Chapter 45 Chapter Thirteen Fifty-two

In the dark cells of the subsidiary prison, the condemned for the day awaited their fate.There are as many of them as there are weeks in a year.That afternoon, fifty-two people would roll with the tide of life in that city into the abyss of eternity.Their cells have not been vacated yet, new tenants have been assigned; their blood has not yet been spilled with yesterday's blood, and the blood to be mixed with theirs tomorrow has been chosen. Fifty-two were named one by one, ranging from a seventy-year-old tax contractor to a twenty-year-old seamstress.All the wealth of the former could not buy back his life, and the poverty and lowliness of the latter could not save her life.Physiological disease arises from people's sins and negligence, and it afflicts patients regardless of their superiority or inferiority.Moral chaos born of indescribable suffering, unbearable oppression, and inhuman cruelty strikes equally.

Charles Darnay lived alone in a cell.He hadn't comforted himself with fantasies since he left the courtroom and came here.Yesterday he heard the indictment, and in every line of the indictment he heard his own ruin.He fully understood that no human influence could save his life.In fact, it was millions of people who sentenced him to death, and the efforts of a few people are obviously of no avail. However, the face of his beloved wife is always so vivid in front of his eyes, which makes it difficult for him to commit suicide with peace of mind. He is very attached to life, and it is extremely difficult to give up.After finally prying it loose on one side, it snapped on the other side; when I put my strength on that side, I made some progress, but this side closed again.He felt thousands of melancholy rolling over him, and he couldn't help feeling overwhelmed and anxious, unable to resign himself to fate.Even if he did calm down for a while, his wife and children who survived his death seemed to protest again, calling that calm selfishness.

However, this is only the beginning.After a while, he took courage when he remembered that there was no shame in the fate he faced, and that countless others had walked the same road wronged and wronged, and that every day people walked calmly.Then he thought that in order for his relatives to be at ease in the future, he must be at ease now, so that he gradually stabilized and felt better. At this time, his thoughts reached a higher level and he drew comfort from heaven. He had reached this point on his deathbed before dark on the day of his condemnation.He could buy pens, paper and candles, and sat down to write letters until the time when the lights were turned off in the prison.

He wrote a long letter to Lucy, saying that he did not know about her father's imprisonment until she told him, and that he was as unaware of her father's and uncle's responsibility for it until the manuscript was read. responsibility for suffering.He had explained to her why he hadn't told her his renounced name, because that was the only condition her father had made of their engagement, the only promise he had asked for on the morning of their wedding -- which now seemed to be It's completely understandable.He asked her, for her father's sake, not to inquire whether he had forgotten the manuscript, or whether the conversation about the Tower of London on that long-ago Sunday under the plane tree in the garden reminded him temporarily or permanently. that manuscript.If he remembered clearly, he doubtless thought it had been destroyed along with the Bastille, for he had discovered that it was not among the relics of Bastille prisoners advertised to the world.He begged her—although he said he didn't need to remind him—to use all the tactful methods she could think of to convince her father of the fact that he had done nothing to be responsible for, on the contrary, he had done something for his own sake. They keep forgetting themselves.He wished her to remember his last grateful love and blessings for her, and wished her to pass on her grief and give her love to their dear child.They will meet again in heaven.He also begged her to comfort her father.

In the same tone he wrote a letter to her father, entrusting him with his wife and children.He entrusted him with great solemnity, wishing him to cheer up, not to despair, not to dwell on memories--he feared he might be inclined--that was dangerous. He entrusted his family to Mr. Lorry, and arranged his worldly affairs.After writing these, he added many words to end, expressing his deep friendship and ardent nostalgia.He was not thinking of Carleton.He was so full of other people that he never thought of him once. He finished writing the letter before lights out.When he lay on the straw, he felt that he had bid farewell to this world forever.

But the world recalled him from his dream, and revealed before him a glorious image.Somehow he had been set free, and he and Lucy were free and happy to return to the old house in Soho, though it was nothing like it really was.She told him that all this was just a dream, that he had never left the house at all, that after a while, he was beheaded again, died, and returned to her side peacefully, nothing had changed.It was a groggy again, and he woke up in the dark morning.He couldn't remember where he was or what happened, until he suddenly remembered, "Today is my death day!"

In this way he passed these hours and entered the day when the fifty-two heads were about to fall.At this time, he was in a calm mood, and only hoped to face death bravely without saying a word.But in his waking mind, thoughts suddenly fluctuated, and various new activities that could not be suppressed appeared. He had never seen the machine that was about to end his life.How high is it off the ground?How many steps are there?Where will he be taken to stand?How would others touch him?Was the hand that touched him stained red?Will he be the first?Maybe the last one?These questions, and many similar ones, involuntarily broke into his mind countless times and recurred.The thoughts had nothing to do with fear; he felt no fear at all, they seemed to spring from a strange, inescapable desire to know what to do when the time came.The time for that event was so short, but his desire was so disproportionately huge. This kind of psychology did not seem to come from himself, but from a certain spirit in his heart.

Hour by hour passed, and he kept coming and going.The bell told the hour he would never hear again.Nine o'clock has passed forever, ten o'clock has passed forever, eleven o'clock has passed forever, and twelve o'clock will come and pass forever.After a fierce struggle with the strange thoughts that had beset him just now, he finally got them under control.He kept walking up and down, repeating the names of his loved ones quietly to himself.The hardest struggle is over.He can wander around without any distractions, only praying for himself and his loved ones. Twelve o'clock passed forever.

He had been notified that the last hour was three o'clock.He knew that the time to leave would be earlier, and the death row car would still be bumping slowly and heavily on the street!So he resolved to keep two o'clock in his mind as the hour of the event.He had to make himself strong before that, and then he had to make others strong. He walked with deliberate composure, arms folded across his chest.He was a very different man from the prisoner who had walked up and down La Force Prison.He was not surprised to hear one strike and leave him, the hour being exactly as long as the others.With regained self-control, he sincerely thanked Heaven, thinking, "Only an hour." And he started walking again.

There were footsteps on the stone walkway outside the door, and he stopped. The key was inserted into the lock, and when he turned it, the door was not opened, or was about to be opened, when he heard someone whispering, speaking in English: "He has never seen me here, I avoid him. Go in alone, I will wait nearby, hurry up." The door hastily opened and shut.Standing face to face with him, with a smile on his face, silent, staring at him, with a finger in front of his lips warningly, was Sidney.Carlton. His image was so radiant and outstanding that the prisoner almost mistook him for a phantom born of his own imagination when he first saw him.But he spoke, and the voice was his voice.He seized the prisoner's hand, which was indeed his.

"Among all the people in the world, I'm probably the person you least expect to meet with me?" he said. "I can't believe it's you. I can't believe it now. You're in jail, too?" He suddenly worried. "No. I only got hold of a jailer here by chance, and I will take this opportunity to see you. I came from her—your wife—from her, my dear Darnay." The prisoner wrung his hands. "I've brought you a request from her." "What request?" "A most sincere, most urgent, and most important request. A request from your most memorable dear voice, in a heartwarming tone." The prisoner turned his face slightly to one side. "You're running out of time. Don't ask me why I'm bringing this wish, or what it means. I don't have time to tell you. You'll have to — take off your boots and put on mine." There is a chair against the wall in the cell, just behind the prisoner.Carlton pushed forward, shoved him into the chair like lightning, and looked down at him, barefoot. "Put on my boots. Pull, hard, quick!" "Carton, there's no escape from this place. There's no way. You'll die with me. It's madness." "I'd be crazy if I told you to run away. But did I tell you to run away? You'd be crazy when I told you to escape that door, and you might as well not go! Exchange your bow for mine, coat Exchange with me too. You change your clothes, and I'll take off your headband, and shake your hair out so it's like mine." Carlton moved swiftly.They forced him to quickly change his costume by seemingly supernatural willpower and action—the prisoner was completely like a child under his hands. "Carton, dear Carton! It's madness. It can't be done, it can't be done. It's been done, and it's all failed. I beg you, don't take your life on top of my pain." gone." "Do I want you to go out of that door? Don't refuse until I ask you to go. There are pens, ink, and paper on the table. Can your hands still write without shaking?" "When you first came in, my hands didn't shake." "Then stop trembling, and write as I tell you! Quick, friend, quick!" Darnell put his hand to his bewildered head and sat down at the table.Carlton stood close to him with his right hand in his front. "Write as I tell you." "Who are you writing to?" "No one." Carlton still had one hand in his front. "Do you want to write the date?" "Do not write." The prisoner looked up at each question.Carlton, with one hand in his front, looked down at him. "'If you remember what we said long ago,' read Carton, and let him write, 'you will understand when you read this letter. I know you do, because it is in your nature not to forget. " He was about to take his hand out of the front, but in the middle of writing, he suddenly felt puzzled, and hurriedly looked up.The hand stopped, holding something in it. "Did you finish 'forget'?" Carlton asked. "I'm done. Do you have a weapon in your hand?" "No. I'm not armed." "What is in your hand?" "You'll know right away. Write it down, there are only a few words left." He read again and asked him to write. "'I thank God for giving me the opportunity to prove my words; I thank God that my actions will no longer be regrettable or sad.'" As he said this, he kept his eyes on the writer, and slowly, Gently put your hand in front of him. The pen fell from Darnay's fingers, and he looked around in a daze. "What fog is that?" he asked. "Fog?" "Something floated in front of me." "I feel nothing; there can't be anything. Pick up your pen and finish! Quick, quick!" The prisoner struggled to concentrate, as if memory had been impaired or organ function had been disrupted.He stared at Carton with drowsy eyes, and his breathing was uneven.Carlton watched him, his hands in the front of his shirt again. "Quick, quick!" The prisoner bowed his head and wrote the letter again. "'Otherwise,'" Carlton's hand stalked down warily again. "'I would not have been able to use this more permanent opportunity. Otherwise,'" the hand was stretched out before the prisoner, and my responsibility would have been greater.Otherwise——Carlton looked at the pen, and the words dragged out of the pen were beyond recognition. Carlton's hand never returned to the front of his coat.The prisoner jumped to his feet with a look of reproach on his face.But Carlton's right hand had covered his nostrils vigorously, and his left hand was wrapped around his waist.The prisoner struggled weakly for a few seconds against the man who had come to give his life, but within a minute he was on the ground unconscious. Carton quickly put on the prisoner's aside clothes with hands as anxious as his heart, and brushing back his hair, fastening it with the prisoner's belt, cried softly, "Come in Come in!" The spy came in. "Did you see it?" Carlton knelt beside the unconscious man, put the written letter into his coat pocket, and raised his head, "Are you at great risk?" "Mr. Carleton," replied the agent, snapping his fingers timidly, "it's a hectic place, and if you follow your formula, the risk to me is not too great." "Don't worry about me. I'll keep my word until I die." "If the story of the Fifty-Two is to be intact, you must keep your word, Mr. Carton. I shall have nothing to fear, as long as you count yourself in this suit." "Don't be afraid! I won't bother you in a moment, and they'll go away in a moment. God help! Now, get some help to take me to the carriage." "You?" the spy asked nervously. "He, I changed him. You went out by the door that brought me in, didn't you?" "certainly." "When you brought me in, I was already weak and dizzy. Now you take me out, I can't bear the stimulation of life and death, and I have become unconscious. Such situations are commonplace here, very common. Your life is written in your own In hand. Quick! Get someone to help!" "Did you swear you wouldn't betray me?" The spy trembled, and took a while to say. "Hey, hey!" Carlton said, stomping his feet. "Didn't I swear that I would follow through with the plan? Why are you wasting your precious time? You know the yard, and you put him in the carriage yourself." , give it to Mr. Lorry; personally tell him to only give him fresh air, don't give him antidote; tell him to remember what I said last night and his own promise, and drive away! The spy was gone, and Carton sat down at the table, his forehead resting on his hands.The spies immediately brought back the two men. "What's the matter?" said one of the two, looking at the fallen man. "Is he so sad that his friend won the St. Guillotine lottery?", "If the nobleman hadn't been drawn," said another, "no good patriot would have been more sorry." The stretcher they had brought was at the door, and they put the unconscious man on it, and bent over to carry it away. "Time is short, Evermond," said the spy in a warning tone. "I understand very well," Carlton replied. "Please take care of my friend, go." "Come on, brethren," Barca said, "lift up, let's go!" The door closed, leaving Carlton alone.He listened with all his might, for fear of any suspicion or alarm.The footsteps disappeared along the distant passage!There was no near-unusual exclamation or fuss.After a while he could breathe more freely, and sat down at the table to listen again.The clock struck two. Certain voices began to appear, which he understood and was not afraid of.Several doors opened one after another, and finally, his own door also opened.A guard looked in the door with the list, and only said, "Follow me, Evremonde!" and led him to a large dark room far away.It was a gloomy winter day, and because of the darkness of the room and the gloomy sky, he couldn't see clearly the prisoner who was brought in and tied up.Some people were standing, some were sitting, some were crying and restless, but only a few were crying.Most of the people remained silent, staring blankly at the ground. He was brought to a stand in a dark corner, and some of the fifty-two were brought in with him.A man who knew Darnay stopped and gave him a hug as he passed by.He was very afraid of being found out, and couldn't help being frightened, but the man went out.After a while a young woman got up from her seat and came up to him to speak to him.He had just seen her sitting there.She was small, like a girl, with a thin and sweet face, without the slightest color, and a pair of big eyes that were wide open, showing an air of resignation. "Citizen Evermonde," she said, touching him with her icy hand, "I am a poor little seamstress who was in prison with you at La Force." His voice was vague when he replied: "Yes, what crime did they say you committed? I forgot." "Say I'm plotting. A just Heaven knows I'm innocent, and I won't plot. Who's going to come to me for plotting, a poor little woman like me? Is it possible?" The forlorn smile of hers as she spoke moved him, and tears welled up in his eyes. "I am not afraid of death, Citizen Evremonde, but I have done nothing after all! If the republic, which does so much good for the poor, can benefit from my death, I will not want to die. But I don't see what good it can do, Citizen Evermond, I'm such a poor little woman!" That was the last person in the world who could make his heart ache.His heart was overwhelmed with pity for the poor girl. "I hear you've been released, Citizen Evermond. I hope that's true, don't you?" "It's true. But I was arrested again and sentenced to death." "If I were in a prison wagon with you, would you let me hold your hand, Citizen Evermond? I'm not afraid, but I'm small and weak, and holding your hand increases my strength." courage." She lifted those innocent eyes to his face; he saw a sudden flash of suspicion, then surprise.He squeezed those young fingers thinned by hard work and hunger. "Are you going to die in his place?" she whispered. "And instead of his wife and kids. Hush! Yes." "Oh, will you let me hold your brave hand, stranger?" "Hush! Will, poor sister, till the end." The same cloud that fell over the prison was also falling over the barricade at the same time in the afternoon, where there was a large crowd.A carriage from Paris arrives for inspection. "Who is it? Who is in the car? Documents!". The papers were handed out and checked. "Alexandre Manette, doctor, French. Who is it?" This is.This slurred, delirious, sickly old man was pointed out. "Citizen Doctor is clearly out of his head, isn't he? Is the fever of the Revolution overpowering him?" It's too much. ． "Ha! There are plenty of people who can't bear it. Show up, his daughter. French. Who is it?" This is. "Obviously she. Lucy, Evermond's wife, isn't she?" Yes. "Ha! Evermond has another case. Lucy, her daughter. English. Is that it?" Yes, not others. "Kiss me, Evremonde boy. Now you've kissed a good republican. Remember: it's a novelty in your family! Sidney Carton, lawyer, English. Yes Who?" These days, lying in the corner of the carriage. "Carlton" was pointed out. "The English lawyer is apparently unconscious, isn't he?" Hope the fresh air will wake him up.He was not in good health, and he just said goodbye to a friend that the Republic didn't like, which was very sad. "Did you faint for that? That's a big deal! There's a lot of people the republic doesn't like, and they've got to look in through that little window. Jarvis Lorry, banker, Englishman. Who's that?" ?” "Of course it's me, I'm the last one." The above questions were answered one by one by Jarvis Lowry.He got out of the car, put one hand on the door, and answered the officials' questions.The officials walked around the carriage in a leisurely manner, climbed into the carriage again in a leisurely manner, and looked at the small amount of luggage carried on the roof.The country people also gathered around, approached the car door, and looked in greedily.A child in its mother's arms stretches out its short arms, and then wants to touch the wife of a nobleman who has been guillotined. "Look at your papers! Jarvis Lowry, it has been signed." "May I go, citizen?" "You can go. Come on, coachman, and have a good trip!" "Salute to you, citizens. One—at last the first gate has been passed!" These are the words of Jarvis Lowry again.Now he clasped his hands and looked ahead.There was fear in the carriage, and there was crying, and the heavy breathing of the unconscious passenger. "Aren't we going a little too slowly? Could you tell them to hurry up?" said Lucy, close to the old man. , "It will be like running away, my dear. Don't rush them too much, or it will arouse suspicion." "Look behind, look behind, is there anyone chasing you?" "The road is clean, my dear. No one has been chased so far." We passed two or three houses, detached farms, the ruins of buildings, dyers, tanners, etc., open fields, and rows of trees that had lost their leaves.We descended on a rough and hard road, with deep mud on both sides.We sometimes walked through the mud on the side of the road because we wanted to avoid rocks and bumps.Sometimes when we get stuck in ruts and mud puddles, we are tense, miserable, frightened, confused, and just want to drag them out and escape.We're willing to do anything as long as we don't underestimate it. Out of the open fields, I passed collapsed buildings, lonely farms, dyeing and tanning workshops, farmhouses in twos and threes, and rows of trees that had lost their leaves.Did the driver lie to us and take us back by another road?Are you back where you used to be?Thankfully, no.Ahead is a village.Look behind, look behind, is there anyone chasing?Hush!The station has arrived. Our four horses were lazily led away, and the carriage was lazily parked in the side street, the horses gone, as if never to move again.New stage horses appeared lazily one after another.The new coachman followed lazily behind, weaving the ends of his whip and sucking it with his mouth.The original coachman lazily counted the money, made a wrong addition, and was very unhappy.All this time our overburdened hearts were beating wildly faster than the swiftest gallop of the fastest horse in the world. The new driver finally got into the saddle, and the old driver stayed behind.We went through the village, up the hill, and down the hill again, into the wet plain.Suddenly the two coachmen argued excitedly, gesticulating, and led the horse so hard that it almost sat down on the ground.Is someone chasing him? "Hey! Guests in the car, answer a question." "What is it?" replied Mr. Lorry, looking out of the window. "How much do you say?" "I don't understand you." "At the station just now, they said how many people were guillotined today?" "Fifty-two." "Didn't I say it! What a fine figure! The citizen man insists it's forty-two. It's right to add ten more heads. The guillotine is beautifully done, I like it. Come on, come on. Come on, drive!" Night gradually fell, and it became dark.The unconscious person moved more.He began to wake up and speak clearly.Thinking they were still together, he called Carlton by name and asked him what he was holding.O have mercy on us, merciful Heaven, help us!Be careful, be careful, and see if anyone is chasing you. The wind was driving us, the clouds were on our heels, the moon was rushing down on us, and the whole frightening night was in pursuit of us.In addition, what has been tracked up so far is nothing but emptiness.