Russian Country Side - January 8, 1905
Kiselyov stared out into the darkness. In a few hours his train would pull into Saint Petersburg and he would be assigned his patrol. Most would have taken the train ride as an opportunity to sleep. Kiselyov however would not sleep even if he had wanted to. There was so much on his mind.
Before he could even begin to process his thoughts the door to his compartment slid open. Kiselyov looked up from his desk with an angry glare. As an officer he could not fathom someone so bold as to enter his quarters without so much as a knock. His expression did not change as he watched Roman Ratinsky enter and slide the door shut behind himself.
Ratinsky saw the look on Kiselyov’s face and the smile on his own face broadened. “I couldn’t believe it was true that you were actually allowed to enter the capital. I had to come see it myself.”
“If anyone was going to disturb me tonight of course it would be you.”
“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”
“You should leave and give it no thought.”
“Bad form Dimitri, I am one of the few friends you have left in the army.”
“You don’t have friends.”
“Oh come now, is that necessary. You paint me off as some villain.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Of course not, a bit mischievous at times but I am mostly harmless.”
“Well then, what brings you here?”
“Some fun. A game of cards perhaps.”
“I prefer solitude.”
“Well it will be your loss but at least it confirms my suspicions.” Ratinsky slowly started to turn back towards the door.
“About what?”
“Oh it’s nothing, really.” Ratinsky said as his hand reached for the door.
“Tell me, I must know.”
With a grin Ratinsky pulled out his deck of cards and sat across the desk from Kiselyov as he spoke. “Well if you must know I will tell you then.” Ratinsky began shuffling the deck of cards.
As Ratinsky began to deal the cards Kiselyov said impatiently “well?”
“Playing Durak suits you?”
“If we must.”
Excellent, would you like to wager on the game?”
“I don’t need to take your money.”
“I like the confidence, but really it is you who would be losing.”
“Just having you here is already a loss.”
“Despite all of your personal setbacks you still have your wit.”
“I have my fists too and they are getting ready to fly at your face.”
“Now, now that isn’t necessary.”
“You weasel in here and then you try to divert attention away from the reason I allowed you to stay. What are your suspicions? And you had better answer now or risk something greater than offense.”
Ratinsky laughed out loud. “Oh yes, I had completely forgotten about that. It is nothing really.”
“Nothing or not, speak it now.”
“It is simply that you remind me so much of Kurochka Ryaba.”
Kiselyov gave Ratinsky a quizzical look as he began playing the card game. His memory went back to his childhood trying to recall the bedtime story.
“Do you remember the tale?” Ratinsky asked.
“I remember it well enough.” Kiselyov said as he started to recall the story. “In essence an old man and old woman have this hen who one day laid a golden egg. They tried to crack the golden egg to see if it was solid gold or something like that, but they were unable to do so. So they put the egg on the table to decide what to do with it. Just then a mouse ran by and hit the egg with its tail. The egg rolled off the table and smashed into an ordinary egg. That’s the story right?”
“Oh but you are forgetting the ending.”
“What? They lost out on selling the golden egg?”
“No, what happens after the grandchildren arrive?”
“You tell me.”
“If I must.”
“You must.”
“The grandchildren come stop by and misfortune befalls them. They had been out to fetch a couple of pails of water, but once they learn about the egg, their buckets break and the water spills across the floor. Next the father who works at the forge somehow destroys the forge. Once the villagers learn about the egg they grow angry and begin to fight with one another. The misfortune continues all the way until it reaches the Pope. Some towers near where he is walking collapse.”
“I fail to see how this story relates to me at all.”
“You are the old man who couldn’t crack the egg and now misfortune must follow and extend from you.”
“You are merely trying to distract me from the game.”
“Perhaps, but I think there is something to my suspicion.”
“Walk me through your thoughts.”
“You have never been able to achieve what you want most.”
“And what is that?”
“Glory.”
“Continue.”
“You are an imperialist. You want to expand the empire. You want to lead the charge against all odds against the enemy and deliver a victory that would make the likes of Alexander Nevsky jealous. And yet when you join the army, you have the misfortune of sitting on the sidelines as Port Arthur falls.”
“I have no control over that.”
“You also have no personal accolades. Your career is spiraling. Now, if I am correct you going to Saint Petersburg will signal great misfortune for the whole country.”
“You are pathetic. And you just lost the game.” Kiselyov calmly announced.
“Let’s play again.”
“Not interested.”
“Well then let me sweeten the offer.”
“Oh this should be good.”
“You win, and I will get you assigned to lead a battalion in the war effort against Japan.”
“And if you win?”
“1,000 Rubles.”
“You are out of your mind. 50 rubles.”
“500.”
“100 and I will not go any higher.”
“Deal.”
As Kiselyov dealt the cards Ratinsky casually stated “They say 500,000 revolutionaries are planning on burning the city to the ground tomorrow.”
“Of all the lies you have ever told that is the least believable.”
“Nonetheless expect the unexpected tomorrow.”
“It will be a boring day standing around waiting for something that will never happen.”
“Perhaps if you were a normal soldier, but you are the Kurochka Ryaba.”
There is something about your theory that is off. Perhaps the fatal flaw.”
“And what is that?”
“If my misfortune spreads to others, you should want to keep your distance.”
“Ah, but you forget that I am a nihilist.”
“Of course.”
“And in favor of my theory I must extend your misfortune. I win.” Ratinsky said as he played the winning card and grinned.
Great literature should do more than entertain us. It should provide a roadmap to improving our lives.
In A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens introduced readers to Sydney Carton, one of literature's most compelling and deeply flawed characters. Dickens also gives him an unusual title: the Jackal.
His struggles raise questions that remain relevant today.
Are we defined by our past mistakes? Can we overcome our weaknesses? What separates the people we are from the people we could become?
Lessons From the Jackal is a 25-day character study exploring these questions through Sydney Carton’s life, decisions, relationships, and personal development.
This is not a traditional course on A Tale of Two Cities. Our reading assignments will focus specifically on Carton, with sufficient background provided to understand his story. No previous knowledge of the novel is necessary.
Each day will feature selected readings, historical comparisons, reflection questions, discussions, and practical challenges ...
Sydney Carton appears to be a man resigned to his fate.
He recognizes the deterioration of his own character and seems convinced that his circumstances will only worsen. He is “overshadowed” by a “fatal darkness,” yet when Lucie asks why he does not change, he offers little hope that such a transformation is possible.
This resignation is particularly striking when we consider what Carton has already demonstrated himself capable of accomplishing.
He helped save Charles Darnay from a possible death sentence. His intelligence and legal abilities have contributed substantially to Stryver’s successful career. Yet despite these accomplishments, Carton seems unable to imagine a promising future for himself.
He has spent considerable time in the Manette household, often remaining withdrawn from the conversations around him. He sleeps little, continues to drink heavily, and wanders the stone streets near the Manettes’ home. Perhaps, during these solitary walks, he remembers the conversation about the echoes...
In the early 1780s, London was undergoing significant improvements to its streets and public walkways.
Many major roads were paved with stone blocks, while pedestrian footways were increasingly surfaced with broad, flat slabs of limestone. Legislation passed during the 1760s encouraged improvements in paving, drainage, and street maintenance.
Despite these improvements, London’s streets remained crowded, noisy, and frequently dirty.
Horse-drawn carriages and wagons rattled across the uneven stones, while the sound of iron-rimmed wheels and horses’ hooves echoed between the buildings. Rainwater collected along the gutters, carrying mud, manure, and other waste through the city.
Sydney Carton would have encountered these conditions as he walked through London’s streets.
One location particularly associated with Carton is King’s Bench Walk in the Inner Temple, the historic legal district where barristers maintained their chambers.
Dickens specifically describes Carton walking along King’s ...
