小个子坚持自己的看法，在他背后叫道，“还带个烟斗去！”
西德尼走出他的视线不远，便在街心站住了。他就着闪烁朦胧的路灯在一张纸片上用铅笔写了几个字，然后驾轻就熟地穿过几条黑暗肮脏的街道——街道比平时肮脏多了，因为在恐怖时期就是县堂皇的大街也没有人打扫——来到一家药店前站住了。药店老板正在关门，那是在一条弯曲的上坡路边由一个不老实的昏聩的小个子开的一个不老实的昏暗的小店。
他走到柜台前招呼了老板一声，便把字条放到他面前。“咻！”药店老板看了条子低低地吹了声口哨，“嗨！嗨！嗨！”
西德尼.卡尔顿没答理。药店老板又问：
“是你要么，公民？”
“我要。”
“你得注意，要分开使用，公民。你知道合用的后果么？”
“很清楚。”
几包药分别包好后递给了他。他一包一包放在内展上衣的口袋里，数好钱付了帐，小心地离开了药店。“在明天到来之前，”他说，抬头望望月亮，“再没有别的事要做了。可我是睡不着的了。”
他这话是在飞速漂移的流云之下大声说出的，态度再也不是满不在乎，也不是懒散多于轻蔑，而是表现了一个厌倦者的决心。他曾旁徨漂泊，也曾作过斗争，却老是走投无路。现在他终于找到了路，看到了尽头。
很久以前，他在早年的竞争者中以头角峥嵘、前程远大著称的时候，曾随着父亲的灵柩来到墓前—一母亲多年前早已去世一一此刻，当他沿着黑暗的街道在重重的黑影里蹀躞，任月亮和流云在他头顶漂移时，父亲墓前庄严的词句忽然涌现在他心头：“复活在我，生命也在我，信仰我的人虽然死了，也必复活；凡活着信仰我的人，必永远不死。”
孑然一身的他滞留在一个由斧头统治的城市里，心里禁不住为当天处决的六十三个人，也为关在牢里明天、后天、再后天待决的无数人感到痛苦。那联想的链条，那令他回想起了当年的词句，有如从深海拔起了一根连着生锈的船锚的链条，是很容易追溯的。可是他没有去追溯，只是反复念诵着那几句话，往前走去。
西德尼.卡尔顿怀着庄严的兴趣望着还有灯光闪烁的窗户，窗里的人能得到几小时平静便忘却了四周的恐怖，要睡觉了。他望着教堂的塔楼，那儿已没有人作祈祷，因为多年来以牧师身分出现的骗子手、强盗和花花公子已普遍使人深恶痛绝到了宁肯自我毁灭的程度。他望着远处的墓地，墓地大门上标明是划拨给“永恒的休息”的。他望着爆满的监狱，望着街道，一批批囚犯就是沿着这些街道走向死亡的。死亡早已是司空见惯、不足为奇，断头台的行动在世人心里已引不起什么冤魂不散的凄惨传说。他怀着庄严的兴趣观察着这个在喧哗激怒之中落入夜间短暂休眠的城市，观察着它的生命与死亡。他再度行过了塞纳河，踏入了灯光较为明亮的市街。
街上马车稀少，因为坐马车可能引起怀疑，上流社会的人早把脑袋隐藏到红便帽之下，穿上沉重的鞋，蹒跚地步行。不过戏院仍然满座，他经过戏院时，人群正欢笑着往外涌，议论着往家里走。戏院门前有个小姑娘正和她的妈妈一起穿过泥泞要过街去。他抱起了孩子送她过街。在那怯生生的手臂放松他的脖子时，他要她让他亲一亲。
“复活在我，生命也在我，信仰我的人虽然死了，也必复活；凡活着信仰我的人，必永远不死。”
此时道路悄寂，夜色渐浓，《圣经》的词句伴和着他的脚步的回音，在空中回荡。他心里一片宁静，一念不兴，只偶然伴随着脚步在嘴里重复那些词句，可那些词句却永远在他耳里震响。
夜色渐渐淡去，他站在桥头，听着河水拍打着巴黎岛的河堤，堤边的房屋与大教堂在月光下泛着白光，融浑交汇，有如图画。白日冷清清地到来了，像从空中露出了一张死尸的脸。然后夜、月亮和星星便淡成灰白，死去了。一时之间，大千世界仿佛交给了死神统治。
但是，辉煌的太阳升起来了，仿佛用它那万丈光芒把夜间令他沉重的词句直接送进了他的心窝，给了他一片温暖。他用手肃然地遮住眼睛，迎着阳光望去，看到一道光桥架在空中，把他和太阳联结起来，阳光下河水波光粼粼地熠耀着。
清晨静谧之中的澎湃的潮水是那么迅疾，那么深沉，那么可信，有如意气相投的挚友。他远离了房舍，沿着河边走去，竟沐着太阳的光亮与温暖，倒在岸边睡着了。他醒来站起身子，还在那儿逗留了一会儿，望着一个漩涡漫无目的地旋卷着，旋卷着，终于被流水吸去，奔向大海——“跟我一样！”
一艘做生意的小艇扬起一片色调如死叶般柔和的风帆，驶入了他的视线，又驶出了他的视线消失了。那小艇的踪迹在水中隐没时，他心里爆发出一个祈祷，祈求慈悲对待他的一切盲目行为与错误。那祈祷的结尾是：“复活在我，生命也在我。”
他回到银行时，罗瑞先生已经外出。这善良的老人的去向不难猜测。西德尼．卡尔顿只喝了点咖啡，别的什么都没喝，再吃了一点面包，然后洗了洗，换了衣服，让自己清清爽爽，便到法庭去了。
那只黑色的绵羊（许多人一见他便吓得躲开）把他塞进入群中一个不起眼的角落去时，法庭里正是一片喧哗与骚动。罗瑞先生在那儿，曼内特医生在那儿，她在那儿，坐在她父亲身边。
她的丈夫被押进来时，她向他转过眼去，那目光是那样有力，那样鼓舞，那样充满钦敬的挚爱与怜惜的柔情，却又表现了她为他而具有的勇气。那目光在他脸上换回了健康的血色，使他一顾一盼都神采奕奕，使他的心活跃起来。若是有人注意到了露西的目光此刻对西德尼．卡尔顿的影响，便也会发现她对他的影响也正跟对她的丈夫一模一样。
在那不公正的法庭面前很少有保证听取被告申诉的程序，甚至根本没有。若是一切的法律、手续和仪式当初不曾受到这样恣意的践踏，致使这场革命的自杀性的报复把它们全都抛到了九霄云外，眼前这种革命就不会发生了。
每一双眼睛都转向了陪审团。陪审团员全是跟昨天、前天、明天、后天、大后天——样的坚定的爱国者、优秀的共和主义者。其中有一个人最引人注目，那人一脸饥渴、迫不及待，手指头老在嘴边抓来挠去，那样子给观众巨大的满足。那是圣安托万区的杰克三号，一个嗜杀成性、食人生番式的、满怀血腥的陪审员。整个陪审团有如一群为审判鹿而集合起来的恶狗。
每一双眼睛又转向了五位法官和公共检察长，今天这里完全没有偏私，只有一片凶残暴戾、不讲情面、杀气腾腾、公事公办的神气。每一双眼睛都转向人群中的另一双眼睛，称许地向对方眨眨眼，点点头，又再向前望去，聚精会神地听着。
查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内。昨日开释，昨日再次受到指控，重新被捕。控诉书昨夜已交该犯本人。该犯以共和国的敌人、贵族、出身残暴贵族家庭嫌疑受到揭发，该犯所属家族已因使用现己被剥夺的特权无耻欺压百姓而被剥夺法律保护。根据剥夺法律保护条令，查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内，依法当处以死刑，绝无宽贷。
公众检察官的发言极简短，大意如此。
法庭庭长提问，被告受到的是公开揭发，还是秘密揭发。
“公开揭发，庭长。”
“谁是揭发人？”
“有三个人揭发。欧内斯特．德伐日，圣安托万区酒店主。”
“好。”
“泰雷兹．德伐日，上述德伐日之妻。”
“好。”
“亚历山大．曼内特，医生。”
法庭里爆出一片震耳的喧嚣，曼内特医生在喧嚣中从座位上站起来，面色苍白，浑身发抖。
“庭长，我向你提出愤怒的抗议。这是伪造，欺骗。你知道被告是我女儿的丈夫，而我的女儿和她所爱的人在我眼中比我的生命还要宝贵。这位硬说我揭发了我女儿的丈夫的人是谁？在哪儿？”
“曼内特公民，安静。不服从法庭的权威是能叫你失去法律的保护的。至于说比你的生命更宝贵么，对于一个好公民而言，没有什么能比共和国更宝贵的了。”
这番申斥获得了高声的喝彩。庭长摇铃要求安静，然后激动地讲了下去。
“即使共和国要求你牺牲你的女儿，你的责任也只能是拿她作牺牲。肃静，往下听！”
一片疯狂的欢呼随之而起。曼内特医生坐下，眼睛四面望着，嘴唇发抖。他的女儿更靠近了他。那满脸饥渴的人搓搓双手，又用一只手在嘴边抓挠了起来。
德伐日出庭。法庭肃静到能听见他发言时，他迅速叙述了囚禁的故事。他从孩子时起就在医生家工作，医生获释时被交给他。他的陈述受到以下的简短审查。法庭工作一向十分迅速。
“你在攻占巴士底狱时表现良好，是么，公民？”
“我相信如此。”
这时人群中传来一个女人激动的尖叫，“你在巴士底是最出色的爱国者，你为什么不说？你那天在那儿是个炮手，那受到诅咒的要塞被攻垮时，你是最早冲进去的。爱国者们，我说的是真话吧！”
那在听众的热烈赞扬声中像这样促进了审讯过程的是复仇女神。庭长摇铃，受到鼓动、头脑发热的复仇女神尖叫道，“我才不理你那铃声呢，”因而她再次受到赞赏。
“向法庭报告那天你在巴士底狱做的事吧，公民！”
“我知道我所说的囚犯曾被关在一间叫作北塔一Ｏ五的牢房里，”德伐日低头望了望他的妻子，她站在他证人席的台阶下面，目不转睛地望着他。“我是从医生那儿听说的。他在我的照顾下做鞋的时候只知道自己叫北塔一０五，别的名字都不知道。我那天开炮时已下定决心，只要攻下了要塞，一定要去检查那间牢房。我跟一个公民在一个管牢的人带领之下爬上了牢房。那公民现在是在座的一个陪审员。我很仔细地检查了那屋子。我在烟囱的一个洞里发现了一块被取下又重新安好的石头，从那里面找到了一份手稿。这就是。我曾研究过曼内特医生好些笔迹，把那当作一项工作。这份手稿确实是曼内特医生的手迹。我把曼内特医生这份亲笔手稿呈交庭长处理。”
“宣读手稿。”
死一样的沉默和安静。受审的囚徒满怀爱意望着他的妻子；他的妻子不断焦灼地从他望到自己的父亲；曼内特医生目不转睛地望着朗读者；德伐日太太目不转睛地盯着囚徒；德伐日目不转睛地望着看得正高兴的妻子；法庭上其他的眼睛都专注地望着医生；医生对他们却一个也没看见。法庭宣读了那份手稿，全文如下。 |
