Book II - Chapter XXIV. Drawn to the Loadstone Rock

by Charles Dickens

　　In such risings of fire and risings of sea--the firm earth shaken bythe rushes of an angry ocean which had now no ebb, but was always onthe flow, higher and higher, to the terror and wonder of the beholderson the shore--three years of tempest were consumed. Three morebirthdays of little Lucie had been woven by the golden thread intothe peaceful tissue of the life of her home.

　　Many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes inthe corner, with hearts that failed them when they heard the throngingfeet. For, the footsteps had become to their minds as the footstepsof a people, tumultuous under a red flag and with their country declaredin danger, changed into wild beasts, by terrible enchantment longpersisted in.

　　Monseigneur, as a class, had dissociated himself from the phenomenonof his not being appreciated: of his being so little wanted in France,as to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it,and this life together. Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devilwith infinite pains, and was so terrified at the sight of him that hecould ask the Enemy no question, but immediately fled; so, Monseigneur,after boldly reading the Lord's Prayer backwards for a great number ofyears, and performing many other potent spells for compelling the EvilOne, no sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels.

　　The shining Bull's Eye of the Court was gone, or it would have beenthe mark for a hurricane of national bullets. It had never been agood eye to see with--had long had the mote in it of Lucifer's pride,Sardana--palus's luxury, and a mole's blindness--but it had droppedout and was gone. The Court, from that exclusive inner circle to itsoutermost rotten ring of intrigue, corruption, and dissimulation, wasall gone together. Royalty was gone; had been besieged in its Palaceand "suspended," when the last tidings came over.

　　The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two wascome, and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.

　　As was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place ofMonseigneur, in London, was Tellson's Bank. Spirits are supposed tohaunt the places where their bodies most resorted, and Monseigneurwithout a guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be.Moreover, it was the spot to which such French intelligence as wasmost to be relied upon, came quickest. Again: Tellson's was amunificent house, and extended great liberality to old customers whohad fallen from their high estate. Again: those nobles who had seenthe coming storm in time, and anticipating plunder or confiscation,had made provident remittances to Tellson's, were always to be heardof there by their needy brethren. To which it must be added that everynew-comer from France reported himself and his tidings at Tellson's,almost as a matter of course. For such variety of reasons, Tellson'swas at that time, as to French intelligence, a kind of High Exchange;and this was so well known to the public, and the inquiries made therewere in consequence so numerous, that Tellson's sometimes wrote thelatest news out in a line or so and posted it in the Bank windows,for all who ran through Temple Bar to read.

　　On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and CharlesDarnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. Thepenitential den once set apart for interviews with the House, was nowthe news-Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within halfan hour or so of the time of closing.

　　"But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived," said CharlesDarnay, rather hesitating, "I must still suggest to you--"

　　"I understand. That I am too old?" said Mr. Lorry.

　　"Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, adisorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you."

　　"My dear Charles," said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, "youtouch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away.It is safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an oldfellow of hard upon fourscore when there are so many people theremuch better worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganisedcity, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasionto send somebody from our House here to our House there, who knowsthe city and the business, of old, and is in Tellson's confidence.As to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winterweather, if I were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniencesfor the sake of Tellson's, after all these years, who ought to be?"

　　"I wish I were going myself," said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly,and like one thinking aloud.

　　"Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!" exclaimedMr. Lorry. "You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchmanborn? You are a wise counsellor."

　　"My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that thethought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passedthrough my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had somesympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something tothem," he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, "that one mightbe listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint.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 wonderyou are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you weregoing to France at this time of day!"

　　"However, I am not going," said Charles Darnay, with a smile. "It ismore to the purpose that you say you are."

　　"And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles," Mr. Lorryglanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, "you can have noconception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted,and of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved.The Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be tonumbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed;and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Parisis not set afire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selectionfrom these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them,or otherwise getting of them out of harm's way, is within the power(without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself,if any one. And shall I hang back, when Tellson's knows this and saysthis--Tellson's, whose bread I have eaten these sixty years--becauseI am a little stiff about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to halfa dozen old codgers here!"

　　"How I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. Lorry."

　　"Tut! Nonsense, sir!--And, my dear Charles," said Mr. Lorry, glancingat the House again, "you are to remember, that getting things out ofParis at this present time, no matter what things, is next to animpossibility. Papers and precious matters were this very day broughtto us here (I speak in strict confidence; it is not business-like towhisper it, even to you), by the strangest bearers you can imagine,every one of whom had his head hanging on by a single hair as hepassed the Barriers. At another time, our parcels would come and go,as easily as in business-like Old England; but now, everythingis stopped."

　　"And do you really go to-night?"

　　"I really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing toadmit of delay."

　　"And do you take no one with you?"

　　"All sorts of people have been proposed to me, but I will havenothing to say to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. Jerry hasbeen my bodyguard on Sunday nights for a long time past and I am usedto him. Nobody will suspect Jerry of being anything but an Englishbull-dog, or of having any design in his head but to fly at anybodywho touches his master."

　　"I must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry andyouthfulness."

　　"I must say again, nonsense, nonsense! When I have executed thislittle commission, I shall, perhaps, accept Tellson's proposal to retireand live at my ease. Time enough, then, to think about growing old."

　　This dialogue had taken place at Mr. Lorry's usual desk, with Monseigneurswarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do toavenge himself on the rascal-people before long. It was too much theway of Monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was muchtoo much the way of native British orthodoxy, to talk of this terribleRevolution as if it were the only harvest ever known under the skiesthat had not been sown--as if nothing had ever been done, or omittedto be done, that had led to it--as if observers of the wretchedmillions in France, and of the misused and perverted resources thatshould have made them prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming,years before, and had not in plain words recorded what they saw. Suchvapouring, combined with the extravagant plots of Monseigneur for therestoration of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself,and worn out Heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be enduredwithout some remonstrance by any sane man who knew the truth. And itwas such vapouring all about his ears, like a troublesome confusion ofblood in his own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, whichhad already made Charles Darnay restless, and which still kept him so.

　　Among the talkers, was Stryver, of the King's Bench Bar, far on hisway to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme: broachingto Monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up andexterminating them from the face of the earth, and doing without them:and for accomplishing many similar objects akin in their nature tothe abolition of eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race.Him, Darnay heard with a particular feeling of objection; and Darnaystood divided between going away that he might hear no more, andremaining to interpose his word, when the thing that was to be, wenton to shape itself out.

　　The House approached Mr. Lorry, and laying a soiled and unopenedletter before him, asked if he had yet discovered any traces of theperson to whom it was addressed? The House laid the letter down soclose to Darnay that he saw the direction--the more quickly becauseit was his own right name. The address, turned into English, ran:

　　"Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evremonde,of France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson and Co., Bankers,London, England."

　　On the marriage morning, Doctor Manette had made it his one urgentand express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of this nameshould be--unless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligation--keptinviolate between them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his ownwife had no suspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none.

　　"No," said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; "I have referred it,I think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where thisgentleman is to be found."

　　The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the Bank,there was a general set of the current of talkers past Mr. Lorry'sdesk. He held the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked atit, in the person of this plotting and indignant refugee; andMonseigneur looked at it in the person of that plotting and indignantrefugee; and This, That, and The Other, all had something disparagingto say, in French or in English, concerning the Marquis who was notto be found.

　　"Nephew, I believe--but in any case degenerate successor--of thepolished Marquis who was murdered," said one. "Happy to say, I neverknew him."

　　"A craven who abandoned his post," said another--this Monseigneurhad been got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in aload of hay--"some years ago."

　　"Infected with the new doctrines," said a third, eyeing the directionthrough his glass in passing; "set himself in opposition to the lastMarquis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left themto the ruffian herd. They will recompense him now, I hope,as he deserves."

　　"Hey?" cried the blatant Stryver. "Did he though? Is that the sortof fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. D--n the fellow!"

　　Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr. Stryver onthe shoulder, and said:

　　"I know the fellow."

　　"Do you, by Jupiter?" said Stryver. "I am sorry for it."

　　"Why?"

　　"Why, Mr. Darnay? D'ye hear what he did? Don't ask, why,in these times."

　　"But I do ask why?"

　　"Then I tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I am sorry for it. I am sorry tohear you putting any such extraordinary questions. Here is a fellow,who, infected by the most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilrythat ever was known, abandoned his property to the vilest scum of theearth that ever did murder by wholesale, and you ask me why I amsorry that a man who instructs youth knows him? Well, but I'llanswer you. I am sorry because I believe there is contamination insuch a scoundrel. That's why."

　　Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty checked himself,and said: "You may not understand the gentleman."

　　"I understand how to put you in a corner, Mr. Darnay," said BullyStryver, "and I'll do it. If this fellow is a gentleman, I don'tunderstand him. You may tell him so, with my compliments. You mayalso tell him, from me, that after abandoning his worldly goods andposition to this butcherly mob, I wonder he is not at the head of them.But, no, gentlemen," said Stryver, looking all round, and snapping hisfingers, "I know something of human nature, and I tell you that you'llnever find a fellow like this fellow, trusting himself to the merciesof such precious proteges. No, gentlemen; he'll always show 'ema clean pair of heels very early in the scuffle, and sneak away."

　　With those words, and a final snap of his fingers, Mr. Stryvershouldered himself into Fleet-street, amidst the general approbationof his hearers. Mr. Lorry and Charles Darnay were left alone at thedesk, in the general departure from the Bank.

　　"Will you take charge of the letter?" said Mr. Lorry. "You knowwhere to deliver it?"

　　"I do."

　　"Will you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have beenaddressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it,and that it has been here some time?"

　　"I will do so. Do you start for Paris from here?"

　　"From here, at eight."

　　"I will come back, to see you off."

　　Very ill at ease with himself, and with Stryver and most other men,Darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the Temple,opened the letter, and read it. These were its contents:

　　"Prison of the Abbaye, Paris.

　　"June 21, 1792."Monsieur Heretofore the Marquis.

　　"After having long been in danger of my life at the hands of thevillage, I have been seized, with great violence and indignity, andbrought a long journey on foot to Paris. On the road I have suffereda great deal. Nor is that all; my house has been destroyed--razedto the ground.

　　"The crime for which I am imprisoned, Monsieur heretofore theMarquis, and for which I shall be summoned before the tribunal, andshall lose my life (without your so generous help), is, they tell me,treason against the majesty of the people, in that I have actedagainst them for an emigrant. It is in vain I represent that I haveacted for them, and not against, according to your commands. It isin vain I represent that, before the sequestration of emigrantproperty, I had remitted the imposts they had ceased to pay; that Ihad collected no rent; that I had had recourse to no process. Theonly response is, that I have acted for an emigrant, and where isthat emigrant?

　　"Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is thatemigrant? I cry in my sleep where is he? I demand of Heaven, willhe not come to deliver me? No answer. Ah Monsieur heretofore theMarquis, I send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhapsreach your ears through the great bank of Tilson known at Paris!

　　"For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour ofyour noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis,to succour and release me. My fault is, that I have been true to you.Oh Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I pray you be you true to me!

　　"From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearerand nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis,the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.

　　"Your afflicted,

　　"Gabelle."

　　The latent uneasiness in Darnay's mind was roused to vigourous lifeby this letter. The peril of an old servant and a good one, whoseonly crime was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him soreproachfully in the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the Templeconsidering what to do, he almost hid his face from the passersby.

　　He knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culminatedthe bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in hisresentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which hisconscience regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed touphold, he had acted imperfectly. He knew very well, that in his lovefor Lucie, his renunciation of his social place, though by no meansnew to his own mind, had been hurried and incomplete. He knew thathe ought to have systematically worked it out and supervised it, andthat he had meant to do it, and that it had never been done.

　　The happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of beingalways actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the timewhich had followed on one another so fast, that the events of thisweek annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events ofthe week following made all new again; he knew very well, that to theforce of these circumstances he had yielded:--not without disquiet,but still without continuous and accumulating resistance. That hehad watched the times for a time of action, and that they had shiftedand struggled until the time had gone by, and the nobility weretrooping from France by every highway and byway, and their propertywas in course of confiscation and destruction, and their very nameswere blotting out, was as well known to himself as it could be to anynew authority in France that might impeach him for it.

　　But, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so farfrom having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he hadrelinquished them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with nofavour in it, won his own private place there, and earned his ownbread. Monsieur Gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estateon written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what littlethere was to give--such fuel as the heavy creditors would let themhave in the winter, and such produce as could be saved from the samegrip in the summer--and no doubt he had put the fact in plea and proof,for his own safety, so that it could not but appear now.

　　This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make,that he would go to Paris.

　　Yes. Like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams haddriven him within the influence of the Loadstone Rock, and it wasdrawing him to itself, and he must go. Everything that arose beforehis mind drifted him on, faster and faster, more and more steadily,to the terrible attraction. His latent uneasiness had been, that badaims were being worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments,and that he who could not fail to know that he was better than they,was not there, trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assertthe claims of mercy and humanity. With this uneasiness half stifled,and half reproaching him, he had been brought to the pointed comparisonof himself with the brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong;upon that comparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followedthe sneers of Monseigneur, which had stung him bitterly, and those ofStryver, which above all were coarse and galling, for old reasons.Upon those, had followed Gabelle's letter: the appeal of an innocentprisoner, in danger of death, to his justice, honour, and good name.

　　His resolution was made. He must go to Paris.

　　Yes. The Loadstone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, untilhe struck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. Theintention with which he had done what he had done, even although hehad left it incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect thatwould be gratefully acknowledged in France on his presenting himselfto assert it. Then, that glorious vision of doing good, which is sooften the sanguine mirage of so many good minds, arose before him,and he even saw himself in the illusion with some influence to guidethis raging Revolution that was running so fearfully wild.

　　As he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered thatneither Lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone.Lucie should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, alwaysreluctant to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old,should come to the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not inthe balance of suspense and doubt. How much of the incompleteness ofhis situation was referable to her father, through the painfulanxiety to avoid reviving old associations of France in his mind, hedid not discuss with himself. But, that circumstance too,had had its influence in his course.

　　He walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time toreturn to Tellson's and take leave of Mr. Lorry. As soon as hearrived in Paris he would present himself to this old friend, but hemust say nothing of his intention now.

　　A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerrywas booted and equipped.

　　"I have delivered that letter," said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry."I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer,but perhaps you will take a verbal one?"

　　"That I will, and readily," said Mr. Lorry, "if it is not dangerous."

　　"Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye."

　　"What is his name?" said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.

　　"Gabelle."

　　"Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?"

　　"Simply, `that he has received the letter, and will come.'"

　　"Any time mentioned?"

　　"He will start upon his journey to-morrow night."

　　"Any person mentioned?"

　　"No."

　　He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks,and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, intothe misty air of Fleet-street. "My love to Lucie, and to littleLucie," said Mr. Lorry at parting, "and take precious care of themtill I come back." Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled,as the carriage rolled away.

　　That night--it was the fourteenth of August--he sat up late, andwrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strongobligation he was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length,the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could becomeinvolved in no personal danger there; the other was to the Doctor,confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling onthe same topics with the strongest assurances. To both, he wrotethat he would despatch letters in proof of his safety, immediatelyafter his arrival.

　　It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the firstreservation of their joint lives on his mind. It was a hard matterto preserve the innocent deceit of which they were profoundlyunsuspicious. But, an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy andbusy, made him resolute not to tell her what impended (he had beenhalf moved to do it, so strange it was to him to act in anythingwithout her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly. Early in theevening he embraced her, and her scarcely less dear namesake, pretendingthat he would return by-and-bye (an imaginary engagement took him out,and he had secreted a valise of clothes ready), and so he emergedinto the heavy mist of the heavy streets, with a heavier heart.

　　The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all thetides and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He lefthis two letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hourbefore midnight, and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began hisjourney. "For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of thehonour of your noble name!" was the poor prisoner's cry with whichhe strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear onearth behind him, and floated away for the Loadstone Rock.