A TALE OF TWO CITIES

A STORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

By Charles Dickens

CONTENTS

Book the First — Brought Back to Life

• CHAPTER I The Time
• CHAPTER II The Mail Coach
• CHAPTER III Shadows in the Night
• CHAPTER IV Getting Ready
• CHAPTER V The Wine Shop
• CHAPTER VI The Shoemaker

Book the Second — The Golden Thread

• CHAPTER I Five Years Later
• CHAPTER II A Sight
• CHAPTER III A Disappointment
• CHAPTER IV Good Wishes
• CHAPTER V The Jackal
• CHAPTER VI Crowds of People
• CHAPTER VII A Rich Man in Town
• CHAPTER VIII A Rich Man in the Country
• CHAPTER IX The Scary Head
• CHAPTER X Two Promises
• CHAPTER XI A Matching Picture
• CHAPTER XII A Careful Man
• CHAPTER XIII A Careless Man
• CHAPTER XIV The Honest Worker
• CHAPTER XV Knitting
• CHAPTER XVI Still Knitting
• CHAPTER XVII One Night
• CHAPTER XVIII Nine Days
• CHAPTER XIX An Opinion
• CHAPTER XX A Plea
• CHAPTER XXI Footsteps Echoing
• CHAPTER XXII The Sea Still Rises
• CHAPTER XXIII Fire Rises
• CHAPTER XXIV Pulled to the Rock

Book the Third — The Path of a Storm

• CHAPTER I In Secret
• CHAPTER II The Grindstone
• CHAPTER III The Shadow
• CHAPTER IV Calm in the Storm
• CHAPTER V The Wood Cutter
• CHAPTER VI Triumph
• CHAPTER VII A Knock at the Door
• CHAPTER VIII A Card Game
• CHAPTER IX The Game Is Won
• CHAPTER X What the Shadow Was Hiding
• CHAPTER XI Evening
• CHAPTER XII Darkness
• CHAPTER XIII Fifty-Two
• CHAPTER XIV The Knitting Is Done
• CHAPTER XV The Footsteps Fade Away Forever

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Book the First — Brought Back to Life

CHAPTER I. The Time

It was the best of times. It was also the worst of times.

People were wise, but people were also foolish. Some believed things strongly. Others believed nothing at all. There was light, and there was darkness too. It felt like hope was everywhere — but so was sadness.

We felt like we could have everything. We also felt like we might have nothing. Some people thought they were going to a wonderful place. Others thought they were headed somewhere very bad.

In short, this time was a lot like today. Back then, some loud people said it was either the very best time ever, or the very worst.

England had a king with a big jaw and a queen with a plain face on the throne. France also had a king with a big jaw — and a queen with a pretty face. In both countries, the powerful men in charge were sure that everything would stay just as it was, forever.

The year was 1775.

At this time, some people in England claimed to have messages from spirits and ghosts. One woman had just turned twenty-five, and people said a soldier had predicted big things about her. There had also been a famous "ghost" in London years before, tapping out messages — though that turned out to be a trick.

Real news had also come to England from a group of people in America. This news would turn out to matter much more than any fake ghost message ever could.

Meanwhile, France was not doing well either. The country was printing paper money and spending too much of it. France's leaders also did terrible things to people. For example, a young man was cruelly punished just because he did not kneel down when a group of monks walked by.

Even then, though nobody knew it, terrible tools of punishment were being prepared. Trees that would one day become deadly machines were already growing in the forest. Farm carts that would later carry people to their deaths were sitting quietly in barns. Nobody heard this coming. Nobody wanted to believe bad things were on the way.

England, meanwhile, had its own problems. There was little order or safety. Robbers attacked people on the roads at night, even close to London. Families were warned to move their furniture away before leaving town, in case robbers broke in. Sometimes even respectable shopkeepers were secretly robbers by night!

Guards protecting mail coaches were sometimes shot and killed by robbers. Prisoners in jails fought with their guards. Thieves stole jewelry right off people's necks at fancy parties. Soldiers and angry crowds sometimes shot at each other in the streets. People thought all of this was normal.

The hangman — the man who punished criminals by hanging them — was always busy. He hanged all kinds of criminals, for all kinds of crimes, large and small.

All of this happened around the year 1775. While terrible things were quietly growing — like the seeds of a coming storm — the kings and queens carried on as if nothing would ever change. And so the year 1775 carried along many people, both important and ordinary, down whatever road lay ahead of them.

CHAPTER II. The Mail Coach

It was a Friday night in late November. A mail coach was slowly climbing up a big hill called Shooter's Hill, on the road to Dover, England.

One traveler was walking beside the coach, up through the thick mud. He wasn't the only one — other passengers were walking too. Nobody wanted to walk in the mud and cold. But the hill was steep, and the horses pulling the heavy coach kept stopping. The mud was too deep and heavy for them.

The tired horses shook their heads and stumbled through the mud. Every time the driver stopped them to rest, one horse shook his head hard, as if he were saying, "We can't make it up this hill!" This made one nervous passenger jump every time.

A thick, cold, wet fog covered the hills. It moved slowly through the air, like waves in the sea. The fog was so thick that it blocked out almost everything except the coach's lamps and a little bit of the road. The tired horses breathed hard, and their breath added even more mist to the air.

Besides the one man already mentioned, two other passengers were also walking up the hill beside the coach. All three men were bundled up in coats, scarves, and tall boots. They were covered up so much that none of them could tell what the others looked like. In those days, people didn't trust strangers easily — especially on the road at night. Any traveler could turn out to be a robber, or working with one!

Because of this danger, mail coaches carried weapons. The guard riding on the coach kept a loaded gun and pistols close by, just in case robbers attacked.

Nobody on the coach trusted anybody else that night. The guard was suspicious of the passengers. The passengers were suspicious of each other, and of the guard too. Even the coach driver didn't fully trust his own tired horses to make it up the hill!

"Whoa!" called the driver. "One more pull and you'll be at the top! I've had enough trouble with you already! Joe!"

"Yes?" called back the guard.

"What time is it, Joe?"

"Eleven-ten," Joe answered.

"My goodness!" grumbled the driver. "And we're still not at the top of Shooter's Hill! Come on, now! Get moving!"

With a sharp flick of the whip, the lead horse jumped forward, and the others followed. The mail coach struggled onward again, with the three passengers' boots squishing through the mud beside it. Whenever the coach stopped, the men stopped too, staying close together — even though none of them fully trusted the others in the fog and darkness.