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Clermont, A tale: Volume 3 of 4
This edition is reproduced directly from scanned microfilms of the one released in 1798 by a company called William Lane. Illegible words appear on a rare occation due to the occasional poor quality of the scans. The point here was to "recreate the works as they first appeared," not to improve upon them. In other words, this is how this early 18th century gothic novel appeared back in the days when it was still novel.
The book was originally printed in four separate volumes.
The book was originally printed in four separate volumes.
255 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1798
3 people want to read
About the author
Regina Maria Roche
115 books21 followersRegina Maria Dalton (1764–1845) married Ambrose Roche at Rathkyran in Kilkenny, in May 1792. She is considered today to be a minor Gothic novelist who wrote in the shadow of Ann Radcliffe. She was, however, a best seller in her own time. The popularity of her third novel, The Children of the Abbey, rivaled that of Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho.
Her book Clermont was Roche’s only real attempt at writing a truly Gothic novel, and is decidedly darker in tone than anything else she wrote. Both novels went through several editions and were translated into both French and Spanish.
(source: Wikipedia)
Her book Clermont was Roche’s only real attempt at writing a truly Gothic novel, and is decidedly darker in tone than anything else she wrote. Both novels went through several editions and were translated into both French and Spanish.
(source: Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
October 18, 2021
An 18th century romantic drama with allusions to the contemporary views on mental health; its proportions borders on the epic, with a plethora of secrets that needs to be revealed before Clermont can truly be unveiled.
Clermont was one of the bestselling romances of the late 18th century, with several translations and re-releases promptly following its initial release on the then infamous Minerva press. It was one of Roche's two greatest successes, the other being The Children of the Abbey, which was written two years prior. For some reason her later works had no notable success, and so while the fame of her authorship was great it was also brief. And even Clermont, despite being a big thing in its day, had fallen so much into forgetfulness by the start of the 20th century that then when Jane Austen's famous list of recommended Gothic novels – also known as the Northanger horrid seven, so named after the novel Northanger Abbey in which the list was originally presented, and where Clermont was one of the novels mentioned – was examined and given interpretations by the literarians, they did not agree on whether or not the novel had even existed. In more recent years there has been a movement whereby old works of written art have been copied, from libraries dedicated to their preservation, and once again set to print for today's readers to enjoy. Fortunately, Clermont is one of these works who has gotten the chance of a revival.
We follow the trials of Madeline, a young girl of marrying age. She has thus far spent her life in relative seclusion near the French Alps. This seclusion is on the insistence of her father, a secretive and troubled man who goes by the name of Clermont. His given name, if he at all has one, is known to no one but himself, and his strong bouts of melancholy often force him on long solitary ramblings in the woods. Even Madeline, his own daughter and his greatest joy below Heaven, is kept in the dark by him, knowing naught about his past before her birth nor the origins of his laments. There is also the curious absence of her mother, who Clermont refuses to speak or hear mention of. Nevertheless, Madeline's life is a happy one, with her loving father and the poetic beauties of nature that surrounds her, she feels her life is in a state of bliss.
But then a young man by the name of de Sevigne visits the woods, a handsome and well-mannered young man, the kind which a young and virtuous woman like Madeline cannot help but take note of. Yet, despite that the conduct of de Sevigne is one that deserves the highest praises, Clermont does not wish him close to his daughter. Madeline's attempts to figure out this strange behaviour is cut short by a second accidental visit, this time by none other than the Countess de Merville, who it turns out is pleased to recognize her old friend, Clermont. She offers to take Madeline home to her own castle to present her to the society and to give her the experiences of the world that her seclusion had thus far denied her. And so it is settled, Madeline sets out to reside in the Castle de Merville, where further mysteries and even real dangers await. Her's is to be a tale of more woes and tears than that of pleasures.
Depression is one of the tale's most prevalent features. Nearly every character suffers from attacks of prolonged and crippling melancholy, sometimes having to be confined to their beds as they are too weakened to leave them. Roche did herself suffer from such malady, at times forcing her to take absence from her writing, sometimes for years. Having had personal experience with these things it is perhaps only natural for her to transfer some of it to her writing. With that in mind, it is not unlikely that we are here treated to views of mental illness from a past culture, making Clermont perhaps a more important historical document than one might initially suspect. This reviewer will however refrain from any interpretations in order to preserve brevity.
At the point in time that Clermont was written there was still a sense of novelty surrounding the young genre known as Gothic, and its popularity was substantial. Not surprisingly, many authors of the time found the inspiration to inject elements of Gothic into the most popular of all contemporary genres: the romance novel. Roche's Clermont is an exemplar of precisely such an injection, where the majestic castles and their hauntings become but scenery, in front of which is displayed a diversity of intrigues pertaining to the heart. For the reader this has obvious implications, the most major of which would be the fact that this kind of novel will not appeal to the Gothic literate. (Although, granted, the very same person might also be a romance digester and so still see an appeal, though of a different kind.) In particular the supernatural element tends to suffer from this shift of focus, and even then Clermont is more spectrally impoverished than most. As such, to bracket it as Gothic in genre is misleading since the potential reader would then likely expect to find a more haunting tale than a romance that just happens to contain the appropriate architecture.
Vast excesses of politeness characterize Roche's language, which close to doubles the length of any given utterance by the characters. Also their highly theatrical performance will often be considered overdramatized by today's standards, which again prolongs the text. Additional extensions include superfluous reiterations of the characters emotions, often using several paragraphs detailing their fears and then repeating these descriptions in no fewer words when those fears come true. One thousand fifty-nine pages did the original printing stretch, and this would likely have been shortened by at least two hundred pages if a current editor was to get his or her hands on it. It's one of those issues that made sense two centuries ago and which now cannot be dispatched of unless we also shed the impression of the age in which it was created; today's readers are simply going to have to be forgiving if they are to enjoy this tale.
This review is based on the Gale ECCO Print Editions' reproduction of the novels first pressing, then portioned into four volumes by the Minerva press. The print is based on microfilm photographs of the original work, which means that the reproduction looks as similar to the original books as it is possible to get. This allows the reader to experience the novel as if he or she was back in 1798, enabling the feeling of history to accompany the read. These reproductions are not always without flaws and volume one does have a total of four words which are obscured due to ink spots, also there are two cases of swapped pages in volume two; otherwise the volumes are perfectly intact with no loss of legibility. Should one rather wish for a remade, and thus flawless, printing then Valancourt's edition, with its detailed and well-researched introduction, would be recommended.
Clermont may be a patience demanding and long read, and it may not be the Gothic tale many would hope for, but as a romance it still shines bright. Its surprisingly well made plot is likely to have been the source of its success back in its time, and it is likely to be its main selling point now as well.
Clermont was one of the bestselling romances of the late 18th century, with several translations and re-releases promptly following its initial release on the then infamous Minerva press. It was one of Roche's two greatest successes, the other being The Children of the Abbey, which was written two years prior. For some reason her later works had no notable success, and so while the fame of her authorship was great it was also brief. And even Clermont, despite being a big thing in its day, had fallen so much into forgetfulness by the start of the 20th century that then when Jane Austen's famous list of recommended Gothic novels – also known as the Northanger horrid seven, so named after the novel Northanger Abbey in which the list was originally presented, and where Clermont was one of the novels mentioned – was examined and given interpretations by the literarians, they did not agree on whether or not the novel had even existed. In more recent years there has been a movement whereby old works of written art have been copied, from libraries dedicated to their preservation, and once again set to print for today's readers to enjoy. Fortunately, Clermont is one of these works who has gotten the chance of a revival.
We follow the trials of Madeline, a young girl of marrying age. She has thus far spent her life in relative seclusion near the French Alps. This seclusion is on the insistence of her father, a secretive and troubled man who goes by the name of Clermont. His given name, if he at all has one, is known to no one but himself, and his strong bouts of melancholy often force him on long solitary ramblings in the woods. Even Madeline, his own daughter and his greatest joy below Heaven, is kept in the dark by him, knowing naught about his past before her birth nor the origins of his laments. There is also the curious absence of her mother, who Clermont refuses to speak or hear mention of. Nevertheless, Madeline's life is a happy one, with her loving father and the poetic beauties of nature that surrounds her, she feels her life is in a state of bliss.
But then a young man by the name of de Sevigne visits the woods, a handsome and well-mannered young man, the kind which a young and virtuous woman like Madeline cannot help but take note of. Yet, despite that the conduct of de Sevigne is one that deserves the highest praises, Clermont does not wish him close to his daughter. Madeline's attempts to figure out this strange behaviour is cut short by a second accidental visit, this time by none other than the Countess de Merville, who it turns out is pleased to recognize her old friend, Clermont. She offers to take Madeline home to her own castle to present her to the society and to give her the experiences of the world that her seclusion had thus far denied her. And so it is settled, Madeline sets out to reside in the Castle de Merville, where further mysteries and even real dangers await. Her's is to be a tale of more woes and tears than that of pleasures.
Depression is one of the tale's most prevalent features. Nearly every character suffers from attacks of prolonged and crippling melancholy, sometimes having to be confined to their beds as they are too weakened to leave them. Roche did herself suffer from such malady, at times forcing her to take absence from her writing, sometimes for years. Having had personal experience with these things it is perhaps only natural for her to transfer some of it to her writing. With that in mind, it is not unlikely that we are here treated to views of mental illness from a past culture, making Clermont perhaps a more important historical document than one might initially suspect. This reviewer will however refrain from any interpretations in order to preserve brevity.
At the point in time that Clermont was written there was still a sense of novelty surrounding the young genre known as Gothic, and its popularity was substantial. Not surprisingly, many authors of the time found the inspiration to inject elements of Gothic into the most popular of all contemporary genres: the romance novel. Roche's Clermont is an exemplar of precisely such an injection, where the majestic castles and their hauntings become but scenery, in front of which is displayed a diversity of intrigues pertaining to the heart. For the reader this has obvious implications, the most major of which would be the fact that this kind of novel will not appeal to the Gothic literate. (Although, granted, the very same person might also be a romance digester and so still see an appeal, though of a different kind.) In particular the supernatural element tends to suffer from this shift of focus, and even then Clermont is more spectrally impoverished than most. As such, to bracket it as Gothic in genre is misleading since the potential reader would then likely expect to find a more haunting tale than a romance that just happens to contain the appropriate architecture.
Vast excesses of politeness characterize Roche's language, which close to doubles the length of any given utterance by the characters. Also their highly theatrical performance will often be considered overdramatized by today's standards, which again prolongs the text. Additional extensions include superfluous reiterations of the characters emotions, often using several paragraphs detailing their fears and then repeating these descriptions in no fewer words when those fears come true. One thousand fifty-nine pages did the original printing stretch, and this would likely have been shortened by at least two hundred pages if a current editor was to get his or her hands on it. It's one of those issues that made sense two centuries ago and which now cannot be dispatched of unless we also shed the impression of the age in which it was created; today's readers are simply going to have to be forgiving if they are to enjoy this tale.
This review is based on the Gale ECCO Print Editions' reproduction of the novels first pressing, then portioned into four volumes by the Minerva press. The print is based on microfilm photographs of the original work, which means that the reproduction looks as similar to the original books as it is possible to get. This allows the reader to experience the novel as if he or she was back in 1798, enabling the feeling of history to accompany the read. These reproductions are not always without flaws and volume one does have a total of four words which are obscured due to ink spots, also there are two cases of swapped pages in volume two; otherwise the volumes are perfectly intact with no loss of legibility. Should one rather wish for a remade, and thus flawless, printing then Valancourt's edition, with its detailed and well-researched introduction, would be recommended.
Clermont may be a patience demanding and long read, and it may not be the Gothic tale many would hope for, but as a romance it still shines bright. Its surprisingly well made plot is likely to have been the source of its success back in its time, and it is likely to be its main selling point now as well.
Displaying 1 of 1 review