A Tale of Two Cities by Dave Mckay, Charles Dickens (easy readers .txt) 📖

of the Court was now gone. If it had stayed, a storm of bullets that it had never seen coming in the past would have tried to put it out anyway. The things that kept it from seeing well were the pride of the devil, the greed of a king like Sardanapalus,* and the blindness of an animal that spends all of its time under the ground. All the same, the eye was now gone. The Court, from that very special circle at the center to the most evil people on the farthest borders, was now gone too. The king and queen and their family were gone. The latest news from France was that they had been taken in their castle and "stopped".

(*Sardanapalus was a past king of Assyria.)

August of the year 1792 had come, and the French Sirs were by this time running in all directions.

As anyone might think, the place where any of these Sirs would want to go in London would be to Tellson's Bank. They say that spirits return to the place where their bodies were most often, and a Sir without money would go to the place where his money had most often been. It was also the place where the smartest people from France would come soon after arriving in England. Another reason for these people on the run to be there was that Tellson's was a generous house, and would often help rich old friends who had lost their wealth. And the last reason is that those from the rich class who had seen the storm coming, and knew what it would mean, had put their money in Tellson's before it happened, and now their hungry brothers would come there to ask them for help. All this added up to every new person coming from France stopping in at Tellson's with the latest news of what was happening back home. For all of these reasons, Tellson's was at that time almost like a French newspaper. So many people knew this and so many would come there for more information, that Tellson's would sometimes write a line or two of the latest news and put it in the bank windows for anyone going through Temple Bar to read.

One wet afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it as he talked in a quiet voice. The room where people had come in the past to talk to the "House" was now more than full. It was about half an hour before closing time.

"Even if you were the youngest man who ever lived," said Charles Darnay, with some fear, "I must still say to you..."

"I understand. You think I am too old?” said Mr. Lorry.

"Bad weather, a long trip, difficult travel, a country without leaders, a city that may not even be safe for you..."

"My good man," said Mr. Lorry with friendly confidence, "you have touched on some of the reasons for my going... not for my staying away. It is safe enough for me. Who would be interested in an old man who is almost eighty now, when there are much better people for them to fight with? As for it having no leaders, that is the very reason why we need to send someone from our House here to our House there... someone who knows the city and the business that needs to be done, and someone whom Tellson's can trust. As for the bad weather and a rough, long trip... if, after all these years, I were not prepared to go through a little trouble for Tellson's, who should?"

"I wish I were going myself," said Charles Darnay like he was talking to himself.

"Is that right? And you think I should listen to one who talks like that?” Mr. Lorry said in surprise. "You wish you were going yourself? And you, who were born over there? Do you call that good thinking?"

"My good Mr. Lorry, it is because I was born over there that the thought (which I did not mean for you to hear) has gone through my mind so often. One cannot stop thinking, having some understanding for what the people have been through, and having left something with them," he said, deep in thought now, "that I should be listened to, and that I might be able to show you that you should not go. Only last night, after you had left us, when I was talking to Lucie..."

"When you were talking to Lucie," Mr. Lorry repeated. "Yes, I am surprised that you would even say her name! Wishing that you were going to France at this time of day!"

"But I am not going," said Charles Darnay with a smile. "What is more important is that you say you are."

"Because I am. It's as easy as that. The truth is, Charles," Mr. Lorry said as he looked at the "House" in the distance and dropped his voice, "you could never understand how difficult it is for us to do business at this time, and the danger that goes with our books and papers over there. Only God knows what it would do to so many people if some of our papers were taken or destroyed; and that could happen at any time, you know; for who can say that Paris will not be burned down today or tomorrow? Quickly taking the most important papers and burying them or in some other way making them safe is something that only I could do. Should I hold back when Tellson's knows this and says this... Tellson's, whose bread I have been eating for sixty years... just because I am a little sore in my joints? Why I am only a boy, sir, if put next to some of the really old men around here!"

"I think very highly of your brave young spirit, Mr. Lorry."

"Don't be foolish, sir! My good friend," said Mr. Lorry, looking at the "House" again, "you should know that getting things out of Paris at this time (It makes no difference what it is.) is almost impossible. The papers we received today... I should not be telling this to anyone, so please don't say a word about it to anyone... came here in the hands of some very brave men. Each one was only a hair away from losing his head as he crossed the border. Any other time our papers would move to and from France as easily as they move here in England; but now everything is stopped.

"And do you really want to go tonight?"

"I must, for the business is too important to wait any longer.”

"Will you take no one with you?"

"Many have been named to go with me, but I will have nothing to say to any of them. I plan to take Jerry. He has protected me on my walks to your place each Sunday for years now, and I am used to him. Nobody will think he is anything more than an English friend, there to protect me from anyone who tries to touch me."

"I have to say again that I think you are very brave and very young at heart."

"And I have to say again that such talk is foolishness! When I have finished this little job, I may agree to stop working and take some rest. Then I can think about growing old."

This talk had taken place at Mr. Lorry's desk, with high class Frenchmen moving around only a few feet away, and talking about what they would one day do to those who had turned them into refugees. It was the way of the rich, both in France and in England, to talk about this awful change as if it was the only fruit in the world that did not grow from a planted seed... as if nothing had ever been done (or not been done) that could have had such an effect... as if no one had ever seen the poor millions in France and all that could have been done to make their life better, and as if no one had ever seen or said, years before, in words that could be easily understood, what was going to happen. Such hot air, together with talk by these same high class people about putting things back the way they were, as if it were possible, was enough to make anyone who knew the truth and was not crazy jump into an argument with them. This talk all around his ears, like a sickness inside his head, made it difficult for Charles Darnay to sit still and say nothing.

One of the talkers was Stryver, who was doing well in the courts, and, because of that, was talking loudly here at Tellson's: telling the high class French men about how he would destroy the working class and live well without them. He had other plans too, but they were about as smart as saying that one could put an end to eagles by putting salt on all their tails. Darnay had a special feeling of anger when he heard Stryver talking, and he was pulled between leaving and speaking up, when things happened in such a way as to make up his mind for him.

The "House" came and put a dirty, closed letter on Mr. Lorry's desk, asking if he had been able to find the person whose name was on it. The letter was so close to Darnay on the desk that he could see the name, and see that it was his own real name: "The Marquis Evremonde, of France".

On the morning of the day he had married Lucie, Doctor Manette had strongly asked Charles Darnay to never tell anyone his secret without the Doctor agreeing to it first. No other person knew his real name... not Lucie, and not Mr. Lorry.

"No," said Mr. Lorry, to the "House". "I have taken it around to all the people here, and not one can tell me where I can find this man."

Because the clock said it was almost time for the bank to close, all the Sirs were moving by Mr. Lorry's desk on their way out of the bank. He held the letter out, and one by one they each had something bad to say, in French or in English, about the awful Marquis whose name was on the envelope.

"Nephew, I believe, of the wonderful Marquis who was killed," said one. "Happy to say I never knew him."

"Ran away from his job," said another. The man saying this had, himself, secretly left Paris by hiding in a wagon under a pile of straw.

"This new teaching has been his work," said a third. "He tried to fight his uncle, the last Marquis, left the land when it became his, and then let the beggars take it over. They'll pay him back now. I hope they kill him."

"Is that true?” cried the big-mouthed Stryver. "What kind of person would do that? Let me see his name. To hell with this man!"

Darnay, not able to hold himself back any longer touched Stryver on the shoulder and said, "I know the man."

"Do you, by God?” said Stryver. "I'm sad to hear that. Did you hear what he did? There is no good reason for doing that in times like these."

"And why do you say that?"

"I'll tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I'm sorry for you. Sorry that you would even ask the question. Here is a man, who, touched by the evilest teaching that was ever known, left his land to the worst people on earth, people who would kill anyone. And you ask me why I am sorry that a man who teaches young people knows him? Okay, I will answer you. I think that the evil from one person can rub off onto another. That's why."

Remembering the secret he had promised to keep, Darnay tried hard to control himself, as he said, "You may not understand the man."

"I understand how to put you in a corner, Mr. Darnay," said Stryver the Pusher, "and I'll do it. If this man is of high class, then I don't understand him. You can tell him that for me. Tell him too, that if he was prepared to give all that belonged to him to this rough crowd, then why isn't he there leading them now?” Then, looking around at the others in the bank, he said, "Men, I know something about people, and I can tell you that you will never find a person who trusts the people he helps enough to become one of them. No, men, he'll always turn and run before the fight starts."

With those words, and a wave of his hand, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way out into Fleet street, with his hearers loudly saying how much they agreed with him. Mr. Lorry and Charles Darnay were left alone in the bank when they had gone.

"Will you take over the letter?” asked Mr. Lorry. "Do you know where to find the man?"

"I do."

"Can you tell him that we think it came here because they believed we would know where he was, and that it