THE traveller fared slowly on his way, who fared towards Paris from England in the autumn of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two. More than enough of bad roads, bad equipages, and bad horses, he would have encountered to delay him, though the fallen and unfortunate King of France had been upon his throne in all his glory; but, the changed times were fraught¹ with other obstacles than these. Every town-gate and village taxing-house had its band of citizen-patriots³, with their national muskets⁵ in a most explosive state of readiness, who stopped all comers and goers, cross-questioned them, inspected their papers, looked for their names in lists of their own, turned them back, or sent them on, or stopped them and laid them in hold, as their capricious judgment⁶ or fancy deemed best for the dawning Republic One and Indivisible, of Liberty, Equality,
Fraternity, or Death.

A very few French leagues of his journey were accomplished⁷, when Charles Darnay began to perceive that for him along these country roads there was no hope of return until he should have been declared a good citizen at Paris. Whatever might befall now, he must on to his journey's end. Not a mean village closed upon him, not a common barrier dropped across the road behind him, but he knew it to be another iron door in the series that was barred between him and England. The universal watchfulness⁸ so encompassed⁹ him, that if he had been taken in a net, or were being forwarded to his destination in a cage, he could not have felt his freedom more completely gone.

This universal watchfulness not only stopped him on the highway twenty times in a stage, hut retarded¹⁰ his progress twenty times in a day, by riding after him and taking him back, riding before him and stopping him by anticipation¹¹, riding with him and keeping him in charge. He had been days upon his journey in France alone, when he went to bed tired out, in a little town on the high road, still a long way from Paris.

Nothing but the production of the afflicted¹² Gabelle's letter from his prison of the Abbaye would have got him on so far. His difficulty at the guard-house in this small place had been such, that he felt his journey to have come to a crisis. And he was, therefore, as little surprised as a man could be, to find himself awakened¹⁴ at the small inn to which he had been remitted¹⁵ until morning, in the middle of the night.

Awakened by a timid local functionary¹⁶ and three armed patriots in rough red caps and with pipes in their mouths, who sat down on the bed.

`Emigrant<sup>17</sup>,' said the functionary, `I am going to send you on to Paris, under an escort.'

`Citizen, I desire nothing more than to get to Paris, though I could dispense¹⁸ with the escort.'

`Silence!' growled<sup>19</sup> a red-cap, striking at the coverlet with the butt-end of his musket<sup>4</sup>. `Peace, aristocrat²⁰!'

`It is as the good patriot<sup>2</sup> says,' observed the timid functionary. `You are an aristocrat, and must have an escort-and must pay for it.'

`I have no choice,' said Charles Darnay.

`Choice, Listen to him!' cried the same scowling<sup>21</sup> red-cap. `As if it was not a favour to be protected from the lamp-iron!'

`It is always as the good patriot says,' observed the functionary. `Rise and dress yourself, emigrant.'

Darnay complied, and was taken back to the guard-house, where other patriots in rough red caps were smoking, drinking, and sleeping, by a watch-fire. Here he paid a heavy price for his escort, and hence he started with it on the wet, wet roads at three o'clock in the morning.

The escort were two mounted patriots in red caps and tricoloured cockades, armed with national muskets and sabres, who rode one on either side of him. The escorted governed his own horse, but a loose line was attached to his bridle²², the end of which one of the patriots kept girded round his wrist. In this state they set forth²³ with the sharp rain driving in their faces: clattering²⁴ at a heavy dragoon trot²⁵ over the uneven²⁶ town pavement, and out upon the mire-deep roads. In this state they traversed without change, except of horses and pace, all the mire-deep leagues that lay between them and the capital.

They travelled in the night, halting an hour or two after daybreak, and lying by until the twilight²⁷ fell. The escort were so wretchedly clothed, that they twisted straw round their bare legs, and thatched their ragged²⁸ shoulders to keep the wet off Apart from the personal discomfort²⁹ of being so attended, and apart from such considerations of present danger as arose from one of the patriots being chronically³⁰ drunk, and carrying his musket very recklessly, Charles Darnay did not allow the restraint that was laid upon him to awaken¹³ any serious fears in his breast; for, he reasoned with himself that it could have no reference to the merits of an individual case that was not yet stated, and of representations, confirmable by the prisoner in the Abbaye, that were not yet made.

But when they canto³¹ to the town of Beauvais--which they did at eventide, when the streets were filled with people--he could not `conceal from himself that the aspect of affairs was very alarming. An ominous<sup>32</sup> crowd gathered to see him dismount at the posting-yard, and many voices called out loudly, `Down with the emigrant!'

He stopped in the act of swinging himself out of his saddled and, resuming it as his safest place, said:

`Emigrant, my friends! Do you not see me here, in France, of my own will?'

`You are a cursed emigrant,' cried a farrier, making at him In a furious manner through the press, hammer in hand; `and you are a cursed aristocrat!'

The postmaster interposed himself between this man and the rider's bridle (at which he was evidently making), and soothingly³³ said, `Let him be; let him be! He will be judged at Paris.'

`Judged!' repeated the farrier, swinging his hammer. `Ay! and condemned³⁴ as a traitor³⁵.' At this the crowd roared approval.

Checking the postmaster, who was for turning his horse's head to the yard (the drunken patriot sat composedly in his saddle looking on, with the line round his wrist), Darnay said, as soon as he could make his voice heard:

`Friends, you deceive yourselves, or you are deceived. I am not a traitor.'

`He lies!' cried the smith. `He is a traitor since the decree. His life is forfeit³⁶ to the people. His cursed life is not his own!'

At the instant when Darnay saw a rush in the eyes of the crowd, which another instant would have brought upon him, the postmaster turned his horse into the yard, the escort rode in close upon his horse's flanks, and the postmaster shut and barred the crazy double gates. The farrier struck a blow upon them with his hammer, and the crowd groaned³⁷; but, no more was done.

`What is this decree that the smith spoke³⁸ of?' Darnay asked the postmaster, when he had thanked him, and stood beside him in the yard.

`Truly, a decree for selling the property of emigrants³⁹.'

`When passed?'

`On the fourteenth.'

`The day I left England!'

`Everybody says it is but one of several, and that there will be others--if there are not already--banishing all emigrants, and condemning⁴⁰ all to death who return. That is what he meant when he said your life was not your own.'

`But there are no such decrees yet?'

`What do I know!' said the postmaster, shrugging his shoulders; `there may be, or there will be. It is all the same. What would you have?'

They rested on some straw in a loft⁴¹ until the middle of the night, and then rode forward again when all the town was asleep. Among the many wild changes observable on familiar things which made this wild ride unreal, not the least was the seeming rarity of sleep. After long and lonely spurring over dreary⁴² roads, they would come to a cluster of poor cottages, not steeped in darkness, but all glittering with lights, and would find the people, in a ghostly manner in the dead of the night, circling hand in hand round a shrivelled tree of Liberty, or all drawn⁴³ up together singing a Liberty song. Happily, however, there was sleep in Beauvais that night to help them out of it, and they passed on once more into solitude⁴⁴ and loneliness: jingling⁴⁵ through the untimely cold and wet, among impoverished⁴⁶ fields that had yielded no fruits of the earth that year, diversified⁴⁷ by the blackened remains⁴⁸ of burnt houses, and by the sudden emergence⁴⁹ from ambuscade, and sharp reining⁵⁰ up across their way, of patriot patrols on the watch on all the roads.

Daylight at last found them before the wall of Paris. The barrier was closed and strongly guarded when they rode up to it.

`Where are the papers of this prisoner?' demanded a resolute-looking man in authority, who was summoned out by the guard.

Naturally struck by the disagreeable word, Charles Darnay requested the speaker to take notice that he was a free traveller and French citizen, in charge of an escort which the disturbed state of the country had imposed upon him, and which he had paid for.

`Where,' repeated the same personage, without taking any heed<sup>51</sup> of him whatever, `are the papers of this prisoner?'

The drunken patriot had them in his cap, and produced them. Casting his eyes over Gabelle's letter, the same personage in authority showed some disorder⁵² and surprise, and looked at Darnay with a close attention.

He left escort and escorted without saying a word, however, and went into the guard-room; meanwhile, they sat upon their horses outside the gate. Looking about him while in this state of suspense⁵³, Charles Darnay observed that the gate was held by a
mixed guard of soldiers and patriots, the latter far outnumbering the former; and that while ingress into the city for peasants carts bringing in supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy enough, egress⁵⁴, even for the homeliest people, was very difficult. A numerous medley⁵⁵ of men and women, not to mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was waiting to issue forth; but, the previous identification was so strict, that they filtered through the barrier very slowly. Some of these people knew their turn for examination to be so far off, that they lay down on the ground to sleep or smoke, while others talked together, or loitered about. The red cap and tricolour cockade were universal, both among men and women.

When he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking note of these things, Darnay found himself confronted by the same man in authority, who directed the guard to open the barrier. Then he delivered to the escort, drunk and sober, a receipt for the escorted, and requested him to dismount. He did so, and the two patriots, leading his tired horse, turned and rode away without entering the city.

He accompanied his conductor into a guard-room, smelling of common wine and tobacco, where certain soldiers and patriots, asleep and awake, drunk and sober, and in various neutral states between sleeping and waking, drunkenness and sobriety, were standing⁵⁶ and lying about. The light in the guard-house, half derived⁵⁷ from the waning⁵⁸ oil-lamps of the night, and half from the overcast⁵⁹ day, was in a correspondingly uncertain condition. Some registers were lying open on a desk, and an officer of a coarse, dark aspect, presided over these.

`Citizen Defarge,' said he to Darnay's conductor, as he took a slip of paper to write on. `Is this the emigrant Evrémonde?'

`This is the man.'

`Your age, Evrémonde?'

`Thirty-seven.'

`Married, Evrémonde?'

`Yes.'

`Where married?'

`In England.'

`Without doubt. Where is your wife, Evrémonde?'

`In England.'

`Without doubt. You are consigned⁶⁰, Evrémonde, to the prison of La Force.'

`Just Heaven!' exclaimed Darnay. `Under what law, and for what offence?'

The officer looked up from his slip of paper for a moment.

`We have new laws, Evrémonde, and new offences, since you were here.' He said it with a hard smile, and went on writing.

`I entreat⁶¹ you to observe that I have come here voluntarily, in response to that written appeal of a fellow-countryman which lies before you. I demand no more than the opportunity to do so without delay. Is not that my right?'

`Emigrants have no rights, Evrémonde,' was the stolid<sup>62</sup> reply. The officer wrote until he had finished, read over to himself what he had written, sanded it, and handed it to Defarge, with the words `In secret.'

Defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he must accompany him. The prisoner obeyed, and a guard of two armed patriots attended them.

`Is it you,' said Defarge, in a low voice, as they went down the guard-house steps and turned into Paris, `who married the daughter of Doctor Manette, once a prisoner in the Bastille that is no more?'

`Yes,' replied Darnay, looking at him with surprise.

`My name is Defarge, and I keep a wine-shop in the Quarter Saint Antoine. Possibly you have heard of me.'

`My wife came to your house to reclaim⁶³ her father? Yes!'

The word `wife' seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder<sup>64</sup> to Defarge, to say with sudden impatience<sup>65</sup>, `In the name of that sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine, why did you come to France?'

`You heard me say why, a minute ago. Do you not believe it is the truth?'

`A bad truth for you,' said Defarge, speaking with knitted brows, and looking straight before him.

`Indeed I am lost here. All here is so unprecedented⁶⁶, so changed, so sudden and unfair, that I am absolutely lost. Will you render me a little help?'

`None.' Defarge spoke, always looking straight before him.

`Will you answer me a single question?'

`Perhaps. According to its nature. You can say what it is.'

`In this prison that I am going to so unjustly, shall I have some free communication with the world outside?'

`You will see.'

`I am not to be buried there, prejudged, and without any means of presenting my case?'

`You will see. But, what then? Other people have been similarly buried in worse prisons, before now.

`But never by me, Citizen Defarge.'

Defarge glanced darkly at him for answer, and walked on in a steady and set silence. The deeper he sank into this silence, the fainter hope there was--or so Darnay thought--of his softening⁶⁷ in any slight degree. He, therefore, made haste to say:

`It is of the utmost importance to me (you know, Citizen, even better than I, of how much importance), that I should be able to communicate to Mr. Lorry of Tellson's Bank, an English gentleman who is now in Paris, the simple fact, without comment, that I have been thrown into the prison of La Force. Will you cause that to be done for me?'

`I will do,' Defarge doggedly<sup>68</sup> rejoined, `nothing for you. My duty is to my country and the People. I am the sworn servant of both, against you. I will do nothing for you.'

Charles Darnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, and his pride was touched besides. As they walked on in silence, he could not but see how used the people were to the spectacle of prisoners passing along the streets. The very children scarcely noticed him. A few passers turned their heads, and a few shook their fingers at him as an aristocrat; otherwise, that a man in good clothes should be going to prison, was no more remarkable⁶⁹ than that a labourer in working clothes should be going to work. In one narrow, dark, and dirty street through which they passed, an excited orator⁷⁰, mounted on a stool, was addressing an excited audience on the crimes against the people, of the king and the royal family. The few words that he caught from this man's lips, first made it known to Charles Darnay that the king was in prison, and that the foreign ambassadors had one and all left Paris. On the road (except at Beauvais) he had heard absolutely nothing. The escort and the universal watchfulness had completely isolated⁷¹ him.

That he had fallen among far greater dangers than those which had developed themselves when he left England, he of course knew now. That perils⁷² had thickened about him fast, and might thicken faster and faster yet, he of course knew now. He could
not but admit to himself that he might not have made this journey, if he could have foreseen the events of a few days. And yet his misgivings⁷³ were not so dark as, imagined by the light of this later time, they would appear. Troubled as the future was, it was the unknown future, and in its obscurity there was ignorant hope. The horrible massacre⁷⁴, days and nights long, which, within a few rounds of the clock, was to set a great mark of blood upon the blessed garnering⁷⁵ time of harvest, was as far out of his knowledge as if it had been a hundred thousand years away. The `sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine,' was hardly known to him, or to the generality of people, by name. The frightful⁷⁶ deeds that were to be soon done, were probably unimagined at that time in the brains of the doers. How could they have a place in the shadowy conceptions of a gentle mind?

Of unjust treatment in detention⁷⁷ and hardship, and in cruel separation from his wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or the certainty; but, beyond this, he dreaded⁷⁸ nothing distinctly. With this on his mind, which was enough to carry into a dreary prison court-yard, he arrived at the prison of La Force.

A man with a bloated face opened the strong wicket, to whom Defarge presented `The Emigrant Evrémonde.'

`What the Devil! How many more of them!' exclaimed the man with the bloated face.

Defarge took his receipt without noticing the exclamation⁷⁹, and withdrew, with his two fellow-patriots.

`What the Devil, I say again!' exclaimed the gaoler, left with his wife. `How many more!'

The gaoler's wife, being provided with no answer to the question, merely replied, `One must have patience, my dear!' Three turnkeys who entered responsive to a bell she rang,, echoed the sentiment and one added, `For the love of Liberty; which sounded in that place like an inappropriate conclusion.

The prison of La Force was a gloomy prison, dark and filthy⁸⁰, and with a horrible smell of foul⁸¹ sleep in it. Extraordinary how soon the noisome⁸² flavour of imprisoned⁸³ sleep, becomes manifest in all such places that are ill cared for!

`In secret, too,' grumbled<sup>84</sup> the gaoler, looking at the written paper. `As if I was not already full to bursting!'

He stuck the paper on a file, in an ill-humour, and Charles Darnay awaited his further pleasure for half an hour: sometimes, pacing to and fro in the strong arched room: sometimes, resting on a stone seat: in either case detained to be imprinted⁸⁵ on the memory of the chief and his subordinates.

`Come!' said the chief, at length taking up his keys, `come with me, emigrant.'

Through the dismal⁸⁶ prison twilight, his new charge accompanied him by corridor and staircase, many doors clanging and locking behind them, until they came into a large, low, vaulted⁸⁷ chamber⁸⁸, crowded with prisoners of both sexes. The women were seated at a long table, reading and writing, knitting, sewing, and embroidering⁸⁹; the men were for the most part standing behind their chairs, or lingering up and down the room.

In the instinctive⁹⁰ association of prisoners with shameful⁹¹ crime and disgrace, the new comer recoiled⁹² from this company. But the crowning unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once rising to receive him, with every refinement⁹³ of manner known to the time, and with all the engaging graces and courtesies of life.

So strangely clouded were these refinements⁹⁴ by the prison manners and gloom, so spectral⁹⁵ did they become in the inappropriate squalor and misery⁹⁶ through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance⁹⁷, the ghost of pride, the ghost of frivolity⁹⁸, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all waiting their dismissal from the desolate⁹⁹ shore, all turning on him eyes that were changed by the death they had died in coming there.

It struck him motionless. The gaoler standing at his side, and the other gaolers moving about, who would have been well enough as to appearance in the ordinary exercise of their functions, looked so extravagantly¹⁰⁰ coarse contrasted with sorrowing mothers and blooming daughters who were there with the apparitions¹⁰¹ of the coquette, the young beauty, and the mature woman delicately bred--that the inversion¹⁰² of all experience and likelihood which the scene of shadows presented, was heightened to its utmost. Surely, ghosts all. Surely, the long unreal ride some progress of disease that had brought him to these gloomy shades!

`In the name of the assembled companions in misfortune,' said a gentleman of courtly appearance and address, coming forward, `I have the honour of giving you welcome to La Force, and of condoling¹⁰³ with you on the calamity¹⁰⁴ that has brought you among us. May it soon terminate happily! It would be an impertinence elsewhere, but it is not so here, to ask your name and condition?'

Charles Darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, in words as suitable as he could find.

`But I hope,' said the gentleman, following the chief gaoler with his eyes, who moved across the room, `that you are not in secret?'

`I do not understand the meaning of the term, but I have heard them say so.'

`Ah, what a pity! We so much regret it! But take courage; several members of our society have been in secret, at first, and it has lasted but a short time.' Then he added, raising his voice, `I grieve to inform the society--in secret.

There was a murmur¹⁰⁵ of commiseration¹⁰⁶ as Charles Darnay crossed the room to a grated door where the gaoler awaited him, and many voices--among which, the soft and compassionate¹⁰⁷ voices of woman were conspicuous--gave him good wishes and encouragement. He turned at the grated door, to render the thanks of his heart; it closed under the gaoler's hand; and the apparitions vanished from his sight for ever.

The wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. When they had ascended¹⁰⁸ forty steps (the prisoner of half an hour already counted them), the gaoler opened a low black door, and they passed into a solitary¹⁰⁹ cell. It struck cold and damp, but was not dark.

`Yours,' said the gaoler.

`Why am I confined alone?'

`How do I know!'

`I can buy pen, ink, and paper?'

`Such are not my orders. You will be visited, and can ask then. At present, you may buy your food, and nothing more.'

There were in the cell, a chair, a table, and a straw mattress¹¹⁰. As the gaoler made a general inspection¹¹¹ of these objects, and of the four walls, before going out, a wandering fancy wandered through the mind of the prisoner leaning against the wall opposite
to him, that this gaoler was so unwholesomely bloated, both in face and person, as to look like a man who had been drowned and filled with water. When the gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, `Now am I left, as if I were dead.' Stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he turned from it with a sick feeling, and thought, `And here in these crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death.'

`Five paces by four and a half five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half.' The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like muffled<sup>112</sup> drums with a wild swell<sup>113</sup> of voices added to them. `He made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes.' The prisoner counted the measurement again, and paced faster, to draw his mind with him from that latter repetition. `The ghosts that vanished when the wicket closed. There was one among them, the appearance of a lady dressed in black, who was leaning in the embrasure of a window, and she had a light shining upon her golden hair, and she looked like * * * * Let us ride on again, for God's sake, through the illuminated¹¹⁴ villages with the people all awake! * * * * He made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes. * * * * Five paces by four and a half.' With such scraps¹¹⁵ tossing and rolling upward from the depths of his mind, the prisoner walked faster and faster, obstinately¹¹⁶ counting and counting; and the roar of the city changed to this extent-that it still rolled in like muffled drums, but with the wail¹¹⁷ of voices that he knew, in the swell that rose above them.

一千七百九十二年秋，那从英格兰去法兰西的旅客在途中缓缓前进。即使在现己被推翻的不幸的法王还高踞宝座的全盛时期，旅客们也会遇到太多的麻烦阻碍他们的行程：糟糕的道路、糟糕的没备、糟糕的马匹，何况此时势易时移，还有了新的障碍：每一个市镇的大门和乡村税务所都有一群爱国公民，他们手中那国民军的毛瑟枪早以最大的爆炸力准备好了发射。他们挡住过往行人进行盘问，查验证件，在自己的名单上找寻他们的名字，然后或放行、或挡回、或扣押，一切取决于他们那反复无常的判断或想象，一切为了那还在曙光中的共和国的最大利益——那统—不可分割的自由、平等、博爱或死亡的共和国。

查尔斯.达尔内刚在法国走了不到几法里便开始明白，除非自己在巴黎被宣布为良好公民，否则，便再也没有通过这些乡村公路回家的希望。现在他已是无论如何非到巴黎不可了。他明白，每一个不起眼的村落在他身后关上的大门、每一道落下的普通的路障都是一道横亘在他和英格兰之间的铁闸。他从四面八方所受到的极其严密的监视使他感到，即使被收在网里或关在笼里送往巴黎，自己所失去的自由也不会比这更彻底。

这种无所不在的监视，不但在—段旅程上要阻拦他二十次，而且在一天之内还要耽误他二十次。有时是骑马赶来把他追了回去，有时是赶到前面挡住他的去路，有时又是骑马同行看管着他。那天他在公路上一个小镇筋疲力竭地躺下时，已只身在法国旅行了许多日子，可距离巴黎还是很远。

若不是随时想到受难的加伯尔从修道院监狱发出的信，他是再也没有力量继续前进深入重地的。他在这个小地方的警卫室所遇到的严重麻烦使他感到自己的旅途上已出现了危机。因此当他半夜三更从被指定过夜的小客找叫醒的时候，并不太惊惶失措。

叫醒他的是一个畏畏缩缩的地方官员，还有三个戴着粗糙的红便帽、衔着烟斗的武装爱国者。他们在床边坐了下来。

“外逃分子，”那官员说，“我要把你送到巴黎去，还派人护送。”

“公民，我没有别的愿望，只想去巴黎，护送倒可不必。”

“住口！”一个红帽子用毛瑟抢枪托敲打着被子吼道。“别吵，贵族分子。”

“正如这位好心的爱国者所说，”那怯生生的官员说道，“你是个贵族公子，因此必须有人护送——还必须交护送费。”

“我别无选择，”查尔斯达尔内说。

“选择！你听他说些什么！”刚才那凶狠的红帽子说，“护送你，不让你吊在路灯杆上，这难道还不好么！”

“这位好心的爱国者说的话总是对的，”那官员说。“起来，穿上衣服，外逃分子。”

达尔内照办了，然后被带回了警卫室。那儿还有些戴粗糙的红便帽的爱国者。他们正守在篝火旁吸烟、喝酒、睡觉。他在那儿付了一大笔保护费，便在凌晨三时跟护送人一起踏上了泥泞不堪的道路。

护送人是两个骑着马的爱国者，戴着缀有三色徽章的红便帽，背着国民军的毛瑟抢，挎着马刀，一边一个陪着他走着。被护送者控制着自己的马，但他的缰绳上却松松地系了另一根绳子，那一头挽在一个爱国者的手腕上。他们就像这样冒着打在面颊上的急雨出发了。马蹄踏着龙骑兵式的沉重步伐在市镇的凹凸不平的街道上和市外深深的泥泞里吧哒吧哒走着。就这样走完了通向首都的泥泞的路，除了马匹要换、速度不一之外再没有什么变化。

他们在夜里走路，破晓后一两个小时便休息睡觉，黄昏又再出发。护送人穿得极破烂，用干草裹着赤裸裸的双腿，也用它披在褴褛的肩上挡雨。这样叫人押着旅行，使他感到很不舒服。有一个爱国者又常喝得醉醺醺的，粗心大意地提着枪，也使他随时感到威胁。除此之外查尔斯.达尔内并没让种种不便在胸中唤起过任何严重的恐惧。因为他经过了反复思考，认定这种情况跟一桩还不曾审理的案子的是非无关。到他提出申辩时，那修道院监狱的囚犯可以证实。

但是等到他们黄昏来到波维城发现街上挤满了人的时候，他却不能不承认形势十分严峻了。一群阴森森的人围了过来，看着他在即站院子里下了马，许多喉咙大叫道，“打倒外逃分子！”

他正要飞身下马，却立即停住，重新坐好了，把马背当作最安全的地方，说：

“什么外逃分子，朋友们！你们不是亲眼看见我是自己回法国来的么？”

“你是个该死的外逃分子，”一个钉马掌工人手拿郎头暴跳加雷地穿过人群向他奔来，“你还是个该死的贵族分子！”

驿站长插身到那人和骑马人的缰绳之间（那人显然想去拉马缰）劝解说，“让他去，让他去，他到了巴黎会受到审判的。”

“受审判！”马掌工摇晃着郎头说，“好！判他个卖国罪，杀头。”人群一听便大喊大叫，表示赞成。

驿站长正要把他的马往院于里牵，达尔内却挡住了他（这时那醉醺醺的爱国者手上还挽住达尔内的缰绳的一端，坐在马鞍上没动），等到听得见他说话了，才说道：

“朋友们，你们误会了，再不就是受了欺骗。我不是卖国贼。”

“他撒谎！”那铁匠叫道，“自从法令公布之后，他就成了卖国贼。他的生命已交由人民处理。他那受到诅咒的生命已不是他的了！”

此时此刻达尔内在人群的眼里看到了一种冲动，仿佛他们马上就要扑到他的身上来。驿站长急忙把他的马牵进了院子，护送者的两匹马紧挨着他，把他夹在中间。驿站长关上了那摇摇晃晃的双扇门，并上了杠。钉马掌的在门上砸了—郎头，人们嘟哝了一会儿，却再也没做刊什么。

“那铁匠说起的是什么法令？”达尔内向驿站长道了谢，跟他一起站在院子里时问道。

“有那么回事，是出售外逃人员财产的法令。”

“什么时候通过的？”

“十四日。”

“我离开英国就是那天。”

“大家都说这只是其中之一，还会有其它的法令出台——即使是现在还没有——，要放逐所有的外逃分子，外逃回国的人也一律处死。那人说你的命不是自己的，就是这个意思。”

“可是现在还没有这些法令吧？”

“我能知道什么！”驿站长耸耸肩说。“可能现在就有，也可能以后才有，都一样。你能希望什么？”

他们在阁楼里的干草上休息到半夜，等到全城都入睡之后再骑马前进。在这次荒唐的骑马旅行中他发现许多日常事物发生了近于虚幻的荒唐变化，睡眠很少似乎并不是其中最小的变化。在荒凉的路上经过了寂寞的长途跋涉之后，他们往往会来到几间可怜的村舍面前。村舍不是沉浸在黑暗里，而是闪耀着火光，村民们在半夜三更像幽灵一样手牵着手围着一株枯萎的自由树转着圈子，或是挤在一起唱赞颂自由的歌。所幸在波维城的那天晚上人们睡觉去了，否则他们是难以脱身的。他们继续前进，走向孤独与寂寞，叮叮当当地穿过提前来到的寒冷与潮湿，穿过全年没有收获的变得贫瘠的土地。土地上出现的变化是：烧掉的房屋的黑色废墟和爱国者巡逻队的突然出现——他们在所有的道路上执勤，猛然从隐蔽处钻出来，收紧缰绳站住。

清晨的阳光终于在巴黎的城墙前照到了他们身上。他们走近的时候路障关闭着，并有重兵把守。

“这个囚犯的证件在哪儿？”卫兵叫来的一个神色坚毅的负责人间。

达尔内听到“囚犯”这个难听的字眼当然不高兴，便请求对方注意他是法国公民，自由的旅客，是因为时局动荡被人硬派绘了保卫人员的，而且为此付了费。

“这个囚犯的证件，”那人根本没听他说的话，仍然问道，“在哪儿？”

证件在醉醺醺的爱国者帽子里，他把它拿了出来。那人看了看加伯尔的信，表现出几分惊诧和意外，仔细地打量了达尔内一会几。

那人一言不发离开了护送队和被护送的人，走进了警卫室，这三个人骑着马等在城外，查尔斯.达尔内提心吊胆地望了望四周，发现城门是由警卫队和爱国者共同守卫的，后者比前者要多得多。他又发现虽然运送给养的农民大车和那一类的车辆及商贩进城很容易，出城却十分困难，哪怕是最不起眼的人也很难。等着出城的有一大群各色各样的男男女女，自然还有牲口和车辆。对人的检查很严格，因此人们通过路障十分缓慢。有的人知道距离检查到自己的时间还长，便索性倒在地上睡觉，或是抽烟。其他的人则有的谈话，有的步来走去。他们无论男女，都一律戴着红便帽，缀着三色帽徽。

达尔内在马背上观察着这一切，等了大约半个小时之后，发现自己站到了那个负责的人面前。那人指示誓卫队打开路障，给了那醉酒的和清醒的护送队员一张收到被护送者的收条，然后要他下马。他下了马，两个爱国者牵着他那匹疲倦的马，掉转马头走了，没有进城。

他随着引路者走进了一间警卫室。那里有一股劣质酒和烟叶的气味，士兵们和爱国者们有的睡着，有的醒着；有的醉了，有的没醉，还有的处于睡与醒之间、醉与未醉之间的种种中间状态，或站着或躺着。警卫室的光线一半来自越来越暗的油灯，一半来自阴沉的天空，也处于一种相应的暖昧状态。办公桌上公开放着表册，一个相貌粗鲁、皮肤黝黑的军官负责着这一切。

“德伐日公民，”军官对带领达尔内的人说，同时拿起一张纸准备书写。“这个外逃分子是埃佛瑞蒙德么？”

“是他。”

“你几岁了，埃佛瑞蒙德？”

“三十七。”

“结婚了没有，埃佛瑞蒙德？”

“结婚了。”

“在哪儿结的？”

“在英国。”

“理所当然，埃佛瑞蒙德，你的妻子在哪？”

“在英国。”

“理所当然，埃佛瑞蒙德，我们要把你送到拉福斯监狱。”

“天呐！”达尔内惊叫起来。“你们凭什么法律关我，我犯了什么罪？”

军官抬起头来望了望。

“你离开法国以后我们有了新的法律，埃佛瑞蒙德，和新的定罪标准。”他严峻地笑了笑，继续写下去。

“我请你注意，我是自觉到这儿来的，是应一个同胞的书面请求来的，那封信就在你面前。我只要求给我机会办事，不能耽误。这难道不是我的权利么？”

“外逃分子没有权利可言，埃佛瑞蒙德。”回答是麻木的。军官写完公文，重读了一遍，撒上沙吸了墨水，递给了德伐日，上面写着“密号”。

德伐日用公文对囚犯招了招手，要他跟着走。囚犯服从了，两个武装的爱国者形成一支卫队跟了上去。

“跟曼内特医生的女儿结婚的，”他们走下警卫室台阶往巴黎城方向走去，德伐日低声问道，“就是你么？那医生原来在巴士底狱做过囚犯的。”

“是的，”达尔内惊诧地望着他，回答道。

“我叫德伐日，在圣安托万区开酒店。你也许听说过我吧？”

“我的妻子就是到你家去接他父亲的，是么？”

“妻子”一词好像提醒了德伐日什么不愉快的事，他突然不耐烦地说，“以法兰西的新生儿、锋利的断头台小姐的名义说话，你是为什么回到法国来的？”

“我一分钟以前作了回答，你是听见的。你不相信我说的是真话么？”

“是对你很不利的真话，”德伐日皱紧了眉头，眼睛笔直望着前面说。

“在这儿我的确给弄糊涂了。这儿的一切我都从来没见过。变化很大，很突然，很不公正，我完全给弄糊涂了。你能帮帮我的忙么？”

“不行，”德伐日说，总是笔直望着前面。

“我只问你一个问题，你能回答么？”

“也许能，但得看是什么问题。说吧！”

“在我被这样冤枉送进去的监狱里，我能跟外面自由通信么？”

“你以后就知道了。”

“不会不让我申诉就预先定罪把我埋葬在那儿吧？”

“你以后就知道了。可那又怎么样？以前别人不也同样在更恶劣的监狱里被埋葬过么？”

“可并不是我埋葬的，德伐日公民。”

德伐日只阴沉地看了他一眼作为回答，然后便坚持沉默，继续往前走。他像这样陷入沉默越深，要他略微软化的希望便越少一—也许那是达尔内的想法。因此他赶快说：

“我必须通知现在在巴黎的一位绅士台尔森银行的罗瑞先生，告诉他一个简单的事实，我已经被投入拉福斯监狱。不加评论。这事对我极为重要，这一点你比我更明白，公民。你能设法办到么？”

“我不能替你办任何事，”德伐日固执地回答，“我只对我的国家和人民尽义务，我发过誓要为他们工作，反对你们。我不愿意为你办事。”

达尔内感到再恳求他己是枉然，自尊心也受到了伤害。他们默默地走着，他不能不感到老百姓对押着囚犯在街上走已经习以为常，连孩子们也几乎没注意他。几个过路人转过脑袋看了看；几个人向他摇晃指头，表示他是贵族。衣着考究的人进监狱，已不比穿着工装的工人上工厂更为罕见了。在他们经过的一条狭窄、黑暗和肮脏的街道上，有一个激动的演说家站在板凳上向激动的听众讲述国王和王族对人民犯下的罪恶。他从那人嘴里听到的几句话里第一次知道了国王已被软禁，各国使节已离开巴黎——除了在波维之外，他在路上什么消息也没听到。护卫队和普遍的警惕把他完全孤立了。

他现在当然知道自己所陷入的危险要比他离开英国时严重得多，也当然知道周围的危险正在迅速增加，而且增加的速度越来越快。他不能不承认当初若能作几天预测，他也许便不会来了。其实他从刚才的情况推测所产生的担心还远不如后来的实情那么严重。前途虽然险恶，毕竟还不知道，正因为不知道，所以还糊里糊涂抱着希望。只等时针再转上几圈，那历时几天儿夜的惨绝人寰的大屠杀将给收获季节涂上了一个巨大的血印。那才是远远出乎他的意料之外的呢，有如十万年前的事一样。对那“新生的锋利的女儿断头台”他还几乎连名字也不知道，一般的老百姓也不知道。那马上就要出现的恐怖活动也许连后来参预的人也还难以想象。温和的心灵即使作最阴暗的估计，也很难猜想出那样的局面。

他很担心受到不公正的待遇，受到痛苦，会跟妻女惨痛分离，甚至认为那已无法避免。可是更进一步他却再无明显的畏惧。他就是怀着这样难堪的不安来到了拉福斯监狱，进入了阴森的监狱大院的。

一个面部浮肿的人打开了一道结实的小门，德伐日把“外逃分子埃佛瑞蒙德”交绘了
他。

“见鬼！外逃分子怎么这么多呀！”面部浮肿的人叫道。

德伐日没有理会他的叫喊，取了收条，带着他的两个爱国者伙伴走掉了。

“我再说一遍，真他妈见鬼！”典狱长单独跟他的妻子在一起时说道，“还要送来多少！”

典狱长的老婆不知道该怎么回答，只说了一句，“要有耐心，亲爱的！”她按铃叫来的三个看守都响应这钟情绪，一个说，“因为热爱自己呗。”在那样的地方作出这样的结论，可真有些不伦不类。

拉福斯监狱是个阴森森的地方。黑暗、肮脏，因为肮脏，到处散发着被窝难闻得可怕的臭气。由于管理不善竟会那么快就把全监狱都弄得那么臭，真是奇特。

“又是密号！”典狱长看看公文嘟哝，“好像我这儿还没有胀破似的！”

他把公文怒气冲冲往卷宗里—贴，查尔斯.达尔内只好等了半个钟头让他消气。达尔内有时在尽有拱门的十分牢固的屋子里踱踱步，有时在一个石头座位上休息休息，总之无法在长宫和他的部下的记忆里产生印象。

“来！”长官终于拿起了钥匙串，“跟我来，外逃分子。”

在牢狱凄清的微光中他的新负责人陪着他走过了走廊和台阶，几道门在他们身后哐哐地关上，最终走到了一个有着低矮的拱顶的屋子，屋里满是男男女女的囚犯，女囚犯坐在一张长桌边后书、写字、打毛线、缝纫和刺绣，大部分男囚犯则站在椅子后，或是在屋里闲踱。

由于把囚犯跟可耻的罪恶和羞辱本能地作了联想，新来的人在人群前畏缩了。但是在他那离奇的长途跋涉之后却出现了最离奇的经历：那些人立即全部站了起来，用那个时代最彬彬有礼的态度和生活中最迷人的风雅与礼仪接待了他。

监狱的幽暗和监狱的行为奇怪地笼罩了人们优雅的动作，使它在与之不相称的肮脏和痛苦的环境中显得不像在人间。查尔斯.达尔内仿佛进入了死人的行列。满眼是幽灵！美丽的幽灵、庄严的幽灵、高雅的幽灵、浮华的幽灵、机智的幽灵、青年的幽灵、老年的幽灵，全都在荒凉的河岸上听候处置，全都向他转过因为死亡而变了样的眼睛——他们是死了才来到这儿的。

他一时吓呆了，站着一动不动。站在他身边的典狱长和行动着的看守在一般执行任务时虽也看得过去，但跟这些悲伤的母亲和妙龄的女儿一对比，跟芳姿绰约的佳丽、年轻的少妇和受过优秀教养的成熟的妇女等人的幽灵一对比，便显得异常粗鄙。在他一切的经历之中，这个充满幽暗身影的场面使他的沧桑之感达到了极点。毫无疑问，这全是幽灵；毫无疑问，那漫长的荒唐旅行不过是一种日益加重的沉疴，是它带他到了这阴暗的地方的。

“我以在此处相逢的不幸的伙伴们的名义，”一个气派谈吐都雍容华贵的先生走上前来，“荣幸地欢迎你来到拉福斯，并对你因受到灾祸落入了我们的行列深表慰问。但愿你早日化险为夷。在其它的场合若是打听您的姓氏和情况恐怕失于冒昧，但在这儿能否有所不同？”

查尔斯.达尔内集中起注意力，字斟句酌地作了回答。

“但愿你不是密号？”那人说，一面望着在屋里走动的典狱长。

“我不知道这个词的意思，但我听见他们这样叫我。”

“啊，太不幸了！太遗憾了！不过，要有勇气，我们这里有几个人起初也是密号，可是不久也就改变了。”然后他放开了嗓门说，“我遗憾地转告诸位一一密号。”

一阵喁喁私语表示着同情，查尔斯.达尔内穿过屋子来到一道铁栅门前，典狱长已在那几等候。这时许多声音向他表示良好的祝愿和鼓励，其中妇女们轻柔的关切声最为明显。他在铁栅门前转过身子，表示衷心感谢。铁栅门在典狱长手下关上了，幽灵们从此在他眼里永远消失。

小门通向一道上行的石梯。他们一共走了四十步（坐了半小时牢的囚犯计了数）。典狱长打开一道低矮的黑门，他们进入了一个孤立的囚室。那几又冷又潮，寒气袭人，却不黑暗。

“你的，”典狱长说。

“我为什么要单独监禁？”

“我怎么知道。”

“我能买笔、墨水和纸么？”

“给我的命令中没有这一条。会有人来探望你的，那时你可以提出要求。现在你可以买食物，但别的不能买。”

牢房里有一张椅子，一张桌子和一床草荐。典狱长在出门前对这些东西和四堵墙壁做了一般的检查。这时面对着他靠在墙上的囚犯心里忽然闪过一种飘忽的幻想：那典狱长面部浮肿，全身浮肿，肿得吓人，像个淹死了、泡胀了的尸体。典狱长离开之后，他仍然飘飘忽忽想着，“我也好像是死了，扔在这儿了。”他在草荐前站住，低下头看了看，带着恶心之感想道，“死去之后身子就跟这些爬来爬去的活物为伍！这就是死的第一种状态吧！”

“五步长，四步半宽，五步长四步半宽，五步长四步半宽。”囚徒在牢房里走来走去，数着步子。城市的怒吼像捂住的鼓声，夹杂着阵阵狂呼传来：“他做过鞋，他做过鞋，他做过鞋。”囚徒继续丈量，只是加快了步伐，想让他的心灵跟着身子一起回避那句重复的话。“小门关掉之后便消失的幽灵群。其中之一是一个穿黑衣的少妇，靠在窗户的漏斗状斜面上，一道光照着她的金发……为了上帝的缘故，咱们骑上马继续去吧！从还有灯光照亮的人们还没有睡觉的村子穿过去！……他做过鞋，他做过鞋，他做过鞋……五步长四步半宽。”种种零乱的思想从心的深处跳了出来，翻腾起伏。囚徒越走越快，他顽强地计着数，计着数，城市的吼声有了变化——仍像捂着的鼓隆隆地响，但在升起的声浪中，他听见熟悉的声音在哭号。

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