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双城记 查尔斯·狄更斯-第章

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But for the latter inconvenience; the carriage probably would not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on; and leave their wounded behind; and why not? But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry; and there were twenty hands at the horses' bridles。
‘What has gone wrong?' said Monsieur; calmly looking out。
A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the horses; and had laid it on the basement of the fountain; and was down in the mud and wet; howling over it like a wild animal。
‘Pardon; Monsieur the Marquis!' said a ragged and submissive man; ‘it is a child。'
‘Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?'
‘Excuse me; Monsieur the Marquis……it is a pity……yes。'
The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened; where it was; into a space some ten or twelve yards square。 As the tall man suddenly got up from the ground; and came running at the carriage; Monsieur the Marquis clapped his hand for an instant on his sword…hilt。'
‘Killed!' shrieked the man; in wild desperation; extending both arms 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 him but watchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger。 Neither did the people say anything; after the first cry; they had been silent; and they remained so。 The voice of the submissive man who had spoken; was flat and tame in its extreme submission。 Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all; as if they had been mere rats e out of their holes。
He took out his purse。
‘It is extraordinary to me;' said he; ‘that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children。 One or the other of you is for ever in the way。 How do I know what injury you have done my horses? See! Give him that。'
He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up; and all the heads craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it 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 whom the rest made way。 On seeing him; the miserable creature fell upon his shoulder; sobbing and crying; and pointing to the fountain; where some women were stooping over the motionless bundle; and moving gently about it。 They were as silent; however; as the men。
‘I know all; I know all;' said the last er。 ‘Be a brave man; my Gaspard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so; than to live。 It has died in a moment without pain。 Could it have lived an 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 the Marquis; throwing him another gold coin; ‘and spend it as you will。 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 being driven away with the air of a gentleman who had accidentally broken some mon thing; and had paid for it; and could afford to pay for it; when his ease was suddenly disturbed by a coin flying into his carriage; and ringing on its floor。
‘Hold!' said Monsieur the Marquis。 ‘Hold the horses! Who threw that?'
He looked to the spot where Defarge the vendor of wine had stood; a moment before; but the wretched father was grovelling on his face on the pavement in that spot; and the figure that stood beside him was the figure of a dark stout woman; knitting。
‘You dogs!' said the Marquis; but smoothly; and with an unchanged front; except as to the spots on his nose: ‘I would ride over any of you very willingly; and exterminate you from the earth。 If I knew which rascal threw at the carriage; and if that brigand were sufficiently near it; he should be crushed under the wheels。'
So cowed was their condition; and so long and hard their experience of what such a man could do to them; within the law and beyond it; that not a voice; or a hand; or even an eye was raised。 Among the men; not one。 But the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily; and looked the Marquis in the face。 It was not for his dignity to notice it; his contemptuous eyes passed over her; and over all the other rats; and he leaned back in his seat again; and gave the word ‘Go on!'
He was driven on; and other carriages came whirling by in quick succession; the Minister; the State…Projector; the Farmer…General; the Doctor; the Lawyer; the Ecclesiastic; the Grand Opera; the edy; the whole Fancy Ball in a bright continuous flow; came whirling by。 The rats had crept out of their holes to look on; and they remained looking on for hours; soldiers and police often passing between them and the spectacle; and making a barrier behind which they slunk; and through which they peeped。 The father had long ago taken up his bundle and hidden himself away with it; when the women who had tended the bundle while it lay on the base of the fountain; sat there watching the running of the water and the rolling of the Fancy Ball……when the one woman who had stood conspicuous; knitting; still knitted on with the steadfastness of Fate。 The water of the fountain ran; the swift river ran; the day ran into evening; so much life in the city ran into death according to rule; time and tide waited for no man; the rats were sleeping close together in their dark holes again; the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper; all things ran their course。
CHAPTER VIII
Monseigneur in the Country
A BEAUTIFUL landscape; with the corn bright in it; but not abundant。 Patches of poor rye where corn should have been; patches of poor peas and beans; patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat。 On inanimate nature; as on the men and women who cultivated it; a prevalent tendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly……dejected disposition to give up; and wither away。
Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have been lighter); conducted by four post…horses and two postilions; fagged up a steep hill。 A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was no impeachme
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