Tales of Three Cities - Vol.III - A New England Winter
Henry James
eBook
(Henry James, May 26, 2014)
This was the first collection of James’s tales to appear under a title other than that of the first tale in the volume, apart from the full 14 volume Collective edition in London the previous year. Possibly suggested by the title of Charles Dickens’s novel of the French revolution, A tale of two cities (1859), the three cities invoked are the major scenes of action in the three tales: London (Lady Barberina), New York (Lady Barberina and The impressions of a cousin) and Boston (A New England winter). The foreshadowing of James’s working and publishing ideas of the later 1890s, evident in the specific collection title, is not the only such resonance we can find here, utilizing the benefit of hindsight. All the more surprising then that the three tales in this collection were written for the same outlet and editor, the Century magazine under Richard Gilder. After their appearance at different times in the magazine in 1883 and 1884 it was logical that they appear in a book under the Osgood imprint in Boston – he was publisher of the magazine and a long time supporter of James. As usual at this time the volume was contracted to Macmillan in London for British and colonial publication. Tales of Three Cities is a book that has three volumes, A New England Winter is the third and last part. This book contains a dynamic table to access the different parts. Here's an excerpt from the book:"Mrs. Daintry stood on her steps a moment, to address a parting injunction to her little domestic, whom she had induced a few days before, by earnest and friendly argument,—the only coercion or persuasion this enlightened mistress was ever known to use,—to crown her ruffled tresses with a cap; and then, slowly and with deliberation, she descended to the street. As soon as her back was turned, her maidservant closed the door, not with violence, but inaudibly, quickly, and firmly; so that when she reached the bottom of the steps and looked up again at the front,—as she always did before leaving it, to assure herself that everything was well,—the folded wings of her portal were presented to her, smooth and shining, as wings should be, and ornamented with the large silver plate on which the name of her late husband was inscribed,—which she had brought with her when, taking the inevitable course of good Bostonians, she had transferred her household goods from the "hill" to the "new land," and the exhibition of which, as an act of conjugal fidelity, she preferred—how much, those who knew her could easily understand—to the more distinguished modern fashion of suppressing the domiciliary label. She stood still for a minute on the pavement, looking at the closed aperture of her dwelling and asking herself a question; not that there was anything extraordinary in that, for she never spared herself in this respect...''