English
Itwasaheavymassofbuilding,thatchateauofMonsieurtheMarquis,withalargestonecourtyardbeforeit,andtwostonesweepsofstaircasemeetinginastoneterracebeforetheprincipaldoor.
Astonybusinessaltogether,withheavystonebalustrades,andstoneurns,andstoneflowers,andstonefacesofmen,andstoneheadsoflions,inalldirections.
AsiftheGorgon’sheadhadsurveyedit,whenitwasfinished,twocenturiesago.
Upthebroadflightofshallowsteps,MonsieurtheMarquis,flambeaupreceded,wentfromhiscarriage,sufficientlydisturbingthedarknesstoelicitloudremonstrancefromanowlintheroofofthegreatpileofstablebuildingawayamongthetrees.
Allelsewassoquiet,thattheflambeaucarriedupthesteps,andtheotherflambeauheldatthegreatdoor,burntasiftheywereinacloseroomofstate,insteadofbeingintheopennight-air.
Othersoundthantheowl’svoicetherewasnone,savethefailingofafountainintoitsstonebasin;for,itwasoneofthosedarknightsthatholdtheirbreathbythehourtogether,andthenheavealonglowsigh,andholdtheirbreathagain.
Thegreatdoorclangedbehindhim,andMonsieurtheMarquiscrossedahallgrimwithcertainoldboar-spears,swords,andknivesofthechase;grimmerwithcertainheavyriding-rodsandriding-whips,ofwhichmanyapeasant,gonetohisbenefactorDeath,hadfelttheweightwhenhislordwasangry.
Avoidingthelargerrooms,whichweredarkandmadefastforthenight,MonsieurtheMarquis,withhisflambeau-bearergoingonbefore,wentupthestaircasetoadoorinacorridor.
Thisthrownopen,admittedhimtohisownprivateapartmentofthreerooms:hisbed-chamberandtwoothers.
Highvaultedroomswithcooluncarpetedfloors,greatdogsuponthehearthsfortheburningofwoodinwintertime,andallluxuriesbefittingthestateofamarquisinaluxuriousageandcountry.
ThefashionofthelastLouisbutone,ofthelinethatwasnevertobreak—thefourteenthLouis—wasconspicuousintheirrichfurniture;but,itwasdiversifiedbymanyobjectsthatwereillustrationsofoldpagesinthehistoryofFrance.
Asupper-tablewaslaidfortwo,inthethirdoftherooms;aroundroom,inoneofthechateau’sfourextinguisher-toppedtowers.
Asmallloftyroom,withitswindowwideopen,andthewoodenjalousie-blindsclosed,sothatthedarknightonlyshowedinslighthorizontallinesofblack,alternatingwiththeirbroadlinesofstonecolour.
“Mynephew,”saidtheMarquis,glancingatthesupperpreparation;“theysaidhewasnotarrived.”
Norwashe;but,hehadbeenexpectedwithMonseigneur.
“Ah!Itisnotprobablehewillarriveto-night;nevertheless,leavethetableasitis.Ishallbereadyinaquarterofanhour.”
InaquarterofanhourMonseigneurwasready,andsatdownalonetohissumptuousandchoicesupper.
Hischairwasoppositetothewindow,andhehadtakenhissoup,andwasraisinghisglassofBordeauxtohislips,whenheputitdown.
“Whatisthat?”hecalmlyasked,lookingwithattentionatthehorizontallinesofblackandstonecolour.
“Monseigneur?That?”
“Outsidetheblinds.Opentheblinds.”
Itwasdone.
“Well?”
“Monseigneur,itisnothing.Thetreesandthenightareallthatarehere.”
Theservantwhospoke,hadthrowntheblindswide,hadlookedoutintothevacantdarkness,andstoodwiththatblankbehindhim,lookingroundforinstructions.
“Good,”saidtheimperturbablemaster.“Closethemagain.”
Thatwasdonetoo,andtheMarquiswentonwithhissupper.
Hewashalfwaythroughit,whenheagainstoppedwithhisglassinhishand,hearingthesoundofwheels.
Itcameonbriskly,andcameuptothefrontofthechateau.
“Askwhoisarrived.”
ItwasthenephewofMonseigneur.HehadbeensomefewleaguesbehindMonseigneur,earlyintheafternoon.
Hehaddiminishedthedistancerapidly,butnotsorapidlyastocomeupwithMonseigneurontheroad.
HehadheardofMonseigneur,attheposting-houses,asbeingbeforehim.
Hewastobetold(saidMonseigneur)thatsupperawaitedhimthenandthere,andthathewasprayedtocometoit.Inalittlewhilehecame.HehadbeenknowninEnglandasCharlesDarnay.
Monseigneurreceivedhiminacourtlymanner,buttheydidnotshakehands.
“YouleftParisyesterday,sir?”hesaidtoMonseigneur,ashetookhisseatattable.
“Yesterday.Andyou?”
“Icomedirect.”
“FromLondon?”
“Yes.”
“Youhavebeenalongtimecoming,”saidtheMarquis,withasmile.
“Onthecontrary;Icomedirect.”
“Pardonme!Imean,notalongtimeonthejourney;alongtimeintendingthejourney.”
“Ihavebeendetainedby”—thenephewstoppedamomentinhisanswer—”variousbusiness.”
“Withoutdoubt,”saidthepolisheduncle.
Solongasaservantwaspresent,nootherwordspassedbetweenthem.
Whencoffeehadbeenservedandtheywerealonetogether,thenephew,lookingattheuncleandmeetingtheeyesofthefacethatwaslikeafinemask,openedaconversation.
“Ihavecomeback,sir,asyouanticipate,pursuingtheobjectthattookmeaway.
Itcarriedmeintogreatandunexpectedperil;butitisasacredobject,andifithadcarriedmetodeathIhopeitwouldhavesustainedme.”
“Nottodeath,”saidtheuncle;“itisnotnecessarytosay,todeath.”
“Idoubt,sir,”returnedthenephew,“whether,ifithadcarriedmetotheutmostbrinkofdeath,youwouldhavecaredtostopmethere.”
Thedeepenedmarksinthenose,andthelengtheningofthefinestraightlinesinthecruelface,lookedominousastothat;theunclemadeagracefulgestureofprotest,whichwassoclearlyaslightformofgoodbreedingthatitwasnotreassuring.
“Indeed,sir,”pursuedthenephew,“foranythingIknow,youmayhaveexpresslyworkedtogiveamoresuspiciousappearancetothesuspiciouscircumstancesthatsurroundedme.”
“No,no,no,”saidtheuncle,pleasantly.
“But,howeverthatmaybe,”resumedthenephew,glancingathimwithdeepdistrust,“Iknowthatyourdiplomacywouldstopmebyanymeans,andwouldknownoscrupleastomeans.”
“Myfriend,Itoldyouso,”saidtheuncle,withafinepulsationinthetwomarks.“DomethefavourtorecallthatItoldyouso,longago.”
“Irecallit.”
“Thankyou,”saidtheMarquise—verysweetlyindeed.
Histonelingeredintheair,almostlikethetoneofamusicalinstrument.
“Ineffect,sir,”pursuedthenephew,“Ibelieveittobeatonceyourbadfortune,andmygoodfortune,thathaskeptmeoutofaprisoninFrancehere.”
“Idonotquiteunderstand,”returnedtheuncle,sippinghiscoffee.“DareIaskyoutoexplain?”
“IbelievethatifyouwerenotindisgracewiththeCourt,andhadnotbeenovershadowedbythatcloudforyearspast,aletterdecachetwouldhavesentmetosomefortressindefinitely.”
“Itispossible,”saidtheuncle,withgreatcalmness.“Forthehonourofthefamily,Icouldevenresolvetoincommodeyoutothatextent.Prayexcuseme!”
“Iperceivethat,happilyforme,theReceptionofthedaybeforeyesterdaywas,asusual,acoldone,”observedthenephew.
“Iwouldnotsayhappily,myfriend,”returnedtheuncle,withrefinedpoliteness;“Iwouldnotbesureofthat.
Agoodopportunityforconsideration,surroundedbytheadvantagesofsolitude,mightinfluenceyourdestinytofargreateradvantagethanyouinfluenceitforyourself.
Butitisuselesstodiscussthequestion.Iam,asyousay,atadisadvantage.
Theselittleinstrumentsofcorrection,thesegentleaidstothepowerandhonouroffamilies,theseslightfavoursthatmightsoincommodeyou,areonlytobeobtainednowbyinterestandimportunity.
Theyaresoughtbysomany,andtheyaregranted(comparatively)tosofew!
Itusednottobeso,butFranceinallsuchthingsischangedfortheworse.
Ournotremoteancestorsheldtherightoflifeanddeathoverthesurroundingvulgar.
Fromthisroom,manysuchdogshavebeentakenouttobehanged;inthenextroom(mybedroom),onefellow,toourknowledge,wasponiardedonthespotforprofessingsomeinsolentdelicacyrespectinghisdaughter—HISdaughter?
Wehavelostmanyprivileges;anewphilosophyhasbecomethemode;andtheassertionofourstation,inthesedays,might(Idonotgosofarastosaywould,butmight)causeusrealinconvenience.Allverybad,verybad!”
TheMarquistookagentlelittlepinchofsnuff,andshookhishead;aselegantlydespondentashecouldbecominglybeofacountrystillcontaininghimself,thatgreatmeansofregeneration.
“Wehavesoassertedourstation,bothintheoldtimeandinthemoderntimealso,”saidthenephew,gloomily,“thatIbelieveournametobemoredetestedthananynameinFrance.”
“Letushopeso,”saidtheuncle.“Detestationofthehighistheinvoluntaryhomageofthelow.”
“Thereisnot,”pursuedthenephew,inhisformertone,“afaceIcanlookat,inallthiscountryroundaboutus,whichlooksatmewithanydeferenceonitbutthedarkdeferenceoffearandslavery.”
“Acompliment,”saidtheMarquis,“tothegrandeurofthefamily,meritedbythemannerinwhichthefamilyhassustaineditsgrandeur.Hah!”
Andhetookanothergentlelittlepinchofsnuff,andlightlycrossedhislegs.
But,whenhisnephew,leaninganelbowonthetable,coveredhiseyesthoughtfullyanddejectedlywithhishand,thefinemasklookedathimsidewayswithastrongerconcentrationofkeenness,closeness,anddislike,thanwascomportablewithitswearer’sassumptionofindifference.
“Repressionistheonlylastingphilosophy.
Thedarkdeferenceoffearandslavery,myfriend,”observedtheMarquis,“willkeepthedogsobedienttothewhip,aslongasthisroof,”lookinguptoit,“shutsoutthesky.”
ThatmightnotbesolongastheMarquissupposed.
Ifapictureofthechateauasitwastobeaveryfewyearshence,andoffiftylikeitastheytooweretobeaveryfewyearshence,couldhavebeenshowntohimthatnight,hemighthavebeenatalosstoclaimhisownfromtheghastly,fire-charred,plunder-wreckedrains.
Asfortheroofhevaunted,hemighthavefoundTHATshuttingouttheskyinanewway—towit,forever,fromtheeyesofthebodiesintowhichitsleadwasfired,outofthebarrelsofahundredthousandmuskets.
“Meanwhile,”saidtheMarquis,“Iwillpreservethehonourandreposeofthefamily,ifyouwillnot.Butyoumustbefatigued.Shallweterminateourconferenceforthenight?”
“Amomentmore.”
“Anhour,ifyouplease.”
“Sir,”saidthenephew,“wehavedonewrong,andarereapingthefruitsofwrong.”
“WEhavedonewrong?”repeatedtheMarquis,withaninquiringsmile,anddelicatelypointing,firsttohisnephew,thentohimself.
“Ourfamily;ourhonourablefamily,whosehonourisofsomuchaccounttobothofus,insuchdifferentways.
Eveninmyfather’stime,wedidaworldofwrong,injuringeveryhumancreaturewhocamebetweenusandourpleasure,whateveritwas.
WhyneedIspeakofmyfather’stime,whenitisequallyyours?
CanIseparatemyfather’stwin-brother,jointinheritor,andnextsuccessor,fromhimself?”
“Deathhasdonethat!”saidtheMarquis.
“Andhasleftme,”answeredthenephew,“boundtoasystemthatisfrightfultome,responsibleforit,butpowerlessinit;seekingtoexecutethelastrequestofmydearmother’slips,andobeythelastlookofmydearmother’seyes,whichimploredmetohavemercyandtoredress;andtorturedbyseekingassistanceandpowerinvain.”
“Seekingthemfromme,mynephew,”saidtheMarquis,touchinghimonthebreastwithhisforefinger—theywerenowstandingbythehearth—”youwillforeverseektheminvain,beassured.”
Everyfinestraightlineintheclearwhitenessofhisface,wascruelly,craftily,andcloselycompressed,whilehestoodlookingquietlyathisnephew,withhissnuff-boxinhishand.
Onceagainhetouchedhimonthebreast,asthoughhisfingerwerethefinepointofasmallsword,withwhich,indelicatefinesse,heranhimthroughthebody,andsaid,
“Myfriend,Iwilldie,perpetuatingthesystemunderwhichIhavelived.”
Whenhehadsaidit,hetookaculminatingpinchofsnuff,andputhisboxinhispocket.
“Bettertobearationalcreature,”headdedthen,afterringingasmallbellonthetable,“andacceptyournaturaldestiny.Butyouarelost,MonsieurCharles,Isee.”
“ThispropertyandFrancearelosttome,”saidthenephew,sadly;“Irenouncethem.”
“Aretheybothyourstorenounce?Francemaybe,butistheproperty?Itisscarcelyworthmentioning;but,isityet?”
“Ihadnointention,inthewordsIused,toclaimityet.Ifitpassedtomefromyou,to-morrow—”
“WhichIhavethevanitytohopeisnotprobable.”
”—ortwentyyearshence—”
“Youdometoomuchhonour,”saidtheMarquis;“still,Ipreferthatsupposition.”
”—Iwouldabandonit,andliveotherwiseandelsewhere.Itislittletorelinquish.Whatisitbutawildernessofmiseryandruin!”
“Hah!”saidtheMarquis,glancingroundtheluxuriousroom.
“Totheeyeitisfairenough,here;butseeninitsintegrity,underthesky,andbythedaylight,itisacrumblingtowerofwaste,mismanagement,extortion,debt,mortgage,oppression,hunger,nakedness,andsuffering.”
“Hah!”saidtheMarquisagain,inawell-satisfiedmanner.
“Ifiteverbecomesmine,itshallbeputintosomehandsbetterqualifiedtofreeitslowly(ifsuchathingispossible)fromtheweightthatdragsitdown,sothatthemiserablepeoplewhocannotleaveitandwhohavebeenlongwrungtothelastpointofendurance,may,inanothergeneration,sufferless;butitisnotforme.
Thereisacurseonit,andonallthisland.”
“Andyou?”saidtheuncle.“Forgivemycuriosity;doyou,underyournewphilosophy,graciouslyintendtolive?”
“Imustdo,tolive,whatothersofmycountrymen,evenwithnobilityattheirbacks,mayhavetodosomeday-work.”
“InEngland,forexample?”
“Yes.Thefamilyhonour,sir,issafefrommeinthiscountry.Thefamilynamecansufferfrommeinnoother,forIbearitinnoother.”
Theringingofthebellhadcausedtheadjoiningbed-chambertobelighted.
Itnowshonebrightly,throughthedoorofcommunication.
TheMarquislookedthatway,andlistenedfortheretreatingstepofhisvalet.
“Englandisveryattractivetoyou,seeinghowindifferentlyyouhaveprosperedthere,”heobservedthen,turninghiscalmfacetohisnephewwithasmile.
“Ihavealreadysaid,thatformyprosperingthere,IamsensibleImaybeindebtedtoyou,sir.Fortherest,itismyRefuge.”
“Theysay,thoseboastfulEnglish,thatitistheRefugeofmany.YouknowacompatriotwhohasfoundaRefugethere?ADoctor?”
“Yes.”
“Withadaughter?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,”saidtheMarquis.“Youarefatigued.Goodnight!”
Ashebenthisheadinhismostcourtlymanner,therewasasecrecyinhissmilingface,andheconveyedanairofmysterytothosewords,whichstrucktheeyesandearsofhisnephewforcibly.
Atthesametime,thethinstraightlinesofthesettingoftheeyes,andthethinstraightlips,andthemarkingsinthenose,curvedwithasarcasmthatlookedhandsomelydiabolic.
“Yes,”repeatedtheMarquis.“ADoctorwithadaughter.Yes.Socommencesthenewphilosophy!Youarefatigued.Goodnight!”
Itwouldhavebeenofasmuchavailtointerrogateanystonefaceoutsidethechateauastointerrogatethatfaceofhis.Thenephewlookedathim,invain,inpassingontothedoor.
“Goodnight!”saidtheuncle.
“Ilooktothepleasureofseeingyouagaininthemorning.Goodrepose!
LightMonsieurmynephewtohischamberthere!
—AndburnMonsieurmynephewinhisbed,ifyouwill,”headdedtohimself,beforeheranghislittlebenagain,andsummonedhisvalettohisownbedroom.
Thevaletcomeandgone,MonsieurtheMarquiswalkedtoandfroinhisloosechamber-robe,topreparehimselfgentlyforsleep,thathotstillnight.
Rustlingabouttheroom,hissoftly-slipperedfeetmakingnonoiseonthefloor,hemovedlikearefinedtiger:—lookedlikesomeenchantedmarquisoftheimpenitentlywickedsort,instory,whoseperiodicalchangeintotigerformwaseitherjustgoingoff,orjustcomingon.
Hemovedfromendtoendofhisvoluptuousbedroom,lookingagainatthescrapsoftheday’sjourneythatcameunbiddenintohismind;theslowtoilupthehillatsunset,thesettingsun,thedescent,themill,theprisononthecrag,thelittlevillageinthehollow,thepeasantsatthefountain,andthemenderofroadswithhisbluecappointingoutthechainunderthecarriage.
ThatfountainsuggestedtheParisfountain,thelittlebundlelyingonthestep,thewomenbendingoverit,andthetallmanwithhisarmsup,crying,“Dead!”
“Iamcoolnow,”saidMonsieurtheMarquis,“andmaygotobed.”
So,leavingonlyonelightburningonthelargehearth,helethisthingauzecurtainsfa]Jaroundhim,andheardthenightbreakitssilencewithalongsighashecomposedhimselftosleep.
Thestonefacesontheouterwailsstaredblindlyattheblacknightforthreeheavyhours;forthreeheavyhours,thehorsesinthestablesrattledattheirracks,thedogsbarked,andtheowlmadeanoisewithverylittleresemblanceinittothenoiseconventionallyassignedtotheowlbymen-poets.
Butitistheobstinatecustomofsuchcreatureshardlyevertosaywhatissetdownforthem.
Forthreeheavyhours,thestonefacesofthechateau,lionandhuman,staredblindlyatthenight.
Deaddarknesslayonallthelandscape,deaddarknessaddeditsownhushtothehushingdustonalltheroads.
Theburial-placehadgottothepassthatitslittleheapsofpoorgrasswereundistinguishablefromoneanother;thefigureontheCrossmighthavecomedown,foranythingthatcouldbeseenofit.
Inthevillage,taxersandtaxedwerefastasleep.
Dreaming,perhaps,ofbanquets,asthestarvedusuallydo,andofeaseandrest,asthedrivenslaveandtheyokedoxmay,itsleaninhabitantssleptsoundly,andwerefedandfreed.
Thefountaininthevillageflowedunseenandunheard,andthefountainatthechateaudroppedunseenandunheard—bothmeltingaway,liketheminutesthatwerefallingfromthespringofTime—throughthreedarkhours.
Then,thegreywaterofbothbegantobeghostlyinthelight,andtheeyesofthestonefacesofthechateauwereopened.
Lighterandlighter,untilatlastthesuntouchedthetopsofthestilltrees,andpoureditsradianceoverthehill.
Intheglow,thewaterofthechateaufountainseemedtoturntoblood,andthestonefacescrimsoned.
Thecarolofthebirdswasloudandhigh,and,ontheweather-beatensillofthegreatwindowofthebed-chamberofMonsieurtheMarquis,onelittlebirdsangitssweetestsongwithallitsmight.
Atthis,theneareststonefaceseemedtostareamazed,and,withopenmouthanddroppedunder-jaw,lookedawe-stricken.
Now,thesunwasfullup,andmovementbeganinthevillage.
Casementwindowsopened,crazydoorswereunbarred,andpeoplecameforthshivering—chilled,asyet,bythenewsweetair.
Thenbegantherarelylightenedtoilofthedayamongthevillagepopulation.
Some,tothefountain;some,tothefields;menandwomenhere,todiganddelve;menandwomenthere,toseetothepoorlivestock,andleadthebonycowsout,tosuchpastureascouldbefoundbytheroadside.
InthechurchandattheCross,akneelingfigureortwo;attendantonthelatterprayers,theledcow,tryingforabreakfastamongtheweedsatitsfoot.
Thechateauawokelater,asbecameitsquality,butawokegraduallyandsurely.
First,thelonelyboar-spearsandknivesofthechasehadbeenreddenedasofold;then,hadgleamedtrenchantinthemorningsunshine;now,doorsandwindowswerethrownopen,horsesintheirstableslookedroundovertheirshouldersatthelightandfreshnesspouringinatdoorways,leavessparkledandrustledatiron-gratedwindows,dogspulledhardattheirchains,andrearedimpatienttobeloosed.
Allthesetrivialincidentsbelongedtotheroutineoflife,andthereturnofmorning.
Surely,notsotheringingofthegreatbellofthechateau,northerunningupanddownthestairs;northehurriedfiguresontheterrace;northebootingandtrampinghereandthereandeverywhere,northequicksaddlingofhorsesandridingaway?
Whatwindsconveyedthishurrytothegrizzledmenderofroads,alreadyatworkonthehill-topbeyondthevillage,withhisday’sdinner(notmuchtocarry)lyinginabundlethatitwasworthnocrow’swhiletopeckat,onaheapofstones?
Hadthebirds,carryingsomegrainsofittoadistance,droppedoneoverhimastheysowchanceseeds?
Whetherorno,themenderofroadsran,onthesultrymorning,asifforhislife,downthehill,knee-highindust,andneverstoppedtillhegottothefountain.
Allthepeopleofthevillagewereatthefountain,standingaboutintheirdepressedmanner,andwhisperinglow,butshowingnootheremotionsthangrimcuriosityandsurprise.
Theledcows,hastilybroughtinandtetheredtoanythingthatwouldholdthem,werelookingstupidlyon,orlyingdownchewingthecudofnothingparticularlyrepayingtheirtrouble,whichtheyhadpickedupintheirinterruptedsaunter.
Someofthepeopleofthechateau,andsomeofthoseoftheposting-house,andallthetaxingauthorities,werearmedmoreorless,andwerecrowdedontheothersideofthelittlestreetinapurposelessway,thatwashighlyfraughtwithnothing.
Already,themenderofroadshadpenetratedintothemidstofagroupoffiftyparticularfriends,andwassmitinghimselfinthebreastwithhisbluecap.
Whatdidallthisportend,andwhatportendedtheswifthoisting-upofMonsieurGabellebehindaservantonhorseback,andtheconveyingawayofthesaidGabelle(double-ladenthoughthehorsewas),atagallop,likeanewversionoftheGermanballadofLeonora?
Itportendedthattherewasonestonefacetoomany,upatthechateau.
TheGorgonhadsurveyedthebuildingagaininthenight,andhadaddedtheonestonefacewanting;thestonefaceforwhichithadwaitedthroughabouttwohundredyears.
ItlaybackonthepillowofMonsieurtheMarquis.
Itwaslikeafinemask,suddenlystartled,madeangry,andpetrified.
Drivenhomeintotheheartofthestonefigureattachedtoit,wasaknife.
Rounditshiltwasafrillofpaper,onwhichwasscrawled:
“Drivehimfasttohistomb.This,fromJacques.”
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