"I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE, SAITH THE LORD,"
(Dickens 362)
Sydney Carton is masochistic at best. A doppelganger of the handsome Charles Darnay, Carton isn't too bad looking himself - not to mention he's one of the most intelligent guys around. So why is his love for Lucie not returned? He pretty much is Charles Darnay, her husband. Well, the masochism isn't exactly working in his favor. Carton is the underdog in more than one aspect of his life.
From the get-go, Carton has been one to do work for other people. In his school days, he did homework and wrote papers for other students. In his adult life, he writes term papers and solves cases for the "brilliant" lawyer, Mr. Stryver. In chapter five of book two, Dickens compares Carton to Stryver, calling Stryver a lion and Carton a jackal. A jackal is a dog like creature that resides in east Africa. It has a pretty bad rep as being sly and cunning; it fights only what it can easily overpower; it only travels at night; and it's been known to eat from the left over carcasses of animals that had previously been meals for something else. Does this sound like the masochistic Sydney Carton? Nope. Dickens smacks you in the face with irony. In reality, Carton is the lion, and Stryver is the jackal; Carton provides the carcasses, and Stryver feeds off of them. He doesn't give Carton any credit though, which makes him the most "brilliant" lawyer around. But if he didn't have Carton writing his term papers and solving his cases for him, Stryver would be nothing.
Sydney Carton is a very unhappy man; but he's unhappy because he thinks he should be. Dickens doesn't give much information about why he became so unhappy; it could be speculated that it's because he's let himself be taken advantage of for the majority of his life. In book two, chapter thirteen, Carton tells Lucie that, "[He is] like one who died young. All [his] life might have been," (187). Carton could have had the fame that Stryver attained through him; he could have had Lucie instead of his doppelganger; however, he was so unhappy and wrapped up in his head that he let his life pass him by. His life could have been worthwhile to him, but it wasn't.
Sydney isn't exactly a pro at love, either. The masochistic personality doesn't really draw the ladies in. He's like the underdog that you really want to get the girl; unfortunately, he doesn't. Sydney is very reserved. He states in the fourth chapter of the second book that he is, "[A] disappointed drudge, sir. [He] care[s] for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for [him]," (120). He isn't the type to get attached or express his feelings; but when he does get attached and when he does express his feelings, it's a tad bit painful. At first, he denies all feelings for Lucie and berates her when addressed by Stryver. Eventually, he grows to be able to actually express his feelings for her, but he simultaneously tells her not to love him. Again, the masochism is really hurting the situation. He visits her, on the verge of a breakdown, and confesses his love to her: "If it has been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before you - self-flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be be - he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him," (187-188). There he goes again, making himself even more unhappy. He actually told the girl he loved every reason why she shouldn't love him. Of course she doesn't have feelings for him, that would be too easy. However, he is content with not having her. After all, he doesn't like to get attached. After his mildly melodramatic confession, he states that he does not expect her to return his love, and he is thankful that she doesn't. He believes Lucie deserves better than what he is; he is content knowing that she is happy.
SPOILER ALERT
Just a warning: you're about to enter a dangerous territory that reveals and analyzes an enormous plot point.
Sydney Carton dies. Actually, Sydney Carton sacrifices his own life to save the life of another man. Sydney Carton gives up his life to save Charles Darnay, who had been sentenced to death by the guillotine. Darnay, the more successful version of himself; Darnay, the one who married the woman that he loved. Does this make him a martyr? Is this an allusion to Christ? Or was it nothing more than Sydney Carton throwing away his life because he felt he was worthless?
Evidence suggests that Sydney Carton was made to appear as a Christ-like figure. Dickens frequently used the ideas of resurrection, blood, and wine, throughout the novel. He is described as "prophetic" as he walks to his death. Carton's sacrifice made his life worthwhile; his death led to the happiness of his loved ones and sealed his immortality in their hearts. The night before his death, Carton walked along the streets of Paris, muttering the words, "I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeith in me shall never die," (362). This phrase is from the Bible, John 11:25-26, and is the opening of burial services.
Sydney Carton's last words were:
"I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, the Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease out of its present use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.
I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their friend, in ten years' time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his reward.
I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not more honoured and held sacred in the other's soul, than I was in the souls of both.
I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, foremost of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place - then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement - and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and faltering voice.
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." (426-427)
Sydney Carton is masochistic at best. A doppelganger of the handsome Charles Darnay, Carton isn't too bad looking himself - not to mention he's one of the most intelligent guys around. So why is his love for Lucie not returned? He pretty much is Charles Darnay, her husband. Well, the masochism isn't exactly working in his favor. Carton is the underdog in more than one aspect of his life.
From the get-go, Carton has been one to do work for other people. In his school days, he did homework and wrote papers for other students. In his adult life, he writes term papers and solves cases for the "brilliant" lawyer, Mr. Stryver. In chapter five of book two, Dickens compares Carton to Stryver, calling Stryver a lion and Carton a jackal. A jackal is a dog like creature that resides in east Africa. It has a pretty bad rep as being sly and cunning; it fights only what it can easily overpower; it only travels at night; and it's been known to eat from the left over carcasses of animals that had previously been meals for something else. Does this sound like the masochistic Sydney Carton? Nope. Dickens smacks you in the face with irony. In reality, Carton is the lion, and Stryver is the jackal; Carton provides the carcasses, and Stryver feeds off of them. He doesn't give Carton any credit though, which makes him the most "brilliant" lawyer around. But if he didn't have Carton writing his term papers and solving his cases for him, Stryver would be nothing.
Sydney Carton is a very unhappy man; but he's unhappy because he thinks he should be. Dickens doesn't give much information about why he became so unhappy; it could be speculated that it's because he's let himself be taken advantage of for the majority of his life. In book two, chapter thirteen, Carton tells Lucie that, "[He is] like one who died young. All [his] life might have been," (187). Carton could have had the fame that Stryver attained through him; he could have had Lucie instead of his doppelganger; however, he was so unhappy and wrapped up in his head that he let his life pass him by. His life could have been worthwhile to him, but it wasn't.
Sydney isn't exactly a pro at love, either. The masochistic personality doesn't really draw the ladies in. He's like the underdog that you really want to get the girl; unfortunately, he doesn't. Sydney is very reserved. He states in the fourth chapter of the second book that he is, "[A] disappointed drudge, sir. [He] care[s] for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for [him]," (120). He isn't the type to get attached or express his feelings; but when he does get attached and when he does express his feelings, it's a tad bit painful. At first, he denies all feelings for Lucie and berates her when addressed by Stryver. Eventually, he grows to be able to actually express his feelings for her, but he simultaneously tells her not to love him. Again, the masochism is really hurting the situation. He visits her, on the verge of a breakdown, and confesses his love to her: "If it has been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before you - self-flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be be - he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him," (187-188). There he goes again, making himself even more unhappy. He actually told the girl he loved every reason why she shouldn't love him. Of course she doesn't have feelings for him, that would be too easy. However, he is content with not having her. After all, he doesn't like to get attached. After his mildly melodramatic confession, he states that he does not expect her to return his love, and he is thankful that she doesn't. He believes Lucie deserves better than what he is; he is content knowing that she is happy.
SPOILER ALERT
Just a warning: you're about to enter a dangerous territory that reveals and analyzes an enormous plot point.
Sydney Carton dies. Actually, Sydney Carton sacrifices his own life to save the life of another man. Sydney Carton gives up his life to save Charles Darnay, who had been sentenced to death by the guillotine. Darnay, the more successful version of himself; Darnay, the one who married the woman that he loved. Does this make him a martyr? Is this an allusion to Christ? Or was it nothing more than Sydney Carton throwing away his life because he felt he was worthless?
Evidence suggests that Sydney Carton was made to appear as a Christ-like figure. Dickens frequently used the ideas of resurrection, blood, and wine, throughout the novel. He is described as "prophetic" as he walks to his death. Carton's sacrifice made his life worthwhile; his death led to the happiness of his loved ones and sealed his immortality in their hearts. The night before his death, Carton walked along the streets of Paris, muttering the words, "I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeith in me shall never die," (362). This phrase is from the Bible, John 11:25-26, and is the opening of burial services.
Sydney Carton's last words were:
"I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, the Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease out of its present use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.
I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their friend, in ten years' time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his reward.
I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not more honoured and held sacred in the other's soul, than I was in the souls of both.
I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, foremost of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place - then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement - and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and faltering voice.
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." (426-427)