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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I know not, said he, and suppose must not presume to ask, what those terms were. But I can but too well guess at them; and that I was to have been the preliminary sacrifice. But you must allow me, Madam, to say, That as much as I admire the nobleness of your sentiments in general, and in particular that laudable pride which you have spoken of, I wish that I could compliment you with such an uniformity in it, as had set you as much above all submission to minds implacable and unreasonable, (I hope I may, without offence, say, that your brotherβs and sisterβs are such), as it has above all favour and condescension to me.
Duty and nature, Sir, call upon me to make the submissions you speak of: there is a father, there is a mother, there are uncles in the one case, to justify and demand those submissions. What, pray, Sir, can be pleaded for the condescension, as you call it? Will you say, your merits, either with regard to them, or to myself, may?
This, Madam, to be said, after the persecutions of those relations! After what you have suffered! After what you have made me hope! Let me, my dearest creature, ask you, (we have been talking of pride), What sort of pride must his be, which can dispense with inclination and preference in the lady whom he adores?β βWhat must that loveβ β
Love, Sir! who talks of love?β βWas not merit the thing we were talking of?β βHave I ever professed, have I ever required of you professions of a passion of that nature?β βBut there is no end of these debatings; each so faultless, each so full of selfβ β
I do not think myself faultless, Madam:β βbutβ β
But what, Sir!β βWould you ever more argue with me, as if you were a child?β βSeeking palliations, and making promises?β βPromises of what, Sir? Of being in future the man it is a shame a gentleman is not?β βOf being the manβ β
Good God! interrupted he, with eyes lifted up, if thou wert to be thus severeβ β
Well, well, Sir! (impatiently) I need only to observe, that all this vast difference in sentiment shows how unpaired our minds areβ βso let usβ β
Let us what, Madam?β βMy soul is rising into tumults! And he looked so wildly, that I was a good deal terrifiedβ βLet us what, Madam?β β
I was, however, resolved not to desert myselfβ βWhy, Sir! let us resolve to quit every regard for each other.β βNay, flame not outβ βI am a poor weak-minded creature in some things: but where what I should be, or not deserve to live, if I am not is in the question, I have a great and invincible spirit, or my own conceit betrays meβ βlet us resolve to quit every regard for each other that is more than civil. This you may depend upon: I will never marry any other man. I have seen enough of your sex; at least of you.β βA single life shall ever be my choice: while I will leave you at liberty to pursue your own.
Indifference, worse than indifference! said he, in a passionβ β
Interrupting himβ βIndifference let it beβ βyou have not (in my opinion at least) deserved that it should be other: if you have in your own, you have cause (at least your pride has) to hate me for misjudging you.
Dearest, dearest creature! snatching my hand with fierceness, let me beseech you to be uniformly noble! Civil regards, Madam!β βCivil regards!β βCan you so expect to narrow and confine such a passion as mine?
Such a passion as yours, Mr. Lovelace, deserves to be narrowed and confined. It is either the passion you do not think it, or I do not. I question whether your mind is capable of being so narrowed and so widened, as is necessary to make it be what I wish it to be. Lift up your hands and your eyes, Sir, in silent wonder, if you please; but what does that wonder express, what does it convince me of, but that we are not born for one another.
By my soul, said he, and grasped my hand with an eagerness that hurt it, we were born for one another: you must be mineβ βyou shall be mine (and put his other hand round me) although my damnation were to be the purchase!
I was still more terrifiedβ βlet me leave you, Mr. Lovelace, said I; or do you be gone from me. Is the passion you boast of to be thus shockingly demonstrated?
You must not go, Madam!β βYou must not leave me in angerβ β
I will returnβ βI will returnβ βwhen you can be less violentβ βless shocking.
And he let me go.
The man quite frighted me; insomuch, that when I got into my chamber, I found a sudden flow of tears a great relief to me.
In half an hour, he sent a little billet, expressing his concern for the vehemence of his behaviour, and prayed to see me.
I went. Because I could not help myself, I went.
He was full of excusesβ βO my dear, what would you, even you, do with such a man as this; and in my situation?
It was very possible for him now, he said, to account for the workings of a beginning frenzy. For his part, he was near distraction. All last week to suffer as he had suffered; and now to talk of civil regards only, when he had hoped, from the nobleness of my mindβ β
Hope what you will, interrupted I, I must insist upon it, that our minds are by no means suited to each other. You have brought me into difficulties. I am deserted by every friend but Miss Howe. My true sentiments I will not concealβ βit is against my will that I must submit to owe protection from a brotherβs projects, which Miss Howe thinks are not given over, to you, who have brought me into these straights: not with my own concurrence brought me into them; remember thatβ β
I do remember that, Madam!β βSo often reminded, how can I forget it?β β
Yet I will owe to you this
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