#samuel richardson

[killyridols]

perfume by samuel richardson, 2024, acrylic, colored pencil, ink, pull chain, & stain on framed canvas, 14.25 × 17.25 inches

[a-drifting-boat]

Wait. So. You have the female-fantasy archetype of horrible abusive love interest who is eventually redeemed by the protagonist's goodness and virtue and general wonderfulness. Before this redemption the love interest imprisoned the protagonist and the protagonist made multiple attempts to flee from their violence. The story ends with the two marrying (Lyctorhood.) The protagonist's narrative reward for being good enough to reform her abuser is a higher-status social position - she becomes the wife of a wealthy man rather than his servant (the cavalier of the Reverend Daughter rather than her indenture.)

Conclusion? Gideon the Ninth is a lesbian space opera retelling of Samuel Richardson's Pamela.

[lamentanhedonia]

perfume by samuel richardson

[finalgirlfall]

For you shall be mine, or my life shall be the forfeit! Nor is life worth having without you!— Be thine!—I be thine!—said the passionate beauty. Oh how lovely in her violence!— Yes, madam, be mine!—I repeat, you shall be mine!—My very crime is your glory. My love, my admiration of you is increased by what has passed: and so it ought. I am willing, madam, to court your returning favour: but let me tell you, were the house beset by a thousand armed men resolved to take you from me, they should not effect their purpose while I had life. I never, never will be yours, said she, clasping her hands together, and lifting up her eyes!—I never will be yours! We may yet see many happy years, madam. All your friends may be reconciled to you. The treaty for that purpose is in greater forwardness than you imagine. You know better than to think the worse of yourself for suffering what you could not help. Enjoin but the terms I can make my peace with you upon, and I will instantly comply. (L266, robert lovelace to john belford; emphasis added)

[quotation--marks]

What a cursed still-life this! - Nothing active in me, or about me, but the worm that never dies.

Samuel Richardson, Clarissa; or, The History of a Young Lady

[portrait-paintings]

Samuel Richardson

Artist: Mason Chamberlin (English, 1727-1787)

Date: c. 1754

Medium: Oil on copper

Collection: National Portrait Gallery, London, United Kingdom

Samuel Richardson (1689-1761)

Samuel Richardson was an English writer and printer known for three epistolary novels: Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded (1740), Clarissa; or, The History of a Young Lady (1748) and The History of Sir Charles Grandison (1753). He printed almost 500 works, including journals and magazines, working periodically with the London bookseller Andrew Millar.

[charliejaneanders]

There were no great women novelists in English before Jane Austen. The only 18th c. authors worth talking about were a handful of dudes. That's what I was taught in college.

But it's so not true. The 1730s were a hotbed of female literary brilliance.

Jane Austen Was the First Great Lady Novelist. (Or So I Was Taught.)

Just a heads up: you can pre-order my novel Lessons in Magic and Disaster from Barnes & Noble (online) and get a 25 percent discount — this

[artemlegere]

Pamela and Mr B. in the Summer House

Artist: Joseph Highmore (British, 1692-1780)

Date: 1740's

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, United Kingdom

Description

This is the first in a series of 12 paintings by Joseph Highmore illustrating scenes from Samuel Richardson’s best-selling sentimental novel Pamela: or, Virtue Rewarded. The story, first published in 1740–1, centers on the virtuous lady’s maid Pamela Andrews. She repeatedly rebuffs, then reforms and finally marries her aristocratic would be seducer, Mr B. Scene I is set in a comfortable, paneled study of a well-to-do house. Its solid, old-fashioned furniture and a picture of The Good Samaritan over the fireplace underline the traditional values of the heroine.

Volume I, Letter XI

Soon afterwards Mr B. finds Pamela at her needlework in a summerhouse, seizes her and kisses her against her will.

DEAR MOTHER,

Well, I will now proceed with my sad story. And so, after I had dried my eyes, I went in, and began to ruminate with myself what I had best to do. Sometimes I thought I would leave the house and go to the next town, and wait an opportunity to get to you; but then I was at a loss to resolve whether to take away the things he had given me or no, and how to take them away: Sometimes I thought to leave them behind me, and only go with the clothes on my back, but then I had two miles and a half, and a byway, to the town; and being pretty well dressed, I might come to some harm, almost as bad as what I would run away from; and then may-be, thought I, it will be reported, I have stolen something, and so was forced to run away; and to carry a bad name back with me to my dear parents, would be a sad thing indeed!—O how I wished for my grey russet again, and my poor honest dress, with which you fitted me out, (and hard enough too it was for you to do it!) for going to this place, when I was not twelve years old, in my good lady’s days! Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs. Jervis, and taking her advice, and only feared his command to be secret; for, thought I, he may be ashamed of his actions, and never attempt the like again: And as poor Mrs. Jervis depended upon him, through misfortunes, that had attended her, I thought it would be a sad thing to bring his displeasure upon her for my sake.

In this quandary, now considering, now crying, and not knowing what to do, I passed the time in my chamber till evening; when desiring to be excused going to supper, Mrs. Jervis came up to me, and said, Why must I sup without you, Pamela? Come, I see you are troubled at something; tell me what is the matter.

I begged I might be permitted to be with her on nights; for I was afraid of spirits, and they would not hurt such a good person as she. That was a silly excuse, she said; for why was not you afraid of spirits before?—(Indeed I did not think of that.) But you shall be my bed-fellow with all my heart, added she, let your reason be what it will; only come down to supper. I begged to be excused; for, said I, I have been crying so, that it will be taken notice of by my fellow-servants; and I will hide nothing from you, Mrs. Jervis, when we are alone.

She was so good to indulge me; but made haste to come up to bed; and told the servants, that I should be with her, because she could not rest well, and would get me to read her to sleep; for she knew I loved reading, she said.

When we were alone, I told her all that had passed; for I thought, though he had bid me not, yet if he should come to know I had told, it would be no worse; for to keep a secret of such a nature, would be, as I apprehended, to deprive myself of the good advice which I never wanted more; and might encourage him to think I did not resent it as I ought, and would keep worse secrets, and so make him do worse by me. Was I right, my dear mother?

Mrs. Jervis could not help mingling tears with my tears; for I cried all the time I was telling her the story, and begged her to advise me what to do; and I shewed her my dear father’s two letters, and she praised the honesty and editing of them, and said pleasing things to me of you both. But she begged I would not think of leaving my service; for, said she, in all likelihood, you behaved so virtuously, that he will be ashamed of what he has done, and never offer the like to you again: though, my dear Pamela, said she, I fear more for your prettiness than for anything else; because the best man in the land might love you: so she was pleased to say. She wished it was in her power to live independent; then she would take a little private house, and I should live with her like her daughter.

And so, as you ordered me to take her advice, I resolved to tarry to see how things went, except he was to turn me away; although, in your first letter, you ordered me to come away the moment I had any reason to be apprehensive. So, dear father and mother, it is not disobedience, I hope, that I stay; for I could not expect a blessing, or the good fruits of your prayers for me, if I was disobedient.

All the next day I was very sad, and began my long letter. He saw me writing, and said (as I mentioned) to Mrs. Jervis, That girl is always scribbling; methinks she might find something else to do, or to that purpose. And when I had finished my letter, I put it under the toilet in my late lady’s dressing-room, whither nobody comes but myself and Mrs. Jervis, besides my master; but when I came up again to seal it, to my great concern, it was gone; and Mrs. Jervis knew nothing of it; and nobody knew of my master’s having been near the place in the time; so I have been sadly troubled about it: But Mrs. Jervis, as well as I, thinks he has it, some how or other; and he appears cross and angry, and seems to shun me, as much as he said I did him. It had better be so than worse!

But he has ordered Mrs. Jervis to bid me not pass so much time in writing; which is a poor matter for such a gentleman as he to take notice of, as I am not idle other ways, if he did not resent what he thought I wrote upon. And this has no very good look.

But I am a good deal easier since I lie with Mrs. Jervis; though, after all, the fears I live in on one side, and his frowning and displeasure at what I do on the other, make me more miserable than enough.

O that I had never left my little bed in the loft, to be thus exposed to temptations on one hand, or disgusts on the other! How happy was I awhile ago! How contrary now!—Pity and pray for

Your afflicted

PAMELA.