A
wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to
be that profound secret and mystery to every other. . . .
The narrator ponders the secrets and
mysteries that each human being poses to every other: Lorry, as he rides
on in the mail coach with two strangers, constitutes a case in point.
Dozing, he drifts in and out of dreams, most of which revolve around the
workings of Tellson’s bank. Still, there exists “another current of
impression that never cease[s] to run” through Lorry’s mind—the notion
that he makes his way to dig someone out of a grave. He imagines
repetitive conversations with a specter, who tells Lorry that his body
has lain buried nearly eighteen years. Lorry informs his imaginary
companion that he now has been “recalled to life” and asks him if he
cares to live. He also asks, cryptically, “Shall I show her to you? Will
you come and see her?” The ghost’s reaction to this question varies, as
he sometimes claims that he would die were he to see this woman too soon;
at other times, he weeps and pleads to see her immediately.
Summary:
Chapter 4: The Preparation
The next morning, Lorry descends from the
coach at the Royal George Hotel in Dover. After shedding his travel
clothes, he emerges as a well-dressed businessman of sixty. That
afternoon, a waiter announces that Lucie Manette has arrived from London.
Lorry meets the “short, slight, pretty figure” who has received word
from the bank that “some intelligence—or discovery” has been made
“respecting the small property of my poor father . . . so long dead.”
After reiterating his duties as a businessman, Lorry relates the real
reason that Tellson’s has summoned Lucie to Paris. Her father, once a
reputed doctor, has been found alive. “Your father,” Lorry reports to
her, “has been taken to the house of an old servant in Paris, and we are
going there: I, to identify him if I can: you, to restore him to life,
love, duty, rest, comfort.” Lucie goes into shock, and her lively and
protective servant, Miss Pross, rushes in to attend to her.
The opening sentence of the novel makes
clear, as the title itself does, the importance of doubles in the text:
It was the best of times, it was the
worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the
season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of
hope, it was the winter of despair. . . .
Doubles prove essential to the novel’s
structure, plot, and dominant themes. The idea of resurrection, a theme
that emerges in these early pages, would not be possible without some
form of its opposite—death. In order to pave the way for the first such
resurrection—the recalling to life of the long-imprisoned Doctor Manette—Dickens
does much to establish a dark, ominous tone suggestive of death. From
the mist-obscured route of the Dover mail coach to the darkly paneled
room in which Lorry meets Lucie Manette, the opening chapters brim with
gloomy corners and suggestive shadows.
These descriptions of darkness and secrets
also contribute to the gothic atmosphere of the novel’s opening. Gothic
literature, a genre that establishes an uneasy, mysterious mood through
the use of remote, desolate settings, supernatural or macabre events, and
violence, dominated much of fiction from the late eighteenth century
through the end of the nineteenth century. Such classics as Frankenstein (1818),
by Mary Shelley, and Wuthering Heights (1847),
by Emily Brontë, helped establish a strong tradition of gothic themes in
British literature of this period. Jerry Cruncher’s mysterious appearance
during the treacherous nighttime journey, and Lorry’s macabre visions of
disinterring a body, hearken back to the eerie and supernatural feel of A
Tale of Two Cities’ gothic predecessors.
The obscurity that permeates these pages
points to the “wonderful fact” that Dickens continuously ponders: every
person in every room in every house that he passes possesses a secret,
unknown to anyone—even closest friends, family, and lover. As the novel
progresses, the reader witnesses Dickens digging—much as Lorry anticipates
having to “dig” the doctor out of his ruinous prison experience—for the
secrets that provide his characters with their essences and motivations.
In typical Dickensian manner, this project
of discovery happens bit by bit: secrets emerge only very slowly. Although
the horrible effects of Doctor Manette’s incarceration become clear in the
next few chapters, the reader doesn’t learn the causes of these effects
until the end of the novel. This narrative tactic owes much to the form in
which Dickens wrote much of his work. A Tale of Two Cities was published
as a serial piece—that is, in weekly installments from April
20 to November 26,
1859. The original serial format provides
the reason for the novel’s relatively short chapters and specific chapter
subheadings, which, read in sequence, offer a skeletal outline of the plot.
For example, the first three chapters of the second book bear the
subheadings “Five Years Later,” “A Sight,” and “A Disappointment,”
respectively.
In addition to his plentiful literary
talents, Dickens also possessed a shrewd businessman’s sense. He remained
keenly aware of what his reading public wanted and, unlike most artists of
his caliber, unapologetically admitted to aiming for the largest possible
readership. As he had done previously, with A Tale of Two Cities, Dickens
set his sights on writing a so-called popular novel. One means of hooking
readers into the story was to create a climate of suspense. Within the
first four chapters, Dickens already leaves the reader with many questions
that need to be answered, creating a sense of excitement and anticipation.