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NOTES ON ISSUE 4: GLOSSARY
PART 1 OF 4
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…as incomprehensible to those
unacquainted with his story as if they had seen the shadow of the
actual Bastille thrown upon him by a summer sun, when the substance was
three hundred miles away.
This is a rather rough estimate of the distance: London and Paris, by
the roads Doctor Manette would have traveled between Soho Square and
the Bastille, are just over 200 miles apart (Tronchet, “The Most
Frequented Roads Between London and Paris”).
“…Mr. Darnay, good night, God bless you, sir! I
hope you have been this day preserved for a prosperous and happy life.
– Chair there!”
The kind of “chair” that Mr. Lorry hires is a “light vehicle drawn by
one horse” often called a “chaise” (Oxford English Dictionary).
Drawing his arm through his own, he took him down
Ludgate-hill to Fleet-street, and so, up a covered way, into a tavern.
From the Old Bailey, Mr. Carton and Mr. Darnay walk south to Ludgate
Hill, and proceed west for a block or so until Ludgate Hill turns into
Fleet Street. This is the street at the end of which Tellson’s Bank has
offices; it was known, by the 19th century, for its literary
associations and its taverns:
Fleet-st[reet] may almost be
called the nursing mother of English literature. Shakespeare, Ben
Jonson, Raleigh, Dryden, Johnson, Goldsmith, and countless names,
brilliant even in brilliant times, are associated with Fleet-st[reet].
A tavern-street, as well as a literary center, Fleet-st[reet] was and
is. The newest-fashion newspaper and the oldest-style tavern still
jostle each other now [in 1882] as they did a century or more ago. (Dickens’s
Dictionary of London 107)
The specific tavern to
which Mr. Carton and Mr. Darnay proceed is traditionally identified as
the Cheshire Cheese in Wine Office Court, just off Fleet Street
(Sanders 68). Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, and Fleet Street are visible on
this portion of Harrison’s map of London (1777).
Click
on map for larger view
He resorted to his pint of wine for
consolation, drank it all in a few minutes, and fell asleep on his
arms, with his hair straggling over the table, and a long winding-sheet
in the candle dripping down upon him.
A pint is two cups, or
sixteen fluid ounces of wine; a winding-sheet is “[a] mass of
solidified drippings of grease clinging to the side of a candle,
resembling a sheet folded in creases, and regarded in popular
superstition as an omen of death or calamity” (OED). The candle
that drips over Mr. Carton is thus an ominous one.
The Jackal
A jackal is an “animal of the dog kind, about the size of a fox; one of
various species of Canis … inhabiting Asia and Africa, hunting in packs
by night with wailing cries, and feeding on dead carcasses and small
animals; formerly supposed to go before the lion and hunt up his prey
for him, hence termed ‘the lion’s provider’” (OED). The OED
also notes figurative uses of the word in application to people who
behave like jackals – “esp[ecially] one who does subordinate
preparatory work or drudgery for another, or ministers to his
requirements.”
…a moderate statement of the quantity of wine and
punch which one man would swallow in the course of a night, without any
detriment to his reputation as a perfect gentleman, would seem, in
these days, a ridiculous exaggeration. The learned profession of the
Law was certainly not behind any other learned profession in its
Bacchanalian propensities…
The excessive “quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow
in the course of a night” in the 18th century was apparently a
commonplace in the 19th. Etiquette books of both periods help to
illustrate the difference. A conduct book from the early 18th century, The
Gentleman’s Library, Containing Rules for Conduct in All Parts of Life
(1734), admonishes its readers as follows:
There are many Intemperances
which we fall into in the Course of our Lives, as it were, without
Design, through Complaisance, or the Importunities of Company: Of this Sort, principally
is Drinking. We are generally initiated into the Science,
before the Liquor is in the least palatable: But we consent to
disoblige our Taste merely in Compliance, ‘till by the habitual
Obsequiousness, we grow to a Relish of the Luxury,
and then continue the Debauch by Inclination.
A Method of spending one’s Time agreeably is a Thing so
little studied, that the common Amusement of our young Gentlemen
is Drinking. This Way of Entertainment has Custom on its Side; but as much as
it has prevailed, I believe, there have been very few Companies that
have been guilty of Excess this Way, where there have not happen’d more
Accidents which make against, than for the Continuance of it.
It is impossible to lay down any determinate Rule for Temperance;
because what is Luxury in one, may be Temperance in another: But there
are few of common Reason who are not Judges of their own Constitutions,
so far as to know what Proportions do best agree with them. Were I to
prescribe a Rule for Drinking, it should be form’d upon a
Saying quoted by Sir WILLIAM TEMPLE: The first Glass for my self,
the second for my Friends, the third for good Humour, and the fourth
for my Enemies. To go further into Antiquity for a Rule, Plutarch
tells us, it was the Advice of Socrates, to beware of
such Meats as perswade a Man, though he be not hungry, to eat them; and
those Liquors that would prevail with a man to drink them, when he is
not thirsty. Temperance, indeed, is a grand
Preservative, which has those particular Advantages above all other
Means of Health, that it may be rectified by all Ranks and Conditions,
at any Season, or in any Place…. (italics and caps in the original,
229-32)
The recipe for temperance suggested
here – which seems to boil down to the rule of taking no more than
three or four glasses of wine at a time – seems liberal in comparison
with 19th-century standards: The Dictionary of Daily Wants
(1859), a publication nearly contemporary with A Tale of Two Cities,
gives this account of
WINE, DIETETIC PROPERTIES OF. – As
a general rule, the less wine that is drunk the better it will be for
the health. There are, however, exceptional cases, such as bodily
infirmity and extreme debility, where the drinking of wine in moderate
quantity is enjoined, and partaken of with considerable benefit. But
when taken habitually and in excess, it produces derangement of the
digestive organs, together with gout, apoplexy, and numerous other
disorders. Wine is an unwholesome liquor to be drunk with food, because
it stimulates the appetite in excess, and causes a person to eat such
an amount of food, as to render the process of digestion tedious and
difficult. When, however, wines are drunk, some sort of system should
be observed as follows: – Wines should vary with the seasons, light
wines are best in summer; in winter, generous wines are preferred.
White wine should be drunk with white meats, and red wines with brown
meats. Light wines are suitable to light dishes, and stronger wines to
more substantial dishes. In summer the wine may be advantageously
diluted with water. Light dry wines, such as hock, claret, burgundy,
Rhenish, and Hermitage, are, generally speaking, less hurtful than the
stronger varieties, as port, sherry, or Madeira. When wine is ordered
as a stimulant to debilitated subjects, it should be taken about
mid-day, and the quantity swallowed at a draught, not sipped. (1111-2)
In general, then, the “Bacchanalian
propensities” of 18th-century gentlemen like Carton and Stryver would
be considered excessive in the 19th century, but less so in their own
time. Yet the dangers of drinking – to which it speedily becomes
apparent that Carton is succumbing in A Tale of Two Cities –
are pointed out by The Gentleman’s Library, Containing Rules for
Conduct in All Parts of Life (1734):
How many young People do we see
miscarry upon this Conduct, and tire upon the Road, before the Journey
is half reach’d? Men that made a promising Appearance at first, that
set forward with Genius and Improvement, have we not
seen them metamorphose themselves at a Tavern, drown their Parts
[abilities], and drink away their Shape
to that Degree, as if the Witchcrafts of Circe had overtaken
them, and the magical Draught
transformed them into Brutes…. (232)
This 18th-century account of alcoholism
agrees with Dickens’ portrait of the unfortunate Carton.
…shouldering itself toward the visage of the Lord
Chief Justice in the Court of King’s Bench, the florid countenance of
Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed of wigs…
The Court of King’s Bench, a division of the High Court of Justice
(Sanders 70), was located in Westminster Hall in the late 18th century.
According to Thornton’s New, Complete, and Universal History of …
London (1784),
The Court of King’s Bench is
situated directly opposite the Court of Chancery [in Westminster Hall],
and is so called because the king is supposed to sit there in person
[in fact, no monarch had presided since Edward IV (r. 1461-1483)
(Gaspey, vol. 1, 143)]; but more properly because all pleas of the
crown are determined here, from high treason to misdemeanors….
This court has a supreme jurisdiction over all the courts of law in
England, and a right to enquire into the conduct of every magistrate in
the kingdom. Every breach of the peace, whereby one or more of his
majesty’s subjects are injured, is cognizable by this court; and they
can reinstate officers in their employments who have been unjustly
thrown out by the corporations to which they belong, … and they have a
supreme power of revising the judgments given in other courts, no
appeal lying from them, but by writ of error to the house of lords. The
chief justice of this court takes place next the chancellor, and is
st[y]led Lord Chief Justice of England, having three other judges for
his assistants. (518)
In the 18th century, when wigs and
hair-powder were the prevailing fashion, the description of the court
as a “bed of wigs” was particularly apt; however, it is still somewhat
appropriate, for wigs were worn in courts of law after they had gone
out of fashion in society (Fairholt 553), and are still worn by some
members of the English courts today.
It is worth noting that Dickens’ depiction of Mr. Stryver is usually
thought to be based upon the English attorney Edwin John James
(1812-82), who had a highly successful practice until he was “declared
bankrupt and disbarred for professional misconduct in 1861,” whereupon
he “emigrated to America and practiced at the New York Bar as well as
playing on the stage” (Sanders 67). Authority for the association of
the character of Stryver with Edwin John James comes from the Recollections
and Experiences (1884) of Edmund Yates, who gives the following
account of taking Dickens along to a consultation with James:
James laid himself out to be
specially agreeable; Dickens was quietly observant. About four months
after appeared the early numbers of A Tale of Two Cities in
which a prominent part was played by Mr. Stryver. After reading the
description, I said to Dickens, “Stryver is a good likeness.” He
smiled. “Not bad I think,” he said, “especially after only one
sitting.” (qtd. in Sanders 67)
What the two drank together, between Hilary
Term and Michaelmas, might have floated a king’s ship.
The English legal year was divided into four “terms”
– Hilary Term, Easter Term, Trinity Term, and Michaelmas Term, with a “Long Vacation” (in which the legal
activity of the courts was suspended) from July through October.
Courts could continue in session between the terms, though they
sometimes changed location during this period (Ford and Monod
xx). The terms are named after feast-days in the English church
calendar (Sanders 70). To figure what Carton and Stryver drink
together between Hilary and Michaelmas is to reckon the quantity
of alcohol consumed in the full course of the legal year.
…they went the same Circuit, and even there they
prolonged their orgies late into the night…
The “Circuit” refers to the “journey of judges
[or barristers] through certain appointed areas, for the purpose
of holding courts or performing other stated duties at various
places in succession” or to “[t]hose making the
circuit; the judges and barristers" (OED). Circuits
were held twice a year in each English county (Sanders 70).
He turned into the Temple, and having revived himself
by twice pacing the pavements of King’s Bench-walk and
Paper-buildings, turned into the Stryver chambers.
The Temple is a complex of buildings between Temple Bar and
the Thames, just under and to the west of Fleet Street. Originally
named for the Knights Templars – a semi-martial, semi-religious
body established in England in the 12th century – the
Temple was, by the time of Carton’s stroll, associated
with the law. It housed law students and legal practitioners
(though it accepted occupants of other professions) and was
composed of both private residences and offices (Gaspey, vol.
1, 44-8). King’s Bench Walk and Paper Buildings are part
of the Inner Temple, “facing each other at right angles
to the Thames” (Sanders 71). (Since the Temple consists
of the Inner and Middle Temples, 18th-century histories of London
suggest that there must originally have been an “Outer
Temple” as well [Harrison 478].) The red brick buildings
on King’s Bench Walk were built in 1677-8; but the Paper
Buildings of Dickens’ times were recent, built in 1838
to replace earlier buildings that had burned down (Sanders 71).
The 19th-century Paper Buildings can still be seen (they are
“solemn stuff” according to one modern guidebook),
but King’s Bench Walk is today used as a car-park (Woodley
141-2).
An extended account of the history and features of the Temple
through the 18th century can be found in Harrison’s
New and Universal History, Description and Survey of …
London (1776):
[The Temple] is so called from its
having been antiently the residence of an order of people called
Knights Templars, who settled here in the reign of Henry II. These
knights, who were truly members of the church militant, by uniting
devotion and heroism in their profession, were united on the following
occasion. Several of the crusaders having settled at Jerusalem about
the year 1118, formed themselves into an uniform militia, under the
name of Templars, or knights of the Temple, a name they assumed from
their being quartered over a church built on the spot where Solomon’s
temple had stood. They first guarded the roads for the security of the
pilgrims who came to visit the holy sepulcher; and some time after they
had a rule appointed them by pope Honorious II who ordained them to
wear a white habit; after which they were farther distinguished by
having crosses made of red cloth on their upper garments. The
profession of Templars was soon adopted by men of birth in all parts of
Europe, who became brethren of the order: they built themselves temples
in many principal cities after the form of the Holy Sepulchre,
particularly in England, where this in Fleet-street was their chief
house, and often used as a sanctuary, in troublesome times, for the
preservation of treasure and valuable effects.
The Knights Templars were in so flourishing a condition in the 13th
century, that they frequently entertained the nobility, foreign
ambassadors, and even the king himself; and many great councils and
parliaments were held in their houses. At length, however, their wealth
produced a relaxation from the rigid obligations of monastic life; when
the knights hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem, whose poverty as yet
preserved them from the like corruptions, availing themselves of the
opportunity, succeeded to that popularity the Templars had lost by
their indolence and luxury.
The order of the Knights Templars was totally abolished by Pope Clement
V at the instigation of Philip king of France; after which the knights
in England were distributed in other convents; and, by the Pope’s
orders, their possessions were transferred to the order of St. John,
who had their chief houses where St. John’s-square is now situated.
These knights soon after [let] out the building that belonged to the
Templars to students of the common law: in whose possession it has ever
since continued. (478n.)
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