Two Cities “ London and Paris”

By Lila L. Flood

A story of two cities

It was a century of knowledge and folly, of belief and disbelief, of light and darkness, and it was also the finest and worst of times. It was the winter of despair and the spring of hope. We were all going straight to heaven and straight in the opposite direction; in other words, the era was so unlike ours that, for better or worse, its loudest tone-setters only desired the highest degree of comparison to be applied to them. We had everything; we had nothing ahead of us.

The road to Dover was what the first character in our story had to cope with late one Friday in November, and it was also this road that the stagecoach from Dover wobbled up Shooter's Hill. Like everyone else beside the waggon, the person stomped uphill in the mud, not because going for a walk was particularly enjoyable in the given situation, but because the grade was so high, the harness so inconvenient, the dirt so deep, and the...

A story of two cities

It was a century of knowledge and folly, of belief and disbelief, of light and darkness, and it was also the finest and worst of times. It was the winter of despair and the spring of hope. We were all going straight to heaven and straight in the opposite direction; in other words, the era was so unlike ours that, for better or worse, its loudest tone-setters only desired the highest degree of comparison to be applied to them. We had everything; we had nothing ahead of us.

The road to Dover was what the first character in our story had to cope with late one Friday in November, and it was also this road that the stagecoach from Dover wobbled up Shooter's Hill. Like everyone else beside the waggon, the person stomped uphill in the mud, not because going for a walk was particularly enjoyable in the given situation, but because the grade was so high, the harness so inconvenient, the dirt so deep, and the...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flood
• Release date: May 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224931880

Book preview

Introduction

A story of two cities

It was a century of knowledge and folly, of belief and disbelief, of light and darkness, and it was also the finest and worst of times. It was the winter of despair and the spring of hope. We were all going straight to heaven and straight in the opposite direction; in other words, the era was so unlike ours that, for better or worse, its loudest tone-setters only desired the highest degree of comparison to be applied to them. We had everything; we had nothing ahead of us.

The road to Dover was what the first character in our story had to cope with late one Friday in November, and it was also this road that the stagecoach from Dover wobbled up Shooter's Hill. Like everyone else beside the waggon, the person stomped uphill in the mud, not because going for a walk was particularly enjoyable in the given situation, but because the grade was so high, the harness so inconvenient, the dirt so deep, and the...

First chapter

The time at that time

It was the best and the worst of times, a century of wisdom and nonsense, an era of belief and unbelief, a period of light and darkness. It was the spring of hope and the winter of despair. We had everything, we had nothing ahead of us; we were all heading straight towards heaven and also all straight in the opposite direction - in a word, the period was so little like ours that its noisiest tone-setters, for better or for worse, only wanted the superlative degree of comparison applied to them.

On the throne of England at that time sat a king with a mighty jaw and a queen with a simple face. The throne of France was adorned by a pair of rulers with exactly the same characteristics. And in both countries it seemed clearer than crystal to the royal entourage, cupbearer, steward and so on, that in general the state of things was in order all times.

It was the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. England then, as now, enjoyed the grace of spiritual revelations. Mrs Southcott had just passed her blessed twenty-fifth birthday, the impending approach of which a prophetic bodyguard had warned the world of by announcing that they should be prepared for London and Westminster to be swallowed up by the earth. Even the Hahnengasse spirit had only been put to rest for a dozen years, after he had announced his messages by knocking in the same way as his supernaturally unoriginal successors did only last year.

had to give. Messages in the earthly sense of the word had recently reached the English crown and nation from a congress of British subjects in America and, strangely enough, have had a far more important influence on the human race than all the messages that have since clucked forth from the clan of cock alley spirits are.

France, which is on the whole much less favored in spiritual matters than its sister country with the shield and the trident, went downhill extremely smoothly and quickly by making paper money and making money out of it. Under the leadership of its Christian shepherds, it also entertained itself with all sorts of philanthropic amusements, for example by talking about a young person who did not want to kneel in the dust in the pouring rain in honor of a procession of monks passing fifty or sixty paces in front of him. pronounced his sentence that his hands should be cut off, his tongue torn out and his still living body burned. It is quite possible that around the time in which this poor unfortunate man suffered his cruel death, the woodcutter's fate changed Forests of France or