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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She told me, that to this my father angrily said, let her take careβ βlet her take careβ βthat she give me not ground to suspect her of a preference somewhere else. But, if it be to ease her heart, and not to dispute my will, you may hear her out.
So, Clary, said my mother, I am returned in a temper accordingly: and I hope you will not again, by your peremptoriness, show me how I ought to treat you.
Indeed, Madam, you did me justice to say, I have no inclination to marry at all. I have not, I hope, made myself so very unuseful in my papaβs family, asβ β
No more of your merits, Clary! You have been a good child. You have eased me of all the family cares: but do not now give more than ever you relieved me from. You have been amply repaid in the reputation your skill and management have given you: but now there is soon to be a period to all those assistances from you. If you marry, there will be a natural, and, if to please us, a desirable period; because your own family will employ all your talents in that way: if you do not, there will be a period likewise, but not a natural oneβ βyou understand me, child.
I wept.
I have made inquiry already after a housekeeper. I would have had your good Norton; but I suppose you will yourself wish to have the worthy woman with you. If you desire it, that shall be agreed upon for you.
But, why, dearest Madam, why am I, the youngest, to be precipitated into a state, that I am very far from wishing to enter into with anybody?
You are going to question me, I suppose, why your sister is not thought of for Mr. Solmes?
I hope, Madam, it will not displease you if I were.
I might refer you for an answer to your father.β βMr. Solmes has reasons for preferring youβ β
And I have reasons, Madam, for disliking him. And why I amβ β
This quickness upon me, interrupted my mother, is not to be borne! I am gone, and your father comes, if I can do no good with you.
O Madam, I would rather die, thanβ β
She put her hand to my mouthβ βNo peremptoriness, Clary Harlowe: once you declare yourself inflexible, I have done.
I wept for vexation. This is all, all, my brotherβs doingsβ βhis grasping viewsβ β
No reflections upon your brother: he has entirely the honour of the family at heart.
I would no more dishonour my family, Madam, than my brother would.
I believe it: but I hope you will allow your father, and me, and your uncles, to judge what will do it honour, what dishonour.
I then offered to live single; never to marry at all; or never but with their full approbation.
If you mean to show your duty, and your obedience, Clary, you must show it in our way, not in your own.
I hope, Madam, that I have not so behaved hitherto, as to render such a trial of my obedience necessary.
Yes, Clary, I cannot but say that you have hitherto behaved extremely well: but you have had no trials till now: and I hope, that now you are called to one, you will not fail in it. Parents, proceeded she, when children are young, are pleased with everything they do. You have been a good child upon the whole: but we have hitherto rather complied with you, than you with us. Now that you are grown up to marriageable years, is the test; especially as your grandfather has made you independent, as we may say, in preference to those who had prior expectations upon that estate.
Madam, my grandfather knew, and expressly mentioned in his will his desire, that my father will more than make it up to my sister. I did nothing but what I thought my duty to procure his favour. It was rather a mark of his affection, than any advantage to me: For, do I either seek or wish to be independent? Were I to be queen of the universe, that dignity should not absolve me from my duty to you and to my father. I would kneel for your blessings, were it in the presence of millionsβ βso thatβ β
I am loth to interrupt you, Clary; though you could more than once break in upon me. You are young and unbroken: but, with all this ostentation of your duty, I desire you to show a little more deference to me when I am speaking.
I beg your pardon, dear Madam, and your patience with me on such an occasion as this. If I did not speak with earnestness upon it, I should be supposed to have only maidenly objections against a man I never can endure.
Clary Harloweβ β!
Dearest, dearest Madam, permit me to speak what I have to say, this onceβ βIt is hard, it is very hard, to be forbidden to enter into the cause of all these misunderstandings, because I must not speak disrespectfully of one who supposes me in the way of his ambition, and treats me like a slaveβ β
Whither, whither, Claryβ β
My dearest Mamma!β βMy duty will not permit me so far to suppose my father arbitrary, as to make a plea of that arbitrariness to youβ β
How now, Clary!β βO girl!
Your patience, my dearest Mamma:β βyou were pleased to say, you would hear me with patience.β βPerson in a man is nothing, because I am supposed to be prudent: so my eye is to be disgusted, and my reason not convincedβ β
Girl, girl!
Thus
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