The Maypole Inn
The novel opens with a long description of the Maypole Inn, an old house turned into a commercial enterprise that is both engaging because of its age and worn because of it. It is far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city and is situated as something stolid and dependable. The purpose of the imagery presented in the opening paragraphs becomes clear later on when the rioting makes its way to the Maypole:
"With its overhanging stories, drowsy little panes of glass, and front bulging out and projecting over the pathway, the old house looked as if it were nodding in its sleep. Indeed, it needed no very great stretch of fancy to detect in it other resemblances to humanity. The bricks of which it was built had originally been a deep dark red, but had grown yellow and discoloured like an old man’s skin; the sturdy timbers had decayed like teeth; and here and there the ivy, like a warm garment to comfort it in its age, wrapt its green leaves closely round the time-worn walls."
The Psychology of Rioting
The novel is not just a work of historical fiction describing the actual events of rioting; it is a work that examines the psychology of the mob. In one of the most fascinating passages, Dickens uses the power of imagery to reveal the way that the incendiary climax of mob violence builds like a natural force of energy:
“There are times when, the elements being in unusual commotion, those who are bent on daring enterprises, or agitated by great thoughts, whether of good or evil, feel a mysterious sympathy with the tumult of nature, and are roused into corresponding violence. In the midst of thunder, lightning, and storm, many tremendous deeds have been committed; men, self-possessed before, have given a sudden loose to passions they could no longer control. The demons of wrath and despair have striven to emulate those who ride the whirlwind and direct the storm; and man, lashed into madness with the roaring winds and boiling waters, has become for the time as wild and merciless as the elements themselves.”
The Psychology of the Aftermath
Likewise, Dickens turns to imagery to present the portrait of the aftermath of mob violence as being that somewhat akin to the psychological brutalizing of a collective populace following a natural disaster. The portrait of a town dazed by unexpected events that have transformed them almost into a zombie state is one familiar to anybody who has lived through a natural disaster which did not perhaps touch them personally to the degree that it devastated others:
“In place of the usual cheerfulness and animation of morning, everything was dead and silent. The shops remained closed, offices and warehouses were shut, the coach and chair stands were deserted, no carts or wagons rumbled through the slowly waking streets, the early cries were all hushed; a universal gloom prevailed. Great numbers of people were out, even at daybreak, but they flitted to and fro as though they shrank from the sound of their own footsteps; the public ways were haunted rather than frequented; and round the smoking ruins people stood apart from one another and in silence, not venturing to condemn the rioters, or to be supposed to do so, even in whispers.”
Crowds
This is a novel in which the ability to describe scenes of large crowds is vital. When furnished with the natural drama of mob violence and rioting, the level of difficulty is somewhat reduced. But what about when nothing particular—or even specific—is taking place? Dickens almost shows off with his talent in that capacity when he uses practically nothing but imagery to take the reader inside the frenzied atmosphere of Westminster Hall:
“There were many little knots and groups of persons…noisy passengers, mechanics going home from work, and otherwise, who hurried quickly through, waking the echoes with their voices, and soon darkening the small door in the distance, as they passed into the street beyond; some, in busy conference together on political or private matters, pacing slowly up and down with eyes that sought the ground, and seeming, by their attitudes, to listen earnestly from head to foot…squabbling urchins made a very Babel in the air…solitary man, half clerk, half mendicant, paced up and down with hungry dejection in his look and gait.”
