On Dreams

I found Clarissa's dream (as she relates it to Anna) a really bizarre rupture in the delicate, mannered tone of the novel. Not only is Clarissa violently stabbed to death and left to rot among the corpses, but the act of murder is done in a churchyard, an interesting choice on behalf of Richardson (or Clarissa's subconscious). Perhaps this reveals something about how Clarissa perceives herself--as a martyr? as rightfully punished?--or perhaps it says something about how we are to perceive Clarissa. Either way, I find her dream foreboding, and maybe worth a second look.

'Methought my brother, my uncle Antony, and Mr Solmes had formed a plot to destroy Mr Lovelace; who discovering it turned all his rage against me, believing I had a hand in it. I thought he made them all fly into foreign parts upon it; and afterwards seizing upon me, carried me into a churchyard; and there, notwithstanding all my prayers and tears, and protestations of innocence, stabbed me to the heart, and then tumbled me into a deep grave ready dug, among two or three half-dissolved carcases; throwing in the dirt and earth upon me with his hands, and trampling it down with his feet.'
I awoke with the terror, all in a cold sweat, trembling, and in agonies; and still the frightful images raised by it remain upon my memory. (L84, 343)

There's relatively little written in the 18th century on the interpretation of dreams. Most of the material is more novelty than academic scholarship; I found quite a few dream journals, and translations of others' dreams. What I did find pretty neat was the preface to Reverend Saalfield's A Philosophical Discourse on the Nature of Dreams. Saalfield is interested in the taxonomy of dreams--separating the rational ones from the supernatural ones. He also suggests that dreams might even be God revealing himself to the dreamer. I've added the preface if you'd like to take a look.

Condescension

The OED definition:

The action, habit, or quality of condescending.

1. Voluntary abnegation for the nonce of the privileges of a superior; affability to one's inferiors, with courteous disregard of difference of rank or position; condescendingness.
1647 CLARENDON Hist. Reb. I. (1843) 18/1 The duke, according to his usual openness and condescension, told him, etc. 1677 HALE Contempl. Lord's Prayer II. 104 Give us a sense of thy Great Condescention to thy weak and sinful Creatures. 1710 STEELE Tatler No. 225 {page}3 Familiarity in Inferiors is Sauciness; in Superiors, Condescension. 1752 JOHNSON Rambler No. 200 {page}6 My old friend receiving me with all the insolence of condescension. 1856 EMERSON Eng. Traits, The ‘Times’ Wks. (Bohn) II. 119 With the most provoking air of condescension.

b. with pl.
1654 WHITLOCK Zootomia 332 He [Christ] was to expiate mans Pride in the lowest Condescentions possible. 1751 JOHNSON Rambler No. 172 {page}6 He concludes himself insulted by condescensions. 1843 LYTTON Last Bar. II. ii, You have spoiled them by your condescensions.

{dag}2. The action of descending or stooping to things unworthy. Obs.
1642 JER. TAYLOR Episc. (1647) 313 Of all Bishops, he [S. Cyprian] did acts of the greatest condescension, and seeming declination of episcopal authority. a1797 H. WALPOLE Mem. Geo. III (1845) I. ii. 17 Every vice, every condescension was imputed to the Duke that the Prince might be stimulated to avoid them.

3. Gracious, considerate, or submissive deference shown to another; complaisance. ?Obs.
1650 T. B. B[AYLEY] Worcester's Apoph. 38 To answer his humour with a condescention at the first word. 1692 BENTLEY Boyle Lect. ii. 43 In compliance and condescension to the custom of their Country. 1692 RAY Dissol. World Pref. (1732) 13 He did it only in condescension to their Weakness. 1749 FIELDING Tom Jones I. vi, Their extreme servility and condescension to their superiors. 1799 W. GILPIN Serm. I. ix. (R.), If we are displeased with an opposition to our humours, we ought to shew a condescension to the humours of others. 1871 FREEMAN Hist. Ess. Ser. I. x. 291 A man who thus showed no condescension to the feelings of his age.

{dag}4. The action or fact of acceding or consenting; concession. Obs.
1648 MANTON Spir. Languish. 2 In obedience to your Order, and condescension to the requests of some Friends, I have now made it [this Sermon] publick. 1664 DK. ALBEMARLE in Marvell's Corr. Wks. 1872-5 II. 99 That some condescentions and abatements be made for peace sake. c1720 Lett. fr. Mist's Jrnl. (1722) I. 238, I almost doubt your Condescension to my Request.

Passages from letters 1-34

Clarissa's Closet....

**this is more in the vein of a "Grand Tour" sort of post...background rather than essential info...**

After reading the L. 53 (229), I was intrigued by Clarissa's description of her flight from her sister into her closet:

"whither I retired with my heart full, and pulled the sash-door after me; and could no longer hold in my tears.

Nor would I answer one word to her repeated aggravations and demands upon me to open my door (for the key was on the inside) nor so much as turn my head towards her, as she looked through the glass at me. At last, which vexed her to the heart, I drew the silk curtain that she should not see me, and down she went muttering all the way."

I didn't have a clear visual image as to what her closet looked like, so I searched and found this excerpt from a JSTOR article:


For Christina Gillis the letters of Clarissa are analogous to other spatial phenomena
such as architecture and stage design, for the rooms that relate and pair in
the eighteenth-century house she ingeniously links to the arrangement of the letters.
House-plans suggest Clarissa's meaning when they indicate the growing desire for
privacy in the eighteenth century, an insight that illuminates her division of the
Harlowe house into the 'up' of Clarissa's protected space and the dangerous 'down'
of the tyrannical family (this is far more helpful than all the loose talk about keys and
doors). Clarissa is continually being pushed back into small spaces: her closet, her
room inside the brothel, her prison, and finally ofcourse her coffin. But even here she
controls what may be known: if Bella follows her to her closet she pulls the sash door
after her; if Bella looks through the glass, 'at last, which vexed her to the heart, I
drew the silk curtain, that she should not see me'. The papers Clarissa writes there
turn mental event into public disclosure, and just as the most private room was
regarded as the most sacred, or the inner stage might frame an exemplary tableau, so
these constrained settings display, paradoxically, Clarissa's very public privacy.

Clarissa's story occurs in time. but the letters relate spatially to one another like
rooms in a house. We progress through letters which overlap, reach out expressively
or didactically to particular readers, and are broken open by collectors, arrangers,
editors, and readers inside and outside the text. Such 'openers' are vital, since
private letters must be made public before they can communicate a meaning.
Christina Gillis carefully teases out the writer-to-recipient-to-reader relation in this
strange epistolary world, seeking authenticity in a bewilderment of text.

It didn't really answer my question as to a visual but the relationship between architecture and privacy is interesting...and the work cited looks like it could be good further reading:

Reviewed Work(s):
The Paradox of Privacy: Epistolary Form in 'Clarissa' by Christina Marsden Gillis

And the URL for the article is below....


Stable URL:
http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0026-7937%28198704%2982%3A2%3C450%3ASRMPWT%3E2.0.CO%3B2-3

The relationship between ethics and rhetoric in Clarissa

After reading through this week's assignment, I started to wonder about Richardson's thoughts on the ethics of reading and writing practices in the 18th century. Before writing Pamela, Richardson wrote a letter-writing manual called Familiar Letters, which instructed its readers on how to properly construct letters in different situations. With this in mind, I wonder if Clarissa betrays any of Richardson's original interest in letter-writing manuals. Some observations have led me to believe that aspects of Clarissa are still within this letter-writing manual genre.

I noticed that Clarissa and Lovelace's writing styles fall into classical conceptions of the plain style and the grand style, respectively. In general, Clarissa's use of language is economical. Her descriptions are clear and precise, her arguments are tightly constructed, and every object of analysis--including her own emotions--is rationally dissected in a philosophical manner. Clarity through language is immensely important to Clarissa so that the thought-process of her reader(s) is not directed onto the wrong track. When someone uses her words as a reason for why they are on a different track (i.e. whenever Anna says she believes Clarissa has feelings for Lovelace), Clarissa is quick to isolate those words and break down their meanings to see if they suited her argument or not.

Lovelace, however, is interested in moving and persuading others through the eloquence of his words. For example, in L64.1 (270) Lovelace tries to persuade Clarissa that there are only two alternatives in her situation: marry Solmes or seek refuge in himself. He tries to eliminate the possibility of escape through death and does not dare suggest that she escape to her Cousin Morden or attempt to lay claim to her own estate (both of which she has already considered through her own reasoning of the situation).

He consistently attempts to plead his case to Clarissa through hyperbolic language intended to intensify the purported message behind his words. For example, in the cited letter, he begins "Good God! What is now to become of me!...My feet benumbed with midnight wanderings through the heaviest dews that ever fell: my wig and my linen dripping with the hoar frost dissolving on them!" He then goes on to paint himself as the anguished jilted lover, too despondent to even care about his appearance, let alone adjust his wig. The letter ends with "Your ever-adoring yet almost desponding LOVELACE!" (exclamation marks abound), which stands in stark contrast to Clarissa's consistent use of "Your humble servant." At times, it is difficult for Clarissa to see beyond these words, but as a reader who sees both Lovelace's and Clarissa's letters, it is easy to see that Lovelace uses language disingenuously to move his readers in the direction of his desires.

I think Richardson is actively participating in a historical conversation about ethical writing, which began with Cicero. In his writings on rhetoric, Cicero defined the instructive and rational plain style as most suitable to the ends of philosophers, and he defined the persuasive grand style as most suitable to the ends of politicians. During Cicero's time, the grand style was viewed as the best style because it was more rhetorically demanding and of the most "persuasive stylistic register," according to Peter Auski in "Christian Plain Style: The Evolution of a Spiritual Ideal." However, the Catholic church rejected the grand style because it only appealed to learned and cultured men, not the simple and pious. The Church adopted the plain style as the most direct and effective method of religious instruction, and the plain style came to be equated with moral virtue. According to Auski, this attitude lasted through the 17th century.

It is noteworthy that Auski does not extend this Christian view of the plain style to the 18th century, so I wonder if the 18th century saw some debate between the plain and grand styles. There was definitely a focus on the relationship between ethics and writing, evidenced by the plethora of letter-writing manuals written in both England and France.

In light of these ideas, I wonder: is Clarissa a type of letter-writing manual in defense of the plain style? Why might Richardson feel the impulse to moralize language? And is the tie between ethics and rhetoric an arcane idea to us in the 21st century?

Some More Word Confusion

One word that keeps reappearing in the text is "condescend," yet it is not used in the same way it is generally though of today. To me, "condescend" means to talk down to, to treat someone as an inferior, to patronize. Dictionary.com gives as its first definition of the word: 'to behave as if one is conscious of descending from a superior position, rank, or dignity.' The word, in this connotation, is negative and unfriendly.
In Clarissa, however, "condescend" is used to mean something different. To condescend, in Richardson's prose, is to disregard one's superiority or station and purposely assume equality with one in need. This definition is at once similar to the first, yet in a way its opposite, for it suggests a benevolence and decency not usually associated with the word.

Of her uncle Harlowe, Clarissa quotes:
"I only came to make my earliest court to you, were his condescending words" (294)
Lovelace appeals to Clarissa:
"Yet, I must, I do, insist upon your promise--or that you will condescend to find better excuses for the failure." (270)
When first confined to her bedroom, Clarissa often talks of her mother "condescending" to see her, despite her stubbornness of the rest of her relatives.

It is interesting that Richardson uses the term "condescend" to mean something positive. When Clarissa writes of being "condescended to," it is equal to being humored, indulged, or accommodated by those who otherwise should or would treat her with disdain. It seems that this usage has faded in popularity, for I have always connected the word to impoliteness and arrogance.

[And to anyone who was as curious as I was about this word:]
"Wrens and sparrows are not too ignoble a quarry for this villainous goshawk!" (284)
Clarissa writes these angry words when she is under the impression that Lovelace has seduced the young "Rosebud."
Apparently, "goshawk" is a large powerful hawk having broad rounded wings, a long tail, and gray or brownish plumage.

Word usage/confusion

Having read a novel by Richardson previously I took little notice of various connotations for words which were already familiar. However, this could be because I was struck dumb by the wonderful story(yes I am serious loved it)blind, or because Richardson seems to have changed his writing style and restructured the way in which he writes from the time of Pamela until Clarissa. While Mathew Glasser picked up on the various differences in word usage from the 1700s until now I also noticed that there were familiar sounding words which held completely different meanings. I was most intrigued by the word "niggard" or "niggardly" which first appears on pg 81 Letter 13 in the 4th full paragraph where it states"riches left by one niggard to another, in injury to the next heir, because that other is a niggard." First I was surprised because when reading it sounds sounds so similar to a common racial slur but after investigating not only is the spelling different but it is a harmless word meaning a miser or someone who is stingy.

www.worldwideword.com
The adverb form niggardly, miserly or stingily, was formed in the sixteenth century from niggard, a miser or stingy person. In the Wycliffe Bible of 1384 it was spelled nygard; earlier still it can be found as nigon, and another form nig also existed. We are pretty sure this was borrowed from a Scandinavian source, because there are related words in several Germanic languages, for example, the Old Norse hnøgger, meaning “stingy”. So it has nothing to do with nigger, which comes via French nègre from Spanish negro, ultimately from Latin niger, meaning “black”.

Another interesting note: the word is not used today or is rarely used as it is too often mistaken for the "bad word"

The point of this post is that Richardson's word usage is not only different from how we use words today but is in fact somewhat different from how authors used words in the 18th Century as well.
According to Donald Ball in an Article titled "Richardson's Resourceful Wordmaking "Ball states that "a feature of Richardson's language that has not been examined is his wordmaking- his ability to use, to coin, and to develop single words, compound words, and phrases to suit the purposes of the expansive new world of fiction he was creating"(56).
While the article only points to a few words I am planning to keep my eyes open. There is something creative in forming new words, which goes beyond simply "writing,"
so I found this to be a particularly intriguing fact about Richarson's writing.