Dawn breaks over the banks of the Seine.
Sunrise over the Seine.
I stand at the river’s edge as the sun slowly rises over the horizon. Its fragile rays gently light up Paris’ cobblestone streets, and the entire city turns to gold.
It's as if all of Paris takes a breath. From my spot on the Île de la Cité, I watch the sunlight gently touch windows and the river's rippled waters. As the clock strikes seven, the air slowly warms, enveloping the city in a soft embrace.
Standing here, I’m reminded of A Tale of Two Cities’ descriptions of dawn. The first occurs when Sydney Carton leaves Stryver’s lodgings, exhausted from combing through Stryver’s upcoming cases. As he slinks back home, a bleak day unfolds: the air is “cool and sad” and the “dull sky [is] overcast.” When Sydney gets home, he collapses onto a “neglected bed,” its pillow “wet with wasted tears.” It’s a dejected, desolate description, mirroring Carton’s own downcast spirit. He heads home lifeless and lonely, mourning his wasted potential and the life he let slip through his fingers. For Sydney, there is no beauty, only bitterness. The sunrise welcomes another wasted day.
Fortunately, there's another dawn that I want to draw our attention to - one that better matches the beauty that surrounds me as I stand on the bank of the Seine. This one occurs after Sydney decides to save Darnay. Though we haven’t yet discovered the details of his plan, we’ve just seen him strike a deal with John Barsad and purchase small packets from the chemist’s shop. Later, we learn that these arrangements allow Sydney to switch places with Darnay and go to the guillotine in his place. The Sydney we see here is a man transformed, filled with noble purpose and unshakeable resolve. Just look at how differently the dawn is described:
“The glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike… straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.”
How profoundly beautiful! How distinct from the dawn that came before! Here, Dickens uses the shift in scenery to highlight Sydney’s changed nature. Though he once returned home to a neglected bed and overcast sky, this new Sydney Carton stands before warm sunlight and sparkling waters. The “bridge of light” that seems to link him and the heavens illustrates the change in his life’s trajectory. Though he once condemned himself to the bottom dredges of society, telling Lucie that “I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, and be worse,” his soul now soars upwards as he dedicates himself to a greater purpose. Just as I saw the bright sun chase away the last traces of darkness, Sydney’s new calling overcomes the pain of his past.
But what exactly is Carton condemning himself to? We step into his shoes as we walk through the Conciergerie, a massive and monstrous building whose formidable walls contain countless concrete cells. The smallest cells are sparse and scarcely five feet wide. Amid the dimness of the Conciergerie, lit only by flickering candle flames, Sydney probably breathes in the same damp, musty scent that hangs in the air during our visit.
Yet even as he takes in these dismal surroundings, Sydney accepts his fate with confidence. Indeed, it is with a “bright and remarkable” composure that he changes places with Darnay, swapping their clothes with a strength and swiftness that seem “quite supernatural” for this once-morose man. Just as we’ve seen with the two different descriptions of dawn, Sydney’s outlook totally changes at the Conciergerie. He becomes a man of solid conviction and profound purpose, and not even the darkest circumstances can dim his spirit.
Exploring the Conciergerie emphasizes just how much Sydney sacrifices for the sake of a family that will never be able to thank him. The Place de la Révolution, the site of the old guillotine, drives this message home: when we get there, I realize just how terrified the Terror’s victims would have felt. The entire plaza is flat, so the condemned would’ve walked up the raised scaffold in full view of the crowd. The plaza also stretches for hundreds of feet, meaning that prisoners were swiftly shuttled to the guillotine like parts in an assembly line. Amid this moment of dread and degradation, Sydney softly reassures a small seamstress. His gentle bravery inspires courage, and the seamstress faithfully fixes her eyes on his.
The guillotine's blade goes down.
A cell in the Conciergerie and the Place de la Révolution.
“They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the peacefullest man’s face ever beheld there. ”
When we trace Sydney’s steps, we see the sheer horror of the future he’s condemned himself to. Yet despite the ghastliness of the guillotine, Sydney is the most calm and confident that he’s ever been. Out of his humility and loyal love, he chooses to make a profound sacrifice so that both Darnay and himself can be saved.
I wish Sydney had known his worth earlier. I wish he had always believed, as firmly as he did in his final breaths, that his life could be redeemed. We see how his perspective changes as soon as he finds his purpose, how he barely notices the horrors of the Conciergerie and Place de la Révolution. For the first time in his life, Sydney welcomes a new day.
Perhaps it’s a reminder for all of us that sometimes a shift in perspective is all it takes to turn things around. Sometimes in class, I’ve been scared to speak up because my contributions don’t seem as worthy or as sophisticated as others’ do. (Perhaps that’s what held Sydney back, too, for so many years.) Yet Sydney’s life didn’t just become meaningful when he decided to give it away. That value was always there - Sydney just didn’t see it! I’d like to remember the same for myself, and reader, whoever you are, the same applies to you.
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”