A Tale of Two Cities Page #7

- Yes, and proud of it.

Is this your first visit to France?

It is, and I hope my last.

Prossie! She's my companion.

Oh. Sooner yours than mine.

Where is the fourth passenger?

Hey!

Wake up!

Come on, wake up!

Patience, my good citizen, patience.

It's bad enough to rob

a man of his dreams.

Don't put your hands on

me. I am no aristocrat.

That's very true.

Sydney Carton, advocate.

English.

What brings you to France?

Your wines, my good citizen. What else?

Proceed.

They're back, master.

Do not do anything to

attract their attention.

Ain't there no way of

stopping 'em coming here?

It's a convenient spot

for an armoury, between

the two big prisons.

We dare not protest.

There's blood on them blades.

It's too horrible to watch.

Yeah, 'tis, innit?

I'm like you, master. Scares

me to the marrow, but I...

I have just got to keep on looking.

- Mr Lorry.

- What?

Was you expecting visitors?

No.

God help them, whoever they are.

It's Dr Manette.

I beg you, please. I beg you.

Please, I beg you.

Stop! Stop! Stop!

This is a prisoner from the Bastille.

It's true, friends.

Eighteen years in the Bastille.

Can these be the people I used to know?

Brutality only leads now to

more brutality, and worse.

They can't even wait for

prisoners to be tried.

Oh, don't heed it, my precious.

What would a banker know about it?

- What have I said?

- Charles Darnay is a prisoner in La Force.

Oh, may heaven forgive me.

We've searched everywhere he might

have been. We heard but an hour ago.

Dr Manette hopes to plead for him at

the tribunal. That's why we've come.

Then all will surely be well, judging

by the esteem they show for him.

If we're still in time.

Any help I gave my father, sir, was

only for the good of our neighbours.

He was a kind man. He did

his very best for them.

Your father was executed

as an enemy of the people.

Do you dare to impugn the

justice of this tribunal?

How say you?

Guilty. Death within

four-and-twenty hours.

Charles Evremonde,

called Darnay.

I knew Darnay was not his true name.

Charles Evremonde, called Darnay,

you are accused as an emigrant

whose life is forfeit to the Republic

under the decree that banishes

all emigrants on pain of death.

- Enemy of the Republic! Death!

What have you to say, emigrant?

I submit that I am not an emigrant.

I left this country more than a year ago

to live by my own industry in England,

sooner than live on the industry

of the overladen people of France.

Have you any proof of this?

Yes, I have.

The truth of my statement will

be confirmed by Dr Manette,

the good physician who sits there.

I am Alexander Manette,

prisoner for eighteen

years in the Bastille.

I was released nearly two years ago

and settled in England.

The accused was one of the

first friends I made there.

He has been faithful and devoted to

my daughter and myself in our exile.

And she was the witness in his favour

when he was tried by the

aristocratic English government

as the foe of that country and

friend of the United States.

You have heard enough.

We find the accused not guilty.

Stop!

Hold the accused.

You have a further charge?

The accused is a denounced

enemy of the Republic.

An aristocrat, one of

a family of tyrants.

Denounced secretly or openly?

Openly, Mr President.

By whom?

Alexander Manette,

the physician.

President, I indignantly protest.

The accused is the

husband of my daughter.

Who would believe I could

denounce my own son-in-law?

They will believe it when

this document is read.

What is this document?

President, I knew this Bastille

prisoner Alexander Manette

had been confined in a cell

known as 105 North Tower.

On the day the Bastille was

taken I examined that cell.

Hidden in it I found that document.

It bears the writing of Dr Manette,

which I know well.

I ask that it now be read.

I, Alexander Manette,

unfortunate physician,

native of Beauvais and

afterwards resident in Paris,

write this melancholy paper in

my doleful cell in the Bastille

during the last months of the

tenth year of my captivity.

I write from the fear that soon my

failing memory will erase from my mind

the events I wish to record,

lest the crimes of my

oppressors be forever buried.

There he goes.

Then we have him.

Are you sure I'm right?

If that ain't Barsad, I'll have my

head took off. What's he worth to us?

That remains to be seen.

Mr Barsad.

You remember me?

You mistake me for somebody else,

Monsieur. My name is Solomon. Jean Solomon.

I beg your pardon. That was tactless.

You would appear to have become

a person of some importance,

Mr Solomon.

May I ask what function you perform?

I have duties with regard to

the interrogation of prisoners.

I might have guessed it.

A spy. A secret informer.

Just like our old friend Barsad.

I've told you, that's not my name.

Who said it was?

There was a man of that

name who resembled me,

but he's been dead for eighteen months.

It is possible, Mr Solomon, that

I might have to ask you a favour.

Some slight recompense for my tact in

forgetting certain particulars of your past.

Don't you dare to

threaten me, Mr Carton.

You remember my name. I am flattered.

I stand in high regard here

amongst the people who count.

Excellent. That makes your

friendship all the more valuable.

Regard it as a game of cards.

The stake that I have resolved to

play for, in case the worst happens,

is a friend among the people who count.

And the friend I propose

to win, Mr Solomon,

is you.

- You'll have to hold a good hand, Mr Carton.

- I do.

Firstly, I am an Englishman

with no axe to grind in France,

and no cause to represent

myself under another name.

That's a very good card.

My second one.

Mr Solomon, now in the employ of

the Republican French government,

was formerly Mr Barsad,

in the employ of the aristocratic English

government, enemy of France and freedom.

That's an even better card.

Do you think I should

play the ace, Jerry?

You play it, Mr Carton.

Then fill up our friend's glass

and let the ace be played quietly.

Let's say Mr Barsad was at one time

in the employ of no lesser personage

than the late Marquis St Evremonde.

For the love of heaven, be quiet.

I think Mr Solomon

requires his cognac, Jerry.

What do you want from me?

Nothing at all... I hope.

That will be determined

by events now in progress.

I was brought to my living grave here in

the Bastille with only

one remaining hope,

that my servant Defarge may have been

successful in saving

the poor hapless girl,

who alone was left of the family

exterminated by that young nobleman.

He and his descendants,

to the last of their race,

do I now denounce for the crimes

I denounce them to heaven and to earth.

It is a tragic and

frightful testimony indeed.

But in the name of

justice, I must observe

that Dr Manette, either by

reason of his failing memory,

or because it was unknown to

him, makes no mention therein

of the name of this

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