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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βNo. She could not eat.
βThey had very good biscuits.
βAs she pleased.
βThe gentlewoman stepped out for some, and returning on a sudden, she observed the sweet little fugitive endeavouring to restrain a violent burst of grief to which she had given way in the little interval.
βHowever, when the tea came, she made the landlady sit down with her, and asked her abundance of questions, about the villages and roads in the neighbourhood.
βThe gentlewoman took notice to her, that she seemed to be troubled in mind.
βTender spirits, she replied, could not part with dear friends without concern.β
She meant me, no doubt.
βShe made no inquiry about a lodging, though by the sequel, thouβlt observe, that she seemed to intend to go no farther that night than Hampstead. But after she had drank two dishes, and put a biscuit in her pocket, (sweet soul! to serve for her supper, perhaps), she laid down half-a-crown; and refusing change, sighing, took leave, saying she would proceed towards Hendon; the distance to which had been one of her questions.
βThey offered to send to know if a Hampstead coach were not to go to Hendon that evening.
βNo matter, she saidβ βperhaps she might meet the chariot.β
Another of her feints, I suppose: for how, or with whom, could anything of this sort have been concerted since yesterday morning?
βShe had, as the people took notice to one another, something so uncommonly noble in her air, and in her person and behaviour, that they were sure she was of quality. And having no servant with her of either sex, her eyes, (her fine eyes, the gentlewoman called them, stranger as she was, and a woman!) being swelled and red, they were sure there was an elopement in the case, either from parents or guardians; for they supposed her too young and too maidenly to be a married lady; and were she married, no husband would let such a fine young creature to be unattended and alone; nor give her cause for so much grief, as seemed to be settled in her countenance. Then at times she seemed to be so bewildered, they said, that they were afraid she had it in her head to make away with herself.
βAll these things put together, excited their curiosity; and they engaged a peery servant, as they called a footman who was drinking with Kit the hostler, at the taphouse, to watch all her motions. This fellow reported the following particulars, as they re-reported to me:
βShe indeed went towards Hendon, passing by the sign of the Castle on the Heath; then, stopping, looked about her, and down into the valley before her. Then, turning her face towards London, she seemed, by the motion of her handkerchief to her eyes, to weep; repenting (who knows?) the rash step she had taken, and wishing herself back again.β
Better for her, if she do, Jack, once more I say!β βWoe be to the girl who could think of marrying me, yet to be able to run away from me, and renounce me forever!
βThen, continuing on a few paces, she stopped againβ βand, as if disliking her road, again seeming to weep, directed her course back towards Hampstead.β
I am glad she wept so much, because no heart bursts, (be the occasion for the sorrow what it will), which has that kindly relief. Hence I hardly ever am moved at the sight of these pellucid fugitives in a fine woman. How often, in the past twelve hours, have I wished that I could cry most confoundedly?
βShe then saw a coach-and-four driving towards her empty. She crossed the path she was in, as if to meet it, and seemed to intend to speak to the coachman, had he stopped or spoken first. He as earnestly looked at her.β βEveryone did so who passed her, (so the man who dogged her was the less suspected.β)β βHappy rogue of a coachman, hadst thou known whose notice thou didst engage, and whom thou mightest have obliged!β βIt was the divine Clarissa Harlowe at whom thou gazest!β βMine own Clarissa Harlowe!β βBut it was well for me that thou wert as undistinguishing as the beasts thou drovest; otherwise, what a wild-goose chase had I been led?
βThe lady, as well as the coachman, in short, seemed to want resolution;β βthe horses kept onβ β(the fellowβs head and eyes, no doubt, turned behind him), and the distance soon lengthened beyond recall. With a wistful eye she looked after him; sighed and wept again; as the servant who then slyly passed her, observed.
βBy this time she had reached the houses. She looked up at everyone as she passed; now and then breathing upon her bared hand, and applying it to her swelled eyes, to abate the redness, and dry the tears. At last, seeing a bill up for letting lodgings, she walked backwards and forwards half a dozen times, as if unable to determine what to do. And then went farther into the town, and there the fellow, being spoken to by one of his familiars, lost her for a few minutes: but he soon saw her come out of a linen-drapery shop, attended with a servant-maid, having, as it proved, got that maidservant to go with her to the house she is now at.196
βThe fellow, after waiting about an hour, and not seeing her come out, returned, concluding that she had taken lodgings there.β
And here, supposing my narrative of the dramatic kind, ends Act the first. And now begins
Act II
Scene:β βHampstead Heath continued.
Enter my rascal.
Will having got at all these particulars, by exchanging others as frankly against them, with which I had formerly prepared him both verbally and in writing.β βI found the people already of my party, and full of good wishes for my success, repeating to me all they told him.
But he had first acquainted me with the accounts he had given them of his lady and me. It is necessary that I give thee the particulars of his tale, and I have a
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