Chapter 16 Chapter Eight The adults are in the country

Beautiful scenery.The wheat is shining, but not many grains.Where there should be wheat grow patches of poor barley.Slices of poor peas and beans, and slices of the coarsest vegetable replace 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 have used a lighter carriage) driven by two drivers.The face of the Marquis was flushed, but this did not damage his noble blood, because the red did not come from his body, but from an uncontrollable external condition - 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 will soon be one by one." 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 was disappearing quickly, the sun and the Marquis went downhill together, and when the brakes were removed, the sunset glow was also gone. However, at the foot of the mountain 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.

The village has but one poor street, with a poor distillery, a poor tannery, a poor inn, a poor stagecoach station, a poor spring, and poor facilities.Its people are also poor, all very poor.Many people were sitting at the door, chopping a few heads of onions and the like, preparing dinner.Many people wash vegetables, grass, and small edible products that can grow on the ground by the spring water.Something that marks the source of their poverty is not hard to see.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.You have to pay here, and you have to pay there. It is surprising that the small village has not been eaten up.

There are not many children in sight.There are no dogs.As for men and women, their way in the world is told by the scenery-either surviving on the minimum conditions in the village under the wind and wind, or being locked in the prison on the top of the cliff and dying there. With meteors and the cracking of the driver's whip, which swirled like snakes in the night above their heads, the Marquis's coach arrived at the gate of the inn, as if attended by Furies.The station was not far from the spring, and the peasants stopped their work to look at him; he looked at them too, and though he saw, he did not feel the faces and figures worn away by the pain of the long stream.Such images have created a superstition in the British mind: the French are always thin and gaunt.And this superstition persisted almost a hundred years after that fact had disappeared.

His Excellency the Marquis's eyes fell on a group of docile faces hanging down before him. Those faces were somewhat similar to his own appearance when he lowered his head and eyebrows in front of the Lord of the court-there was only one difference, these faces were lowered. Prepare to suffer not for atonement.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 walked past 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 was it that you were staring at?" "My lord, I'm looking at that person." He bowed slightly, and pointed under the car with his ragged blue hat.His companions also bent down to look under the car. "Who is it, pig? Why are you looking there?" "Excuse me, my lord, he is hanging on the chain of the brake hoop." "Who?" asked the traveler. "My lord, that man."

"May the devil take all these idiots! What's the man's name? You know everybody around here. Who's he?" "Forgive me, my lord! He's not from these parts. I've never seen him in all my life." "Hanging on a chain? Why don't you choke him to death?" "With all due respect, that's where the fault lies, my lord. His head just hangs--like that!" He turned sideways to face the carriage, fell down, turned his face to the sky, and hung his head upside down.Then he recovered, touched his hat, and bowed. "What does that person look like?"

"My lord, he is whiter than the miller. Dust and white as a ghost, and tall as a ghost!" This description caused a great shock to this small group of people, but they did not exchange glances, they just looked at His Majesty the Marquis, perhaps to see if there was a ghost haunting his conscience! "Well, you're right," said the Marquis, glad the rats didn't mean to offend him, "you saw a thief in my car and you kept your big mouth shut. Bah! Let him go." , Mister Garber!" Mr. Garber is the head of the post office and also does some tax work.He came forward to help the interrogation early on, and grabbed the interrogated man's ragged sleeve like a public servant.

"Pooh! Go away!" said Mr. Garber. "If the outlander seeks a place to live in this village tonight, arrest him and find out if he has a proper job, Garber." "My lord, it is a great honor to serve you." "Did he get away, man? - where's the wretch?" The unfortunate man had got under the wagon with half a dozen good friends, and pointed his blue cap at the chain.The other five or six good friends immediately dragged him out, and brought him panting before Lord Marquis. "Did the guy run away when we pulled over to apply the brakes, fool?"

"My lord, he jumped headfirst down the hill, as if into a river." "Go check it out, Gabor, quick!" The five or six people who were staring at the chain were still crowded like sheep between the wheels; luckily they didn't break a bone when the cart jerked.Fortunately, they are only skin and bones, otherwise they might not be so lucky. The momentum of the carriage driving out of the village and up the slope was immediately stopped by the steep slope.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 gnats 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 there was a small cemetery, where there was a cross with a large statue of Jesus on it, still new, poorly carved, by an inexperienced brute who had learned from life—maybe He had spent his own life studying the human body, for the statue was terribly thin. A woman knelt before this wretched statue, a symbol of great suffering--suffering that had been increasing, but had not yet reached its climax.She turned her head when the carriage came up to her, stood up immediately, and went to the door. "It is you, my lord! my lord! I want a petition." His lord let out an exclamation of impatience, and the impassive face looked out. "Huh! What? Always petitions!" "My lord, for the love of the great God! My husband who watches the woods." "What's the matter with your husband who watches the woods? You always do the same thing. Are you owed something?" "He paid off everything he owed. He died." "Well, he'll be quiet then. Can I give him back to you?" "Ah! no, my lord! but here he sleeps, under a poor patch of turf." "How about it?" "My lord, there are many such poor little patches of turf." "It's here again, why?" She was still young, but she looked very old, her attitude was very excited, very sad, her bony hands were frantically exchanged, and then one hand was placed on the carriage door - tenderly, lovingly, as if it was someone's breast, I can feel the touching touch. "My lord, listen to me! My lord, I want a petition! My husband is dying of poverty; many people are dying of poverty; and many others will die of poverty." "Again, huh? Can I feed 'em?" "My lord, the merciful 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, with his name written on it. Otherwise the place will soon be forgotten, When I die of the same disease, it won't know me any more. They'll bury me under another poor turf. There are many such graves, my lord, and they multiply fast, too poor. Your Excellency! Your Excellency!" The attendant had pulled her away from the door, and the horse broke into a trot.The driver quickened his pace, and the woman was thrown far behind.His lordship, under the protection of his three Furies, hastened to close the league or two between him and the manor. The fragrance of summer nights rose around him, becoming more alive with the falling rain.The raindrops fell on the group of dusty and ragged tired people by the spring not far away without discrimination.The mender of roads was still bragging about the phantom to them, as if they could go on bragging as long as they would listen.He waved his blue hat as he spoke, and probably lost his weight without it.The crowd couldn't bear the rain, and slowly dispersed one by one.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 had not disappeared. 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 to the Marquis. "I am expecting Mr. Charles. Has he arrived from England?" "Not yet, sir."