Clarissa Harlowe by Samuel Richardson (e reader manga .txt) π
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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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Then rising, she drew a chair near her own, and made me sit down by her, overwhelmed as I was with tears of apprehension of what she had to say, and of gratitude for her truly maternal goodness to meβ βsobs still my only language.
And drawing her chair still nearer to mine, she put her arms round my neck, and my glowing cheek wet with my tears, close to her own: Let me talk to you, my child. Since silence is your choice, hearken to me, and be silent.
You know, my dear, what I every day forego, and undergo, for the sake of peace. Your papa is a very good man, and means well; but he will not be controlled; nor yet persuaded. You have sometimes seemed to pity me, that I am obliged to give up every point. Poor man! his reputation the less for it; mine the greater: yet would I not have this credit, if I could help it, at so dear a rate to him and to myself. You are a dutiful, a prudent, and a wise child, she was pleased to say, in hope, no doubt, to make me so: you would not add, I am sure, to my trouble: you would not wilfully break that peace which costs your mother so much to preserve. Obedience is better than sacrifice. O my Clary Harlowe, rejoice my heart, by telling me that I have apprehended too much!β βI see your concern! I see your perplexity! I see your conflict! (loosing her arm, and rising, not willing I should see how much she herself was affected). I will leave you a moment.β βAnswer me notβ β(for I was essaying to speak, and had, as soon as she took her dear cheek from mine, dropped down on my knees, my hands clasped, and lifted up in a supplicating manner)β βI am not prepared for your irresistible expostulation, she was pleased to say. I will leave you to recollection: and I charge you, on my blessing, that all this my truly maternal tenderness be not thrown away upon you.
And then she withdrew into the next apartment; wiping her eyes as she went from me; as mine overflowed; my heart taking in the whole compass of her meaning.
She soon returned, having recovered more steadiness.
Still on my knees, I had thrown my face across the chair she had sat in.
Look up to me, my Clary Harloweβ βNo sullenness, I hope!
No, indeed, my ever-to-be-revered Mamma.β βAnd I arose. I bent my knee.
She raised me. No kneeling to me, but with knees of duty and compliance. Your heart, not your knees, must bend. It is absolutely determined. Prepare yourself therefore to receive your father, when he visits you by-and-by, as he would wish to receive you. But on this one quarter of an hour depends the peace of my future life, the satisfaction of all the family, and your own security from a man of violence: and I charge you besides, on my blessing, that you think of being Mrs. Solmes.
There went the dagger to my heart, and down I sunk: and when I recovered, found myself in the arms of my Hannah, my sisterβs Betty holding open my reluctantly-opened palm, my laces cut, my linen scented with hartshorn; and my mother gone. Had I been less kindly treated, the hated name still forborne to be mentioned, or mentioned with a little more preparation and reserve, I had stood the horrid sound with less visible emotionβ βBut to be bid, on the blessing of a mother so dearly beloved, so truly reverenced, to think of being Mrs. Solmesβ βwhat a denunciation was that!
Shorey came in with a message (delivered in her solemn way): Your mamma, Miss, is concerned for your disorder: she expects you down again in an hour; and bid me say, that she then hopes everything from your duty.
I made no reply; for what could I say? And leaning upon my Hannahβs arm, withdrew to my own apartment. There you will guess how the greatest part of the hour was employed.
Within that time, my mother came up to me.
I love, she was pleased to say, to come into this apartment.β βNo emotions, child! No flutters!β βAm I not your mother?β βDo not discompose me by discomposing yourself! Do not occasion me uneasiness, when I would give you nothing but pleasure. Come, my dear, we will go into your closet.
She took my hand, led the way, and made me sit down by her: and after she had inquired how I did, she began in a strain as if she supposed I had made use of the intervening space to overcome all my objections.
She was pleased to tell me, that my father and she, in order to spare my natural modesty, had taken the whole affair upon themselvesβ β
Hear me out; and then speak; for I was going to expostulate. You are no stranger to the end of Mr. Solmesβs visitsβ β
O Madam!β β
Hear me out; and then speak.β βHe is not indeed everything I wish him to be: but he is a man of probity, and has no vicesβ β
No vices, Madamβ β!
Hear me out, child.β βYou have not behaved much amiss to him: we have seen with pleasure that you have notβ β
O Madam, must I not now speak!
I shall have done presently.β βA young creature of your virtuous and pious turn, she was pleased to say, cannot surely love a profligate: you love your brother too well, to wish to marry one who had like to have killed him, and who threatened your uncles, and defies us all. You have had your own way six or seven times: we want to secure you against a man so vile. Tell me (I have a right to know) whether you prefer this man to all others?β βYet God forbid that I should know you do; for such a declaration would make us all miserable. Yet tell me, are your affections engaged to this man?
I knew not what the inference would be, if I said they were
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