What do you think?
Rate this book
Lucretia
Websters paperbacks take advantage of the fact that classics are frequently assigned readings in English courses. By using a running English-to-French thesaurus at the bottom of each page, this edition of Lucretia by Edward Bulwer-Lytton was edited for three audiences. The first includes French-speaking students enrolled in an English Language Program (ELP), an English as a Foreign Language (EFL) program, an English as a Second Language Program (ESL), or in a TOEFL or TOEIC preparation program. The second audience includes English-speaking students enrolled in bilingual education programs or French speakers enrolled in English-speaking schools. The third audience consists of students who are actively building their vocabularies in French in order to take foreign service, translation certification, Advanced Placement (AP) or similar examinations. By using the Webster's French Thesaurus Edition when assigned for an English course, the reader can enrich their vocabulary in anticipation of an examination in French or English.TOEFL, TOEIC, AP and Advanced Placement are trademarks of the Educational Testing Service which has neither reviewed nor endorsed this book. All rights reserved.Websters edition of this classic is organized to expose the reader to a maximum number of difficult and potentially ambiguous English words. Rare or idiosyncratic words and expressions are given lower priority compared to difficult, yet commonly used words. Rather than supply a single translation, many words are translated for a variety of meanings in French, allowing readers to better grasp the ambiguity of English, and avoid them using the notes as a pure translation crutch. Having the reader decipher a wordsmeaning within context serves to improve vocabulary retention and understanding. Each page covers words not already highlighted on previous pages. If a difficult word is
562 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1846
About the author
Edward Bulwer-Lytton
4,533 books229 followersEdward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton PC, was an English novelist, poet, playwright, and politician. Lord Lytton was a florid, popular writer of his day, who coined such phrases as "the great unwashed", "pursuit of the almighty dollar", "the pen is mightier than the sword", and the infamous incipit "It was a dark and stormy night."
He was the youngest son of General William Earle Bulwer of Heydon Hall and Wood Dalling, Norfolk and Elizabeth Barbara Lytton, daughter of Richard Warburton Lytton of Knebworth, Hertfordshire. He had two brothers, William Earle Lytton Bulwer (1799–1877) and Henry Bulwer, 1st Baron Dalling and Bulwer.
Lord Lytton's original surname was Bulwer, the names 'Earle' and 'Lytton' were middle names. On 20 February 1844 he assumed the name and arms of Lytton by royal licence and his surname then became 'Bulwer-Lytton'. His widowed mother had done the same in 1811. His brothers were always simply surnamed 'Bulwer'.
He was the youngest son of General William Earle Bulwer of Heydon Hall and Wood Dalling, Norfolk and Elizabeth Barbara Lytton, daughter of Richard Warburton Lytton of Knebworth, Hertfordshire. He had two brothers, William Earle Lytton Bulwer (1799–1877) and Henry Bulwer, 1st Baron Dalling and Bulwer.
Lord Lytton's original surname was Bulwer, the names 'Earle' and 'Lytton' were middle names. On 20 February 1844 he assumed the name and arms of Lytton by royal licence and his surname then became 'Bulwer-Lytton'. His widowed mother had done the same in 1811. His brothers were always simply surnamed 'Bulwer'.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
January 18, 2014
From the title, you are thinking vampires, right? Wrong. Lucretia is a spoiled girl who turns to poison when things don't go her way. Victorian junk fiction of the very highest order. Bulwer-Lytton got horrible reviews for its perceived immorality, in our less principled times it becomes a fun read once you get used to his clunky style.
August 26, 2026
From Prologue to Epilogue, Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s ‘Lucretia’ (1846) mesmerises you with its unrelenting horror, in which murder is table d’hôte, say, for the à la carte-ism of the rest of the fare.
‘Lucretia’ is the classic sensation melodrama, a genre to which the nickname of ‘Newgate Novel’ was attached in respect of Bulwer-Lytton’s books in particular, for the numbers of its characters who were from or on their way to Newgate prison. The eponymous title and its heroine seem to have been inspired by the life and deeds of Lucrezia Borgia, down to the special ring and its deadly contents. That both women loved passionately is not in dispute, nor is their vengeance. What is unusual is that Bulwer-Lytton chose a woman to be his principal antagonist and the prime mover of the plot. At that time, this was still a novelty for women in works of fiction, when they usually were simply the prize to the best man going.
‘Lucretia’ is essentially a one-woman Gothic horror story, which spans something like a quarter century, and sees some of the principal characters in Volume One already dead and disposed of at the start of Volume Two. In respect of the manner of their deaths, it may perhaps be safer not to inquire too deeply if Lucretia was nearby at the time.
Revenge, thwarted passion and avarice are the three pillars of the plot. While none of these by itself satisfies the fires in Lucretia’s heart, we learn that another craving drives her on: the knowledge that her infant son, whom she had been given to understand was dead, is still alive in England, though she has no clue as to who or where he is. Lucretia casts about for a likely candidate of roughly the same age as her son would have been. She enlists her stepson in the search, and thereby sets in motion the action of the plot.
Like the women who necessarily have a part to play, the men in the novel are uniformly handsome, intelligent, brave and dull. All of them are appendages, creatures on whom a punishment is to be exacted because they, or their parent, or grandparent had in some way offended Lucretia. Of villains there are plenty. There are three main imps: old Sir Miles St. John, Lucretia’s uncle; Lucretia’s husband, a sadistic bully and blackguard; and Gabriel Varney, his son by his first wife/mistress, who has been trained to use his wits, outsmart the next man and earn his living any way he can. Since he is a gifted artist, one of his preferred means of doing so is forgery.
Nobody can think of the man who started it all as a villain, but that is exactly what Sir Miles is. Having adopted his sister’s high-born but penniless daughter, he plans to make her his heiress, until she reveals that she wishes to marry the active partner in a bank, and not the high-born gentleman of aristocratic lineage he had chosen for her. He immediately disowns and cold-heartedly disinherits Lucretia, thereby triggering a generational cycle of animosity, greed and ruin. Avarice dogs the footsteps of even its meanest player, the Cockney crossing-sweeper Beck.
Such a devastating descent into crime and gothic darkness is a testament to Bulwer-Lytton’s astonishing versatility as a writer. Few authors of his era bounced so effortlessly between entirely different literary universes, pivoting from the meticulous historical reconstruction of ‘The Last Days of Pompeii’ straight into the mystical, occult-laden spiritualism of ‘Zanoni’. He even cast his eye far into the future with ‘The Coming Race’ to give the Victorian public a pioneering glimpse of a subterranean, technologically advanced world. Bulwer-Lytton treated these radical shifts and popular themes with theatrical flair, always keeping his finger on the pulse of what the reading market secretly craved.
Nowhere is this versatility more startling than in his swift departure from the grim, domestic horrors of ‘Lucretia’ to the gentle, comic realism of ‘The Caxtons’ just three years later. Trading toxic rings and child murders for the trials of a quiet country family, Bulwer-Lytton introduces us to the likes of Pisistratus (Sisty) Caxton. This dramatic leap from the terrifying depths of female villainy to a lighthearted story of family affection proves that he could serve up a perfectly sweet, domestic pudding; even the villainies in each are different. Sisty’s uncle is an unsuccessful petty crook, who redeems himself somewhat in Australia.
Crucially, Bulwer-Lytton himself revealed that these two seemingly mismatched works were intended as companion novels, built to explore the divergent effects of early training and home education. The moral design was identical; one merely examined the sunny side of human development through the affectionate Caxtons, while the other mapped out its darkest, distorted psychological depths, a profound piece of psychological insight that was utterly lost on the Victorian reading public. While they applauded the moral domesticity of ‘The Caxtons’, they loudly reviled ‘Lucretia’ for its perceived immorality, missing the fact that both books were two sides of the same coin.
One last observation: like all Victorian prose, Bulwer-Lytton’s style is heavy and convoluted, authorial and omnipresent. Added to this, the generation difference often adds to a confusion of names. The ending gallops as fast as the earlier chapters were ponderous. It makes for some very tough reading, which modern readers find too off-putting, despite such a delectable heroine and plot. Instead of consigning it to a DNF fate, it is worth seeing it through, just for the sake of seeing who lives and who dies, like any Elizabethan drama at curtain fall, or to relish the glimpses of a Whitechapel that the Ripper was familiar with in his infancy.
‘Lucretia’ is the classic sensation melodrama, a genre to which the nickname of ‘Newgate Novel’ was attached in respect of Bulwer-Lytton’s books in particular, for the numbers of its characters who were from or on their way to Newgate prison. The eponymous title and its heroine seem to have been inspired by the life and deeds of Lucrezia Borgia, down to the special ring and its deadly contents. That both women loved passionately is not in dispute, nor is their vengeance. What is unusual is that Bulwer-Lytton chose a woman to be his principal antagonist and the prime mover of the plot. At that time, this was still a novelty for women in works of fiction, when they usually were simply the prize to the best man going.
‘Lucretia’ is essentially a one-woman Gothic horror story, which spans something like a quarter century, and sees some of the principal characters in Volume One already dead and disposed of at the start of Volume Two. In respect of the manner of their deaths, it may perhaps be safer not to inquire too deeply if Lucretia was nearby at the time.
Revenge, thwarted passion and avarice are the three pillars of the plot. While none of these by itself satisfies the fires in Lucretia’s heart, we learn that another craving drives her on: the knowledge that her infant son, whom she had been given to understand was dead, is still alive in England, though she has no clue as to who or where he is. Lucretia casts about for a likely candidate of roughly the same age as her son would have been. She enlists her stepson in the search, and thereby sets in motion the action of the plot.
Like the women who necessarily have a part to play, the men in the novel are uniformly handsome, intelligent, brave and dull. All of them are appendages, creatures on whom a punishment is to be exacted because they, or their parent, or grandparent had in some way offended Lucretia. Of villains there are plenty. There are three main imps: old Sir Miles St. John, Lucretia’s uncle; Lucretia’s husband, a sadistic bully and blackguard; and Gabriel Varney, his son by his first wife/mistress, who has been trained to use his wits, outsmart the next man and earn his living any way he can. Since he is a gifted artist, one of his preferred means of doing so is forgery.
Nobody can think of the man who started it all as a villain, but that is exactly what Sir Miles is. Having adopted his sister’s high-born but penniless daughter, he plans to make her his heiress, until she reveals that she wishes to marry the active partner in a bank, and not the high-born gentleman of aristocratic lineage he had chosen for her. He immediately disowns and cold-heartedly disinherits Lucretia, thereby triggering a generational cycle of animosity, greed and ruin. Avarice dogs the footsteps of even its meanest player, the Cockney crossing-sweeper Beck.
Such a devastating descent into crime and gothic darkness is a testament to Bulwer-Lytton’s astonishing versatility as a writer. Few authors of his era bounced so effortlessly between entirely different literary universes, pivoting from the meticulous historical reconstruction of ‘The Last Days of Pompeii’ straight into the mystical, occult-laden spiritualism of ‘Zanoni’. He even cast his eye far into the future with ‘The Coming Race’ to give the Victorian public a pioneering glimpse of a subterranean, technologically advanced world. Bulwer-Lytton treated these radical shifts and popular themes with theatrical flair, always keeping his finger on the pulse of what the reading market secretly craved.
Nowhere is this versatility more startling than in his swift departure from the grim, domestic horrors of ‘Lucretia’ to the gentle, comic realism of ‘The Caxtons’ just three years later. Trading toxic rings and child murders for the trials of a quiet country family, Bulwer-Lytton introduces us to the likes of Pisistratus (Sisty) Caxton. This dramatic leap from the terrifying depths of female villainy to a lighthearted story of family affection proves that he could serve up a perfectly sweet, domestic pudding; even the villainies in each are different. Sisty’s uncle is an unsuccessful petty crook, who redeems himself somewhat in Australia.
Crucially, Bulwer-Lytton himself revealed that these two seemingly mismatched works were intended as companion novels, built to explore the divergent effects of early training and home education. The moral design was identical; one merely examined the sunny side of human development through the affectionate Caxtons, while the other mapped out its darkest, distorted psychological depths, a profound piece of psychological insight that was utterly lost on the Victorian reading public. While they applauded the moral domesticity of ‘The Caxtons’, they loudly reviled ‘Lucretia’ for its perceived immorality, missing the fact that both books were two sides of the same coin.
One last observation: like all Victorian prose, Bulwer-Lytton’s style is heavy and convoluted, authorial and omnipresent. Added to this, the generation difference often adds to a confusion of names. The ending gallops as fast as the earlier chapters were ponderous. It makes for some very tough reading, which modern readers find too off-putting, despite such a delectable heroine and plot. Instead of consigning it to a DNF fate, it is worth seeing it through, just for the sake of seeing who lives and who dies, like any Elizabethan drama at curtain fall, or to relish the glimpses of a Whitechapel that the Ripper was familiar with in his infancy.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews