“Killed!” shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending botharms at their length above his head, and staring at him. “Dead!”The people closed round, and looked at Monsieur the Marquis.There was nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at himbut watchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing oranger. Neither did the people say anything; after the first cry, theyhad been silent, and they remained so. The voice of the submissiveman who had spoken, was flat and tame in its extreme submission.Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all, as if they hadbeen mere rats come out of their holes.He took out his purse.“It is extraordinary to me,” said he, “that you people cannottake care of yourselves and your children. One or the other of youis for ever in the way. How do I know what injury you have donemy horses? See! Give him that.”He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesheads craned forward that all the eyes might look down as it fell.The tall man called out again with a most unearthly cry, “Dead!”He was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, for whomthe rest made way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fellupon his shoulder, sobbing and crying, and pointing to thefountain, where some women were stooping over the motionlessbundle, and moving gently about it. They were as silent, however,as the men.“I know all, I know all,” said the last comer. “Be a brave man,my Gaspard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so, thanto live. It has died in a moment without pain. Could it have livedan hour as happily?”“You are a philosopher, you there,” said the Marquis, smiling.“How do they call you?”“They call me Defarge.”“Of what trade?”“Monsieur the Marquis, vendor of wine.”“Pick up that, philosopher and vendor of wine,” said theMarquis, throwing him another gold coin, “and spend it as youwill. The horses there; are they right?”Without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time,Monsieur the Marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just beingdriven away with the air of a gentleman who had accidentallybroken some common thing, and had paid for it, and could affordto pay for it; when his ease was suddenly disturbed by a coin flyinginto his carriage, and ringing on its floor.“Hold!” said Monsieur the Marquis. “Hold the horses! Whothrew that?”He looked to the spot where Defarge the vendor of wine hadCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesstood, a moment before; but the wretched father was grovelling onhis face on the pavement in that spot, and the figure that stoodbeside him was the figure of a dark stout woman, knitting.“You dogs,” said the Marquis, but smoothly, and with anunchanged front, except as to the spots on his nose: “I would rideover any of you very willingly, and exterminate you from the earth.If I knew which rascal threw at the carriage, and if that brigandwere sufficiently near it, he should be crushed under the wheels.”So cowed was their condition, and so long and hard theirexperience of what such a man could do to them, within the lawand beyond it, that not a voice, or a hand, or even an eye wasraised. Among the men, not one. But the woman who stoodknitting looked up steadily, and looked the Marquis in the face. Itwas not for his dignity to notice it; his contemptuous eyes passedover her, and over all the other rats; and he leaned back in his seatagain, and gave the word, “Go on!”He was driven on, and other carriages came whirling by inquick succession; the Minister, the State-Projector, the Farmer-General, the Doctor, the Lawyer, the Ecclesiastic, the GrandOpera, the Comedy, the whole Fancy Ball in a bright continuousflow, came whirling by. The rats had crept out of their holes tolook on, and they remained looking on for hours; soldiers andpolice often passing between them and the spectacle, and makinga barrier behind which they slunk, and through which theypeeped. The father had long ago taken up his bundle and hiddenhimself away with it, when the women who had tended the bundlewhile it lay on the base of the fountain, sat there watching therunning of the water and the rolling of the Fancy Ball—when theone woman who had stood conspicuous, knitting, still knitted onCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citieswith the steadiness of Fate. The water of the fountain ran, theswift river ran, the day ran into evening, so much life in the cityran into death according to rule, time and tide waited for no man,the rats were sleeping close together in their dark holes again, theFancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran their courses.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesChapter XIVMONSEIGNEUR IN THE COUNTRYAbeautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but notabundant. Patches of poor rye where corn should havebeen, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of mostcoarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On inanimate nature, as onthe men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendencytowards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly—a dejecteddisposition to give up, and wither away.Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which mighthave been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and twopostilions, fagged up a steep hill. A blush on the countenance ofMonsieur the Marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding;it was not from within; it was occasioned by an externalcircumstance beyond his control—the setting sun.The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriagewhen it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped incrimson. “It will die out,” said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing athis hands, “directly.”In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment.When the heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and thecarriage slid down hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust,the red glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis goingdown together, there was no glow left when the drag was taken off.But there remained a broken country, bold and open, a littlevillage at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesa church-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag witha fortress on it used as a prison. Round upon all these darkeningobjects as the night drew on, the Marquis looked, with the air ofone who was coming near home.The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poortannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays of post-horses,poor fountain, all usual poor appointments. It had its poor peopletoo. All its people were poor, and many of them were sitting attheir doors, shredding spare onions and the like for supper, whilemany were at the fountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and anysuch small yieldings of the earth that could be eaten. Expressivesigns of what made them poor, were not wanting; the tax for thestate, the tax for the church, the tax for the lord, tax local and taxgeneral, were to be paid here and to be paid there, according tosolemn inscription in the little village, until the wonder was, thatthere was any village left unswallowed.Few children were to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men andwomen, their choice on earth was stated in the prospect—Life onthe lowest terms that could sustain it, down in the little villageunder the mill; or captivity and Death in the dominant prison onthe crag.Heralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of hispostilion’s whips, which twined snake-like about their heads in theevening air, as if he came attended by the Furies, Monsieur theMarquis drew up in his travelling carriage at the posting-housegate. It was hard by the fountain, and the peasants suspendedtheir operations to look at him. He looked at them and saw inthem, without knowing it, the slow sure filing down of misery-worn face and figure, that was to make the meagreness ofCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesFrenchmen and English superstition which should survive thetruth through the best part of a hundred years.Monsieur the Marquis cast his eyes over the submissive facesthat drooped before him, as the like of himself had dropped beforeMonseigneur of the Court—only the difference was, that thesefaces drooped merely to suffer and not to propitiate—when agrizzled mender of the roads joined the group.“Bring me hither that fellow!” said the Marquis to the courier.The fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fellowsclosed round to look and listen, in the manner of the people at theParis fountain.“I passed you on the road?”“Monseigneur, it is true. I had the honour of being passed onthe road.”“Coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both?”“Monseigneur, it is true.”“What did you look at so fixedly?”“Monseigneur, I looked at the man.”He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed underthe carriage. All his fellows stooped to look under the carriage.“What man, pig? And why look there?”“Pardon, Monseigneur; he swung by the chain of the shoe—thedrag.”“Who?” demanded the traveller.“Monseigneur, the man.”“May the Devil carry away these idiots! How do you call theman? You know all the men of this part of the country. Who washe?”“Your clemency, Monseigneur! He was not of this part of theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiescountry. Of all the days of my life, I never saw him.”“Swinging by the chain? To be suffocated?”“With your gracious permission, that was the wonder of it,Monseigneur. His head hanging over—like this!”He turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned back,with his face thrown up to the sky, and his head hanging down;then recovered himself, fumbled with his cap, and made a bow.“What was he like?”“Monseigneur, he was whiter than the miller. All covered withdust, white as a spectre, tall as a spectre!”The picture produced an immense sensation in the little crowd;but all eyes, without comparing notes with other eyes, looked atMonsieur the Marquis. Perhaps, to observe whether he had anyspectre on his conscience.“Truly, you did well,” said the Marquis, felicitously sensiblethat such vermin were not to ruffle him, “to see a thiefaccompanying my carriage, and not open that great mouth ofyours. Bah! Put him aside, Monsieur Gabelle!”Monsieur Gabelle was the Postmaster, and some other taxingfunctionary united; he had come out with great obsequiousness toassist at this examination, and had held the examined by thedrapery of his arm in an official manner.“Bah! Go aside!” said Monsieur Gabelle.“Lay hands on this stranger if he seeks to lodge in your villagetonight, and be sure that his business is honest, Gabelle.”“Monseigneur, I am flattered to devote myself to your orders.”“Did he run away, fellow?—Where is that Accursed?”The accursed was already under the carriage with some half-dozen particular friends, pointing out the chain with his blue cap.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesSome half-dozen other particular friends promptly hauled himout, and presented him breathless to Monsieur the Marquis.“Did the man run away, Dolt, when we stopped for the drag?”“Monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hillside, headfirst, as a person plunges into the river.”“See to it, Gabelle. Go on!”The half-dozen who were peering at the chain were still amongthe wheels, like sheep; the wheels turned so suddenly that theywere lucky to save their skins and bones; they had very little elseto save, or they might not have been so fortunate.The burst with which the carriage started out of the village andup the rise beyond, was soon checked by the steepness of the hill.Gradually, it subsided to a foot pace, swinging and lumberingupward among the many sweet scents of a summer night. Thepostilions, with a thousand gossamer gnats circling about them inlieu of the Furies, quietly mended the points to the lashes of theirwhips; the valet walked by the horses; the courier was audible,trotting on ahead into the dim distance.At the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial-ground,with a Cross and a new large figure of Our Saviour on it; it was apoor figure in wood, done by some inexperienced rustic carver,but he had studied the figure from the life—his own life, maybe—for it was dreadfully spare and thin.To this distressful emblem of a great distress that had long beengrowing worse, and was not at its worst, a woman was kneeling.She turned her head as the carriage came up to her, rose quickly,and presented herself at the carriage-door.“It is you, Monseigneur! Monseigneur, a petition.”With an exclamation of impatience, but with his unchangeableCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesface, Monseigneur looked out.“How, then! What is it? Always petitions!”“Monseigneur. For the love of the great God! My husband, theforester.”“What of your husband, the forester? Always the same with youpeople. He cannot pay something?”“He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead.”“Well! He is quiet. Can I restore him to you?”“Alas, no Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a little heapof poor grass.”“Well?”“Monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor grass.”“Again, well?”She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner was oneof passionate grief; by turns she clasped her veinous and knottedhands together with wild energy, and laid one of them on thecarriage-door—tenderly, caressingly, as if it had been a humanbreast, and could be expected to feel the appealing touch.“Monseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my petition! Myhusband died of want; so many die of want; so many more will dieof want.”“Again, well? Can I feed them?”“Monseigneur, the good God knows; but I don’t ask it. Mypetition is, that a morsel of stone or wood, with my husband’sname, may be placed over him to show where he lies. Otherwise,the place will be quickly forgotten, it will never be found when Iam dead of the same malady. I shall be laid under some other heapof poor grass. Monseigneur, they are so many, they increase sofast, there is so much want. Monseigneur! Monseigneur!”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesThe valet had put her away from the door, the carriage hadbroken into a brisk trot, the postilions had quickened the pace, shewas left far behind, and Monseigneur, again escorted by theFuries, was rapidly diminishing the league or two of distance thatremained between him and his chateau.The sweet scents of the summer night rose all around him, androse, as the rain falls, impartially, on the rusty, ragged, and toilworn group at the fountain not far away; to whom the mender ofroads, with the aid of the blue cap without which he was nothing,still enlarged upon his man like a spectre, as long as they couldbear it. By degrees, as they could bear no more, they dropped off