Lesson 99: English - улучшение восприятия

While this was happening, Miss Pross was out shopping for the family. Jerry Cruncher was with her, and they had just gone into a wine-shop when Miss Pross suddenly stopped, looked at one of the customers, and cried out in a loud voice, "Oh Solomon, dear Solomon! I've found you at last, dear brother! But whatever are you doing here in Paris?"

"Don't call me Solomon. You'll get me killed. Pay for your wine, and come outside," said the man in a low, frightened voice.

They went outside. "You mustn't recognize me here," said the man. "It's not safe. Go your way, and let me go mine."

Miss Pross began to cry at these unbrotherly words, and Jerry Cruncher stepped forward to stare in the man's face.

"Wait a minute," said Jerry. "Is your name John Solomon, or Solomon John? Your sister calls you Solomon. I know that your name's John; I remember that. But your other name wasn't Pross at that Old Bailey trial. What was your name then?"

"Barsad" said another voice.

"Yes, Barsad, that's it," cried Jerry. He turned round and saw Sydney Carton standing behind him.

"Don't be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross," said Carton, smiling at her. "But I'm afraid I have to tell you that your brother is a spy, a spy for the French prisons."

Solomon Pross, also Barsad, went pale. "That's not true!"

"I saw you come out of the Conciergerie today. I followed you," said Carton, "And I found out what you do. And I've decided that you may be able to help me. Come with me to the office of Mr Lorry."

After a short argument, which Carton won, Barsad followed him to Mr Lorry's office.

"I bring bad news," Carton said to Mr Lorry. "Darnay has been arrested again."

"But I was with him only two hours ago," cried Mr Lorry. "He was safe and free!"

"Even so, he has been arrested and taken to the Conciergerie. And I'm not sure that Dr Manette's good name can save him this time. So we must have Mr Barsad's help."

"I will not help you," said Solomon Pross, called John Barsad.

"Oh, I think you will," said Sydney Carton, "When you hear what I could say about you. Let's think. Mr Barsad is a spy, and a prison guard, but he used to be a spy in England. Is he still paid by the English?"

"No one will listen to you," said Barsad.

"But I can say more, Mr Barsad," replied Carton.

Barsad had more problems than Carton knew. He could not return to England because he was wanted by the police there. And in France, before he became a prison guard for the citizens' revolution, he had been a spy for the King's officers. He knew that Madame Defarge, that terrible woman, had knitted his name into her list of enemies of the people. Most of those on her list had already been killed by the Guillotine, and Barsad did not want to be next.

"You seem worried, Mr Barsad," said Carton calmly.

The spy turned to Mr Lorry. "Miss Pross is my sister, sir. Would you send her brother to his death, sir?"

"The best thing for your sister, Mr Barsad," said Carton smoothly, "Is not to have a brother like you. I think I will inform the Tribunal that I suspect you of spying for England. You will be condemned at once, I am sure."

"All right," Barsad said slowly, "I'll help you. But don't ask me to do anything that will put my life in danger, because I won't do it."

"You're a guard at the Conciergerie prison, where Darnay is, aren't you?" said Carton. "Come, let us talk privately in the next room."

When Mr Carton returned alone, Mr Lorry asked what he had done.

"Not much," replied Carton, "But if it goes badly for Darnay tomorrow, I can visit him once. It's all I could do."

"But that will not save him," cried Mr Lorry sadly.

"I never said it would."

Mr Lorry was an old man now, with a life of hard work behind him. Tears filled his eyes as he realized he could do nothing to help Lucie and her father now.

Sydney Carton felt very sorry for Mr Lorry.

"You're a good friend of Dr Manette and his daughter, but don't tell them about me or this meeting. It can't help Lucie." He paused. "Will you go back to London soon?"

"Yes, my work for Tellson's Bank here is finished. I have the necessary papers to leave Paris. I was ready to go tomorrow."

"Then don't change your plans," said Carton, very seriously.

Later that night Sydney Carton visited a shop in a quiet corner of Paris. He wrote on a piece of paper the names of several powders and gave it to the shopkeeper.

"For you, citizen?" asked the shopkeeper.

"Yes, for me."

"You must be careful, citizen. Keep these things separate. You know what happens if you put them together."

"Perfectly," replied Carton.

He spent the rest of that night walking the streets of Paris. He watched the moon rise in the sky, he listened to the sounds of the River Seine flowing through the heart of the city, and he thought calmly about the past, and the future. He thought about all the deaths that the city had already seen ... and he thought about Lucie's gentle, loving face and her sad, sad eyes.

When Charles Darnay was led before the Tribunal the next morning, Dr Manette, Lucie and Mr Lorry were all there. The love in Lucie's eyes as she looked at her husband warmed Darnay's heart. It had the same effect on Sydney Carton, though no one saw him standing at the back of the room.

It was the same Tribunal who had let Darnay go free on the day before. But Revolution Laws were not as powerful as the anger of the people.

The President of the Tribunal asked, "Who has accused Charles Evremonde again?"

"Three voices," he was told. "He is accused by Ernest Defarge, by Teresa Defarge his wife, and by Alexandre Manette, Doctor."

There was a great noise in the room when Dr Manette's name was heard. When the shouting stopped, Dr Manette stood, pale and trembling.

"President, this cannot be true. You know that the man who is accused, Charles Darnay, is my daughter's husband. My daughter and those who are dear to her are far more important to me than my life. Where is the liar who says that I accuse my daughter's husband?"

"Citizen Manette," said the President, "Be calm. Nothing can be more important to a good citizen than the freedom of France."

Defarge came forward to answer questions. He told how he had been at the Bastille at the beginning of the Revolution, when that hated prison had been taken by the citizens.

"I knew that Dr Manette had been kept in a room known as One Hundred and Five, North Tower. It was the only name he had when he came to me in 1775. I went to the room and, hidden in a hole, I found a written paper. It is in Dr Manette's writing."

"Read it to us," said the President, and the crowd fell silent and listened.

I, Alexandre Manette, write this in the Bastille in 1767. I have been here for ten long years and I write this in my secret moments, when I can.

One evening in December, 1757, I was walking by the River Seine and a coach stopped beside me. Two men got out and one asked me if I was Dr Manette. When I replied that I was, they asked me to go with them, and made it clear that I could not refuse.

The coach left Paris and stopped at a lonely house. I could hear cries coming from a room upstairs. When I went in, I saw a young woman lying on a bed. She was young and very beautiful. She was also very ill. She kept crying out, "My husband, my father, and my brother!" Then she listened for a moment, and began once again, "My husband, my father, and my brother..."

I gave the girl something to make her calmer, but her feverish screams continued. Then I turned to question the two men. They were clearly brothers, and their clothes and voices suggested that they were noblemen. But they took care to prevent me from learning their name.

Before I could speak, the older brother said carelessly, "There is another patient." In a different room, they showed me a boy of about seventeen. There was a sword wound in his chest and I could see at once that he was dying.

"How did this happen?" I asked.

"He's just a crazy young peasant. He came here shouting about revenge, and made my brother fight him." The older brother's voice was cold and hard; he seemed to think the boy was less important than a horse or a dog.

The boy's eyes looked at me. "Have you seen her... my sister?" It was hard for him to speak.

"I have seen her" I replied.

"These rich nobles are cruel to us, Doctor. They destroy our land, they take our food, they steal our sisters. My sister loved a man in our village; he was sick, but she married him to take care of him. But my sister is beautiful, and that nobleman's brother saw her and wanted her. They made her husband work night and day without stopping, until he dropped dead where he stood. Then they took my sister away. When my father heard what had happened, the news was too much for his poor heart and he died suddenly. I took my younger sister to a place where she is safe, and came here to find this man. He threw some money at me, tried to buy me like a dog, but I made him pull his sword and fight me to save his life."

The boy's life was going fast, but he cried, "Lift me, Doctor." He turned his face towards the older brother. "Marquis," he said loudly, "I call for you and your brother, and all your family, now and in the future, to pay for what you have done." Then he fell back, dead.

The young woman's fever continued, but I could not save her. She lived for several more days, and once the Marquis said to me, "How long these peasants take to die!"

When she was dead, the brothers warned me to keep silent. They offered me money, but I refused it and was taken back to my home.

The next day I decided to write to the King's officials. I knew that nobles who did unlawful things were usually not punished, and I expected that nothing would happen. But I did not realize the danger for myself. Just as I had finished writing my letter, a lady came to see me. She said she was the wife of the Marquis of Evremonde and she had discovered what her husband and his brother had done. She wanted to help the younger sister of the girl who had died, and asked me where she could find her. Sadly, I did not know and so could not tell her. But that was how I learnt the brothers'name.

The wife of the Marquis was a good, kind woman, deeply unhappy in her marriage. She had brought her son with her, a boy about three years old. "If I cannot find this poor girl," she said, "I shall tell my son to continue the search after my death. You will remember that, little Charles, won't you?"

The child answered, "Yes!"

Later that day I sent my letter to the King's officials and that night there was a knock at my door. My servant, a boy called Ernest Defarge, brought in a stranger, who asked me to come at once to visit a sick man in the next street.

As soon as I was outside the house, several men took hold of me violently. The Evremonde brothers came out of the darkness and the Marquis took my letter out of his pocket, showed it to me, and burned it. Not a word was spoken. Then I was brought here to this prison, my living grave.

I have been here for ten long years. I do not know if my dear wife is alive or dead; these brothers have sent me no news of my family. There is no goodness in their cruel hearts. I, Alexandre Manette, in my pain and sadness, I condemn them in the face of God.

When Defarge had finished reading, a terrible sound rose from the crowd, a long wild cry of anger and revenge. Death for the hated Marquis of Evremonde, enemy of the people! The trial was over, and in less than twenty-four hours Charles Darnay would go to the Guillotine.