Clarissa Harlowe by Samuel Richardson (e reader manga .txt) π
Description
Clarissa Harlowe, or The History of a Young Lady is one of the longest novels in the English language. Written by Samuel Richardson over a period of several years and published in 1748, it is composed entirely of letters. Though this may seem daunting, the novel is highly regarded and is considered by many critics as one of the greatest works of English literature, appearing in several lists of the best British novels ever written.
The novel tells the story of young Clarissa, eighteen years of age at the start of the novel. She is generally regarded by her family, neighbors, and friends as the most virtuous and kind young woman they know. But she is drawn into correspondence with Richard Lovelace, a well-born, rich young man regarded as something of a rake, when she attempts to reconcile a dispute between Lovelace and her rash brother. Lovelace, imagining this indicates her love for him, carries out a series of strategems which result in him essentially abducting her from her family, from whom Clarissa then becomes estranged.
Much of the correspondence consists of the letters between Clarissa and her close friend Anna Howe, and between Lovelace and his friend Jack Belford, to whom he confesses all of his strategems and βinventionsβ in his assault on Clarissaβs honor.
The novel is thus a fascinating study of human nature. Much of Lovelaceβs actions and attitudes towards women are regrettably only too familiar to modern readers. And while Clarissa herself may be a little too good to be true, nevertheless she is shown as having some flaws which lead to a tragic outcome.
This Standard Ebooks edition is based on the 9-volume Chapman and Hall edition of 1902.
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- Author: Samuel Richardson
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Iβll give you the substance of a conversation (no fear you can be made to like him worse than you do already) that passed between Sir Harry Downeton and this Solmes, but three days ago, as Sir Harry told it but yesterday to my mother and me. It will confirm to you that what your sisterβs insolent Betty reported he should say, of governing by fear, was not of her own head.
Sir Harry told her, he wondered he should wish to obtain you so much against you inclination as everybody knew it would be, if he did.
He matterβd not that, he said: coy maids made the fondest wives: (A sorry fellow!) It would not at all grieve him to see a pretty woman make wry faces, if she gave him cause to vex her. And your estate, by the convenience of its situation, would richly pay him for all he could bear with your shyness.
He should be sure, he said, after a while, of your complaisance, if not of your love: and in that should be happier than nine parts in ten of his married acquaintance.
What a wretch is this!
For the rest, your known virtue would be as great a security to him, as he could wish for.
She will look upon you, said Sir Harry, if she be forced to marry you, as Elizabeth of France did upon Philip II of Spain, when he received her on his frontiers as her husband, who was to have been but her father-in-law: that is, with fear and terror, rather than with complaisance and love: and you will perhaps be as surly to her, as that old monarch was to his young bride.
Fear and terror, the wretch, the horrid wretch! said, looked pretty in a bride as well as in a wife: and, laughing, (yes, my dear, the hideous fellow laughed immoderately, as Sir Harry told us, when he said it), it should be his care to perpetuate the occasion for that fear, if he could not think he had the love. And, truly, he was of opinion, that if love and fear must be separated in matrimony, the man who made himself feared, fared best.
If my eyes would carry with them the execution which the eyes of the basilisk are said to do, I would make it my first business to see this creature.
My mother, however, says, it would be a prodigious merit in you, if you could get over your aversion to him. Where, asks she (as you have been asked before), is the praiseworthiness of obedience, if it be only paid in instance where we give up nothing?
What a fatality, that you have no better an optionβ βeither a Scylla or a Charybdis.
Were it not you, I should know how (barbarously as you are used) to advise you in a moment. But such a noble character to suffer from a (supposed) rashness and indiscretion of such a nature, would, as I have heretofore observed, be a wound to the sex.
While I was in hope, that the asserting of your own independence would have helped you, I was pleased that you had one resource, as I thought. But now, that you have so well proved, that such a step would not avail you, I am entirely at a loss what to say.
I will lay down my pen, and think.
I have considered, and considered again; but, I protest, I know no more what to say now, than before. Only this: That I am young, like yourself; and have a much weaker judgment, and stronger passions, than you have.
I have heretofore said, that you have offered as much as you ought, in offering to live single. If you were never to marry, the estate they are so loth should go out of their name, would, in time, I suppose, revert to your brother: and he or his would have it, perhaps, much more certainly this way, than by the precarious reversions which Solmes makes them hope for. Have you put this into their odd heads, my dear?β βThe tyrant word authority, as they use it, can be the only objection against this offer.
One thing you must consider, that, if you leave your parents, your duty and love will not suffer you to justify yourself by an appeal against them; and so youβll have the world against you. And should Lovelace continue his wild life, and behave ungratefully to you, will not his baseness seem to justify their cruel treatment of you, as well as their dislike of him?
May heaven direct you for the best!β βI can only say, that for my own part, I would do anything, go anywhere, rather than be compelled to marry the man I hate; and (were he such a man as Solmes) must always hate. Nor could I have borne what you have borne, if from father and uncles, not from brother and sister.
My mother will have it, that after they have tried their utmost efforts to bring you into their measures, and find them ineffectual, they will recede. But I cannot say I am of her mind. She does not own, she has any authority for this, but her own conjecture. I should otherwise have hoped, that your uncle Antony and she had been in on one secret, and that favourable to you. Woe be to one of them at least (to you uncle to be sure I mean)
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